Dexter by Design (Dexter 4)

“Your sister,” he said, making it sound somehow like he was saying, “Your evil henchman.” He shook his head theatrically and looked around the room. He definitely had everyone’s attention, and he was clearly enjoying it. “This just gets better and better,” he said, with a much nicer smile than Cappuccio’s.

Salguero spoke up for the first time. “Deborah Morgan has a clean record. She comes from a police family, and she is clean in every way, and always has been.”

“A police family does not mean clean,” Simeon said. “What it means is the Blue Wall, and you know it. This is a clear case of self-defense, abuse of authority, and cover-up.” He threw his hands up and went on. “Obviously, we are never going to find out what really happened, not with all these byzantine family and police-department connections. I think we will just have to let the courts figure this out.”

Ed Beasley spoke up for the first time, in a gruff and non-hysterical way that made me want to give him a hearty handshake.

“We have an officer in intensive care,” he said. “Because your client stuck a knife in her. And we don’t need a court to figure that out, Kwami.”

Simeon turned a row of bright teeth on Beasley. “Maybe not, Ed,” he said. “But until you guys succeed in throwing out the Bill of Rights, my client has that option.”

He stood up. “In any case,” he said, “I think I have enough to get my client out on bail.” He nodded at Cappuccio and left the room.

There was a moment of silence, and then Matthews cleared his throat. “Does he have enough, Irene?”

Cappuccio snapped the pencil she was holding. “With the right judge? Yeah,” she said. “Probably.”

“The political climate is not good right now,” Beasley said. “Simeon can stir things up and make this stink. And we can’t afford another stink right now.”

“All right then, people,” Matthews said. “Let’s batten down the hatches for the coming shit-storm. Lieutenant Stein, you’ve got your work cut out for you. Get something on my desk for the press ASAP—before noon.”

Stein nodded. “Right,” he said.

Israel Salguero stood up and said, “I have my work, too, Captain. Internal Affairs will have to start a review of Sergeant Morgan’s behavior right away.”

“All right, good,” Matthews said, and then he looked at me. “Morgan,” he said, shaking his head, “I wish you could have been a little more helpful.”

FOURTEEN

SO ALEX DONCEVIC WAS OUT ON THE STREET LONG BEFORE Deborah was even awake. In fact, Doncevic was out of the detention center at 5:17 that afternoon, which was only an hour and twenty-four minutes after Deborah opened her eyes for the first time.

I knew about Deborah because Chutsky called me right away, as excited as if she had just swum the English Channel towing a piano. “She’s gonna be okay, Dex,” he said. “She opened her eyes and looked right at me.”

“Did she say anything?” I asked.

“No,” he said. “But she squeezed my hand. She’s gonna make it.”

I was still not convinced that a wink and a squeeze were accurate signs that a complete recovery was at hand, but it was nice to know that she had made some progress. Especially since she would need to be fully conscious to face Israel Salguero and Internal Affairs.

And I knew when Doncevic was released from the detention center because in the time between the meeting in the conference room and Chutsky’s call, I had made a decision.

Dexter is not delusional; he knows better than most that life is not fair. Humans invented the idea of fairness to try to level the playing field and make things a little more challenging for the predators. And that’s fine. Personally, I welcome the challenge.

But although Life is not fair, Law and Order was supposed to be. And the i

dea that Doncevic might go free while Deborah wasted away in a hospital with so many tubes going in and out of her just seemed so very, kind of … All right, I will say it: it wasn’t fair. I mean, I am sure there are other available words here, but Dexter will not dodge merely because this truth, like most others, is a relatively ugly one. I felt a sharp sense of not-fairness to the whole thing, and it made me ponder what I might do to set things back in their proper order.

I pondered through several hours of routine paperwork and three cups of somewhat horrible coffee. And I pondered through a below-average lunch at a small place claiming to be Mediterranean, which was only true if we accept that stale bread, clotted mayonnaise, and greasy cold cuts are Mediterranean. And then I pondered through another few minutes of pushing things around on the desk in my little cubby.

And finally, somewhere in the distant fog of Dexter’s diminished brainscape, a small and faint gong sounded a tiny tinny note. Bong, it said softly, and murky light slowly flooded into Dexter’s Dim Noggin.

I had been scolded for being not very helpful, and I believe that I had been feeling the truth of that accusation. Dexter had not, in fact, been helpful; he had been sulking in the car when Debs was hurt, and he had failed to protect her once again from the attack of the shiny-headed lawyer.

But there was a way I could be very very helpful, and it was something that I was particularly good at. I could make a whole handful of problems go away: Deborah’s, the department’s, and my own very special ones, all at the same time, with one smooth stroke—or several choppy ones, if I was feeling particularly playful. All I had to do was relax and be wonderful special Me, while helping poor deserving Doncevic to see the error of his ways.

I knew Doncevic was guilty—I had seen him stab Deborah with my own eyes. And there was a very good chance he had killed and arranged the bodies that were causing such an uproar and harming our vital tourist economy. Disposing of Doncevic was practically my civic duty. Since he was out on bail, if he turned up missing, everyone would assume he had run. The bounty hunters would make a stab at finding him, but no one would care when they failed.

I felt a very strong satisfaction with this solution: it’s nice when things can work out so nicely, and the neatness of it appealed to my inner monster, the tidy one that likes to see problems properly bagged up and thrown away. Besides, it was only fair.