Leaving Daytona Beach

The RV cruised out of Daytona Beach, and Dexter saw the reason for the snarl of traffic right away; this was where the State Troopers set up their road block. From his present vantage point, he couldn't see if any of those BAU agents were there, but he imagined at least one of them were. His guess was that it would be Luke Alvez; in case he made an attempt to fight his way out.

"Last chance to back out, Dex," Deb warned. "If you have a plan B now's the fuckin' time to use it."

"No need," Dexter muttered. "This is what I want, and I know what I'm doing."

Deb laughed sardonically. "Not even God knows what the fuck you are doing."

"Of course He doesn't. He doesn't exist." Dexter countered dryly. "Now be quiet, please. The last thing I need right now is to have State Troopers and Federal Agents hear me talking to my imaginary friends and relatives. That will be what fucks this plan up."

SSA Luke Alvez stepped out of his vehicle to stretch his legs and work a kink out of his back. As he did so, he scanned the Interstate; his focus on vehicles coming out of Daytona Beach and towards the block. While there were several ways that this Dexter Morgan guy could attempt to get into Miami, Alvez was certain this was the route he was going to take. It was possible he was counting on them over thinking the scenario, thus missing the obvious; but Luke had an idea that Dexter wanted to be spotted. If he was coming in to check on his adoptive daughter, this would be the quickest way to do it. From what the files on Morgan said, he was nothing if not efficient; almost to the point of total emotional detachment. It was a little disturbing, when Luke thought about it.

So far he saw nothing remarkable; but then made sense, too. Their guy had spent years evading any kind of detection, and that meant he knew how to blend in. Of course, nobody was actually looking for him, but to be able to avoid being recognized for that long still said a lot about the guy. Even Garcia seemed impressed at how well his tracks were covered. He and Garcia might play at disliking each other, but they both knew how good they each were at their jobs; Luke was sure their banter was tempered with a great deal of respect.

He watched as the State Troopers went through the motions; one after another each vehicle they stopped was let through after a fairly routine set of questions. Eventually an RV, neither 'new' nor 'old', but perfectly maintained approached them. They stopped it, and had the driver present his licence and registration. The driver was a Caucasian Male in his late thirties or possibly early forties with a trim dark beard, sunglasses, and a baseball cap covering a recently shaved head. One of the troopers examined the licence, gave it a second look and asked the driver a question before showing the card to his partner. She also looked at it carefully, said something to her partner, and then waved Alvez in after taking another look at the driver. Apparently they thought they had something.

Alvez made his way to the Troopers at the RV. The female Trooper handed him the Drivers' License when he got there. He took it and gave it a once over. The picture matched the look of the driver. In fact, the card looked completely legit. At first, Alvez couldn't understand what they thought they saw; until he looked at the name on the card. It read John Dough. He had to admit that sounded a little hokey; it was too hokey to be fake he reasoned. Then he looked at the picture a little closer, and realized what he was looking at; or more accurately who he was looking at. Add some hair, remove the beard, and this was a picture of Dexter Morgan.

"So you're John Dough, huh?" He said to the driver.

"Yeah," the driver replied, obviously not expecting Alvez to believe him.

"Do you mind pulling the vehicle over to the side of the road, please?" Alvez asked.

"What's this about, officer?"

The male State Trooper undid the flap on his holster. "The man made a request, sir," he said. "I recommend you do as he says."

"It's alright," Alvez said to the Trooper, not taking his eyes off Morgan. "I got this." He then said to Morgan: "Actually, it's Agent." He flipped his badge. "I'm SSA Luke Alvez of the BAU. I'm sure we can straighten everything out if you would just pull over to the side of the road, Mr. Dough. If you please."

Morgan smiled slightly, nodded amicably, and complied with the request. Alvez and the Troopers followed along with him; now they both had their holster flaps undone. Morgan had even had the courtesy to shut off the ignition, and then he waited for what he clearly knew was coming next.

"Please step out of the vehicle." Alvez ordered. Morgan complied with no argument or trouble. The Agent was almost thoroughly convinced that he predicted this guy's moves down to a T. "Dexter Morgan, we'd like you to come with us to the Station to answer a few questions." He said.

