Dexter Is Dead (Dexter 8)

“Neither is getting an answer,” I said. “What did the state attorney do?”

“Is there a more modern way to say, ‘Go play in the traffic’?” Brian asked thoughtfully. “I’m not sure we say that anymore.”

“The state attorney said that?”

“Words to that effect,” Brian said. We bumped down onto the surface street, and he glanced at me. “Are your illusions shattered, brother?”

“My illusions don’t generally involve the state attorney,” I said.

“Well, then,” Brian said. “It seems unlikely that a mere detective would lean on the state attorney. But I suppose stranger things have happened.”

“I’m sure they have,” I said. “But I don’t think that’s what happened.” Brian glanced at me and raised an eyebrow. “Not even a unibrowed mental-midget thug like Anderson would try to intimidate the state attorney,” I said. “But…”

I thought about it: A hardworking and honest whistleblower brings the SA’s office a documented report of authentic malfeasance, malpractice, and malingering. And the SA’s office does not, as one might expect, give said whistleblower a manly handshake and heartfelt thanks and then leap into indignant action against the heinous perpetrator. Instead, they tell Vince to go away and leave them alone—to play, if you will, in the traffic. On the face of it, it ran somewhat contrary to our general expectations of what a prosecutor’s office should do. But, of course, as I knew all too well, nothing at all in our justice system is actually about what it is supposed to be about. I suppose the same might be said of most things in life; when is the last time you met a waiter who is actually a waiter and not a frustrated actor/writer/dancer killing time until lightning strikes? But, of course, with Justice, where so many shattered lives hang in the balance, the stakes are much higher, and one really does hope for better.

Ah, well. Hope is for people who can’t see the Truth. As it happened, in this one instance, I thought I saw Truth. “Aha,” I said. “If that doesn’t sound too corny?”

“No more corny than ‘go play in the traffic,’?” Brian said. “So tell me.”

“In the first place,” I said, “my case is a very public national black eye for the department.”

“International,” Brian said. “It was all over the news in Mexico, too.”

“So they need to have it solved,” I said. “And they need to have it done by convicting someone like me.”

“Well, then,” Brian said. “Who better than you yourself?”

“None other,” I said. “But there’s more. Imagine you are a lawyer.”

“Please,” Brian said with a very real shudder. “I have some standards.”

“And now imagine that one of your clients—or many of them—have been convicted on evidence supplied by Detective Anderson.”

“Oh,” Brian said.

“Yes,” I said. “When you learn that Anderson has doctored evidence once—”

“Then you can easily persuade a judge he doctored evidence twice,” Brian said.

I nodded. “Or more. Maybe every time, in every single case. And Detective Anderson has a rather large caseload,” I said. “Most of the detectives do.”

“And suddenly the streets are flooded with released felons,” Brian said.

“Right,” I said. “Which many people would prefer to avoid.”

“Ah, well,” Brian said happily. “We live in wicked times.”

“Very busy times, too,” I said. “And suddenly every conviction of the last five years is overturned. And?” Now it was my turn to pause dramatically.

“Oh, dear, there’s more?” Brian said in mock horror.

“Just this,” I said. “The state attorney is elected in Florida.”

“Oh, bravo!” Brian said with real good cheer. “What wonderful stupidity!”

“It is, isn’t it?” I said. “The quality of mercy is not strained—but it is handed out by someone who got the job by pandering to the lowest possible common denominator.”

“And they must present an impressive record of convictions to get reelected,” Brian said.