Chapter 8 Chapter 6 Father Santley

A blood-spatter-free crime scene is supposed to be my time to zoom in, but I'm not in the mood to lighten up.I searched around for a while, going in and out of the tape, but couldn't find anything special.Deborah didn't seem to have much to say to me either, which made me feel lonely and bored. A normal person would be forgiven for having a little tantrum, but I'm not a normal person, so I don't have that right.Maybe I should do what I want, think about the important things I care about, children, meal planning, Paris, lunch... There are so many things, no wonder the nightcrawler is a little bit depressed.

I took another look at the two burnt bodies.They have not become more evil, they are still dead.But the Night Walker remained silent. I walked back to where Deborah was standing and she was talking to Angel.They looked at me expectantly together, but I couldn't offer any insight, which made me look very uncool.I'm trying to keep myself from turning green when Deborah looks over my shoulder and snorts, "It's fucking time." I followed her gaze, a police car had just stopped, and a man in white got out of the car. Father Shantley from the Miami area arrived. Our city has always had a climate of cronyism, and corruption would make "Boss Tweed" jealous.Millions of dollars are spent every year on bogus consulting fees, vast overruns, and projects lingering because they've been contracted to someone's mother-in-law.Other money is spent on important things that benefit the people of one side, like buying luxury cars for politicians’ superfans.Therefore, it is quite normal for such a city to provide salary and benefits to Father Shantley.

But surprisingly, he earns his own money. Every day at sunrise, the priest would appear in the courthouse, and he would often pick up the corpses of one or two small animals used for sacrifice. Their masters killed them to pray for their pending important lawsuits.No normal Miami resident would touch these things.Of course, it is always indecent to expose the corpses of these small animals in front of the Judiciary in Miami, so the priest will remove these offerings, as well as the agate fragments, feathers, beads, amulets and pictures that people discard, he will be careful not to offend. Orisha - the god of guidance of Shantli.

From time to time he was asked to perform rituals on important occasions, such as praying for a low-cost overpass project, or casting a spell on the New York Jets.It must have been invited by my sister Deborah to appear on the scene at this moment. The priest was a black man of about fifty, six feet tall, with long nails and a big belly.He wore white trousers, a white Cuban shirt, and sandals.He lumbered out of the police car with an impatient expression on his face, as if a small government clerk had been interrupted halfway through his important filing work.As he walked, he fished out a pair of black tortoise-rimmed glasses from under his shirt.He put on his glasses and walked to the corpse, and when he saw clearly what was in front of him, he stood still.

He stared at it for a while, then stepped back, his eyes still fixed on the body.When he was back about 30 feet away, he turned and walked to the police car and got inside. "What the fuck is this?" Deborah said, and I kind of agreed with her summary of the situation.The priest slammed the car door, sat in the front seat, stared straight ahead and remained motionless.After a while, Deborah muttered: "Damn." She walked towards the police car, and I followed curiously. Deborah was tapping on the passenger side window when I walked over, but the priest was still staring straight ahead, his teeth clenched, his face stern, and he pretended not to notice Deborah.Deborah knocked harder, and he shook his head. "Open the car door." She said, her tone seemed to say "hand in the gun and don't kill".The priest shook his head harder, and Deborah knocked harder on the window. "Open the door!" she said.

Finally, he rolled down the window. "It has nothing to do with me," he said. "What the hell is that?" Deborah asked him. He just shook his head. "I have to go back to work," he said. "Did Paro Mayobi do it?" I asked him.Deborah gave me a glare when I interjected, but my question was normal.The Paro Mayobe are a mysterious offshoot of Shantelli, and although I know next to nothing about them, in my own amateur research some very brutal homicides seem to be connected to them, which intrigues me multiply. But the priest shook his head. "Listen," he said, "there's something in this case that you don't know and don't want to know."

"Is it with those cases?" I asked. "I don't know," he said, "maybe." "How can you help us?" Deborah asked. "I can't help because I don't know anything," he said, "but I don't like this and I don't want to touch it at all. I have other important things to do today, and I have to tell the police Let's go." He rolled up the window. "Shit," Deborah said, looking at me accusingly. "Hey, I didn't do anything," I said. "Damn," she said again, "what the fuck did you mean?"

"I really don't know anything," I said. "Really?" she said, looking utterly incredulous, which was ironic.I mean, people always believe me when I lie, but when I'm really confused, my dear girl doesn't believe me.The priest's reaction seems to be the same as that of the night walker. What does this tell me? I noticed that Deborah was still staring at me, her expression was extremely dissatisfied, and I couldn't continue my deep thinking. "Have you found the missing head?" I asked, thinking it was a pertinent question. "If you see what he did to the head, maybe you can learn more about the case."

"Not found, not a single head. I found nothing but a brother who babbled at me." "Deborah, really, that look of constant disbelief isn't good for your facial muscles. You're going to get creases." "Besides the long folds, maybe I can catch the murderer." She said and walked towards the two charred corpses. Since I'm pretty useless, or so my sister thinks, there's really not much I can do in the field.I packed up my inspection kit, took a few black, dry scabs from around the necks of the two corpses, and headed home.There is still enough time for lunch.