Dexter hesitated for a fraction of a second; Alvez was sure he saw him tilt his head ever so slightly to his left, and then straighten it again, as if he was hoping nobody noticed. "Sure, if that's what you want." He said, not even trying to protest his name was John Dough. "I have nothing to hide."

Alvez was only a little bothered at how easy Dexter was making this; he wondered if maybe the team was missing something. Did Dexter have a plan that they hadn't thought of? A quick profile on him did suggest he was remarkably resourceful, so it was possible. The only thing he could do now though was lead him to the car, seat him in the back seat, and take him to the Miami Metro Station while the State Troopers took down their roadblock.

In the car and on their way back to Miami, Dexter asked, "Can I ask again what this is about?"

"We'll discuss that once we get to the Station." Alvez replied.

"Am I under arrest?"

Alvez snorted lightly. Next thing this guy was going to ask was probably going to be that he Mirandized. "Not yet," he answered, "this is just a few questions, is all."

Dexter clearly registered the meaning of the tone in which he said 'not yet' and fell silent for the rest of trip.

Miami, Florida

When Dexter was finally brought into the Station, he wasn't cuffed. That had to be a good sign, Astor thought; he wasn't struggling, either. In fact he was being very cooperative. Did he get caught on purpose? She knew he was coming to Miami; she overheard the Agents talking to Batista and Uncle Joey earlier. They were also organizing themselves to do a quiet search for a new suspect – the term they used was UNSUB. Apparently their new UNSUB was Jacob Elway, the Private Dick that Aunt Deb worked for after she quit the force. What she didn't understand was why Dexter came out of hiding, and why they thought he had anything to add to their current case. Yes, Elway, if it was him, was copying Dexter, but they didn't know that; they thought he was copying that Doakes guy. Maybe they were just curious why he faked his death and why he came back after all this time. Astor was curious about that, too.

Dexter looked different; he had a trimmed beard, for one thing, and he shaved his head. It was actually a good look for him, but made for a shitty disguise, if that was what he was trying to do. He saw her as they led him into one of the interview rooms. As they did, the whole place fell dead silent; a lot of the detectives and officers looked like they just saw a ghost. In a way, she supposed they did...

Astor followed them into the hearing area of the interview room. After that, they started breaking up into groups. As far as she could tell, Dr. Reid was going to do the interview with that Alvez guy monitoring; the Boss Lady of the Feds was going with Uncle Joey and Hamelin, the Old Italian Guy was going with Lewis, and the Pretty Blonde was going with Batista and Shaw. She noticed that it seemed to her that the Agent Boss Lady and Uncle Joey were standing just a little too close to each other; she had an idea she might have to remember her name before long, especially Uncle Joey decided to really turn on the charm. She had mixed feelings about Dr. Reid doing the interview; Dexter was smart, but she was pretty sure Reid was smarter. If Dexter had anything to hide, which of course he did, Dr. Spencer Reid might be able to get it out of him. Then again, she supposed that was probably sort of the point.

Dexter Morgan looked up from his ultra-fine view of the interview room floor beneath the table in front of him when he heard the door open and saw a lanky young man with a file and long hair walk in. He couldn't help but noticed the man's socks did not match; and remembered a phase that Astor went through doing that, saying it was supposed to be good luck. From the pictures he saw when he browsed the BAU bios, he knew this to be Dr. Spencer Reid.

Wonderful; the big genius is also superstitious. How he reconciles that, I wonder.

Dr. Reid walked towards the table and sat down; Dexter found his gait strangely fascinating for a moment. While it was on the surface humble, maybe even meek, underneath the surface there was a certain hidden confidence that came just short of bravado. It was the kind of walk that Dexter imagined a man who has been through a lot would have; perhaps even a man who had done time in prison. It struck him as unusual...

"Hello, Mr. Morgan," he said, his voice soft and gentle, almost effeminate –or possibly childlike. "My name is Doctor Spencer Reid. I am with the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI. I'd like to ask you a few questions."

