Dexter's Final Cut: A Novel by Jeff Lindsay

Author:Jeff Lindsay [Lindsay, Jeff]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780345802583
Amazon: B00C0ALYDA
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2013-09-17T00:00:00+00:00

TWENTY

IT WAS ANOTHER HALF AN HOUR BEFORE I GOT PATRICK TUCKED snugly away in the nearest deep hole, with a large anchor securely wired to his legs. I always have an extra anchor; they come in so handy, in so many common boating situations. I like to pick them up at garage sales whenever I can, because you never know when you might need to set out an extra anchor, or give aid to a distressed fellow mariner, or hide a freshly killed body. It was a good heavy Danforth storm anchor, and I was confident it would hold him down there until the crabs had eaten him away to the bare bones. And if he did somehow bob up to the surface, it would be at some time in the future when Dexter was far away and completely innocent, and they could never trace the anchor, nor connect me to the unrecognizable fish-nibbled body, to whom I had never, after all, been formally introduced.

And it may well be that I should not have felt so very good about my strange sunlit interlude. It had been done much too quickly, and it had been done with a terribly clumsy tool, and worse, it had been done without any of my So Very Important rituals—but it had been done, and Jackie was safe, and I was now free to reap the bounty of my diligent labors. I could relax in luxury without a care, enjoying mojitos, tournedos, and sunsets over the bay, with never a care. Patrick was gone for good.

And I did not worry about anyone finding his body. It was well hidden, I could never be connected to it, and all was roses and rainbows in Dexterville. I was so wrapped up in my afterglow of complete contentment that I did not worry about anything at all, in fact, until I had cruised back up the canal to the dock—very slowly this time, earning me a grumpy nod from the shirtless old man. It was not until I had tied off the boat and started to trudge across the lawn toward my car that I glanced at my watch—and then, at last, I began to worry.

The short hand was pointing to the three and the long one to eleven, and it took only a moment of brilliant detective work to realize that it meant the time was five minutes of three, and I was going to be late to my alibi.

I hurried to my car and drove away down the little street in a way that no self-respecting shirtless old man could ever approve. Happily, no one was out on the street to see me, and in only a few minutes I was out onto Main Highway, over to Douglas, and then turning left on Dixie Highway.

Traffic was not heavy, but it was still another twenty minutes before I pulled into a space in the school parking lot. I went as quickly as I could without running, up the

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