“You think I should turn in my own son?” he demanded. “You think that looks good?”
“Yeah, I do,” she said.
“ ‘Commissioner upholds law, even when it hurts,’ ” I said in my best headline-news voice. He looked at me with an anger that was almost physical, and I shrugged. “You can come up with something better if you want,” I said.
He didn’t even try. He just stared at me for another long moment. There was nothing to hide under, so I just looked back, and finally he turned back to Deborah. “I won’t rat out my own son, Sergeant,” he said, in a voice that was almost a hiss. “No matter what you think he’s done.”
“What I think is that he’s involved in drugs, murder, and worse,” Deborah said. “And it’s not the first time.”
“That’s all over,” he said. “In the past. Alana straightened him out.”
Debs glanced at Alana, who just gave her another superior smile. “It’s not over,” Deborah said. “It’s getting worse.”
“He’s my son,” Acosta said. “He’s just a kid.”
“He’s a bug,” Deborah said. “Not a kid. He kills people and he eats them.” Alana snorted, but Acosta turned pale and tried to say something. Debs didn’t let him. “He needs help, Mr. Acosta. Shrinks, counseling, all of that stuff. He needs you.”
“Goddamn you,” Acosta said.
“If you let this play out, he’s going to get hurt,” she said. “If he comes in on his own—”
“I won’t turn in my own son,” Acosta said again. He was clearly fighting for control, but he seemed to be winning.
“Why not?” Deborah said. “You know damned well you can get him off; you have before.” She sounded very hard now, and it seemed to surprise Acosta. He looked back at her and moved his jaw, but no sound came out, and Debs went on in a deadly, factual voice. “With your connections, and your money, you can get the best lawyers in the state,” she went on. “Bobby will walk away from this with a slap on the wrist. It’s not right, but it’s a fact, and we both know it. Your son will walk, just like the other times. But not unless he comes in voluntarily.”
“So you say,” Acosta said. “But life is uncertain. And however it goes, I have still sold out my son.” And he glared at me again. “For a sound bite.” He looked back at Deborah. “I won’t do it.”
“Mr. Acosta—” she said, but he raised a hand and cut her off.
“In any case,” he said, “I don’t know where he is.”
They looked at each other for a moment, and it was plain to me that neither of them knew how to give in, and it quickly became obvious to them, too; Deborah just looked at him, and then shook her head slowly and struggled up out of the couch. She stood for a second looking down at Acosta, and then she just nodded.
“All right,” she said. “If that’s how you want to play it. Thank you for your time.” She turned and headed for the door, and before I could break the grip of the carnivorous couch she had a hand on the doorknob. As I lurched up and onto my feet, Alana Acosta unfolded her long legs and rose up from her chair. The movement was so sudden and dramatic that I paused only halfway up and watched as she slid up to her great height and sauntered past me to Acosta.
“That was rather boring,” she said.
“You’re going home?” Acosta asked her.
She bent and pecked at his cheek. The huge diamond ankh swung forward and bumped his cheek, too. It didn’t open a cut, and he didn’t seem to mind. “Yes,” she said. “I’ll see you tonight.” She sauntered for the door, and after a moment, realizing I was still staring, I shook myself and followed.
Deborah was standing by the elevator, arms crossed, tapping her foot impatiently. And evidently unaware that there was any awkwardness in the situation at all, Alana strolled right up and stood next to her. Deborah looked at her; she had to crane her neck to see all the way up to Alana’s face, but she did. Alana looked back with no expression, and then looked away as a chime sounded and the elevator doors slid open. Alana went right in and Deborah, gritting her teeth, marched in after, leaving me no choice at all but to jump in between them and hope I could stop the knife fight.
But there was no fight. The doors slid shut, the elevator lurched downward, and before Deborah could even recross her arms, Alana looked down at her and said, “I know where Bobby is.”
