Long Shadows (Amos Decker, #7)(58)

“Am I not your kind of guy?”

Decker let out an exasperated sigh. “Don’t pull my chain. I didn’t get much sleep.”

“This Langley might be interesting.”

“He might be. Or he might be a dud. I’ll give you the address. Call Andrews and have him meet us there.”

*



Dennis Langley’s firm operated out of an elegant brick townhome. The space was outfitted with costly furnishings and refined taste. Decker and White were escorted to Langley by a tall, lovely young woman named Rose, who described herself as “Mr. Langley’s personal assistant, paralegal, office manager, and accountant all rolled into one.” She had also told them, in answer to a question from Decker, that Langley had two young associates working with him.

Langley was, as Kline had described him, tall, handsome, fit, and dressed in an elegant fashion. His dark hair had a few gray strands that lent not a sense of age but of elegant gravitas. He welcomed them cordially and motioned them to chairs in his large office space. Decker noted the adoring look that Rose gave her boss as she slowly left the room, taking care to swivel her hips just so and run a hand through her long hair probably just in case her boss was watching.

Andrews sat next to Decker and looked fidgety and upset. Decker kept his gaze on Langley, while White put her hands in her lap and took in the entire room, which was as luxuriously appointed as the rest of the space. There was a wall of photos and certificates and shelves full of what looked to be awards from local bar associations.

“I was wondering when you were going to get around to me,” said Langley. His voice, deep and baritone, was as far from Duncan Trotter’s trembling falsetto as it was possible to be.

“You could have voluntarily come forward,” said Decker.

Langley smiled. “Not in my DNA. But here I am now to answer your questions.”

“You don’t seem too upset about Judge Cummins’s death,” said Andrews suspiciously.

“We broke up a while ago. I’m actually seeing someone else. But don’t get me wrong, Julia was a wonderful person and I hope you catch whoever did it.”

Spoken like a man who knows he’s a possible suspect, Decker thought.

He said, “Just to get the preliminaries out of the way, where were you between the hours of midnight and two on the night she was killed?”

“Well, I was in bed at that time, like most people.”

“Can anyone vouch for that?” asked White.

“My girlfriend, Gloria. I was in bed with her at her place.”

“Her last name?” asked White, her notebook open.

“Gloria Chase.”

“And she lives where?”

“Here in Ocean View. About ten minutes from my office.”

“We’ll need to speak to Ms. Chase to confirm your alibi.”

“You just have to ask.”

“How often would you go over to Cummins’s house when you two were seeing each other?” asked White.

“I never went to her house.”

White blanched. “You were dating the woman but you never went to her house?”

“She never asked me to. I wanted to, of course, but she preferred coming to my place.”

“Was your relationship sexual?” asked White.

“That’s pretty personal.”

“So is murder.”

He sighed and sat back. “At my place quite a few times. And once, in a hotel.”

“A hotel?” said Decker.

“We went to Miami. It was over a weekend.” He paused and added, “Her divorce was apparently quite liberating for her.”

“How so?” asked White.

“In law school she was quite the shy, demure type. Didn’t even drink. I tried to date her then, but it went nowhere. Down here, all these years later, it was a different story. After her divorce she had become…well, you know, kind of…wild. Did what she wanted to do, how she wanted to do it.”

“Yeah,” said White. “With men I think they call it being secure in their own skin.”

“Right,” said Langley with a glib smile.

“We understand that the judge broke things off with you,” said White.

“I saw it as mutual. We had some good times and then those good times ended.”

“You were described as controlling,” said White.

“I like to think of myself as forceful and decisive, but Julia was no shrinking violet. If she didn’t want to do something, I wasn’t going to convince her otherwise. The fact that we only had sex at a place of her choosing? I think that speaks volumes. I sure as hell wasn’t controlling her.”

“Do you own a gun?” asked Andrews.

“I do. I have a concealed-carry permit for it.”

“Can you provide it to us?”

“For what? Ballistics?”

Andrews didn’t answer.

“Sure, I can get it for you. It hasn’t been fired in months. I just occasionally take it to the shooting range.”

“Do you need a gun?” asked White.

“Well, the Second Amendment says I can have one regardless of whether I need one or not. And Florida law is very liberal on gun rights. And I’m a criminal defense attorney. My clientele can be violent. And when they don’t like the job I did for them? And they have relatives and friends who might want to send me a message? So I bought a gun.”