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It was indeed a long wait, well over two hours. I sat in the car and listened
to the radio and tried to picture, bite by bite, what it was like to eat
amedianoche sandwich: the crackle of the bread crust, so crisp and toasty it
scratches the inside of your mouth as you bite down.Then the first taste of
mustard, followed by the soothing cheese and the salt of the meat. Next bite a
piece of pickle. Chew it all up; let the flavors mingle. Swallow. Take a big
sip of Iron Beer (pronouncedEe -roan Bay-er, and it s a soda). Sigh.Sheer
bliss. I would rather eat than do anything else except play with the
Passenger. It s a true miracle of genetics that I am not fat.
I was on my third imaginary sandwich when Deborah finally came back to the
car. She slid into the driver s seat, closed the door, and just sat there,
staring ahead through the rain-splattered windshield. And I knew it wasn t the
best thing I could have said, but I couldn t help myself.  You lookbeat ,
Deb.How about lunch?
She shook her head but didn t say anything.
 Maybe a nice sandwich.Or a fruit salad getyour blood sugar back up? You ll
feel so much better.
Now she looked at me, but it was not a look that showed any real promise of
lunch at any time in the near future.  This is why I wanted to be a cop, she
said.
 The fruit salad?
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 That thing in there  she said, and then turned to look out the windshield
again.  I want to nail that that, whatever it is that could do that to a human
being. I want it so bad I cantaste it.
 Does it taste like a sandwich, Deborah? Because 
She smacked the heels of her palms onto the rim of the steering wheel, hard.
Then she did it again.  GodDAMNit, she said. God-fucking-DAMN it!
I sighed. Clearly long-suffering Dexter was going to be denied his crust of
bread.And all because Deborah was having some kind of epiphany from seeing a
piece of wiggling meat. Of course it was a terrible thing, and the world would
be a much better place without someone in itwho could do that, but did that
mean we had to miss lunch? Didn t we all need to keep up our strength to catch
this guy? Still, it did not seem like the very best time to point this out to
Deborah, so I simply sat there with her, watching the rain splat against the
windshield, and ate imaginary sandwich number four.
The next morning I had hardly settled into my little cubicle at work when my
phone rang.  Captain Matthews wants to see everybody who was there yesterday,
Deborah said.
 Good morning, Sis.Fine, thanks, and you?
 Right now, she said, and hung up.
The police world is made up of routine, both official and unofficial. This is
one of the reasons I like my job. I always know what s coming, and so there
are fewer human responses for me to memorize and then fake at the appropriate
times, fewer chances for me to be caught off guard and react in a way that
might call into question my membership in the race.
As far as I knew, Captain Matthews had never before called in  everybody who
was there. Even when a case was generating a great deal of publicity, it was
his policy to handle the press and those above him in the command structure,
and let the investigating officer handle the casework. I could think of
absolutely no reason why he would violate this protocol, even with a case as
unusual as this one.And especially so soon there had barely been enough time
for him to approve a press release.
But  right now still meant right now, as far as I could tell, so I tottered
down the hall to the captain s office. His secretary, Gwen, one of the most
efficient women who had ever lived, sat there at her desk. She was also one of
the plainest and most serious, and I found it almost impossible to resist
tweaking her.  Gwendolyn! Vision of radiant loveliness! Fly away with me to
the blood lab! I said as I came into the office.
She nodded at the door at the far end of the room.  They re in the conference
room, she said, completely stone-faced.
 Is that a no?
She moved her head an inch to the right.  That door over there, she said.
 They re waiting.
They were indeed. At the head of the conference table Captain Matthews sat
with a cup of coffee and a scowl. Ranged around the table were Deborah
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andDoakes , VinceMasuoka , CamillaFigg , and the four uniformed cops who had
been setting the perimeter at the little house of horror when we arrived.
Matthews nodded at me and said,  Is this everybody?
Doakesstopped glaring at me and said,  Paramedics.
Matthews shook his head.  Not our problem. Somebody will talk to them later.
He cleared his throat and looked down, as though consulting an invisible
script.  All right, he said, and cleared his throat again.  The, uh, the
event of yesterday which occurred at, um,N.W. 4th Street has been interdicted,
ah, at the very highest level. He looked up, and for a moment I thought he
was impressed.  Veryhighest, he said.  You are all hereby ordered to keep to
yourselves what you may have seen, heard, or surmised in connection with this
event and its location. No comment, public or private, of any kind. He looked
atDoakes , who nodded, and then he looked around the table at all of us.
 Therefore, ah . . .
Captain Matthews paused and frowned as he realized that he didn t actually
have a  therefore for us. Luckily for his reputation as a smooth talker, the
door opened. We all turned to look.
The doorway was filled with a very big man in a very nice suit. He wore no
tie and the top three buttons of his shirt were undone. A diamond pinkie ring
glittered on the little finger of his left hand. His hair was wavy and
artfully mussed. He looked to be in his forties, and time had not been kind to [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]