THIRTY-FIVE
NOBODY SAID ANYTHING AT FIRST. IT WAS ONE OF THOSE moments when the words were hanging in the air, and everybody knew what the individual words meant, but we couldn’t quite get them mentally strung together to mean what we thought they meant. The elevator hurtled downward. I looked up at Alana. My eyes were just about at her chin, and I had a very good view of her necklace. The pendant actually was an ankh, as I had guessed. It was slightly elongated and came to a point that was sharp enough to puncture skin. I wondered if she had any scars from it. And although I really don’t know a lot about diamonds, even up this close it looked real, and it was very large.
Of course, Deborah didn’t have my view of the jewelry, so she recovered first. “What the hell does that mean?” she said.
Alana looked down her nose at Deborah. Naturally, from her great height she would have to, but there was more to it than that. She gave Debs that look of condescending amusement that only the Brits can really master, and said, “What would you like it to mean, Sergeant?” And she made “sergeant” sound like some kind of funny insect, which was not lost on my sister. She blushed.
“I mean, is that supposed to be some kind of tease, to watch us little people squirm, like some kind of game?” Deborah said. “Why the fuck would you say you know where he is, when we both know you won’t tell me?”
Alana looked even more amused. “Who says I won’t tell you?” she said.
Deborah stepped to the side and slapped at the big red button on the elevator’s control panel. The elevator jerked to a stop and outside the car a bell began to ring.
“Listen,” Deborah said, stepping right up into Alana’s face—or her neck, anyway. “I don’t have time for bullshit games. I got a girl out there whose life is in danger, and I think Bobby Acosta has her, or at least knows where she is, and I need to find her before she gets killed. If you know where Bobby is, tell me. Now. Or you’re coming to the detention center with me on a charge of withholding evidence of a murder.”
It didn’t seem to impress Alana. She smiled, shook her head, and leaned past Debs and pushed the button. The elevator lurched into motion again. “Really, Sergeant,” Alana said. “You needn’t threaten me with your whips and chains. I’m happy to tell you.”
“Then quit jerking me around and tell me,” Deborah said.
“Joe has a property that Bobby’s quite fond of,” she said. “It’s rather large, over a hundred acres, and completely deserted.”
“Where?” Deborah said through her teeth.
“Did you ever hear of Buccaneer Land?” Alana said.
Deborah nodded. “I know it,” she said. So did I. Buccaneer Land used to be the greatest amusement park in South Florida, and we had both been there many times as young children, and loved it. Of course, we were yokels back then who didn’t know any better, and when an overaggressive mouse opened a place north of us, we realized how hokey Buccaneer Land was. So did everyone else in South Florida, and Buccaneer Land closed shortly afterward. But I still had a few memories of the place.
“That closed years ago,” I said, and Alana looked at me.
“Yes,” she said. “It went bankrupt and sat there for ages, and finally Joe bought it up for pennies. It’s a very good piece of commercial property. But he hasn’t done anything with it. Bobby likes to go there. Sometimes he turns on the rides for his friends.”
“Why do you think he’s there?” Debs said.
Alana shrugged, an elegant gesture that was somehow another put-down. “It makes sense,” she said, sounding like she hoped Deborah knew that word. “It’s empty, completely isolated. He likes it there. And there’s an old caretaker?
??s cottage on the property he’s kept fixed up.” She smiled. “I believe he takes girls there from time to time.”
The elevator thumped to a stop. The doors slid open and a dozen people began to stampede inside. “Walk me to my car,” Alana said above the crowd, and she moved forward through the pedestrians with absolute confidence that they would melt away at her approach. Somehow, they all did.
Deborah and I followed her, not quite so easily, and I took an elbow to the ribs from a large middle-aged woman, and then had to stop the closing door with my hand before I managed to get off the car and into the building’s lobby. Debs and Alana were already at the far side of the lobby, walking briskly toward the door to the parking garage, so I had to hurry to catch up.
I caught them just as they were pushing through the door to the garage and heard the tail end of what sounded like a rather querulous question from Deborah. “… supposed to believe you?” she was saying.