"You're one of those Profilers, right?" Dexter asked. "Like that Frank Lundy guy. My sister was very fond of him, you know. Was he a friend of yours, Dr. Reid?"

Dr. Reid ignored his questions entirely. Instead, he opened his file and rapidly leafed through the pages. "You were on the Forensics team in this office during the time of the original Bay Harbor Butcher case. Is that correct?"

"Yes, that is correct." Dexter replied. Maybe they'll dismiss the fact that I faked my own death and went into hiding entirely. Maybe they're just looking for some expert insight.

"Yeah, and maybe winged wallabies will come out of my asshole." Deb said from behind him and a little to the left. "Talk about fuckin' hubris, you batshit crazy fuck."

As delightful as it was to hear that his sister was up to full form back in the Station; even wearing the suit that LaGuerta helped her pick so she look 'more professional' when she was Lieutenant, Dexter disregarded her commentary, even if she was probably right.

"Along with Vincent Masuka, the Lead Forensics officer, I was on the case with Detective Debra Morgan and Agent Frank Lundy." He finished his confirmation. "In fact, Agent Lundy referred to me as his favorite forensic scientist; but I think that may have been because of my association with Debra. Those two got... intimate, you know."

Again, Dr. Reid ignored the attempt at misdirection. Dexter had to admit, he quite admired the Doctor's focus. "The evidence collected led to the confirmation and pursuit of Sergeant James Doakes of this very department as the UNSUB. Is that correct?"

That was partly because he was careless and ultimately framed himself with evidence that would have otherwise damned me. "Yes, that is correct." Dexter answered, nodding earnestly and taking care to remember the classic tells of deception so he could avoid them.

"Did you and Sergeant Doakes get along?"

For once I can tell the truth...well, mostly...

"Well, if I'm going to be honest, no we didn't."

"According to our records, he started getting especially hostile towards you specifically during that case. Let me ask you this: Why do you suppose that was?" Reid asked.

"I don't know," Dexter said. "If I understand behavioral science correctly, most psychopaths have a period or phase in which they degenerate. Maybe he was in that phase; or maybe he was afraid I was getting too close to catching on to him."

"Then let me ask you something else." Dr. Reid pressed gently. "Why is it, then, years after the case was closed, former Captain Maria LaGuerta reopened the case to investigate you as the real Bay Harbor Butcher, and is on record claiming she suspected that you in fact framed Doakes?"

"Those same records should also reveal that LaGuerta and Doakes were partners back when they were uniform cops, and that they in fact had...personal relations for awhile. Obviously, LaGuerta still had feelings for him and was desperate to clear his name. In fact, the files you're basing this line of inquiry on will also tell you that she was even facing charges of evidence tampering in order frame me." Dexter replied.

The Doctor gave a reveal of his own; he rubbed his right eye with the heel of his right hand. Dexter suppressed the urge to smile; he didn't want Reid to clue in that he realized he was winning this round. It didn't much matter what the Doctor knew, what mattered was what he could prove.

"What I'm curious about, Doctor, is what any of this has to do with why I'm here in the first place. Yes, I faked my own death and assumed several different identities since then. Does that suddenly make me a suspect for murder? I'd like to understand how that works?" Dexter pressed.

Don't press too hard, Dexter. Harry warned from behind him and a little to the right. Remember, these guys are trained to measure behavior; he could be drawing you into a trap.

"No, of course you're not a suspect." Dr. Reid said a little too gently. "But it seems that your name has come up a number of times in relation to a number of different people of interest in the case. Let me ask you; do you remember Jonah Mitchell?"

The son of Trinity; he killed his mother and possibly his sister. "Yes," Dexter nodded. "He's the son of Arthur Mitchell, the man who killed my wife. IS he your suspect? Are the rumors true?"

"What rumors?"

"That Arthur Mitchell, the Trinity Killer, was one of the Copycat's victims? That's one of the reasons I came out of hiding to check on Astor and Cody; if Trinity is dead, then it's safe."

"No, it was a different man with the same name. But Jonah did mention a friend of his father; a man named Kyle Butler. Are you familiar with him?" Dr Reid replied.

