Long Shadows

Chapter 10

T​he drive took them past picturesque scenery, wide beaches, birds roaming the skies, high-rise condos, and oceanfront estates lurking behind sturdy gates and high walls. And all the way Decker ignored this and just stared out the rear window, seeing only images in his head.

His wife dead, his daughter dead, years and years now in the grave. Just recently, Mary Lancaster departed by her own desperate hand. And the very much alive Alex Jamison and Melvin Mars and Ross Bogart all moving on with their lives.

And here I am with a new partner and... this. Two more murders, the puzzle that always comes along with it, the interviews, the questions, the lies in response, more questions and confrontations and just plain bullshit that both the innocent and guilty continually spew out. And then it gets solved and off I go to the next one.

From Florida to North Dakota and all points in between.

He turned to see White staring at him from the front passenger seat. The woman had seen a slice of life that Decker never would. It had no doubt made her tough, ferocious in defense, but crafty and cagey and knowing she had to play by a set of rules that were biased against her to a degree that should alarm everyone but somehow never really did.

“I’m not sure I have enough in the bank to offer up cash for your thoughts,” she said, tacking on a smile.

Decker looked away. In his mind’s eye he saw Mary Lancaster lift a trembling hand with a gun in it to her mouth, insert the barrel, close her eyes, and end her life in one of the most tragic ways possible.

Then, instead of Lancaster’s face, Decker saw his own countenance. He was staring at a toilet on which sat his daughter. Father and daughter were barely a foot away from each other. One staring helpless, crushed beyond all conceivable human limits, the other staring back at him and seeing nothing because the dead could not. He had taken out his service pistol and laid it in his mouth. The muzzle of the Glock had felt metallically bitter, the barrel oil leaching onto his tongue. He had looked at Molly and then closed his eyes. His finger had slipped to the trigger and it would have only taken a couple foot-pounds of force to propel him into death with his daughter and wife. Such a simple move, one he had done thousands of times on the gun range, and several times while doing his job in the field.

And yet, unlike Mary Lancaster, he had pulled the gun free and waited for the cops to show up.

Had I been too cowardly? Had I lacked the courage that Mary had in abundance? And she left her daughter and husband behind. An option I didn’t have, and one I don’t think I could have taken.

“Decker?”

He broke from his thoughts to see White staring worriedly at him. This annoyed him.

“How much longer?” he brusquely asked Andrews.

“Coming up to the security gate now.”

“Does anybody around here live in a place without a guard gate?” asked Decker. “Is it that fucking dangerous here?”

Andrews eyed him in the rearview, as though checking to see if Decker was perhaps joking. He said, “I don’t have a guard gate in my neighborhood. I guess I don’t make enough money.”

“Has anyone spoken to the Davidsons yet?” asked White.

“Local cops. Just to inform them of Cummins’s death. They deferred the rest to us.”

“We’ll need to establish alibis,” said White. “And what about a search warrant for the ex’s condo?”

“The woman’s body was just found this morning,” said Andrews. “Let’s take it one step at a time. And we have no grounds for a search warrant.”

“Yet,” amended Decker.

They cleared security and took the elevator up to the fourth floor of the condo building with a broad view of the Gulf on the rear side. The elevator doors opened and they were in a small vestibule with one large wooden door. Andrews knocked on it, and a few moments later they heard footsteps approaching.

The teenager was large, about six-three and two-forty. He was dressed in dark blue workout compression shorts, was barefoot, and had on a white tank top. Decker eyed his physique and noted the bulging quads and thick calves, the broad shoulders, the lanky, muscled arms. The kid already had a collegiate body, he assessed. Now if he had some decent wheels and quick-twitch muscle mass, he might have a nice college run. The NFL was a whole other matter. The funnel there got as narrow as a needle’s eye.

“Tyler?” said Andrews, who showed the young man his badge and ID. He introduced Decker and White. “We understand your father is here?”

