Jeff Lindsay - Double Dexter

With a couple of bullshit pictures? Deborah said with heartwarming scorn.

Hood leaned toward her and said, Couple? He snorted. Like I said, there s hundreds of em. He shoved his gigantic finger toward my head again.

Every one of em a picture of laughing boy here, he said.

That doesn t mean shit, Deborah said.

Framed and hanging on the walls, Hood said relentlessly. Taped to the refrigerator. Stacked on the bedside table. In boxes in the closet. In a binder on the back of the toilet, he said with a leer. Hundreds of pictures of your brother, sweetheart. He took a half step toward Debs and winked. And I may not get to go on the Today show to talk about it, like some losers who arrest the wrong guy? he said.

But I am in charge of this investigation now, and I think all those pictures do mean shit, and maybe a lot more than shit. I think they mean he was banging Camilla, and I think she was going to tell his pretty little wifey, and he didn t want her to. So lemme ask this one more time real polite and official, he said, stepping back from Debs. He leaned over me now, and as he spoke the smell of his unwashed armpits mingled with his rotten breath and made my eyes water. You got anything you want to tell me about these pictures, Dexter? he said. And maybe about your relationship with Camilla Figg?

I don t know anything about the pictures, I said. And I didn t have any relationship with Camilla except that I worked with her. I barely knew her.

Uh-huh, Hood said, still bent over and in my face. That all you got to say?

Well, I said, I d also like to say that you really need to brush your teeth.

He didn t move at all for a few long seconds, made even longer by the fact that he exhaled again. But finally he nodded, straightened up slowly, and said, This is going to be fun. He nodded at me, and his nasty smile got bigger. As of five o clock today, you are suspended, pending the results of this investigation. If you wish to appeal this decision, you may contact the administrative coordinator for personnel. He turned to Sergeant Doakes and nodded cheerfully, and I felt a cold knot form in my stomach even before he added the inevitable clincher.

That would be Sergeant Doakes, he said.

Of course it would, I said. Nothing could be more perfect. The two of them smiled at me with genuine, heartfelt happiness, and when Hood had done all the smiling his system could stand without melting, he turned away and stepped to the door. He spun around there, and pointed his finger at Deborah, making a clicking sound as he dropped his thumb like he was shooting her. See you later, loser, he told her, and he sauntered out, smiling like he was going to his own birthday party.

Sergeant Doakes hadn t taken his eyes off me the whole time, and he didn t now. He just smiled at me, clearly having more fun than he d had in a very long while, and then finally, just as I was thinking about throwing a chair at his head, he made his horrible, gargling, tongueless-laughing sound, and followed Hood out into the hall.

There was silence in my office for what seemed like a very long time. It was not by any means a peaceful, contemplative silence. It was, instead, the kind of quiet that comes right after an explosion, when the survivors are looking around at all the dead bodies and wondering if another bomb is going to go off, and the eerie silence did not end until Deborah finally shook her head and said, Jesus Christ. That seemed to sum things up pretty well, so I didn t say anything, and Deborah said it again and then added,

Dexter I have to know.

I looked at her with surprise. She seemed to be very serious, but I couldn t imagine what she was thinking. Know what, Debs? I said.

Did you sleep with Camilla? she said.

And now it was my turn to say it. Jesus Christ, Debs, I said, and I was genuinely shocked. Do you think I killed her, too?

She hesitated half a second too long. No-o, she said, and it was not very convincing. But you gotta see how it looks.

To me it looks like you re playing Pile On Dexter, I said. This is crazy I barely spoke twenty words to Camilla in my entire life.

Yeah, but come on, Deborah said. All those fucking pictures.

What about them? I said. I didn t take them, and I don t see what you think they mean.

I m just saying they mean a lot to a brainless shit-bag like Hood and he s going to run with it, and he might even make it stick, she went on, recklessly mixing her metaphors. It s perfect for him married guy bangs chick at work, then kills her to keep his wife from finding out.

That s what you think? I said.

I m just saying, she said. I mean, you gotta see how it would look like that. It s totally believable.

It s totally unbelievable to anybody who knows me, I said. That s just completely How can you even think that for a second? And I was actually feeling authentic human emotions of hurt, betrayal, and outrage. Because for once, I was totally innocent but even my very own sister didn t seem to believe that I was.

All right, Jesus, she said. I m just saying, you know.

You re just saying I m up Shit Creek and you won t hand me a paddle? I said.

Come on, she said, and to her great credit she squirmed uncomfortably.

You re saying you want to know if it s all right if they arrest your brother, I said, because I can be relentless, too. Because you know he s secretly the kind of guy who smashes his coworkers with a hammer?

Dexter, for fuck s sake! she said.

I m sorry, okay?

I looked at her another second, but she actually did seem sorry, and she wasn t reaching for her cuffs, so I just said,

Okay.

Deborah cleared her throat, looked away for a moment, then looked back at me. So you never banged Camilla, she said, and with a little more conviction she added, And you totally never beat anybody to death with a hammer.

Not yet, I said, with just a touch of warning.

Fine, she said, holding up her good hand, as if she wanted to make sure she was ready if I really did try to smack her with a hammer.

And seriously, I said. Why would anybody want even one picture of me?

Deborah opened her mouth, closed it again, and then looked like she d thought of something funny, although I certainly didn t see anything to laugh about. You really don t know? she said.

Know what, Debs? I said. Come on.

She still seemed to think something was comical. But she shook her head and said, All right. You don t know. Shit. She smiled and said, I shouldn t be the one to tell you, your sister, but hey. She shrugged. You re a good-looking guy, Dexter.

Thank you, you re not so bad yourself, I said. What s that got to do with anything?

Dexter, for Christ s sake, don t be dense, she said. Camilla had a crush on you, asshole.

On me? I said. A crush? Like, a romantic infatuation crush?

Shit, yeah, for years. Everybody knew about it, Deborah said.

Everybody but me.

Yeah, well, she said, shrugging. But all those pictures, it looks more like a total obsession.

I shook my head, as if I could make the idea go away. I mean, I don t pretend to understand the clinically insane human race, but this was a bit much. That s crazy, I said. I m married.

Apparently that was a funny thing to say. In any case, it was funny to Deborah; she snorted with amusement. Yeah, well, getting married didn t make you ugly, she said.

Not yet, anyway.

I thought about Camilla and how she had behaved toward me over the years. Just recently, while we were working on the site where Officer Gunther s body had been dumped, she had taken a picture of me, and then stammered out something lame and incoherent about the flash when I looked at her. Maybe her inability to speak in complete sentences only happened when she was in my presence. And it was true that she had blushed every time she saw me and come to think of it, she had tried to kiss me in a drunken stupor at my bachelor party, instead only managing to pass out at my feet. Did all this add up to a secret obsession with little old me? And if so, how did a crush get her crushed?