Alana moved briskly through the door and into the parking area. “Because, ducks,” she said, “Bobby is jeopardizing everything I have worked for.”
“Worked?” Deborah said scornfully. “Isn’t that kind of a strong word for what you do?”
“Oh, I assure you, it’s work,” Alana said. “Starting at the beginning, with My Recording Career.” She said the words like they were the title of a foolish and boring book. “But believe me, a musical career is very hard work, especially if you have no talent, like me.” She smiled fondly at Debs. “A great deal of it involves fucking terribly unpleasant people, of course. I’m sure you’ll grant me that that isn’t easy.”
“A lot harder than turning in your own son, I guess,” Debs said.
“Stepson, actually,” Alana said, totally unfazed. She shrugged and stopped beside a bright orange Ferrari convertible parked by a No Parking sign. “Bobby and I never really got on, no matter what Joe thinks. And in any case, as you so cleverly pointed out, with Joe’s money and influence intact, Bobby will certainly walk away from this. But if this situation is allowed to escalate, we could lose all that. And then Bobby will serve hard time, Joe will neglect business and go broke trying to get him out, and I will have to try to find a new way to make a living, which would be much harder now, as I’m afraid I’m a few years past my prime.”
Deborah looked at me with a frown, and I frowned back. What Alana said made sense, of course, especially to someone untroubled by human feelings, like I used to be. It was clinically cold reasoning, serpentine but clear, and that certainly fit what we were coming to know about Alana. And yet—something was wrong with it, whether it was the way she said it or something else, I couldn’t say; it didn’t quite add up for me.
“What will you do if Joe finds out you’ve told us?” I asked Alana.
She looked at me, and then I knew what was wrong, because I saw something very dark and leather-winged at the back of her eyes, just for a moment, before the cover of icy amusement slid back into place on her face. “I shall make him forgive me,” she said, and her lips turned up higher in a wonderful fake smile. “Besides, he won’t find out, will he?” And she turned to Deborah. “This will be our little secret, all right?” she said.
“I can’t keep this a secret,” Deborah said. “If I take the task force into Buccaneer Land, people are going to know.”
“Then you must go alone,” Alana said. “ ‘Acting on an anonymous tip’—isn’t that how they say it? You go alone, without telling anyone. And when you show up with Bobby, who will care how you knew where he was?”
Deborah stared at Alana, and I was quite sure she would tell her the idea was ridiculous, out of the question, an unacceptable deviation from police procedure, and far too dangerous. But Alana curved her lips and raised an eyebrow, and there was no question now that it was a challenge. And just to be sure a dullard like Debs couldn’t miss that, Alana said, “Surely you can’t be afraid of one young man? You have a lovely pistol, after all, and he’s quite alone and unarmed.”
“That’s not the point,” Debs said.
All the amusement left Alana’s face. “No, it’s not,” she said. “The point is that you must go alone or there will be a huge fuss and Joe will find out I told you, and in truth I really don’t wish to risk that. And if you insist on taking a team out there and making a great bloody riot of it, I shall go warn Bobby that you’re coming and he’ll be in Costa Rica before you can do a thing about it.” The dark wings fluttered in her eyes one more brief time, and then she forced a smile back onto her face, but it still wasn’t very pleasant. “What’s the expression? ‘My way or the highway.’ All right?”
I could see a lot of other options besides taking the on-ramp to Alana’s particular road, and I certainly didn’t like the idea of going into a deserted and hostile environment and trying to catch Bobby Acosta without considerable backup, merely because Alana said he was alone and unarmed. But apparently Deborah was made of sterner stuff, because she just looked back, and after a moment she nodded.
“All right,” Debs said. “I’ll do it your way. And if Bobby’s there, I don’t have to let Joe know how we found out.”
“Brilliant,” Alana said. She opened the Ferrari’s door, slid onto the seat, and fired up the engine. She revved it twice for effect, and the thick concrete walls of the parking garage trembled. She gave us one last cold and terrible smile—and once again, just for a second, I saw the shadow flutter behind her eyes. Then she closed the door, put the car in gear, and was gone in a wail of rubber.
