I'm bringing the boat onto the quayside when my cell phone rings. It's Deb and I show the screen to Lumen before I answer.

"Dexter," Deb sounds out of breath but elated. "Can you get to Palmer Lake?" I frown, it'll take a while but there'll be no traffic at this time of night.

"Sure, what is it? A crime scene?" Lumen raises her eyebrows as she takes the wheel and steers us in, jumping ashore and tying us off.

"Yeah, another motherfucking vampire beheading adventure! But the kicker is that we've got a suspect."

"Really? You caught someone at the scene?" This never happens, unless it's a domestic case, catching the killer usually means a man hunt.

"You bet we caught someone. LaGuerta's interviewing the bitch now. I can't get hold of Masuka to ID her, is he with you?"

"No," I say quickly, alarmed that she thinks I might be hanging out with Masuka. She chuckles.

"Just fucking with ya, bro. So, get your ass here, ok? You're going to want to see this." Before I can ask her anything she hang up, I look at Lumen who is taking our bags from the boat and unlocking the SUV. She looks over her shoulder.

"Have you got to go?" she asks, tossing me the keys. I nod and she smiles ruefully. "Can you drop me back at the apartment?" I don't want her going back to her place until I've had chance to find out if my suspicions about Pete are founded in truth.

"Sure, wait for me in bed? I'll be home as soon as I can." I kiss her and she runs her fingers through my hair.

I watch Lumen walk all the way to the apartment steps. I know she's not defenceless but I watch her anyway, unable to drive away until I see her vanish into the darkness of the staircase. Then I turn the car and head out to Palmer Lake to find Deb and her new headless body.

I was right; the drive across town is quicker and quieter than usual. Even though it's the weekend only some areas of this vibrant city are still awake at this time in the morning. The sky is that beautiful blue which means it's going to be sunrise soon. As I near Palmer Lake the crazy kaleidoscope of red and blue flashes over the buildings and the trees, cop cars seal off the area. I show my laminate to some uniform that I vaguely recognise from the station and he waves me through.

I see Deb, Angel and Quinn standing together all looking down at the ground. Deb is holding a flashlight and she shines it up at me as I cross the dry path to them.

"What've we got?" I ask, as she sweeps the light in a broad arc back to the dark shape on the floor between them. It is a body, its head is missing and then I follow the beam of the light and see the head, a black ball, a few feet away, like an abandoned soccer ball. I hoist my bag from my shoulder and get out the camera.

Deb and the others step back as I begin flashing off shots, one after another in quick succession. The flash is like lightening and each one reveals a grisly secret. Another Asian man, another headless Asian man. I stop photographing and look up to Angel. His lips are pursed, his face seems pale in the white light.

"Has he got a tattoo?" He nods slowly. Quinn steps forward, taking the light from Deb and shining it so I can see under the man's twisted wrist.

"Same as the one which Vince has, top hat and feather or whatever the fuck it is." He shakes his head. The atmosphere is tense and then Deb speaks and I realise why they're all so pissed.

"The chief's talking about getting the Feds down here if it turns out we have a fucking serial killer on our hands again. Shit." She kicks a stone and no one tells her that she just damaged the crime scene, not even me. I must be learning tact. Astonishing.

"Another fucking serial killer," Quinn amends, sounding disgusted. "How many fucking whack jobs can one city have for the love of Christ?" His New York accent seems more pronounced when he's annoyed. Angel wipes his hand over his face, he looks tired.

"Where's Masuka? Does anyone know where the fuck Masuka is?" He sighs this, his tone weary. I realise that Angel must have thought that this body was Vince. He looks at me, dark circles under his usually sparkling eyes. I shake my head. "Ok, Dexter, amigo. Do your thing, see what we have. It seems the blood is washing away again, this part of the lake is fed by a stream which only flows once the fish farm upstream opens its sluice gates at six am." He checks his watch. "That's in twenty minutes so..." He waves his hand, indicating I should perform some kind of magic. I nod and start to kneel to unpack my bag.

It's the same M.O. as before. I recognise the wazikashi handiwork and the way the body has been positioned so that the blood flows away from the torso, assisted by the still pumping heart. The man is the sameage, race and height as the other victims, the same as Vince Masuka. There's not much else to see but then, as I begin to kneel to photograph the severed sinews of the neck, I see the silver cross lying just under the victim's shoulder.

