Chapter 3

The Artist.

What an ambiguous, but apt name for this serial killer. I could see his latest work as I passed through the crowd. He was a person of refined taste and perfection. He posed his victims and then killed them through freezing or carbon monoxide poisoning.

Perhaps the thing that made me admire him the most was that he compiled a perfect police case file with forensics included. Had he once been an officer? Or was he like me and worked with the police?

Coming out of the crowd I found the latest piece of work included two young naked men frozen in a wrestling pose. On the way over I'd heard this one talked about on the radio. The killer had dubbed this piece 'The Grecian Wrestlers.' Before death these two young men's sculptured muscles would have rippled with every move. Men and woman would have stopped to watch their every move, amazed with the body of perfection. They were the perfect vision of Grecian wrestlers.

I stopped at the edge of the scene. There was one thing that his crime scenes were lacking. It was the one thing that I was called for. It was the one thing that left me wondering why Batista had insisted I show up at this one, not that I didn't want to be here. I'd seen The Artist's work in photographs and the newspaper. It was much more awe-inspiring close up.

"There's no blood here," I announced so everyone could hear me. And then looked at Batista standing nearby. "Again."

Masuka, fresh back from Las Vegas, grinned at me. "Not feeling up to the challenge?" he asked.

"No. It's just that you're back, these pieces never have blood, so why am I here?"

Batista stormed up to me, pointing with his notebook in my face. "This is not a piece, Dexter. It's a crime scene with two victims. Do not give this asshole what he wants."

His mood hadn't improved.

"Okay. But I do blood. There's no blood."

"Over there. Behind the crowd." Batista pointed toward a tool shed with his notebook.

I headed for the building, pushing through the crowd. As I passed through the fringes I could see the North wall. A message was painted on it with a rusty red colored substance. It was the right color and texture of blood that had oxidized and dried in Florida's hot, humid afternoon. I sat my kit down and snapped off photographs.

I stared at what was written: To take refuge with an inferior is to betray one's self.

He was talking about someone who had betrayed him, but who? Someone who was going to regret it, no doubt.

I picked up my kit and approached the wall. With a swipe of a swab and spritz of luminal I found blood in the writing. I looked up at the wall. The Artist had made someone bleed? Was he getting bored with his sculptures?

#

Watching the detectives… He can't be wounded 'cause he's got no heart…

They were moving around the squad room like bees, desperate to find The Artist before he left them another art piece. It wasn't going to be any time soon. After all, if he'd left something useful at a crime scene, I would have found him first, and he would be my victim tonight.

My phone rang and I grabbed the receiver on the second ring.

"Dexter Morgan."

"D… Dexter?" a woman said. She sounded uncertain.

"Yep."

There was a long pause. So long I thought she'd hung up. Then I heard a soft sob.

"I need to talk to you, Dexter."

"Who is this?"

"Abriella."

Abriella? Why was she calling me?

"We have nothing to talk about."

Another long pause. She wasn't much of a talker. "Please."

I weighed my options. It was chosen for me when Debra walked in.

"I have to go," I told Abriella. "We'll talk about this another time."

Abriella wasn't ready for the conversation to stop. "I'm being released in an hour. I'm going… Home."

"That's good to hear."

Debra motioned me to hurry. She had something important to talk to me about.

"I have to go. Call me—"

"I'm going home where my successful lawyer husband that everyone adored murdered my helpless son and then tried to kill me. How is that good to hear?" she snarled.

It was a fast turn from scared to angry, but given her circumstances, I wasn't surprised.

"I guess it's not then."

"His family hired a lawyer. He questioned me about his disappearance. I told him what I told the detective, but he didn't seem to believe it. I'm worried he's going to find something. What should I do?"

"Dex, get off. I need to talk to you," Deb whispered.

"I need to go. I have work."

She didn't hang up. She told me, "Dexter, after what I saw you do, the last thing I expected was to wake up alive in an emergency room. You must have some set of morals, however twisted. And you're used to riding both sides of the law. The worst I've done is get a speeding ticket. I don't know how to deal with this. Help. Me. If I mess up and they try to arrest me for his murder, I am not going down alone."

A threat. Abriella was continuing to surprise me. "Meet me tonight at Jim's Wing Shack on twenty-first. Eight o'clock." I hung up before she could reply and turned to Debra. "What's up?"

"Blood from the wrestler scene. What do we have?"

