Jeff Lindsay - Dexters Final Cut: A Novel

I am deeply indebted to my research assistantsBear, Pookie, and Tinkwho helped me so very much in coming to understand preadolescent behavior. Thanks are also due to Dunny OToole and Julio S. for their invaluable assistance on security, technical background, and in-depth knowledge of pastelitas. Many thanks, too, to my many friends in The Biz for their years of moral support, friendship, and acting tips.

Thanks to my editor, Jason Kaufman, for his belief and support.

And finally, Dexter would never have happened without my agent and friend, Nick Ellison. Thank you, St. Nick. What a ride

Darkly Dreaming Dexter

Dearly Devoted Dexter

Dexter in the Dark

Dexter by Design

Dexter Is Delicious

Double Dexter

Jeff Lindsay is the New York Times bestselling author and creator of the Dexter novels, most recently Double Dexter. He lives in South Florida with his wife and three daughters. His novels are the inspiration for the hit Showtime and CBS series Dexter.

Other titles by Jeff Lindsay available in eBook format

Darkly Dreaming Dexter 9780307275103

Dearly Devoted Dexter 9780385515801

Dexter in the Dark 9780385523035

Dexter by Design 9780385530149

Dexter Is Delicious 9780385532365

Double Dexter 9780385532389

Visit: www.Dexter-Books.com

Like: www.facebook.com/jefflindsayauthor

I T ALL STARTED SO PEACEFULLY , JUST A FEW SHORT WEEKS AGO , on a lovely day in early autumn.

I had driven in to work as I always did, through the happy carnage that is rush hour in Miami. It had been a bright and pleasant day: sun shining, temperature in the seventies, the other drivers cheerfully honking their horns and screaming death threats, and Id steered through it with a blissful feeling of belonging.

I had pulled into a spot in the parking lot at police HQ, still completely unaware of the lurking terror that awaited me, and carefully carried a large box of doughnuts into the building and up to the second floor. Id arrived at my desk punctually, at my usual time. And I made it all the way into a seated position in my chair, a cup of vile coffee in one hand and a jelly doughnut in the other, before I ever for a moment suspected that today would be anything other than one more day of peaceful routine among the newly dead of Our Fair City.

And then the phone on my desk began to buzz, and because I was stupid enough to answer it, everything changed forever.

Morgan, I said into the receiver. And if Id known what was coming I would not have said it so cheerfully.

Someone on the other end made a throat-clearing noise, and with a jolt of surprise I recognized it. It was the sound Captain Matthews made when he wanted to call attention to the fact that he was about to make an important pronouncement. But what momentous declaration could he possibly have now, for me, before I even finished one doughnut, and why would he speak it on the phone to a mere forensics wonk?

Ahem, uh, Morgan, the captain said. And then there was silence.

This is Morgan, I said helpfully.

Theres a, um, he said, and cleared his throat again. I have a special assignment. For you. Can you come up to my office? Right now, he said. There was another slight pause, and then, most baffling of all, he added, Uh. Please. And then he hung up.

I stared at the phone for a long moment before I replaced it in its cradle. I was not sure what had just happened, or what it meant: Come up to my office right now? Captains do not hand out special assignments to blood-spatter analysts, and we do not visit captains offices socially, either. So what was this about?

My conscience was cleanmost mythical objects arebut I felt a small twinge of unease anyway. Could this be troubleperhaps a confrontation over some emerging evidence of my Wicked Ways? I always cleaned up thoroughlyNo Body Part Left Behind!and in any case, it had been quite a while since I had done anything at all worth not talking about. In fact, it had just recently started to seem like much too long, and the past few evenings I had been fondling my little candidates list and thinking about a new Playdate. My last Enchanting Encounter had been several months ago, and I certainly deserved another soonunless I had somehow been discovered. But as I thought back on that wonderful evening, I could remember no slipup, no lazy shortcut, nothing but painstaking perfection. Had Somebody Somehow found Something anyway?

But no: It wasnt possible. I had been meticulously neat, as always. Besides, if my handiwork had been detected, I would not have received a polite invitation to come chat with the captainwith an actual please tacked onto it! I would instead be looking up at the Special Response Team clustered around my desk, peering at me through their laser-guided telescopic sights and begging me to try something.

There was clearly some other, simpler explanation for why Captain Matthews would summon me to Olympus, but no matter how diligently I pushed my mighty brain through its paces, it came up with nothing more than an urgent suggestion that I eat the doughnut before I entered the captains august presence. It was not actually an answer, but it was a good and practical thought, and it was followed by another: It didnt really matter what he wanted. He was the captain; I was a lowly blood-spatter analyst. He gave commands and I obeyed them. That is all you know in this world, and all you need to know. And so with a rising chorus of Duty Calls skirling on my mental bagpipes, I got out of my chair and headed out the door, finishing my doughnut as I went.

Because he was a real captain, and very important in the general scheme of things, Matthews had a secretary, although she liked to be called an executive assistant. Her name was Gwen, and she had three virtues far above anyone else I had ever known: She was astonishingly efficient, unbearably serious, and uncompromisingly plain. It was a delightful combination and I always found it irresistible. So as I hurried up to her desk, wiping the residue of the doughnut off my hands and onto my pants where it belonged, I could not help attempting a very small bon mot.

Fair Gwendolyn, I said. The face that launched a thousand patrol vehicles!

She stared at me with a slight frown. Hes waiting for you, she said. In the conference room. Go right in.

It was not much of a zinger, but Gwen had never been known for her sparkling sense of humor, so I gave her my best fake smile anyway and said, Wit and beauty! A devastating combination!

Go right in, she repeated, with a face that might have been carved from stone, or at least very hard pudding. I breezed past her and went through the door and into the conference room.

Captain Matthews sat at the head of the table, looking earnest, manly, and at least semi-noble, as he almost always did. Sitting to one side of him was my sister, Sergeant Deborah Morgan, and she did not look happy. Of course, she very seldom did; between her carefully cultivated Cop Scowl and her general outlook of surly watchfulness, the most cheerful expression she had ever managed in my presence was a look of grudging acquiescence. Still, this morning she looked very much displeased, even for her. I turned my gaze to the other three people sitting around the table, hoping for some clue to my sisters malaise.

Sitting closest to the captain was a man who was clearly Alpha Dog of the group. He was about thirty-five and wore what looked like a very expensive suit, and Matthews had inclined his head toward the man in a way that went beyond deferential and nearly approached reverence. The man looked up at me as I entered, scanned me as if he was memorizing a row of numbers, and then turned impatiently back to Matthews.