"Can someone..?" I gesture to a lab geek nearby who passes me his biro pen and I unhook the cross and chain from under the corpse. It catches the light as it spins, dropping into the evidence bag and surprising me with its weight. It's the same as Deb's, the same as the one at the beach.

Quinn sees me standing up and wanders over.

"That another cross?" I nod and he nods too. He waves with his arm towards the incident truck which is like an illuminated cube in the burgeoning light. I can see LaGuerta stepping down from the brightness inside and crossing to us. "The Lieutenant wants you to go over there and take samples from the suspect." LaGuerta stops and squints into the darkness, obviously looking for me. I wave and she waves back, her gesture going from a welcome to a summons. I shrug at Quinn and jog over to where LaGuerta is standing, holding her hair back from her face as a breeze curls up around us.

"Dexter, hi, I want you to take some samples from the girl we found fleeing the scene. She's in there." I nod and begin to take the steps to the truck. My cell phone vibrates and it's a call from Lumen. I'm about to pick up and then it goes dead. I put the phone back in my pocket, hoping I can wrap up here and get home to her before it's fully sun up.

Inside the incident truck it's bright and hard. A girl sits, handcuffed to the cheap metal table and she's nursing a plastic cup from which comes the aroma of 'on the go' coffee. Her hair is the same severe, sharp bob that Vince described and the blue black is shot with vivid pink. She looks up at me and, for a moment, I think she's been crying but then I realise it's her smudgy black eyeliner which makes her seem so mournful. There's nothing in her expression that shows remorse. The magenta slashed lips are a sneer; perfectly manicured brows are arched in a questioning look.

She's wearing a toned down version of the 'Lolita' outfit Deb showed us back at the station. A grey pinstriped pinafore which stops above her knee and is flared out with a petticoat the same colour as her hair and lipstick. Red and white socks come up over her knees and end in tidy bows. The red stands out against the coordination of her clothes, the crimson clashing with the pink but then I see that this is not by design, this is blood. The recognition of this fact makes me see that the swirls on her bare arms are not all tattoos. The red, turning brown, of blood is smeared over her hands. There's even a drop on her cheek, round, like a beauty spot.

"What the fuck are you staring at geek?" Her voice is harsh but pitched like a young girl. The tone and the foul language seeming to jar with her image. She looks about thirteen but I know she can't be.

"I need to take a sample of that blood. Can you lift your arm please?" my voice is neutral, non threatening and she twists her lip and raises her hand in the air. I note the spatter pattern on her arm; flash a shot for my records and turn.

"Hey! I thought you wanted to take a sample?" I turn back briefly.

"I've seen enough." I leave her frowning and go out into the pale dawn light and see LaGuerta push herself up from the bonnet of the car where she is leaning and cross to me.

"Dex? You weren't in there very long?" she frowns, her dark brows almost meeting in the middle.

"She's not the killer." I just state the facts; I don't play it out like Vince, toying with my information, playing the audience for admiration. I just don't see the point and I want to go home.

"She's not? What makes you say that?" LaGuerta sips her coffee and looks at me over the rim. Deb comes over and Angel steps out of the shadows and hands me a coffee.

"Thanks," I tell him and turn back to his wife who is waiting for my answer with a frustrated look on her face. "The blood pattern on her arms isn't consistent with a stabbing, or a slicing." Angel shakes his head and Deb sighs. I take some photos from my bag and pass them around.

They look at the pictures of Su Lin's naked arms, the spatter of the corn syrup mixture is clean and precise, not the smeary mess on the suspect's skin. Even if it's been a few hours this pattern would still be visible.

"So, who the fuck is she and how is she covered in some dead guy's blood?" Deb asks the question we all want to ask. LaGuerta sighs and shakes her head.

"I suppose we'd better find out. Angel?" she says his name with the soft 'g' and he nods and follows her into the truck.

"Are you done?" Deb looks at me and pats me on the arm. I think and then I nod. "Get back home then, we might have a busy weekend ahead if that girl tells us anything." I smile, acknowledging her thinking about me and she hugs me briefly.

As I drive back through the city streets I wonder who is this mysterious girl, covered in blood. I half expected to see Su Lin when I walked up into the truck. My gut instinct told me that she wasn't a killer and I'm rarely wrong but there is something odd about her and I don't know what it is.

I turn off the radio and wind down the windows, savouring the warm breeze which blows in off the sea. The sky is a fiery pink and orange and the light makes the windows of the buildings look like the city is ablaze. I remember the old saying about mornings like this, 'sailor's warning'. I can't remember where I heard the phrase but I always remembered it, maybe because I have a boat.