"Oh…" My mind was still on the call and reorganizing my thoughts took a moment. I found the report and gave it to Debra. "It was bovine mixed with a water-based paint."

"So he probably works in a slaughter house."

"No. The ratio of blood to paint you could squeeze from a roast, but a field test would still be positive for blood. The Artist just wanted us to think he'd made someone bleed, but in reality, he went to a store, bought a roast, squeezed out blood, mixed it with paint, and probably ate the roast."

She threw the results on my desk. "Fucker! I really hate this guy."

"Can you baby sit for me tonight, Deb? I have to meet someone at eight."

"A girl?" She smiled and sounded hopeful.

"Yes, but it's about a case."

Her smile dropped. "You're a blood guy. Why are you meeting someone about a case?"

"She's from county. She asked for my help on a case. Her case."

"LaGuerta's head would explode if she found out you were helping county, Dex."

"Then don't tell her."

She gave me eyes and a crazy face. "Alright! But don't be gone for hours like you did to me last time. I have to get her early."

"I won't be late. Can you be there by seven-thirty? I should be back by nine."

"Better be." She walked out.

I didn't want to meet Abriella, but it was better if I put down some ground rules with her at this point. Like never, ever, call me again.

#

I leisurely entered the restaurant, looking for Abriella. She was sitting at the back, near the exit door. Did she plan that? Her bruises looked darker than before and her hair was cut short, hiding that it had been ripped.

As I crossed the room she looked up and held my eyes. There was fear in her eyes. That's when I knew she'd chosen this seat by a door for a fast escape if she needed it. At least we had the same amount of trust in each other.

I sat down. Our eyes never left each other's. A teenage waitress came up.

"What do you want?" the waitress asked.

"A cola."

"And to eat?"

"Nothing. Thank you."

"You, ma'am?"

"Nothing for me." Abriella didn't sound scared. Her voice was steady and rich but then all I could remember of her voice was her scream. I would remember that scream forever.

The waitress left us alone.

"I've never lied while breaking the law. I don't know what to tell this lawyer."

"You haven't lied."

"I told them I don't remember after I got away but I do."

"That's not a lie, that's omitting details. Abriella, you have a concussion and were severely beaten; no jury in the country would fault you for not being able to remember things."

"But—"

"No, Abriella. Don't change your story. If you start changing it now, people ask questions and doubt your honesty."

A tear slid down her face and she dipped her head, turning it toward the wall. She was embarrassed to let people see her cry. She didn't like to show weakness.

By instinct, to get her attention, I reached out and put my hand on her arm. I felt her tense. Her fear turned to hate in an instant. She jerked back both arms and put her hands in her lap.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that, but you have to trust me Abriella."

"Trust you?" She leaned in. In a whisper that should have been a yell, she asked again, "TRUST YOU!? How the fuck am I supposed to trust you?" More tears. This time there was no shame. "I'm scared to death of you!"

That was a logical and appropriate rebuttal.

The teenage waitress returned with my drink. I smiled, but it didn't change her hesitant look. She could sense something was happening, even if she didn't know what. She sat the drinks down and hurried away. I saw her stop another waitress, whisper something, and both looked at us. I had to get Abriella under control before people came to help her and expose me.

I leaned on the table, holding her gaze with mine.

"Did you know your husband was accused of murdering two women before you?"

She stared. She unhurriedly shook her head.

"And the list of assaults on his previous two wives and multiple girl friends has to be at least ten pages."

"He was married before?"

Apparently her deceased husband failed to mention that. "Yes. He was also had been under investigation for the disappearance of two girlfriends. He would have killed you. I saved your life by killing him."

Now that's something I never thought I'd hear myself say.

"What about the man on the table? What was he guilty of?"

"Sexually assaulting and murdering eight girls under ten. He got away with it because he always said he was at work and logins and cameras showed it, but there was an exit not covered by cameras or security. He had opportunity."

She pulled napkins from the dispenser and wiped her tears. We sat for several minutes after that. She stared at the napkin, perhaps debating what to do about me.

"No one should be murdered," she whispered. "There isn't an exception to the commandment."

It sounded more like she was telling herself than me, so I didn't reply. What commandment was she talking about?

With her tears dry, she collected herself some and stated, "They weren't your first."

There was no question in it. She knew without me answering. Miguel had known. Lila had known. My father had known. We were entering dangerous, dark territory now. Was there about to be a request?

She looked at me. "You had the place covered in plastic. That would have taken time. You'd planned on that guy on the table. Carter was just a bonus, wasn't he?"

