It's so lovely when things fall neatly into place; a chance to study a new variable, as well as to bounce some ideas off someone who has a superior intellect than the potato-head-detectives that grace Miami Dade (Deborah sadly and usually included).
"I'm not so sure," he words come out of his mouth before he realizes, and his vibrantly blue eyes dart observantly to Hannibal, searching for any reaction. Any one of the detectives in this place would tell him it was crap-- mostly because everyone liked to try really hard to make crimes and killers fit into neat little boxes, as well as to keep things nice and simple. Two killers, loose at once? Heaven forbid!
But, well, he's already said it. He may as well go on. Perhaps Doctor Lecter would be the person to hear him out. He'll just leave out the... 'I know because I killed this guy' bit.
"I've noticed a few small differences," he admits, slightly hesitant by reflex, as Deborah is always so quick to criticize his opinion after asking for it. "For one thing, the tools used the on the most recent victim are of much higher quality. We know Pupito doesn't kill for money; and an upgrade like this? It would be expensive."
His eyes skirt back to the photos, hands neatly adjusting the even rows of pairs he had created. The column on the left featured some of the three previous victims; those on the right all reflected the most recent victim.
"Secondly," he continues, masking all but a little creature's curiosity from his voice (this is an intriguing puzzle, after all) "Pupito styled the hair of all four victims, but the last one is different. Much tighter, finer braids; which would hypothetically be a lot more uncomfortable than the styles we've seen used on the previous three. It's..." his eyes narrow as he peers into the shots, searching. "It's like a harsher hand was used." This is really no serial-killer know-how or whispers from the Dark Passenger; Dexter has merely spent enough time hearing Astor shriek about Rita pulling her braids to tight to understand the difference. Ah, the joys of children.
Dexter sits back in his seat, the calculation glinting like a razor's edge in his eyes.
"There's something else," he continues, collecting the victim's profiles from the stack of folders he'd brought along with the photos. "Julia Stanford, Rex Ringston, Taylor Morton and Teegan Prime. A Doctor, a youth counselor, a librarian who threw charities every tuesday, and a man who owned an art gallery and made regular ludacris donations to a handful of charities. All pillars of society, right? Fine examples of human beings," which is difficult for him to say with a straight face, so moving right along...
"Except for the final victim, Mr. Prime. According to his file, he was suffering several lawsuits in repercussion of having sold a few pieces with questionable-- pardon, zero authenticity. And, if you talk to anyone that knew him, apparently Teegan Prime was quite the el cabrón."
Satisfied with his argument, Dexter sat back in his chair, feeling pleased and clever. There are certainly counter arguments for his logic, but Dexter knows he is right because he feels it. Though there is... something, nagging at the back of his mind.
"I feel like I'm missing something," he admits, turning his attention again to Hannibal. "But it's a fair start, I believe."
I am totally BSing some of this so let me know if I need to change it
"I'm not so sure," he words come out of his mouth before he realizes, and his vibrantly blue eyes dart observantly to Hannibal, searching for any reaction. Any one of the detectives in this place would tell him it was crap-- mostly because everyone liked to try really hard to make crimes and killers fit into neat little boxes, as well as to keep things nice and simple. Two killers, loose at once? Heaven forbid!
But, well, he's already said it. He may as well go on. Perhaps Doctor Lecter would be the person to hear him out. He'll just leave out the... 'I know because I killed this guy' bit.
"I've noticed a few small differences," he admits, slightly hesitant by reflex, as Deborah is always so quick to criticize his opinion after asking for it. "For one thing, the tools used the on the most recent victim are of much higher quality. We know Pupito doesn't kill for money; and an upgrade like this? It would be expensive."
His eyes skirt back to the photos, hands neatly adjusting the even rows of pairs he had created. The column on the left featured some of the three previous victims; those on the right all reflected the most recent victim.
"Secondly," he continues, masking all but a little creature's curiosity from his voice (this is an intriguing puzzle, after all) "Pupito styled the hair of all four victims, but the last one is different. Much tighter, finer braids; which would hypothetically be a lot more uncomfortable than the styles we've seen used on the previous three. It's..." his eyes narrow as he peers into the shots, searching. "It's like a harsher hand was used." This is really no serial-killer know-how or whispers from the Dark Passenger; Dexter has merely spent enough time hearing Astor shriek about Rita pulling her braids to tight to understand the difference. Ah, the joys of children.
Dexter sits back in his seat, the calculation glinting like a razor's edge in his eyes.
"There's something else," he continues, collecting the victim's profiles from the stack of folders he'd brought along with the photos. "Julia Stanford, Rex Ringston, Taylor Morton and Teegan Prime. A Doctor, a youth counselor, a librarian who threw charities every tuesday, and a man who owned an art gallery and made regular ludacris donations to a handful of charities. All pillars of society, right? Fine examples of human beings," which is difficult for him to say with a straight face, so moving right along...
"Except for the final victim, Mr. Prime. According to his file, he was suffering several lawsuits in repercussion of having sold a few pieces with questionable-- pardon, zero authenticity. And, if you talk to anyone that knew him, apparently Teegan Prime was quite the el cabrón."
Satisfied with his argument, Dexter sat back in his chair, feeling pleased and clever. There are certainly counter arguments for his logic, but Dexter knows he is right because he feels it. Though there is... something, nagging at the back of his mind.
"I feel like I'm missing something," he admits, turning his attention again to Hannibal. "But it's a fair start, I believe."