“He’s drunk,” mumbled Tyler, who looked to Decker like he was on something though his pupils looked normal. “Shit-faced.” He shook his head, his expression pained and his eyes bloodshot from crying. “Is Mom really...?”

“Yes, Tyler, I’m afraid she is,” said Andrews.

His big hands curled to knotty fists. “I’m gonna fucking kill whoever did this.”

Andrews put a hand on his shoulder. “No, you’re not, Tyler. It’s our job to deal with this and we will. We will find whoever did this and they will never see another free day. I promise you that. Now we really need to talk to your dad.”

“And you,” interjected Decker.

Andrews frowned at this but nodded. “And you too. But please take us to your father.”

Tyler turned and led them down a hallway. They passed an expensive-looking electric bike that was parked against one wall, its power pack plugged in.

“Nice ride,” said Decker.

“My dad got it for me. Florida is pretty flat but when you’re doing thirty-forty miles at a fast clip under your own power, the motor comes in handy sometimes.”

Decker looked around as they passed minimalist furnishings and décor, lots of gleaming metal and glass, and walls painted white to take advantage of the strong Florida light. The rear windows gave sweeping views of the Gulf, where ships seemingly no larger than toys made their way slowly across the water, or else bobbed up and down at anchor.

Tyler pushed a door open and motioned them in.

Sitting in a leather recliner was, apparently, Barry Davidson. He had on jeans, a white polo shirt, and no shoes or socks. A glass with some dark liquid rested on his flat stomach with one of the man’s hands wrapped loosely around it. His eyes were closed and Decker wasn’t even sure the guy was awake. Or alive.

“Mr. Davidson?” said Andrews. “We need to talk.”

Davidson made no reaction to this.

“Dad!” shouted Tyler, putting a massive hand on his father’s shoulder and violently shaking him.

The glass went sideways, and whatever was in it spilled across the man’s shirt and jeans. The eyes popped open and the recliner came forward, and Barry Davidson would have fallen to the floor if Decker had not been quick enough to catch him.

“What? Who?” said Davidson, shaking his head and blinking rapidly.

“It’s the cops, Dad. The FBI. They need to talk to you!”

Tyler shook his head, a disgusted look on his face. He picked up the now-empty glass and placed it on a table.

Decker looked around the room and noted that it was set up as a home office with wooden file cabinets, shelving, a desktop printer-copier, a postage meter, and other office supplies and equipment arrayed around the space. A large computer screen with a digital webcam attached sat on a large glass-topped desk. He imagined the guy probably did a lot of Zoom meetings from here. French doors opened to a covered balcony.

Davidson rubbed his eyes, slapped himself a couple of times on the cheeks, and looked up at Andrews.

“I kn-know you, right?”

“Doug Andrews. We played golf together once, at the Harbor Club.”

A still-dazed Davidson pointed a shaky hand at him. “Right, right, never forget a guy’s game. You can hit it a mile but you putt like shit. Grips all wrong and you have too much backswing.”

Andrews smiled embarrassedly at White. “Never considered quitting my day job.”

Decker stepped forward. “We’re here to talk to you about your former wife’s death.”

Davidson nodded, his head dipping and bobbing like he might be sick. White took a step back to avoid being in the pathway.

“Right, r-right,” said Davidson. “She’s... dead.”

“Someone fucking murdered her, Dad,” snapped Tyler. “Get your shit together, will you?”

Andrews put up a hand. “Come on, Tyler, your dad’s been through a lot.”

“I’ve been through a lot. Mom went through the most of all. You don’t see me getting stoned.” He shot his father another disgusted look.

Andrews said, “A forensics team will be by later to take your prints.”

“Why?” said Tyler.

“For elimination purposes. Your prints will be all over the house, Tyler, since you live there every other week. But we need to ID prints like yours and your father’s so we can focus on any strange ones that might be there.”

“I... I haven’t been inside h-her house in a couple weeks,” said Davidson, his eyes rolling around in their sockets. “When I went to pick up Tyler.”

“We’ll still need to take your prints,” said Andrews.

