Chapter 14 Chapter Fourteen

The waiter brought the coffee, and Deborah took a sip. "They invited me to a 72-hour briefing last night," she said. I clapped my hands. "Great. You've got your wish, what else do you need me to do for you?" In this city, within seventy-two hours of a crime, members of the homicide team meet for a meeting, where the detective in charge of the investigation and her team discuss it with the forensic experts.If Deborah is invited, it means that she is already a member of the detection team. She didn't look all that excited. "Dexter, I feel like LaGuerta is trying to squeeze me out, but there's nothing I can do."

"Is she still looking for that mysterious witness?" Deborah nodded. "She said that this new case just proved that there were witnesses in the previous case, because in the new case the murderer completed all the cutting procedures." "You hinted at her—?" Deborah's eyes wandered away. "I've already told her what I think. I said that looking for witnesses is a waste of time. The murderer obviously didn't rush to stop the dismemberment after being discovered. He just didn't think it was fun. But she just ignored my opinion. Two uniformed policemen were secretly laughing at me for my big chest and my brain."

I felt a warmth in my heart to protect my sister.Since this is Deborah's case, I'll have to think about it that way.Not for "those glamorous murders" or "that glamorous modus operandi" or "that's something like what I'm going to do in the future".I had to stay out of it, not get involved, as Harry had taught me. The killer touched the depths of my heart.I refer, of course, to his methods, not to his chosen objects.He must be stopped, no doubt about it. But...the necessity of freezing...have time to explore it in the future. Find a dark, cramped place...

narrow?Where did this idea come from? cold and narrow-- "The refrigerated truck," I said, "is just a guess. Well, not really an insight either, but it makes sense." "What makes sense?" she asked. I frowned, trying to imagine the possibility of this guess. "The murderer wants a cold environment. Slows down the flow of blood because it's, uh—cleaner. And it has to be a very narrow space—" "Why? Where did the concept 'narrow' come from?" I pretended not to hear her question. "So refrigerated trucks meet these criteria and are mobile. It's also easier to throw away the garbage bags afterward."

Deborah took a bite of the bagel and thought for a moment as she chewed. "So," it took her a long time to swallow the food, "the murderer can get in a van? Or does he have one of his own?" "It's possible. It's just that last night the murderer showed traces of refrigeration for the first time." "You mean he might have bought a van?" "Probably not. It may just be his experiment. It may well be that he wanted to try refrigeration on a whim." She nodded. "So if his career is driving refrigerated trucks, we're lucky, aren't we?"

I smiled at her. "Oh, Deborah. You've been thinking fast enough this morning. Yes, I'm afraid our friend is too shrewd to be in that line of business." Deborah took a sip of coffee, then put the cup down and leaned back in her chair. "Then let's go find the stolen refrigerated truck," "That's all I'm afraid," I said, "but how many refrigerated trucks have been stolen in the last twenty-four hours?" "In Miami?" she snorted, "every time a car gets stolen, someone gets word out that it's worth stealing. So it doesn't take long before all the petty gangsters, exiles, drug addicts, and teenage mafia To steal is for comparison."

"Let's hope it hasn't been said," I said. Deborah swallowed the last of the bagels. "I'll look it up," she said.Then she reached over to the table and squeezed mine. "Thank you so much," she said, and smiled at me for a second or two, a shy, hesitant smile. "But, Dexter, I'm really worried about how you came up with this idea. I just..." She looked down at the table and squeezed my hand again. I squeezed her back too. "Leave your worries to me and go find the truck."