But, alas, hapless Dexter must have been marked on the back, so there was always trouble.I had just cleared my desk and was about to plunge into the rush of get off work when Vince Masoka slipped into my lab. "I just talked to Manny," he said. "He'll see us tomorrow morning at ten." "That's great news," I said, "and if you tell me who Manny is and why he wants to see us, make it even better." Vince looked at me like he was aggrieved, which was one of the few sincere expressions I saw on his face. "Manny Polk," he said, "golden meal planner."

"The one on the music channel?" "Yeah, that's him," Vince said. "The guy has won all the awards and been in Gourmet." "Oh, yes," I faltered, stalling for time, hoping for a sudden inspiration that would allow me to escape this terrible fate, "an award-winning chef." "Dexter, he's really famous. He can rock your whole wedding." "Well, Vince, that's great, but—" "Listen," he said, in a tone I'd never seen him do before, "you said you'd talk to Rita and let her decide." "Did I tell you?" "You said it! I won't let you pass up such a precious opportunity, especially since I know Rita will like this very much." I don't know how he could be so sure.After all, I am the one who is engaged to this woman. I don't know what kind of chef can make her happy, so how can he know.But I don't want to ask right now how he knows what Rita wants and doesn't want.And after all, a man who dresses up as banana girl Carmen Miranda for Halloween must know better than I what kind of chef my fiancée wants. "Okay," I said, determined to delay, "I'll go home and talk to Rita about this." "Hurry up." He said and left.He wasn't angry when he left, but he slammed the door anyway. I cleared my desk and headed out into the traffic.On the way home, a middle-aged man driving a Toyota SUV honked behind me for some reason.Five or six blocks later he passed me, and as he passed me he twisted the steering wheel toward me and I was forced onto the sidewalk by his feint.Although I admired his temperament and would gladly accompany him in a fight, I drove honestly.No need to reason with Miami drivers, just relax and enjoy the violence.Of course, I'm pretty good at this, so I just smiled and waved at him, and he slammed on the gas and disappeared sixty miles over the speed limit. Under normal circumstances, I think this kind of chase on the way home at night is the best way to end a stressful day of work.Witnessing those rages and murderous urges always calms my nerves and gives me a sense of being back at home.But tonight, it is difficult for me to mobilize a happy mood.I never thought I would have this reaction, but in fact, I was very worried. To make matters worse, I don't know what I'm worried about, except that the Nightcrawler is using silence tactics on me at that murder scene.It's never been like this before, and I can only believe that something out of the ordinary has happened that could threaten Dexter's life.But what is it?And how can I be sure that's the case?I don't even know what Nightcrawler itself is, except that it's always there to give me inspiration and advice.We've seen charred corpses and lots of ceramics before, and never had such an unusual reaction.Is it because of the combination of two things?Or is it a complete coincidence that has nothing to do with what we're seeing? The more I thought about it, the more confused I was, and the traffic roared around me as always, with the comforting spirit of killing.So when I got to Rita's, I pretty much reassured myself that there was nothing to worry about. Rita, Cody, and Astor are already at home.Rita is much closer to home than I am, and the kids are back from after-school activities at a nearby park, so they've spent at least half an hour recharging their batteries, waiting to torment my hard-won nerves . "It's on the news." Astor whispered when I opened the door, and Cody nodded and said in a soft, hoarse voice, "Disgusting." "What's on the news?" I said as I pushed past them, careful not to step on them. "You burned it!" Astor hissed at me, and Cody looked at me blankly, almost accusingly. "Me what? Who did I put—" "The two who were found in the academy," she said. "We don't want to know about that," she emphasized, and Cody nodded again. "In—you mean college, I didn't—" "University is college," Astor said with the confidence of a ten-year-old girl. "We think burning people is disgusting." It dawned on me what they had seen on TV—the crime scene report, where I had just taken charred blood samples from two charred bodies this morning.Apparently, just because they knew I was out that night, they concluded that's what I was out for.Even if the Night Walker didn't retire, I personally think it's disgusting, and it makes me so angry that they think I'm going to do something like that. "Listen," I said sternly, "that's not—" "Dexter, is that you?" Rita screamed from the kitchen. "I'm not sure either," I yelled back. "Let me check my ID." Rita rushed out excitedly, and before I could defend myself, she hugged me tightly, obviously trying to squeeze me to death. "Huh, handsome," she said, "how are you doing today?" "Disgusting," Astor whispered. "Excellent," I said, struggling to catch my breath. "Everyone saw enough dead bodies today. I used cotton swabs, too." Rita grimaced. "Ugh. That's really—I don't know if you're supposed to say that in front of the kids. What if they're having nightmares?" If I was being absolutely honest, I would tell her that her two children are less likely to have nightmares themselves and more likely to cause nightmares to others.But since I didn't have to tell the truth, I just patted her and said, "It's worse than what they see in