“Yes,” I said.
“And she gets to have a gun, too?”
“Yes.”
Astor leaned forward as far as the seat belt would let her, and stared at Deborah with something approaching respect, which was not an expression I saw on her face very often. “I didn’t know girls could have a gun and be the boss policeman,” she said.
“Girls can do any god—anything boys can do,” Deborah snapped. “Usually better.”
Astor looked at Cody, and then at me. “Anything?” she said.
“Almost anything,” I said. “Professional football is probably out.”
“Do you shoot people?” Astor asked Deborah.
“For Christ’s sake, Dexter,” Deborah said.
“She shoots people sometimes,” I told Astor, “but she doesn’t like to talk about it.”
“Why not?”
“Shooting somebody is a very private thing,” I said, “and I think she feels that it isn’t anybody else’s business.”
“Stop talking about me like I’m a lamp, for Christ’s sake,” Deborah snapped. “I’m sitting right here.”
“I know that,” Astor said. “Will you tell us about who you shot?”
For an answer, Deborah squealed the car through a sharp turn, DEXTER IN THE DARK
137
into the parking lot, and rocked to a stop in front of the center.
“We’re here,” she said, and jumped out as if she was escaping a nest of fire ants. She hurried into the building and as soon as I got Cody and Astor unbuckled, we followed at a more leisurely pace.
Deborah was still speaking with the sergeant on duty at the desk, and I steered Cody and Astor to a pair of battered chairs.
“Wait here,” I said. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“Just wait?” Astor said, with outrage quivering in her voice.
“Yes,” I said. “I have to go talk to a bad guy.”
“Why can’t we go?” she demanded.
“It’s against the law,” I said. “Now wait here like I said. Please.”
They didn’t look terribly enthusiastic, but at least they didn’t leap off the chairs and charge down the hallway screaming. I took advantage of their cooperation and joined Deborah.
“Come on,” she said, and we headed to one of the interview rooms down the hall. In a few minutes a guard brought Halpern in.
He was handcuffed, and he looked even worse than he had when we brought him in. He hadn’t shaved and his hair was a rat’s nest, and there was a look in his eyes that I can only describe as haunted, no matter how clichéd that sounds. He sat in the chair where the guard nudged him, perching on the edge of the seat and staring at his hands as they lay before him on the table.
Deborah nodded to the guard, who left the room and stood in the hall outside. She waited for the door to swing closed and then turned her attention to Halpern. “Well, Jerry,” she said, “I hope you had a good night’s rest.”
His head jerked as if it had been yanked upward by a rope, and he goggled at her. “What—what do you mean?” he said.
Debs raised her eyebrows. “I don’t mean anything, Jerry,” she said mildly. “Just being polite.”