Deborah watched her go, which gave me a little time to recover from my encounter with the inner Alana. It surprised me that I was shocked to find a predator in such a cool and beautiful package. After all, it made a great deal of sense. From what I knew about Alana, her biography told a ruthless story, and as I knew very well, it takes a special kind of person to slip the knife in so many times, and apparently so well.
And at least it made sense of her betrayal of Bobby Acosta. It was precisely the right sort of move for a dragon trying to protect her hard-won golden nest; in one clever stroke she safeguarded the treasure and eliminated a rival. Very sound gamesmanship, and the dark part of me admired her thinking.
Debs abruptly turned away from the sound of the vanishing Ferrari and headed for the door back into the lobby. “Let’s get it done,” she said over her shoulder.
We hurried back through the building and out the front door to Brickell Avenue without conversation. Deborah had angled her car in at an illegal spot by the curb in a perfect job of Cop Parking, and we climbed in. But in spite of her haste coming to the car, she didn’t start the engine right away. Instead, she put her forearms on the steering wheel and leaned forward with a frown.
“What?” I said at last.
She shook her head. “Something just isn’t right here,” she said.
“You don’t think Bobby is there?” I said.
She made a face and didn’t look at me. “I just don’t trust that bitch,” she said.
I thought that was very sensible. I knew quite well from my glimpse into Alana’s real self that she could only be trusted to do what was best for Alana, no matter what the consequences might be for everyone else. But secretly helping us put Bobby in jail seemed to fit her agenda nicely. “You don’t need to trust her,” I said. “But she is acting in her own self-interest.”
“Shut up, okay?” she said, and I shut. I watched Deborah drum her fingers on the wheel, purse her lips, rub her forehead. I wished I could find some similar twitch to fill the time, but nothing occurred to me. I did not like the whole idea of the two of us trying to corner Bobby Acosta. He didn’t seem particularly dangerous—but of course, most people thought the same thing about me, and look where that got them.
Bobby might not be deadly—but there was too much about the situation that was unknown and gravely random. And to be perfectly honest, which is sometimes necessary, I thought that any small chance of Samantha remaining silent would be gone forever if I showed up again with another rescue
party.
On the other hand, I knew very well that I could not let Deborah go alone. That would break every rule I had carefully learned over the course of a studiously wicked life. And to my surprise, I found that New Dexter, Lily Anne’s dad, who was working so hard to be human, actually had a feeling on the subject. I felt protective of Deborah, unwilling to see harm come to her, and if she was going to put herself in harm’s way I wanted to be there to keep her safe.
It was a very strange sensation, to be torn by the conflicting emotions of concern for Deborah and at the same time a very real desire to see Samantha out of the way somehow—polar opposites, both pulling at me strongly. I wondered if that meant that I was exactly halfway on my journey between Dark Dexter and Dex-Daddy. Dark-Daddy? It had possibilities.
Deborah snapped me out of my pathetic fugue by slapping her hands on the steering wheel. “Goddamn it,” she said. “I just don’t fucking trust her.”
I felt better: Common sense was winning. “So you’re not going?” I said.
Deborah shook her head and started the engine. “No,” she said. “Of course I’m going.” And she put it in gear and pulled out into traffic. “But I don’t have to go alone.”
I suppose I should have pointed out that since I was right there beside her, she was not technically alone. But she was already accelerating to a speed at which I began to fear for my life, so I simply grabbed for my seat belt and buckled it on extra tight.
THIRTY-SIX
I HAVE ALWAYS REGARDED IT AS AN ACUTE MENTAL DEFECT that some people think it’s perfectly safe to drive at high speeds while talking on a cell phone. But Deborah was one of those people, and family is family, so I didn’t say anything to her when she pulled out her phone. As we roared up onto I-95 she had one hand on the wheel while she dialed a number with the other. It was only one digit, which meant it was speed dial, and I had a pretty good idea who it would be, which was confirmed when she spoke.