I nodded. She knew me. There was no need to lie right now.

"Why were my clothes changed?"

"You had Carter and Gregory's blood on you. Usually I'm the one that tests that, but I didn't want to take the chance someone else might – like a prosecuting attorney. I changed your clothes, nothing else. I'm not a sexual predator."

She glared at her napkin. "That makes me feel all better."

"It wasn't meant to. It's a fact."

"Are you sure what I've told people will stick?"

"Yes. If you don't change it in any way. If they press charges, you'll need a lawyer."

"I know."

I took out my wallet and dug out a business card. Batista had given me this man's card right after Doakes had attacked me in the lab, in case I needed it. I never did. That problem went away by a stroke of fate. I sat the card down on her side of the table.

"Call this man. Tell him Detective Batista sent you."

She just stared at the card.

I leaned on the table and she looked up at me.

"I've read your police record. You haven't hurt anyone. You are safe."

"Thank you for meeting with me, Dexter," she said.

There was my cue to leave. She was done with me.

"If you need anything, just call," I told her.

She picked up the card, but didn't say anything. I stood, dropped two dollars on the table for the drink, and turned to leave.

"Dexter."

I turned. She was looking at me again. There was no fear, or anger, or any emotion on her face. Why was that?

"Thank you for coming and pretending to commiserate. I appreciate it."

"Pretending?"

She stood up next to me. "Serial killers rarely feel emotions. It's all a ploy to fit in."

Who the hell was this woman? How did she know about serial killers?

She walked around me, leaving first. I was very confused by her. What did she want? What was it going to cost me? And why had I forgotten about the ground rule I'd planned to lay down?

#

Batista stopped his car outside the Juen residence, behind a moving truck. He headed up the walk, passing two movers carrying a couch to the truck. Inside he found the chaos with six more movers all giving orders. The parlor that had been neat and open was now piled with boxes and furniture waiting to leave.

"This was fast," Batista said to himself, "and suspicious."

Batista caught the arm of one of the movers. "Where's the woman of the house?"

He pointed toward the back. "In the kitchen I think."

Batista navigated through the house to the kitchen and stepped through a swinging door. This room was just as wrecked with taped and labeled boxes near the door, and half packed boxes scattered around the almost empty kitchen. But no Abriella.

He turned to leave when he heard sniffling. Batista followed it around the counter in the middle of the kitchen. On the other side he found Abriella sitting against the counter with a baby blanket clutched to her chest and a broken plate on the floor in front of her. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying and she looked like she'd slept in her clothes.

"Missus Juen?" Batista said.

She didn't look up. He crouched next to her.

"Ma'am?" Batista said.

In a trembling voice near a whisper she told him, "I broke a plate. I'm sorry. I'm sorry!"

He glanced at it and smiled at her. "It's okay. It's just a plate."

"I didn't mean to do it. I found his blanket in a drawer. Jason always liked to put his blankets in drawers. I was so startled I jumped and knocked… I knocked that plate off the counter."

"Ma'am, it's just a plate."

"But what if… What if he's not dead?" she looked wide-eyed at Batista. "What if Carter isn't really dead? What if he comes back?"

"I'm… I'm not following."

"He tried to kill me for protecting my baby. What will he do for breaking his grandmother's china?" She started crying. "Why couldn't I kill him? Why wasn't I strong enough to stop him?"

"You wanted to kill him that night?"

"I wanted to stop him! He was shaking and shaking Jason. I was his mother! I was supposed to protect him, even from his own father. I was supposed to stop anyone from hurting him!"

"Did you kill your husband?"

"No." She closed her eyes and her hands relaxed into her lap. "I was a horrible mother. I wasn't strong enough to save my baby."

Batista looked at her arms. He caught the closest one, turning it. She yanked it away, but not before he saw the thin scabs down her arms that said she'd come close to succeeding sometime in the last twenty-four hours. She couldn't be left alone.

"Why are you moving, Abriella? You got out of the hospital two days ago."

"I woke up last night thinking Jason was crying. And then I thought Carter was standing by the bed. Everywhere I look, they're there. Like ghosts." She started crying again. "I can't stay here. Is it illegal to burn your own house to the ground?" She looked up at him.

Angel smiled a little. "I'm pretty sure it is."

She buried her face in the baby blanket. "I miss my baby. I want my baby back!" She let out a low moan. "Why couldn't I see what he was? Why was that hidden in plain sight?"

