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But I had done no more than find a relatively clean place to set down my bag when I heard what sounded like a spatter of applause coming from the perimeter. I have been at the scene of hundreds of homicides, both professionally and in pursuit of my hobby, and I have seen and heard many surprising things. I can truthfully say, however, that I had never before heard a mutilated body receive a standing ovation. I turned to look with more than a little curiosity.
Deborah was just ducking under the yellow tape, and for half a second I wondered whether she was somehow finally getting the public appreciation she so richly deserved for her years of hard toil in the service of Justice. But no—a few steps behind my sister, a perfectly tousled golden head bobbed into view, and I realized that the eager spatter of approval was actually directed at Deborah’s shadow, Jackie Forrest. She paused at the tape to give the crowd a wave of the hand and a dazzling smile, and the people around her pushed forward—not as if they meant to grab her or touch her, but more like they couldn’t help themselves, that there was just something about her that made them move closer.
I watched as Jackie traded words with a few of the eagerly, mindlessly smiling people, and I found it strangely fascinating. What was it about her that acted like catnip on these people? She was famous, yes, but so was Robert, and the crowd’s reaction hadn’t been anything like this. And she was pretty—but I could see at least three women in the crowd around her who were, quite frankly, better-looking. And yet they all surged forward toward Jackie, apparently without knowing why.
I watched as Jackie gave the crowd a few final words, a last smile, and then ducked under the tape and moved toward the Dumpster. They watched her go, unable to take their eyes off her, and I realized that I was no better. Now that I had seen a brainless and drooling crowd staring at a TV actor, I felt compelled to watch her, too. I told myself that I was just trying to understand why the unwashed mob found her so mesmerizing, but myself didn’t seem to believe it.
I finally peeled my eyes away and went to join my sister. Debs was already peering into the Dumpster with a very hard look on her face. “Jesus Christ,” she said. “Jesus Fucking Christ.” She shook her head. “You got anything yet?”
“I just got here,” I said.
“Who’s got the lead?” she said, her eyes flicking over the body.
“Anderson,” I told her,
“Shit,” she said. “He couldn’t find his ass with both hands.”
“What is it?” said a husky voice, and Jackie Forrest joined us.
“You might not want to look,” I said, but she had already pushed past me to stare into the Dumpster. Remembering Chase’s reaction, I braced myself for the inevitable explosion of horror, dismay, and vomit, but Jackie just stared.
“Wow,” she said. “Oh, my God.” She glanced at Debs. “Who could do that?”
“A lot of people,” Deborah snarled. “More every day.”
“Wow,” Jackie said again, still looking at the dead girl, and then she frowned. “So what do you do now?”
“Nothing,” Debs said through her teeth. “It’s not my case.”
“Okay, right,” Jackie said with an impatient wave of her hand. “But if it was your case, what would you do?”
Deborah turned away from the body and stared at Jackie. After a very long moment, Jackie ripped her gaze away from the thing in the Dumpster and faced my sister. “What?” she said.
“That doesn’t bother you?” Debs said, nodding at the corpse.
Jackie made a face. “Of course it bothers me,” she said, her voice rich with irritation. “But I’m just trying to be, you know. Professional. I mean, doesn’t it bother you?”
“It’s my job,” Deborah said.
Jackie nodded. “Exactly,” she said. “And right now it’s my job, too. I need to learn about this. I mean, what. You want me to go all girly-girl, and squeal and pass out?”
Deborah studied her for another long moment. Jackie studied her right back. “No,” Debs said at last. “I guess not.”
Jackie nodded. “All right then,” she said. “So if it’s your case, what do you do now?”
Deborah looked at her. Then she nodded. She jerked her head toward me. “Usually, I talk to him,” she said, and Jackie turned her violet eyes on me. I will not say that my knees went weak and wobbly, but I definitely felt like I should bow, straighten my tuxedo, and hand her an orchid.
“Why him?” she said.
“Dexter is forensics,” Deborah said, “and sometimes he gets lucky, finds something that can help me. Also”—she shrugged—“he’s my brother.”
“Your brother!” she exclaimed with what looked like real delight. “That’s perfect! So you’re the tough cop and he’s the nerd! Just like the show!”
“The preferred term is geek,” I said. “Although wonk will do in a pinch. But never nerd.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, and she put a hand on my shoulder. I could feel the warmth of it right through my shirt. “I didn’t mean to insult you. I’m sorry.”
“Um,” I said, horribly aware of her warm hand on my shoulder. “Perfectly all right.”
