Then there was a very nice sunset shot of lush tropical vegetation—a row of lovely orchids, a line of birds landing on a small lake—and then the camera pulled back to show the body we had found at Fairchild Gardens. There was a terrible groan off-camera and a somewhat strangled voice said, “Oh, Jesus,” and then the camera followed his back as a piercing scream ripped out of the speaker. It sounded strangely familiar, and for a moment that puzzled me, and I paused the video, rewound, and played the scream again. Then I had it; it was the same scream that had been on the first video, the one we had seen at the Tourist Board. For whatever strange reasons, Weiss had used the same scream here. Possibly it was just brand continuity, like McDonald’s using the same clown.
I started up the video again; the camera was moving through the crowd in the Fairchild Gardens parking lot, picking out faces that looked shocked, disgusted, or merely curious. And again the screen whirled and lined up the expressive faces in a row of boxes against a background of the opening sunset shot of the vegetation, and the letters supered in on top:
THE NEW MIAMI: PERFECTLY NATURAL
If nothing else, it removed any lingering doubt I might have had about Weiss’s guilt. I was quite sure the other videos would show the other victims, complete with reaction shots of the crowd. But just to be thorough, I decided to watch them all in order, all five of them—
But wait a second: there should only be three spots, one for each of the sites we had found. One more for Dexter’s great performance and that would be four—what was the other one? Was it possible that Weiss had included something else, something more personal that might give some clue to where I could find him?
There was a loud clatter in the lab, and Vince Masuoka called out, “Yo, Dexter!” and I quickly clicked off the browser. It wasn’t just false modesty that made me reluctant to share my wonderful acting work with Vince. Explaining the performance would be far too difficult. And just as my monitor went blank, Vince pushed in to my little cubby, carrying his forensic kit.
“You don’t answer your phone anymore?” he said.
“I must have been in the restroom,” I said.
“No rest for the wicked,” he said. “Come on, we gotta go to work.”
“Oh,” I said. “What’s up?”
“I don’t know, but it’s got the uniforms on-site almost hysterical,” Vince said. “Something down in Kendall.”
Of course awful things happen in Kendall all the time, but very few of them require my professional attention. In retrospect, I suppose I should have been more curious, but I was still distracted by the discovery of my unwilling stardom on YouTube, and I really wanted to see the other videos. So I rode along with Vince exchanging half-conscious pleasantries and wondering what Weiss might have revealed in that last, unseen video. And therefore it was with a very real sense of shock that I recognized our destination when Vince pulled into the parking lot, turned off the engine, and said, “Let’s go.”
We were parked at a large public building I had seen before. In fact, I had seen it only a day ago, when I had taken Cody to his Cub Scout meeting.
We had just parked at Golden Lakes Elementary School.
Of course, it had to be mere happenstance. People get killed all the time, even at elementary schools, and to assume this was any more than one of those funny coincidences that make life so interesting was to believe that the entire world revolved around Dexter—which was true in a rather limited way, of course, but I was not deranged enough to believe in it in a literal way.
So a bemused and slightly unsettled Dexter trudged after Vince, under the yellow crime-scene tape, and over to the side door of the building, where the body had been discovered. And as I approached the carefully guarded spot where it lay in all its glory, I heard a strange and near-idiot whistling sound, and realized it was me. Because in spite of the see-through plastic mask glued to the face, in spite of the yawning body cavity which was filled with what appeared to be Cub Scout uniform items and paraphernalia, and in spite of the fact that it was completely impossible that I was right, I recognized the body from ten feet away.
It was Roger Deutsch, Cody’s scoutmaster.
TWENTY-ONE
THE BODY HAD BEEN PROPPED IN THE RECESS AROUND the side door of the building, the door that served as an emergency exit for the combination cafeteria and auditorium of the school. One of the servers had stepped outside for a smoke and seen it, and had to be sedated, which was easy for me to understand after I took a quick look. And after a second, more careful examination, I very nearly needed a sedative myself.
Roger Deutsch had a lanyard around his neck with a whistle hanging from it. And as before, the body cavity had been scooped out and then filled with interesting things—in this case, a Cub Scout uniform, a colorful book that said BIG BEAR Cub Scout Handbook on the cover, and some other gear. I could see the handle of a hand ax sticking up, and a pocketknife with the Cub Scout logo on it. And as I bent closer to look, I also saw a grainy picture, printed on regular white paper, with BE PREPARED printed on it in large black letters. The picture showed a blurry shot, taken from some distance away, of several boys and one adult going into this same building. And although it was impossible to prove, I knew quite well who the adult and one of the children were.
Me and Cody.
There was no mistaking the familiar curve of Cody’s back. And there was no mistaking the message, either.
It was a very odd moment, kneeling there on the pavement and looking at a blurry, i
ndistinct picture of myself and Cody, and wondering if anybody would see me if I took it. I had never tampered with evidence before, but then again, I had never been part of it, either. And it was quite clear that this was meant for me. BE PREPARED, and the photo. It was a warning, a challenge. I know who you are, and I know how to hurt you. And here I come.
BE PREPARED.
And I was not prepared. I did not yet know where Weiss might be, and I did not know what or when his next move would be, but I did know that he had moved everything several notches ahead of me, and he had raised the stakes considerably at the same time. This was not a stolen dead body, and it was not anonymous. Weiss had killed Roger Deutsch, not just modified his body. And he had chosen this victim carefully, deliberately, in order to get at me.
It was a complex threat, too. Because the picture added another dimension—it said that I may get you, and I may get Cody, or I may simply expose you for what we both know you are. And on top of that was the sure knowledge that if I was exposed and slapped in jail, Cody would have no protection at all against whatever Weiss might do.
I looked hard at the picture, trying to decide if anyone else could tell it was me, and whether taking it was worth the risk. But before I could make any decision, the feather stroke of an invisible black wing brushed across my face and raised the hair along my neck.
The Dark Passenger had been very quiet through this whole thing so far, contenting himself with a disinterested smirk from time to time and offering no really cogent observations. But now the message was clear, and it echoed the one on the photograph: Be prepared. You are not alone. And I knew just as certainly as I possibly could that somewhere nearby something was looking at me and harboring wicked thoughts, watching me as the tiger watches its prey.
Slowly, carefully, as if I had simply forgotten something in the car, I stood up and walked back toward where we had parked. As I walked I casually scanned the parking area; not looking for anything in particular, just Dopey Dexter ambling along in a perfectly normal way, and under the nonchalant and distracted smile, the black smoke boiled and I looked for something that I knew was looking at me.