Dexter offered a smile. It was a common enough question; the same kind of question four different lieutenants had asked him in the last nineteen years, and dozens of sergeants, sheriffs, deputies--all of them desperate for their collar. The more gruesome scenes were the worst, but sometimes it would be simple things, with the boys and girls in blue put under pressure from the press or the career ladder to have all the answers laid out in front of them.

Have you found anything of use? they asked, and Dexter invariably did, and he smiled at the poor beleaguered soul and frivolously gave away everything he knew. On the back of his bloodwork, police officers rose through the ranks to better pay and sweeter rides and greater stress, while Dexter - the blood guy - sat in his steady - if unpredictable - job, and got paid to show up every day regardless of if there was a case for him to work on or not.

It wasn't glamorous, but it got him where he needed to be to pursue his other profession.

And that was why he was here.

"Depends what you mean by 'of use'."