cartoons every day, isn't it, kids?" "No," Cody said.I looked at him in surprise.He almost never speaks.It's a little unnerving at the moment that he's not only talking but targeting me.In fact, it's been a really awkward day, from Nightcrawler's frightened ass running away this morning, to Vince's tirade about the cook, and now this again.What dark and terrible things are going on?Or is my aura gone?Or is it because of my unlucky time that I made a conflict with someone? "Cody," I said, wishing there was sadness in my voice, "you're not going to have nightmares about this, are you?" "He never had nightmares," said Astor, as if everyone with an intact brain should know that. "He never had any dreams." "That's good," I said, because I hardly ever dream myself, and it seemed the more I had in common with Cody the better.But Rita didn't understand the mystery at all. "Well, Astor, don't be a fool," she said. "Of course Cody dreams, and everybody dreams." "I won't," Cody insisted.Not only was he targeting the two of us right now, but he was breaking with his own tradition of reticence.Despite my own lack of emotion, I felt a fondness for Cody and wanted to lean over and take his side. "It's good for you not to dream," I said. "Never mind that. People overstate the power of dreams, and they just make you restless at night." "Dexter, actually," Rita said, "I don't think we should encourage him to do that." "Of course we should," I replied, winking at Cody. "He's showing anger, courage, and imagination." "I haven't," he said, and I was almost in awe of his verbal prowess. "Of course you didn't," I whispered to him, "but we have to tell your mother that, or she'll be worried." "My God," Rita said, "I don't care about you two. Go play outside, kids." "We want to play with Dexter," Astor pouted. "I'll be there in a few minutes," I said. "You'd better hurry up," she said viciously.They disappeared down the hallway leading to the backyard.After they left, I took a deep breath, thankful that the unprovoked and vicious attack finally passed temporarily.Of course, I should have known this was going to happen. "Come here." Rita took my hand and sat down on the sofa. "Vince just called," she said. "Really?" I said, feeling suddenly dangerous at the thought of what he might say to Rita. "What did he say?" She shook her head: "He's quite mysterious. He said we'd tell him as soon as we finished talking. I asked him what he wanted to talk about, but he refused to say, just said you would tell me." I tried my best not to say that idiotic interlude "yeah" again.To be honest, I admit that my mind has become a mess, trying to find a place to hide in horror, and thinking that I have to pay Vince with my small bag of toys before I run away.But before I could make a conscious choice, Rita continued, "Honestly, Dexter, you're lucky to have a friend like Vince. He takes the task of being best man very seriously, and his taste Pretty good." "Pretty expensive, too," I replied, almost saying the almost humiliating "Is it?"But as soon as I said that, I realized that my mistake was even worse, because Rita's whole body was beaming like a Christmas tree. "Really?" she said. "Oh, I think he does. I mean, taste and price go hand in hand, don't you? You get what you pay for, usually." "Yes, but the question is how much you have to pay," I said. "Pay for what?" Rita said.Then I got stuck. "Ah," I said, "Vince has this fantastic idea that he wants us to use his 'South Coast Celebrity Chef,' which is very expensive and makes banquets for a lot of celebrity parties and things like that." Rita slapped her hands, resting her hand on her chin, with a happy expression on her face. "Wouldn't it be Manny Polk!" she cried. "Vince knew Manny Polk?" Having said that, everything has been decided, but the indomitable Dexter will not lose without a fight, even if he is dying. "Did I never say he was expensive?" I said hopefully. "Oh, Dexter, you can't worry about money at a time like this," she said. "I can. I'm worried." "But if you can get Manny Polk, it shouldn't be about the money," she said, with surprising surprise in her voice.I've never heard her like that before, except when she was mad at Cody and Astor. "Yeah, but Rita," I said, "was irrational to spend so much money on food and beverages." "Sanity has nothing to do with this," she said, and I wholeheartedly agree with her, "We'd be crazy if we couldn't get Manny Polk to be the catering planner for our wedding." gone." "But..." I said, and stopped, because the idea of ​​spending a lot of money on small biscuits with hand-painted bitter cabbage and sauerkraut juice to end up like Jennifer Lopez was a miracle in itself. Stupid.Other than that, I can't think of anything else to say.I mean, aren't those reasons enough? Obviously not enough. "Dexter," she said, "how many times will we be married?" It's better not to say anything. I quickly changed course and said, using the skills I have learned over the years of studying and trying to imitate people: "Rita, the important part of the wedding is the moment I put the ring on your finger. I don't care after that." What to eat." "That's sweet," she said, "so you don't mind if we hire Manny Polk?" Once again I lost an argument before I figured out where I stood.My mouth feels parched, and it must be because I've opened my mouth wide open for too long, while my brain is desperately struggling to make sense of what just happened, and try to say something smart to save the day. But it's too late. "I'm calling Vince," she said, and leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. "Oh, this is exciting. Thank you, Dexter." Alas, well, whoever makes marriage means compromise.