Dexter
No Good Deed Goes Unpunished
By A. Rhea King
Chapter 1
I stopped my car outside the shack and killed the engine. I'd prepared this place hours ago for Gregory Hewitt, a pedophile serial killer. He got away with it because he had an alibi – logs showed he was logged into his work computer at the time of the murders. But I know he wasn't at work. He'd slipped out where there were no cameras, he'd killed them, and now he had to be killed.
Climbing out of the cool interior of my car into the muggy, humid Florida night was a slight shock to the system. It made me grab a breath and deeply inhale. I walked around to the back of the car and opened the trunk, and paused to stare at my victim. He would be out for another thirty minutes. That was plenty of time to prepare him for his final moments. I hefted him up on my shoulder, closed the lid and carried him inside, shutting the door behind me.
#
Abriella Juen struggled against the duct tape binding her hands behind her back. She felt around the trunk until her hand slipped across some sharp corner. She moved the tape over it and sawed until it broke free. She felt around the small, enclosed space, trying to find the emergency handle. But it was too dark for that. She realized she still had duct tape over her mouth and ripped it off. It sent sharp pain across the skin as the sticky backing tried to pull it away too. She searched again for the emergency handle.
The car came to an abrupt halt, tossing her against the back of the trunk. She rolled over, in a panic to find the lever. The lid opened and the snarling face of her husband, Carter Juen, stared down at her. He grabbed her wrists, lifted her out of the trunk, and dropped her on dirt but didn't let go of her left wrist. She hit and punched and kicked as he pulled her to her feet. He grabbed her hair, yanking back hard, putting her in an awkward position that made it impossible to fight.
"Did you really think you'd get me arrested?" he asked her.
"BASTARD!" she screamed, yanking her head forward. She liked her long hair, but she would tear it out to save her life.
The action caught him off guard and he stepped back. She turned and in a quick motion slammed her knee into the soft, warm spot of his groin, shoving his testicles against the pelvic bone. He lost his grip on her arm to grab his crotch. Freed, Abriella took off running. In the distance she saw buildings.
"I'M GONNA KILL YOU FUCKING BITCH!" he screamed behind her.
She didn't look back. She focused on her breathing, on her legs pumping, like she did on the five-mile run she took Monday through Friday. Her run took her through deserted factory buildings.
She heard her husband behind her, closing in with longer strides. He was a runner like her; they had met running through a park when he'd run into her. There had been connection, dating, a proposal, marriage, abuse, and a son.
Abriella quickly shook the memory of her son out of her head. She had to stay focused if she wanted to stay alive. She ran out of a building and saw a maintenance shack with light coming through cracks. She zoned in on it.
#
The kill had been a good one. Satisfying. Greg threatened me until I plunged the knife through his aorta. It was soothing to feel the bone saw cut through the muscle and bone of his limbs.
I was focused. Centered. At peace.
(In hindsight, perhaps I was a little too focused, too centered, and too at peace.)
I didn't hear the approaching footsteps bringing change.
When the door busted open, I spun around in surprise. The light outlined a figure. I judged from the height and proportionate chest to hip width, it was a woman. In a few days I would learn her name: Abriella Juen, but at that moment she is a stranger about to see the real me.
She pawed at the plastic, found the opening, and charged head first into my world. She was average built wearing a nightgown. Her straight waist length brown hair was tangled and disheveled. Her bare feet were covered in her own blood that was slowly mixing with Greg Hewitt's blood.
She stared at the half dismembered corpse of Gregory Hewitt for only seconds, but it felt like hours before she let out a blood curdling, night of the living dead scream!
Then her eyes found me. I must have looked like a monster holding a blood-covered bone saw in my hands and my apron and face shield coated in blood and muscle and Greg Hewitt's insides. Surprisingly the next scream was louder and higher and longer than the last.
Someone else entered the shack. The outline is fuller, but not obese, and taller than the woman. The physique told me this was a man. Had he been waiting for her? Had he come to rescue her? Was I going to have to break my Code to protect myself?
Later this man would have a name too: Carter Juen.