"I don't know, Abriella."

Batista stood. "I'll be right back. Wait for me here, okay?

She nodded.

Batista walked into the hall where he could keep an eye on her and make a phone call.

"Hey, baby," he said to the phone. A slight smile followed. "No. It's not about Nina this time. It's about a victim on a case I'm working. I have a favor to ask…"

#

Sitting near the elevators gave Debra a view of who came and went. When she looked up from her computer and saw Nina Batista walk off, and then past her, she felt trouble brewing.

Nina walked up to her estranged husband's desk and slapped a thick packet of papers down. He looked up from the case file he'd been engrossed in. His fighting face appeared and he stood, snatching up the papers.

"I told you never to come to work," Batista told her.

"Sign them," Nina ordered.

He grabbed her elbow to lead her to the conference room. She jerked her arm away, stepping back.

"Sign them."

"No," Batista snarled. He grabbed her hand and slapped the papers in it. "Get out of here and don't ever come to my work again."

"If you don't sign them, I will force you."

"Oh? How?"

"I'll prove you're incompetent."

"You have nothing against me."

"I have plenty. Sign the papers."

"Get out."

"Sign the papers, Angel!" she yelled.

He didn't look around the room. He grabbed her elbow and held on when she tried to pull away. Batista marched her back to the elevator, tapping the button.

"We are going. You can't stop me," Nina stated.

He turned, pointing a finger in her face. "You take my daughter across the state line and I will file kidnapping charges, Nina. I won't hesitate. Don't ever come to my work again."

The elevator doors opened. He escorted her on, tapped the button for the first floor, and backed out. The two glared at each other until the doors closed. He turned and walked back into the squad room. He stopped, looking around him.

Everyone ducked his or her heads, going back to work or pretending too. He met eyes with LaGuerta. She motioned him into her office and he obeyed. The blinds went closed. Quinn and Debra exchanged a look before they went back to work.

#

Batista didn't look at LaGuerta as he sat down hard on her couch. She sat next to him, watching his face.

"She's going to keep at this until I change my mind," he told her.

"I know."

"You think I should give up custody," he said with disgust.

"I never said that and I don't think that."

He took off his hat and rubbed his head. He looked up at her. "I don't know what to do. Ally wants to go to Washington so bad. Nina's parents are offering her everything she wants. It's just a bribe."

"And she's just a teenager."

"I know! Which is why I'm so against this."

"Is it that? Or is it you don't want Nina to leave?"

"What? No!"

LaGuerta took his hand between her. "I didn't mean like that. I mean, if Nina and Ally leave, it means your life changes. You're not real good with change."

"I don't want to give up custody. I feel that if I do that… If I do that, I'm giving up on her, saying I don't want to be her daddy any more."

"So don't."

"Baby, she wants me to give up—"

"Angel, you can give her permission to go. Have your lawyers hash out the fine print. Do you think you're the only divorced parent that's had to let their child leave for a better opportunity? When you were ranting about this the other night, you admitted the school she'll go to is better than the one she's at here."

Batista stared at her face for a long minute. He leaned in and kissed her. She kissed back, tightening her hands around his. He looked in her eyes.

"I don't think you'll ever stop giving me a reason to love you," he told her.

She smiled, kissing him.

#

I walked into a trap.

The kids and I arrived at the Batista's at 6:45pm, fifteen minutes early. Cody leapt from the mini-van and ran to the door, anxious to see his adopted 'aunt' and 'uncle.' Astor was less excited. She seemed to enjoy spending time with LaGuerta, but tonight she was mad at me. I let her bring her iPod, but made her leave her cell phone at home. It had caused a big argument. I almost gave in until she stormed off to her room to put it on her dresser. That's when it hit me she was having a teenage tantrum versus a real objection – even when Rita was around I'd never been able to quite differentiate the two.

I pulled Harris from his car seat and grabbed his diaper bag, and the three of us headed up the walk.

"Be nice," I told her.

"Whatever," she answered.

"Astor."

"Okay! Geeze!"

The door ahead opened and LaGuerta stepped out to sweep Cody into a hug. I smiled when she looked up at us.

"Oh! I like that color on you," she told Astor.

And like a light switch, sullen, angry Astor became bubbly, happy Astor.

"My friend Nichole said it makes my eyes show up better. And this boy at school noticed it today."

"What boy?" I asked.

Astor ignored my question.

LaGuerta stepped back to let them in, but stopped me.

