Long Shadows (Amos Decker, #7)(28)

“Roe said they would provide copies of their records,” countered Andrews.

“No, she didn’t. She said corporate counsel would determine whether they could provide us anything,” corrected Decker.

Andrews started and said, “Right, I guess that is what she told us.”

“So don’t be surprised if that counsel tells us Gamma can’t provide the documents without going to court. And we all know how long that bullshit takes. The strategy of running out the legal clock has become pretty popular. And by then it may be too late.” He turned to look at Andrews. “And when you called for an appointment with Roe, they had a chance to prepare. Whether it was just Lancer or some or all of them, I don’t know. But they acted fast.”

Andrews looked at White. “What do you think?”

“I think the question is, if we can’t get the info we need from Gamma on a timely basis, where do we get it?”

Decker said, “Presumably the judge would have some documentation of the threats. They weren’t found in her house, correct? Or on her answering machine, if she even had one.”

Andrews said, “They weren’t. But we’re still checking her cell phone and computers.”

“Then we might have to get them from the court,” said Decker.

“I’ll need to speak to our legal counsel,” noted Andrews.

“I didn’t mean that court, I meant Judge Cummins’s chambers. The evidence might be there. And there are people she worked with we need to talk to.”

“I was planning to do that,” said Andrews.

“And pull any CCTV footage from the hospital. We might get a look at the guys who sprang Lancer.”

“Okay, I’ll get on that.”

“And while we’re in the area, let’s go see where Alice Lancer lives.”

“We don’t have her address,” said Andrews.

“Yes we do,” said Decker.

“How?”

“I saw it on her admittance form to the hospital.”

“You remember it correctly?” asked Andrews.

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” interjected White.

“We don’t have a search warrant,” pointed out Andrews.

“She’s gone missing. Can we get by on a welfare check?” said Decker.

“I doubt that. And the locals do that, not the FBI.”

“She’s a potential witness in the murder of a federal judge.”

“Doesn’t matter. And to be clear, I’m not screwing up any prosecutions on a rookie Fourth Amendment fuckup.”

Decker looked at the man with a little more respect.

*



Lancer lived in the village of Miami Shores, a half-hour commute north of the Gamma Building. It was a village of well-kept-up single-family dwellings, a couple of small commercial areas, wide streets, and lots of trees residing along them.

“It’s a bedroom community for Greater Miami,” explained Andrews. “And also has a lot of retirees. But you could say that about most places in Florida. You ever think about retiring here, Decker?”

“No. How much farther to her place?”

“It’s the next street.”

They turned into the driveway of a small bungalow with stucco siding and green-and-white-striped awnings over the windows. A short, squat palm was planted out front. The grass was clipped short, and the flower beds didn’t have much in them. They got out, and Decker looked through the window of the one-car garage.

“Empty. Her car must be at work still.”

“We don’t have a search warrant, like I pointed out before,” noted Andrews.

“But we can look around, right?” said Decker. “Until you file for and get a search warrant?”

“Yes. On the outside. And in plain sight.”

They made a perimeter search of the yard and found that Lancer didn’t really make much use of it. There was a small wooden deck on the rear of the house, but there was no outdoor furniture to sit on. The backyard looked as uncared for as the front.

Decker used his height to peek into some windows but couldn’t see much.

“Can I help you?”

He turned to see a woman staring at him from the yard next door. She was in her seventies, gray haired, with a plump frame and wearing white sweatpants, a long-sleeved dark blue shirt, and orthopedic shoes. Glasses dangled from a chain around her neck.

They all showed their credentials.

She put on her glasses and drew closer. “The FBI! Has something happened?”

“And your name?” asked Andrews.

“Dorothy Steadman.”

“Have you lived here long?”

“Over fifteen years.”

“What can you tell us about Ms. Lancer?” asked White.

“I don’t really know her all that well. I’m long retired. So our paths don’t cross very often.”

“When was the last time you saw her?” asked Decker.

“I saw her drive off this morning. I believe she works in Miami.”

“Did she seem normal?”

“Yes, I mean, nothing looked out of the ordinary.”

“Have you spoken with her lately?” asked Decker.

The woman considered this. “Oh, a few days ago. She was taking a walk. This was in the evening. We chatted for a few seconds. The weather, that sort of thing.”