Long Shadows (Amos Decker, #7)(11)

“If Draymont let the person in he must have known them. Either on his own, or because they knew the judge,” said White.

“But if the murders occurred between midnight and two, that would be pretty late for a visitor,” observed Decker.

“Could Draymont have been in on it, let the person in, and then had a change of heart, or the killer intended on leaving no witnesses behind?” said White.

Andrews said, “That’s certainly possible.”

“Who called the police about the bodies?” asked Decker.

“They got a call from the neighbor next door, Doris Kline. She went out on her rear deck this morning to drink her coffee and read her iPad, and saw the back door of Cummins’s house open. She went over to make sure everything was okay. It was after nine at that point. And the judge was normally on her way to court before then. Kline walked in the rear door, went into the kitchen and then through to the study, where she saw Draymont’s body. She ran back to her house and called the cops. They found the judge’s body, too, and called us in because of her federal status. I’ve already contacted the U.S. Marshals Service to loop them in. I’ve been busy here, but I plan to interview Kline next.”

Decker nodded absently and surveyed the room once more, imprinting every detail onto his memory cloud, as he liked to refer to it now. When he’d first learned he had perfect recall he’d named it his “hard drive,” but times changed and he had to change with them.

His hyperthymesia was an amazing tool for a detective, but it was also overwhelming at times. He had been told that there were fewer than a hundred people in the world who had been diagnosed with the condition, and Decker would have preferred not to have been one of them.

Most people with hyperthymesia concentrated their recall on personal events, memories from the past, mostly autobiographical in nature. Because of that, Decker had learned that they often tended to live in the past as well because the stream of recollections was unrelenting. While Decker certainly had some of that, too, his memory recall was different. Pretty much everything he heard or saw or read in the present was permanently encoded in his mind and could be pulled out at will.

He turned to Jacobs. “TOD on the judge?”

“Approximately the same range as Draymont. Midnight to two a.m. I might be able to get a little tighter on the parameters, but that time box is looking pretty solid.”

He handed her his business card. “Let me know about Draymont’s gun and the possible sexual assault.”

“All right.”

He looked at Andrews. “We told the guard at the entrance gate to get us the list of people who came through over the last twenty-four hours. He was going to bring it here.”

“I had planned to do that,” said Andrews.

“Good, we’re operating on the same wavelength. While we’re waiting for him, let’s go talk to Mrs. Kline.”

He walked out of the room.

Andrews whirled on White. “How long have you and Decker been partners?”

White checked her watch. “Oh, about six hours.”





Chapter 8



D?ORIS KLINE USHERED THEM INTO her home after they knocked, and led them to the rear lanai. She was in her late fifties with permed hair and too much makeup, at least to Decker’s mind.

But what the hell do I know?

Kline had on a pair of white slacks and an orange shirt with the sleeves half rolled up, revealing taut, tanned forearms, mottled over with coppery sunspots. She was skinny for her five-foot-eight height, and the woman was a smoker, which might have been a factor in her thinness. A pack of Camels and a purple Zippo lighter sat on the table on the screened-in lanai, which overlooked the backyard. Beyond that were some slender palm trees and compact shrubbery. A pool was situated in front of them. From the smell it was apparently filled with saltwater. Through the screens enclosing the space, Decker noted a well-trod path down to the beach, with the dull gray stretch of the Gulf just beyond that. Seagulls swooped and dove across the clear sky looking for things no human could see.

The house was smaller than Julia Cummins’s place and hadn’t been kept up as well. The stucco was damaged in several areas, and the outdoor heat pumps heavily rusted from the heavy salt air had drawn Decker’s notice. The lawn and landscaping hadn’t seen much attention, either. He didn’t know if that was simply the result of indifference or a lighter wallet than the judge had had.

“Were you the only one in your house last night?” asked Decker.

Kline blew smoke from her nose and nodded as she reached for a glass of what looked like orange juice, but Decker smelled the alcohol in it.

“I was. I’m divorced, my kids grown and off. I don’t go out much because my ex left me with lots of bills and not enough alimony. He had the better lawyer, unfortunately.”

“Can you take us through this morning?” asked White, her eyes widening, apparently at the woman so casually revealing this personal info.

“I came out here around nine, saw the rear door was open, and that seemed strange. At that hour of the morning Julia had usually long since left for court, and she really never used that door. She just went right from the house to the garage.”

“Did you know her well?” asked Decker.

“We were neighbors and good friends for years.”

“I’m sure you’re upset about what happened,” interjected White.