He found the opening much faster. If the body and I hadn't distracted her, perhaps Abriella would have had time to run from him or brace to fight back. She didn't have time for either. The man lunged and slammed her to the floor. He grabbed her head and began beating it against the floor.
It was rare for me to be thrown off so much that I couldn't think of a reaction, but for a few moments that's exactly what happened. What could this woman have done to deserve being beat so violently?
Then his eyes found my tools and with the fingers of one hand dug deep into throat and strangling her, he grabbed a knife with his other handle. He turned so I could see his face. I knew that look in his eyes. He was going to murder her.
"NO! NO!" she screamed, trying to get control of the knife.
"I AM NOT GOING TO JAIL AGAIN!"
Again? My surprise and shock was gone. I had to take it on gut instinct that Carter Juen fell under the Code. I dropped the saw, grabbed another knife, and drove it into his back, sliding it smoothly between his ribs and puncturing his left lung. The man screamed, dropped his knife, and tried to grab for the one in his back as he stood. I discovered he was much larger than I was in height and width but that had never stopped me before.
Now he saw me.
He picked up a cleaver from the shelf and lunged at me. I bowed my body, compressing my abs, and the blade sliced air.
In a fluid motion I grabbed the bone saw, and moved into his next swing, making one smooth cut through his throat, vertebrae and out the other side. The man looked surprised for half a second before his head fell away, and then his body thumped to the floor at my feet.
Spontaneous murder. It always surprised me how much I enjoyed that.
A soft moan reminded me I wasn't alone. I had another problem to figure out a solution to. I turned off the bone saw, sat it down, and walked around the table. The woman was on her stomach, trying to crawl for the door, leaving a bloody trail behind her. She looked back at me. I reached out to the shelf where my tools sat.
"Please. Please don't kill me," she begged, starting to cry.
Kill her? Why would I kill her? Had I misunderstood what I'd heard? My hand closed around the small syringe next to my tools, one filled with a sedative. She tried to get up and lunge for the door. I leapt, landing on her back and pushing her to the floor. I shoved the needle into her neck, injecting the sedative. She fell asleep almost instantly.
I got up, staring down at her. She was bleeding heavily, in danger of bleeding to death. She needed a hospital, but I couldn't take her to one. Not in the middle of the night. There would be too many questions that I wouldn't be able to lie my way out of. I remembered seeing a fire station on the way here.
I guessed it was probably around midnight. If they weren't on a call, the firemen would be asleep. I could leave the emergency phone outside off the hook and one of them would come down to investigate. That was an ideal plan.
"She could destroy you, Dex," Harry's voice said. He appeared across from me, staring down at her with me.
"I know," I told him, "but she doesn't meet the Code."
"I'm proud you're sticking to the Code, son, but this is dangerous."
"I know."
I picked her up, carrying her to a bench lined with plastic. First I had to get all traces of evidence off her.
#
Nina Batista looked at the door when someone knocked. She got up from the couch and opened it. Angel glared at her.
"Forget it," were the first words out of his mouth.
Her jaw tensed with anger.
"Angel, it's a good job. A great job. It'll provide for both of us. And it doesn't mean anything. It's just a piece of paper."
"Doesn't mean anything?" he snarled. "You're asking me to say I don't want to be my little girl's father! That means a lot, Nina. She's my baby. I'm not about to give up custody just because you found a better paying job. You two have enough with your income and my child support."
"Angel, with this job we don't have to do just fine. I can pay for everything with my income and put all the child support into her college fund."
"I am not giving up custody, Nina, and you are not taking her out of Miami. That's the end of the conversation."
"Angel—"
"That is the end of the conversation." Angel turned and stormed back into the night.
Nina sighed, leaning on the door handle.
"Mom?"
She turned, finding Ally standing in the hall.
"Did I hear dad?" Ally asked.
She nodded.
"Were you two fighting again?"
Nina looked down. She didn't look up when Ally ran back to her bedroom. She shut the door and could hear her child crying. Nina leaned against the door, starting to cry herself.
