Superintendent Morris called him into the office when he arrived. She was annoyed, she always looked annoyed but now she had a reason.
“You didn’t report back to me yesterday,” she said, her nostrils flaring. “May I ask why?”
Cawley stood near the closed door. He had no intention of sitting opposite her, no intention of going anywhere near her. He gave her a simple shrug.
“Well?” she snapped. “Are you just going to stand there or do you want to do your fucking job and tell me what happened?”
He had to force himself not to smile. He loved to see her angry. She was sinfully ugly at the best of times but when she was angry -- which, although most of the time, came in several degrees -- she looked like a rabid Rottweiler. He took great pleasure in making her that way, felt something innately beautiful and pleasing inside of him whenever he knew he’d pissed her off.
“Nothing to it,” he said softly. There were easy ways to annoy her but he had to maintain a tone of professionalism, give her no reason to sack him. “The bartender is lying. He’s up to something.”
“What?”
Cawley shrugged. “God knows, but I don’t think it concerns us.”
She seemed to calm down a bit. Cawley sighed internally; he was looking forward to watching her pop her skull like a microwaved egg.
“Anything else?” she demanded.
“There’s a potential lead on the outskirts of town. A woman reckons her neighbour was harbouring the bandits until this morning.”
Clarissa looked alert again, her hairy nostrils beginning to flare. “And I’m only just finding out about this now?” she roared.
Cawley shrugged, briefly wondered just why he enjoyed rattling her so much. It hadn’t always been like that, nor had it been so with his wife. He used to give a shit; he was once desperate to please, desperate to be liked. He didn’t know what turned him into the cynical, bitter man he was now, but he figured it had something to do with his wife and a lot to do with his job. The evil, mean-spirited bitch in front of him probably didn’t help either. She’d been his boss for as long as he’d been bitter. Longer. Some of his colleagues had hated having a woman as a boss, he hadn’t minded but he did mind having a ruthless, evil bitch as a boss.
“I only just found out about it myself,” he said.
She nodded, seemed happy with that. “Look into it. Hurry up, we have no time to waste.”
Cawley nodded, left the room without saying anything further. He didn’t mention that the woman with the report was Mrs Barnes, a legend in the police station. A woman who had once claimed, rather vehemently, that she had seen Elvis stealing a loaf of bread from Tesco. A woman with a shit load of cats and very little grasp of reality. It wasn’t Cawley’s prerogative to see her; it didn’t matter if anyone went to see her. In a few days she would forget about her claim and move onto the next insane delusion, but Cawley felt like a change of pace. He needed some time away from the stress and the pressure, some time away from vindictive women and evasive fugitives. A mentally unstable woman with no grasp of reality wasn’t ideal, but it was certainly a break from the norm.
9
Dexter felt good. The sleep and the breakfast had done wonders for his plagued mind. He felt cleaner, better, more human. He felt like he was waking up to his first week of sobriety following a massive binge, and, in a way, that’s exactly what it had been. They’d both been caught up in the adrenaline and the excitement. They were junkies, craving more, doing riskier things. After the murder things had taken a different turn. That was their comedown, their crime spree was over. Now they were waiting for the hangover to dissipate so they could get back to normal, if normal could ever be attained after what they’d gone through.
They hadn’t discussed what they would do, but they both
“You didn’t report back to me yesterday,” she said, her nostrils flaring. “May I ask why?”
Cawley stood near the closed door. He had no intention of sitting opposite her, no intention of going anywhere near her. He gave her a simple shrug.
“Well?” she snapped. “Are you just going to stand there or do you want to do your fucking job and tell me what happened?”
He had to force himself not to smile. He loved to see her angry. She was sinfully ugly at the best of times but when she was angry -- which, although most of the time, came in several degrees -- she looked like a rabid Rottweiler. He took great pleasure in making her that way, felt something innately beautiful and pleasing inside of him whenever he knew he’d pissed her off.
“Nothing to it,” he said softly. There were easy ways to annoy her but he had to maintain a tone of professionalism, give her no reason to sack him. “The bartender is lying. He’s up to something.”
“What?”
Cawley shrugged. “God knows, but I don’t think it concerns us.”
She seemed to calm down a bit. Cawley sighed internally; he was looking forward to watching her pop her skull like a microwaved egg.
“Anything else?” she demanded.
“There’s a potential lead on the outskirts of town. A woman reckons her neighbour was harbouring the bandits until this morning.”
Clarissa looked alert again, her hairy nostrils beginning to flare. “And I’m only just finding out about this now?” she roared.
Cawley shrugged, briefly wondered just why he enjoyed rattling her so much. It hadn’t always been like that, nor had it been so with his wife. He used to give a shit; he was once desperate to please, desperate to be liked. He didn’t know what turned him into the cynical, bitter man he was now, but he figured it had something to do with his wife and a lot to do with his job. The evil, mean-spirited bitch in front of him probably didn’t help either. She’d been his boss for as long as he’d been bitter. Longer. Some of his colleagues had hated having a woman as a boss, he hadn’t minded but he did mind having a ruthless, evil bitch as a boss.
“I only just found out about it myself,” he said.
She nodded, seemed happy with that. “Look into it. Hurry up, we have no time to waste.”
Cawley nodded, left the room without saying anything further. He didn’t mention that the woman with the report was Mrs Barnes, a legend in the police station. A woman who had once claimed, rather vehemently, that she had seen Elvis stealing a loaf of bread from Tesco. A woman with a shit load of cats and very little grasp of reality. It wasn’t Cawley’s prerogative to see her; it didn’t matter if anyone went to see her. In a few days she would forget about her claim and move onto the next insane delusion, but Cawley felt like a change of pace. He needed some time away from the stress and the pressure, some time away from vindictive women and evasive fugitives. A mentally unstable woman with no grasp of reality wasn’t ideal, but it was certainly a break from the norm.
9
Dexter felt good. The sleep and the breakfast had done wonders for his plagued mind. He felt cleaner, better, more human. He felt like he was waking up to his first week of sobriety following a massive binge, and, in a way, that’s exactly what it had been. They’d both been caught up in the adrenaline and the excitement. They were junkies, craving more, doing riskier things. After the murder things had taken a different turn. That was their comedown, their crime spree was over. Now they were waiting for the hangover to dissipate so they could get back to normal, if normal could ever be attained after what they’d gone through.
They hadn’t discussed what they would do, but they both
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