“J-Julia’s d-dead,” Davidson said, starting to sob.

Decker put a hand on his shoulder. “Mr. Davidson, why don’t you go grab a shower, and get some fresh clothes on. We’ll make you some coffee and get some water into you for hydration to knock the buzz off and then we can talk, okay? It’s really important. The first forty-eight hours are the most critical of all for any murder investigation.”

He helped Davidson to stand and then looked at Tyler, who was staring out the window, his arms folded over his heaving chest. Decker glanced at Andrews. “Let’s get him to the bathroom.”

Tyler called out, “Bring me his clothes. I’ll put them in the wash to get the stink of the booze out.”

Decker and Andrews helped Davidson to the bathroom, got the shower going, and pulled out some towels and toiletries. They got the man stripped down and into the shower. Then Decker left him there with Andrews and gave the soiled clothes to Tyler. He followed Tyler to a laundry room, where he threw the clothes into the washing machine.

“Didn’t know I was going to have to clean up after my dad,” Tyler said sullenly. “I did my stuff earlier. I had my run early this morning with the guys and got soaked through. I’m a big sweater.”

“Yeah, me too. But we have a lot more skin than most people.”

“I guess.”

He turned the machine on, leaned against the wall, and then abruptly started to sob.

Decker let him do so for a bit before saying, “Can I get you anything, Tyler?”

“N-no.” Tyler wiped his face, composed himself, and suddenly eyed Decker’s large frame. “You look like you might’ve played some ball.”

“Ohio State. And the NFL, for the briefest of times. I was a walk-on with the Browns.”

“The Ohio State University already offered me a scholarship. And I’ve got three other offers.”

“Great school. Great program. Where else?”

“Alabama, Georgia, and Stanford.”

“The best of the best. You want to play in the NFL?”

He shook his head. “I’m not at that level and never will be.”

“Most young men your age wouldn’t be able to make that sort of frank self-assessment. They usually think they’re good enough.”

“I’ve been making frank assessments all my life. I want to go into business. Silicon Valley. That’s where a lot of cool stuff is happening.”

“Well, they’re all great schools, but Stanford is right where you want to end up. And they play a pro-style offense. So as a tight end, you’ll get a lot of throws your way.”

Tyler looked intrigued. “How’d you know I played tight end?”

“You’ve got the build, the height, and your hands have calluses and abrasions all over them, especially the palms and the fingertips.”

“I could be a QB.”

“QBs throw the ball, they don’t catch it. You get that level of toughened skin from frequent high-velocity impacts with the pigskin.”

“Wide receiver, then.”

“You’re too beefy to play wideout. Those guys are slim with lightning in their shoes. And a high school coach would never waste a guy your size on that position. You could play any slot on the line with your beef. And they’d use you as an extra lineman on running plays.”

“Yeah, I pretty much do exactly that. What position did you play in college?”

“OLB,” said Decker, referring to outside linebacker.

“You’re big for that.”

“I’ve put on weight since then, but I had decent wheels. They tried me on the D-line, but even back then those boys were all three-twenty plus. And I wasn’t athletic enough to hold my own at two-sixty against O-lines where the tackles made me look like a middle schooler. OSU plays in the big leagues and the NFL is another planet. With the Browns I did most of my field time on special teams. I was never going to be a starter.”

“Guys we play against in high school are running four-threes like it’s nothing.”

White said, “Well, not to put a stop to the shop talk, guys, but...?”

They turned to see her standing a few feet from them.

Decker glanced at her and said to Tyler, “You want to talk here or somewhere else?”

“How about the beach?”

White hiked her eyebrows at Decker. “You mean out on all that sand?” she said.

“Fine,” said Decker. “Why don’t you wait here, Agent White? And let them know where we went.”

White was about to protest, but then she glanced at Tyler and slowly nodded. “Sure, I can let you footballers have some alone time.”

The two big men walked off, leaving White to sit down in a chair and wait, her lips pursed and her gaze hanging on Decker’s broad back.