#
The elevator opened and I pushed off the back with one hand, keeping a box of donuts balanced on the palm of my other hand. The day had started off well. Rita woke me before the kids were up. There had been sex. The children woke in good moods. I left on time to get donuts and arrived to find my usual parking spot wasn't taken.
I was still reeling from last night's double kill. It never occurred to me that during all this, I never once stopped to wonder what had happened to the woman. All I knew was it was time to begin searching for another victim.
I—
"Morgan," Sergeant Batista called.
I stopped, turning. Deb's desk was empty, so he meant me. He turned to me.
"Everyone else is out on cases. Put your donuts down and grab a forensic kit."
"You mean my blood kit?"
"No. I mean forensic. Masuka left us with two days notice for Las Vegas and doesn't get back until tomorrow. We got a call about a woman dumped at a fire station last night. She was beaten pretty bad, possibly raped, she's married, and no one can find her husband. Could be murdered. You're the only forensics I got right now."
And you never will find her husband, if that's who I killed last night. I have to talk my way out of this one.
"Angel, I—"
"Do I look like I'm asking? I'm you're fucking supervisor. Stop stalling and get your fucking kit!" He stormed out to the elevators.
Shit! So much for a great morning.
#
Hospitals always smell like death and bleach – not a very appealing combination. I followed Batista through the double doors of the emergency room. He flashed his badge at the nurse closest to the door.
"We were called about a possible rape."
"They're just finishing the rape kit. Wait here and I'll come get you when they're ready." She left the central 'staging area' and went into a room.
This hospital had taken lead from many across the country. Instead of curtained areas there were individual rooms. They did it to help reduce the noise, but in truth, it didn't help much. Pain and misery wasn't something you could just silence.
The nurse came to the door, motioning for us. I almost hesitated. I wanted to make up an excuse for why I couldn't go in, but that would only raise suspicion.
The nurse stopped us at the door. "She's really freaked out, guys. And men aren't high on her list of people to trust. Take it easy."
We went in and I stopped at the counter at the end of the room to set Masuka's forensics kit down. I'd processed four rapes during his other spontaneous vacations and knew what was needed.
"Hi," Batista said behind me. "I'm Detective Angel Batista, but you can call me Angel if you like." He paused.
I glanced back.
Her face was bruised and cut. There were dark bruises on her neck where the man had dug his fingers in to strangle her. Her wrists had bruises from him holding them so tightly. She was laid on her side, her hands pressed down hard against her stomach and her eyes fixed on an infinite spot on the wall. She didn't even see Batista. Was she catatonic? Is she were, my problem with her was solved. She could remain like that for years.
"Can you tell me your name?" he asked.
In a tiny, nearly inaudible voice she answered, "Abriella Juen."
I looked away when Batista smiled. "It's good to meet you."
I finally found a comb and piece of collection paper. I walked along the opposite side of the bed, watching her head turn so she could see me. Her eyes widened. Her whole body began to tremble. Silent tears started flowing. She remembered last night. She remembered me. Was this how everything ended? One loose end I had chosen not to kill because she didn't meet my Code?
"Shhh. Shhh. This is Dexter Morgan. He works with us. He won't hurt you."
I stopped and offered a smile. "I'd never hurt you." At least not with Batista in the room. "I'm going to comb your hair for trace." Even if I knew there wasn't going to be any. I had been very careful about protecting my identity before I left her at the fire station.
She jumped when Batista touched the top of her hand, looking up at him. I gently slipped the paper under her hair and began combing the long, dark brown strands. I could tell without a microscope she didn't dye her hair, this was its natural color. Something else I hadn't noticed is that it was uneven – like someone had grabbed a handful and ripped it out, say, for example, a man trying to kill her.
"The firemen said someone left the call box receiver off the hook and left you outside. Was it your attacker that left you there? Do you remember?"
She slowly looked back at me. I kept working.
"I remember running from my husband." She looked back at Batista. "Carter was going to kill me."
"Why?"