"I remember the name came up in the Trinity Investigation." Dexter confirmed. "I don't think we ever found him, though."

Dr. Reid reached into the file and produced a computer generated sketch which he placed on the table in front of him. Dexter took a look at it and saw it was an unmistakable resemblance to him as he looked back then. He remembered Quinn did a similar trick with scissors and glue years ago when he was looking into Rita's murder. "Jonah Mitchell confirmed in an interview that this is the closest resemblance to the man he knew as Kyle Butler." He said.

You're fucked now, Dex. Debra said. He just caught you in a lie.

I used the name Kyle Butler as an alias so I get in close to Arthur before I killed him. "Ok, I admit it," Dexter said finally. "I was being stupid; trying to play cop. I got hold of one of Lundy's recordings. He was looking at Arthur Mitchell as a suspect just before he got shot. Naturally it made sense to look closer, so I made up a name so I could undercover. I was going to try and find proof so I could submit it to Deb... Lieutenant Morgan so she could make the arrest. It was stupid and dangerous and I was embarrassed. Arthur killed my wife – who also happens to be Astor, Cody, and Harrison's' mother – and got away. He must have caught on to me, which means I blew the whole investigation. It was my fault. That was part of the reason why I ran."

"Almost three years later" Reid commented.

"I wanted to make sure I had enough to live on first." Dexter countered.

"I see." Dr Reid said; Dexter was quite certain that Reid didn't believe a single word he just said, but also knew he couldn't prove anything – at least not yet. "We actually found yet another connection amongst most of the victims, which also links back to you in a manner of speaking." He continued, producing yet another set of papers. The top one was a picture of Jacob Elway. "What can you tell me about Jacob Elway?"

That son of a bitch tried to fuck me. Deb said. I might have hated that skanky Hannah McKay, but even she was better than that fuckin' dipshit!

"He's a Private Investigator." Dexter replied, now getting anxious to talk to Astor. "He used to work for the Miami Metro, but then got greedy and moved into what he called 'the Private Sector' to make more money. My sister worked for him for a little while. Why? What does he have to do with anything? Is he a suspect?" He would fit their probable Profile. The question to ask is why? What would be his motive?

"While you were in hiding, did you have any contact with Mr. Elway?" Reid asked.

"No," Dexter replied truthfully, "absolutely not. After the way he treated my sister, I wouldn't give him the time of day."

"We understand he took quite an invested interest in Hannah McKay, the woman you turned in for the murder of Sal Price, after she escaped. Did you know the Copycat's latest victim was none other than Arlene Shram; a good friend of Hannah's?"

"No, I did not." Dexter answered, also truthfully. It is Elway! He must have somehow figured out what I am, and was using that to lure Hannah out. He must thought that if she believed I was alive, she'd come running into his trap.

Stay calm, Dexter, Harry advised. They wouldn't have brought him up if they didn't already suspect him, and so far they haven't said anything about what have done. Don't give them any reason to.

He's right, Dex. Debs concurred. I hate that bitch, but even I'll admit she's way too smart to fall that shit. The Feds are idiots, but Joey and Angel aren't; they've got to be closing in on that motherfucker.

He's a threat to Hannah and my children. I should be the one to stop him; permanently.

"Do you think Hannah has something to do with all this?" he asked.

"We think she may his final target," Reid admitted. "I understand you two were quite close at one time. Let me ask you; would you have happened to have any contact with her, or maybe have an idea where she might be?"

"No I haven't." He replied; telling the truth this much was a strange sensation for him. "She did talk about Argentina a lot," he offered, figuring they probably already knew that anyway.

Dr Reid collected his papers, organized them neatly in his file, and stood up. "Thank you, Mr. Morgan." He said, turning to leave.

"How is Astor?" Dexter called after him. Reid stopped and turned back around. "I heard she found the Mitchell body; I wanted know if she was okay."

"Is that why you risked coming back to Miami?" he asked.

"Well, yes," Dexter said. "After I heard the name of the victim, I thought it as Trinity, so I felt like it might be safe to come and check; just to be sure." He put on his best pathetic and worried face in mimic of the types he saw after countless hours of soap opera television.