"We have an extra guest tonight. She's a victim on a case you and Angel are working, but he felt she was a danger to herself. He asked if she could stay for a while. Just don't treat her strange, he's trying to confirm if she was responsible for killing her husband or not."

It can't be…

LaGuerta moved and there in her living room was Abriella. Do I have to kill this woman to keep her out of my life?

She was smiling, until her eyes met mine. Her smile vanished. I'd never even stolen one of Astor's rare smiles that fast.

#

The neighbor children had instigated a two-block game of hide and seek, and convinced Astor and Cody to join. Since it was a Friday night, and the children were engaged in physical activity, untethered from their computers, televisions, and video games, all the parents would let them stay out till well after dark.

LaGuerta, Abriella, Batista, and I sat in plastic chairs around a plastic table, sipping margaritas. LaGuerta had drug out Harris' 'corral' but Abriella took charge of it, and him. He was busy picking at grass and trying to catch bugs. Silence had fallen around the table.

"I never got to ask you. How was group yesterday?" LaGuerta asked Abriella.

"It was upsetting."

LaGuerta leaned toward her. "I thought you liked the group."

"Did you catch that Dolphin game?" Batista asked me.

I hated football. "I missed it. Was it good?"

"It was awesome!" And he began telling me all about it. I tuned him out, paying close attention to everything Abriella had to say.

"I do," Abriella answered LaGuerta. "They're really great. It's just that a couple days ago this woman came in with fresh bruises. Last night she came in with a broken nose and arm. We tried to talk her into going to a shelter, but she wouldn't go. I saw on the news this morning the police found her in an alley, beat unconscious. She's in the hospital now, scared but still planning on going back to him." She shook her head. "This guy is such a good liar and the police believe that he didn't do it." She looked right at me, adding, "He's going to do it to her again, maybe this time kill her."

Was she asking what I thought she was asking? My pulse picked up when I thought of killing this man.

"You can't do anything about it, Abriella," LaGuerta told her. "I know you want to, but you can't."

Abriella let out a soft sigh. "Couldn't you dig around in his past? Maybe he has some skeletons you could use to arrest him for one night." She lifted her eyebrows. "Someone needs to give him his due."

The time had come, hadn't it? Like everyone else who'd learned o my secret, she was expecting payment for keeping it. But if this man was a murderer, and met the Code, was that a bad thing?

"What's his name?" I asked.

"Does it really matter?" LaGuerta asked. She was giving me her 'Shut up, Dexter!' look.

Batista stopped talking. Did he notice I wasn't listening to him?

"I could dig around on my lunch tomorrow. If there's something there, you or Batista could put him in holding for a night," I lied, "but I have to have a name for that."

LaGuerta's look vanished into a smile that spoke of how she appreciated my taking interest in Abriella's problem. She would let me get the name now.

"Devin Eskew," Abriella told me.

I gave a nod. "Devin Eskew better hope he's clean, or he'll be spending a night on a thin cot. Right?" I looked at Batista.

He smiled. It was genuine but it had nothing to do with my interest in Abriella's problem. It was about something else I didn't understand.

"Exactly, Dex. Exactly."

And if there were something in Eskew's past that met my code, he would become a problem of everyone's past.

#

I was focused on my hunt. So far red flags on Devin Eskew were popping up all over my screen. The door opening surprised me and I turned. LaGuerta walked in and I hid the windows that would give her reason to arrest Devin Eskew.

"Anything on Devin Eskew?"

"Nothing so far, but I just got started."

"Let me know if you find anything."

"You'll be the first."

She turned and put her hand on the knob. She looked back at me with a smile.

"I'm glad you came Friday. Angel didn't think you would."

"The kids had fun."

"They did. I think Abriella did too. After what she's been through and seen, she needed that."

You have no idea what that woman's seen, LaGuerta.

"You like her, don't you?" LaGuerta asked.

"I like who?"

"Abriella."

Do I like her? Hell—"No."

"You've taken an interest in her."

"It's sort of the other way around."

"Maybe when this whole missing husband thing blows over, you should try a date. I think you two click."

"We click?"

"Yes. You both have a lot in common." LaGuerta left.

"We have a lot in common?" I asked the room.

Behind me, Harry told me, "You both are about to have two men in common. She's right about that."

"Hardly what I would call even an attraction."

Harry didn't comment. I was glad for that and focused again on my victim-to-be.

"It looks like the nanny will be staying late tonight," I told the screen and Harry.