"He'd smothered our son when he wouldn't stop crying and I walked in on it. I told him I was going to call the police and before I could get down the hall, he grabbed me and hit my head against the wall. I woke up in the trunk of his car." She closed her eyes. Was she really trying to remember or did she really not remember what had transpired after that. "He stopped somewhere; I don't know where we were, and pulled me out. I got loose and ran and, uhm, then he caught up with me. He attacked me and started beating me, and then… Then…" She opened her eyes, staring at the wall. "And then…"
"And then what?"
She started crying harder. "And then I don't remember. I can't remember what happened. I don't know how I got to the firehouse."
But she did remember. She wouldn't have looked at me with such terror if she didn't. Why wasn't she giving me away?
"Do you know where Carter might have gone?"
She shook her head, looking up at him. "I don't have a clue."
He's in six biodegradable trash bags in the Gulf Stream, a feast for sea animals and bacteria alike. In a few weeks, not even a DNA test would identify him.
"Abriella, where is your son's body?"
She cried hard following that question. I pulled the paper away before it slid off and folded it. I returned to the kit and took out an envelope, wooden fingernail scraper, and another piece of paper. I'd scrape, but again, there was no trace.
"I don't know. He might still be in his crib. I don't know what Carter did with him."
Even my empty emotions were stunned by that answer. I turned, staring at her. Batista was leaning close, his hand gently cupped around her hand.
"Okay. Okay. I'll send someone over to look. We'll take him to the morgue if we find him, okay?"
She nodded. Batista stood up.
"Dexter, are you about done?"
"Just the fingernails. I don't know where her clothes are."
"I'll go ask the nurses." Batista patted Abriella's hand. "I'll leave them my card. If you think of anything or just want to talk, you call me, okay?"
She nodded.
Batista's phone rang. He looked at the screen and for a moment his face went dark with anger. Then he smiled at the woman and patted her hand.
"I'll be right back."
He left us alone. Even closed the door behind him. I took a deep breath and walked up the bed again. I slid the paper under her hands and began scraping. She was crying again, staring at me.
"I swear I won't…" she began. "Please don't kill me."
I stopped, looking in her eyes. She was terrified of me.
"If you haven't killed anyone, then there's nothing to worry about," I told her. What? Why was I telling her that? Why had I just revealed the most sacred rule of my Code to her?
She nodded. She glanced at the closed door, then back up at me.
"He is dead… I saw… His head… You did… Didn't you?"
I nodded.
She turned her head, pressing half her face into her pillow. "He killed his son. My baby. He killed him just because he wouldn't stop crying. He was colicky. Jason. His name was Jason after my father. He was so smart and…" She broke off to sob into her pillow.
I finished and folded the paper into the envelope. I watched her cry. I wanted to leave her, but I couldn't. Why couldn't I leave her?
I sat the envelope on a chair and pulled off my gloves. I reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder. She latched onto my arm with both hands. Had I suddenly gone from monster to hero? I was certainly going to have to look into this couple and make sure I'd made the right decision.
My father appeared on the other side of the bed, watching her. He looked up at me. "She knows your secret and she kept it."
"Because I killed a man that wanted her dead and she's terrified of me."
"Perhaps she's a Lila."
"A psychotic bitch out to control everyone around her?"
"Perhaps."
I looked down at Abriella. I leaned over and she looked into my eyes.
"I take my secret very seriously," I told her.
The fear snuck back into her face. "I swear to take it to my grave."
I nodded, giving her shoulder a squeeze. "Make sure you do."
She nodded.
Batista opened the door, stepping in. He smiled at me; probably glad to see I was connecting with the victim.
"We gotta go. Are you done?"
I nodded, starting to pull away. She grabbed my hand and I looked back at her.
"Will you… Leave your card? Too?"
"I don't have one."
"His number will be on the back of mine," Batista said.
Thanks, Angel. After Lila and Miguel, I didn't trust anyone who knew the real me. They took advantage of it, used me, and eventually made me kill them.
"Thank you." She let go.
I collected the envelope and kit, and we left. I didn't look back. I didn't want to encourage her to contact me for any reason.