As far as he could tell, Reid bought it. "She's fine." He said, and continued out the door.

"If that's all, can go see her now?" Dexter called after him again, the door closing behind the doctor and leaving Dexter in the room alone.

The Everglades

Jacob Elway pulled the Jeep to a stop around the back of the cabin he liberated from Alex 'One Shot' Oxford and covered it with the camouflage tarpaulin he found in the armoury located in what he guessed was meant to be a kind of bomb shelter behind the steel door. Satisfied that the Jeep was sufficiently concealed, he made his way around to the front to go inside; intending to get online and monitor all the major airports in the State in order to gauge where Hannah McKay would attempt to come in. Now that her one and only friend was killed by 'the Butcher' (and Elway was certain she would associate that with Dexter Morgan, whom had recently resurfaced as if back from the dead), and would not be able to pass up on taking revenge for his betrayal. Once he was sure she was in Florida, all he would have to do was shadow Morgan until she came after him. It wasn't exactly the plan he originally had in mind, but sometimes a guy had to improvise. All in all, even after the few minor hiccups in the operation, Jacob Elway was feeling pretty good.

Then he saw the front door of the cabin; it was ajar. Someone else had been here. Jacob drew his weapon and glanced around at all the obvious points of cover outside. Once he was sure that everything was clear, he gave the door a stiff front kick so it swung violently inwards into anyone who may be waiting behind it; stunning them. Barging into the front room of the cabin, he whirled around to check the corners, including behind the door, to find the room clear. If someone was here, betting odds said they were gone by now; if they were still here the racket he just made would have either compelled them to flee or to try to fight their way out. Still, it was best to be sure. It was possible they could be hiding if they heard the Jeep approach. First he checked the kitchen, and then the lavatory. Both rooms were clear. Carefully he ran his fingers under a lip on the sink and clutched the key to the steel door; good. The key was still there, so it was highly unlikely anyone was down there. Since he took over the cabin from the now deceased Alex Oxford, Elway did a couple of slight alterations to the chamber of the other side of that door. He removed the weapons, except for the shotgun and the three rifles on the far opposite wall of the door, and cleaned it to a sparkle. He also kept his rolls of plastic in there, as well as a machete and a hunting knife. The armoury was now his killing room. Just to be sure, he would check in there in a minute; first he had to check the bedroom.

Jacob Elway was not happy with what he found.

"YOU MOTHERFUCKING SON OF A WHORE!" he shouted.

Whoever the interloper was had definitely been in this room; and was a fucking thief to boot. His computer was gone. The fact that it was gone wasn't so much the issue; he had been careful to remove any incriminating data from its memory. It was the principle of the thing that pissed him off so much. The footlocker was also opened, and clearly been gone through. That was bad; that was very bad. He rushed to the locker and started to take inventory. It took all of three seconds to determine that everything to do with his research on the original Butcher was gone, and all things regarding his targets was also missing.

It was those damn Feds. Or it was the cops. It had to be. There was no way this was some accidental hiker or some punk kid. How did they find this place? They obviously knew who Oxford was, but how in the hell did they know where to look for him? The answer was obvious; they found this place the same way he did. Doyle must have tipped them off. Doyle wouldn't let a Federal Agent within a hundred yards of him if he could help it, so either they pressed him hard, or it was the cops. Doyle wouldn't likely talk to many cops, unless he knew they were dirty, and even then he would be selective. The only cop that Elway could think of that might be able to reach a scumbag like Doyle was...

"Quinn, you asshole." He muttered.

He had no more time than that to harbor ill thoughts; if Quinn was here, then the cops and the Feds were on their way. He could try to make his escape, but they would chase him down. He probably wouldn't even get out of the swamp before they caught up to him. So flight was out of the question. If he let them catch him, he was going to find himself in the lap of Old Sparky for sure. That left one option; fight. He scrambled to the Armoury and unlocked the door. In the fortified chamber on the other side, he grabbed the shotgun. There was no doubt he was done for, but he wasn't going to be taken alive. If he had his way, he'd even take a few of them with him...