In the gaps between the high office buildings and stores I can see thin, wispy clouds each of them disappearing as the sun's heat rises and begins to burn them off. It's going to be another glorious, hot Miami day. I take one hand off the wheel cautiously and stretch. I think about how great life is.

I feel refreshed from the killing of Greco and DiMarco, even though I haven't slept tonight I know that this clean, electric buzz will help me ride through until the evening. If the station doesn't call I plan to take Lumen to the beach, maybe even get something to eat at one of the beachside cafes.

I pull into the parking lot and check the trunk again for anything we have forgotten. Briefly it occurs to me that I have spent half the night committing a national felony and half the night aiding the officers of the law at a murder scene. It says something about me and my level of adjustment that the thought has only just occurred to me that these two occupations are at significant odds with each other.

The lights are off at the apartment and I reach into my pocket for my key before I see that the door is ajar anyway. Instantly I know something is wrong. I lean back against the wall and still my breathing, slow my heart rate from the frantic hammering it became when it realised that someone had broken into the apartment.

I nudge the door wider with my foot. There's no noise from within, no gunshot, no one rushing me in an ambush. I let out a low breath and stand in the doorway, the interior gloomy and contrasted by the bright light of the rising sun outside the windows. The blinds slice the room into slivers but there is no one here.

I move quickly, silently, to the bedroom. The bed is a mess, sheets and pillows strewn about as though someone has been thrashing about, twisted sheets are a sick echo of limbs as they lie, sating their shadows across themselves.

No Lumen. Where is she?

The bathroom is empty and I walk into the kitchen, mind racing to interpret the scene and that's when I see the note. It's on the door of the fridge, where I left Bryan's Barbie head. The plain piece of paper has caught the morning sunlight and is cast a pale pink, like a love letter. But it isn't. It reads

'Dexter, have gone back to my apartment. I need some time to think. Please don't contact me, Elle.' I stare at it for a long moment. Fear and anguish crush myyy ribs with their black weight until my brain catches up. Elle? Why would she sign this note 'Elle'? Everything catches up.

It's Pete. He's been here, drugged her or forced her into leaving with him. The note's supposed to put me off the scent, make me think she just left, was having doubts about our relationship, but Lumen's cleverer than that. She's left me incontrovertible evidence that this is a kidnap.

The world stops spinning while I think. I can hear my breathing, calm, ordered; hear the gulls outside and the traffic and the kids playing in the park down the block. Not again. Not again.

My hands don't even shake as I take out my phone and dial Deb's number.

"Dex? You ok?" I nod and then realise she can't see me.

"Yeah, I need a favour." My voice sounds flat to me but she doesn't seem to notice.

"Ok, what? The kids? Because I gotta tell you it looks like I might be needed here bro."

"No, not that. A friend of mine's had his car stolen by his teenage son. It's pretty unique and it should be recognisable, could you put out a notice to look for it?"

"Why doesn't he call the cops in? This isn't a homicide Dex." She sounds tired.

"I know, but the son's only a kid and," I put a note of my desperation into my voice, the desperation I really feel. "I said I'd try to help and he doesn't want the boy charged, you know? It's a 1955 Ford Zephyr." She sighs and I can imagine her pushing back her hair with her hands.

"Yeah, ok, Dex. But..."

I pause, have I said something wrong? Given away my anxiety because now I'm used to letting things show?

"Deb?"

"You have friends Dex? Since when?" Deb laughs, sounding tired still but at least something can break through the fog of fatigue and amuse her. I laugh, give her the details and hang up.

I make a cup of coffee and stand out on the balcony. This morning I'll check out his apartment, see if he's left me anything which might indicate where he is, where he's taken her. Abduction is a much bigger thing than the 'smash and grab' style rape he perpetrated on Mary Chester.

"This is escalation, Dex." Harry leans beside me on the rail. I glance sideways at him and my fingers grip the cup. I nod, a sharp, fierce movement. "You have to find him. You know what the next step for him will be don't you? If she's seen his face or heard his voice?" I nod again, shut up Harry, shut up.

"Why does this keep happening?" I spit the words over my teeth. Harry shakes his head and sighs.

"It's the risks of life, Dex. Look at me, your biological mom died, your foster mom died. I was left all alone." I look at him, seeing instead the sun rising, angry and red behind his head, casting him in some bloody silhouette.