Jeffry Lindsay - Dexter in the Dark

Deborah nodded to the guard, who left the room and stood in the hall outside. She waited for the door to swing closed and then turned her attention to Halpern. “Well, Jerry,” she said, “I hope you had a good night’s rest.”

His head jerked as if it had been yanked upward by a rope, and he goggled at her. “What-what do you mean?” he said.

Debs raised her eyebrows. “I don’t mean anything, Jerry,” she said mildly. “Just being polite.”

He stared at her for a moment and then dropped his head again. “I want to go home,” he said in a small, shaky voice.

“I’m sure you do, Jerry,” Deborah said. “But I can’t let you go right now.”

He just shook his head, and muttered something inaudible.

“What’s that, Jerry?” she asked in the same kind, patient voice.

“I said, I don’t think I did anything,” he said, still without looking up.

“You don’t think so?” she asked him. “Shouldn’t we be kind of sure about that before we let you go?”

He raised his head to look at her, very slowly this time. “Last night…” he said. “Something about being in this place…” He shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know,” he said.

“You’ve been in a place like this before, haven’t you, Jerry? When you were young,” Deborah said, and he nodded. “And this place made you remember something?”

He jerked as if she’d spit in his face. “I don’t-it isn’t a memory,” he said. “It was a dream. It had to be a dream.”

Deborah nodded very understandingly. “What was the dream about, Jerry?”

He shook his head and stared at her with his jaw hanging open.

“It might help you to talk about it,” she said. “If it’s just a dream, what can it hurt?” He kept shaking his head. “What was the dream about, Jerry?” she said again, a little more insistently, but still very gently.

“There’s a big statue,” he said, and he stopped shaking his head and looked surprised that words had come out.

“All right,” Deborah said.

“It-it’s really big,” he said. “And there’s a…a…it has a fire burning in its belly.”

“It has a belly?” Deborah said. “What kind of statue is it?”

“It’s so big,” he said. “Bronze body, with two arms held out, and the arms are moving down, to…” He trailed off, and then mumbled something.

“What did you say, Jerry?”

“He said it has a bull’s head,” I said, and I could feel all the hairs on the back of my neck standing straight out.

“The arms come down,” he said. “And I feel…really happy. I don’t know why. Singing. And I put the two girls into the arms. I cut them with a knife, and they go up to the mouth, and the arms dump them in. Into the fire…”

“Jerry,” Debs said, even more gently, “your clothes had blood on them, and they’d been singed.” He didn’t say anything, and she went on. “We know you have blackouts when you’re feeling too much stress,” she said. He stayed quiet. “Isn’t it just possible, Jerry, that you had one of these blackouts, killed the girls, and came home? Without knowing it?”

He began shaking his head again, slowly and mechanically.

“Can you give me a better suggestion?” she said.

“Where would I find a statue like that?” he said. “That’s-how could I, what, find the statue, and build the fire inside it, and get the girls there, and-how could that be possible? How could I do all that and not know it?”

Deborah looked at me, and I shrugged. It was a fair point. After all, there must surely be some practical limit to what you can do while sleepwalking, and this did seem to go a little beyond that.

“Then where did the dream come from, Jerry?” she said.

“Everybody has dreams,” he said.

“And how did the blood get on your clothes?”

“Wilkins did it,” he said. “He had to, there’s no other answer.”

There was a knock on the door and the sergeant came in. He bent over and spoke softly into Deborah’s ear, and I leaned closer to hear. “This guy’s lawyer is making trouble,” he said. “He says now that the heads turned up while his client is in here, he has to be innocent.” The sergeant shrugged. “I can’t keep him outta here,” he said.

“All right,” Debs said. “Thanks, Dave.” He shrugged again, straightened, and left the room.

Deborah looked at me. “Well,” I said, “at least it doesn’t seem too easy anymore.”

She turned back to Halpern. “All right, Jerry,” she said. “We’ll talk some more later.” She stood up and walked out of the room and I followed.

“What do we think about that?” I asked her.

She shook her head. “Jesus, Dex, I don’t know. I need a major break here.” She stopped walking and turned to face me. “Either the guy really did this in one of his blackouts, which means he set the whole thing up without really knowing, which is impossible.”

“Probably,” I said.

“Or else somebody else went to a shitload of trouble to set it up and frame him, and timed it just right to match one of his blackouts.”

“Which is also impossible,” I said helpfully.

“Yeah,” she said. “I know.”

“And the statue with the bull’s head and the fire in its belly?”

“Fuck,” she said. “It’s just a dream. Has to be.”

“So where were the girls burned?”

“You want to show me a giant statue with a bull’s head and a built-in barbecue? Where do you hide that? You find it and I’ll believe it’s real,” she said.

“Do we have to release Halpern now?” I asked.

“No, goddamn it,” she snarled. “I still got him on resisting arrest.” And she turned away and walked back toward the receiving area.

Cody and Astor were sitting with the sergeant when we got back out to the entryway, and even though they had not remained where I told them to, I was so grateful that they had not set anything on fire that I let it go. Deborah watched impatiently while I collected them, and we all headed out the door together. “Now what?” I said.

“We have to talk to Wilkins, of course,” Deborah said.

“And do we ask him if he has a statue with a bull’s head in his backyard?” I asked her.

“No,” she said. “That’s bullshit.”

“That’s a bad word,” said Astor. “You owe me fifty cents.”

“It’s getting late,” I said. “I have to get the kids home before their mother barbecues me.”

Deborah looked at Cody and Astor for a long moment, then up at me. “All right,” she said.

IDID MANAGE TO GET THE KIDS HOME BEFORE RITA WENT over the edge, but it was a very close call that was not made any easier when she found out that they had been to see severed heads. Still, they were obviously unbothered and even excited about their day, and Astor’s new determination to be a Mini-Me to my sister Deborah seemed to distract Rita from anything approaching actual wrath. After all, an early career choice could save a lot of time and bother later.

It was clear that Rita had a full head of steam and we were in for Babblefest. Normally I would simply smile and nod and let her run on. But I was in no mood for anything that smacked of normal. For the last two days I had wanted nothing but a quiet place and time to try to figure out where my Passenger had gone, and I had instead been pulled in every other direction possible by Deborah, Rita, the kids, even my job, of all things. My disguise had taken over from the thing it was supposed to be hiding, and I did not like it. But if I could make it past Rita and out the door, I would finally have some time to myself.

And so, pleading important case work that could not wait for Monday morning, I slid out the door and drove in to the office, enjoying the relative peace and calm of Miami traffic on a Saturday night.