Dexter 3 - Dexter in the Dark by Jeff Lindsay Read Free Book Online Page A

ongoing war with the
press, who simply refused to take his picture from his good side.
    The press vans were, in fact, already rolling up and spewing out crews
to tape background shots of the area. A couple of the local bloodhounds were
standing there, solemnly clutching their microphones and intoning mournful
sentences about the tragedy of two lives so brutally ended. As always, I felt
reverently grateful to live in a free society, where the press had a sacred
right to show footage of dead people on the evening news.
    Captain Matthews carefully brushed his already perfect hair with the
heel of his hand, clapped Deborah on the shoulder, and marched over to talk to
the press. And I marched over to my sister.
    She stood where Matthews had left her, watching his back as he began to
speak to Rick Sangre, one of the true gurus of if-it-bleeds-it-leads reporting.
“Well, Sis,” I said. “Welcome back to the real world.”
    She shook her head. “Hip hooray,” she said.
    “How is Kyle doing?” I asked her, since my
training told me that was the right thing to ask about.
    “Physically?” she said. “He's fine. But
he just feels useless all the time. And those assholes in Washington won't let
him go back to work.”
    It was difficult for me to judge Chutsky's ability to
get back to work, since no one had ever said exactly what work he did. I knew
it was vaguely connected to some part of the government and was also something
clandestine, but beyond that I didn't know. “Well,” I said, searching
for the proper cliché, "I'm
     
    sure it just needs some
time."
    “Yeah,” she said.
“I'm sure.” She looked back at the place where the two charred bodies
lay. “Anyhow, this is a great way to get my mind off it.” “The
rumor mill tells me you think it's Santeria,” I said, and her head
swiveled rapidly around to face me. “You think it's not?” she
demanded. “Oh, no, it might well be,” I said. “But?” she
said sharply. “No buts at all,” I said. “Damn it, Dexter,”
she said. “What do you know about this?” And it was probably a fair
question. I had
    been known on occasion to offer a pretty fair guess
about some of the more gruesome murders we worked on. I had gained a small
reputation for my insight into the way the twisted homicidal sickos thought and
operated-natural enough, since, unknown to everyone but Deborah, I was a
twisted homicidal sicko myself.
    But even though Deborah had only recently become aware of my true
nature, she had not been shy about taking advantage of it to help her in her
work. I didn't mind; glad to help. What else is family for? And I didn't really
care if my fellow monsters paid their debt to society in Old Sparky-unless, of
course, it was somebody I was saving for my own innocent pleasure.
    But in this case, I had nothing whatsoever to tell Deborah. I had, in
fact, been hoping she might have some small crumb of information to give to me,
something that might explain the Dark Passenger's peculiar and uncharacteristic
shrinking act. That, of course, was not the sort of thing I really felt
comfortable telling Deborah about. But no matter what I said about this burned
double offering, she wouldn't believe me. She would be sure I had information
and some kind of angle that made me want to keep it all to myself. The only
thing more suspicious than a sibling is a sibling who happens to be a cop.
    Sure enough, she was convinced I was holding out on
her. “Come on, Dexter,” she said. “Out with it. Tell me what you
know about this.” “Dear Sis, I am at a total loss,” I said.
“Bullshit,” she said, apparently unaware of the irony. “You're
holding something back.” “Never in life,” I said. “Would I
lie to my only sister?” She glared at me. “So it isn't
Santeria?” “I have no idea,” I said, as soothingly as possible.
“It seems like a really good place to start. But-”
    “I knew it,” she
snapped. “But what?” “Well,” I started. And truly it