Long Shadows (Amos Decker, #7)(80)

“Yes, they would. Do you have information to share on that score?”

“I might. Under certain conditions.”

“Such as?”

“Such as you doing more to find out what happened to my father.”

“Okay. Deal.”

She looked surprised. “I didn’t think you would give up that easily.”

“I didn’t give up squat.”

“I don’t understand,” she said, clearly confused.

“I think whatever happened to your father is connected to my case. So if I solve one, I’ll solve the other.”

“How can you be so sure about that?”

“The currency of blackmail is money. Lancer and Draymont were in that business. The problem is they ran into a mark that bit back, hard. And stuffed that currency right down their throats. But not any old money; they used the currency of your father’s homeland. So I’m thinking whatever Lancer and Draymont had on whoever killed them ties right back to Kanak Roe.”





Chapter 58



L?ATE THE NEXT MORNING DECKER was waiting for White at the airport with a cup of coffee for her.

“Now that’s service,” said White, accepting the drink.

“Things to fill you in on,” he said as they walked out of the terminal and got into the car.

He told White about his conversation with Kasimira Roe and the blackmailing done to her by Lancer and Draymont.

“Damn,” she exclaimed. “That lady really held a lot back.”

“She probably thought she was caught between a rock and a hard place. And she still has her father’s disappearance to contend with.”

“So we know what Draymont and Lancer were involved in. People would have motivation to kill them both.”

“What about Judge Cummins?” asked Decker.

“I know you think it was two different killers, but I’ve never fully agreed with that. It makes a lot more sense if it were just the one.”

“A lot more sense does not always equate to the truth.”

“So, are we back at square one again?” she said.

“Do you think cases have this fine linear quality to them?”

“No, but it would be nice to be making some progress. Whoever killed them might have been blackmailed. That’s a prime motivation. We just have to find out who that was and we have our murderer.”

Decker didn’t appear to be listening.

“I said—”

“I heard what you said. I agree that blackmail is the motivation. For at least the murders of Lancer and Draymont.”

“But not Cummins?”

“Maybe a stronger motivation than blackmail.”

“Which is?”

“I’ll let you know when I think of it. And to my mind Langley’s alibi is a little shaky.”

“How so? Would he have had time to do the murders and get back to her house?”

“No, if Gloria Chase is telling the truth.”

“And you have reason to think she’s not?”

“We might find one,” said Decker.

“Where are we going now?” she asked.

“To check on some money.”

*



The internationally renowned investment house was large and distinguished and above reproach, or at least its marketing materials said so. Its Ocean View branch was housed in a granite building with marble floors and solid wooden walls and elaborate furnishings and other decorations. Oil paintings looked down upon Decker and White as they walked to their destination.

“Client commissions on the wall. Always does my heart good to see that,” said Decker.

“Capitalism at its finest.”

Julia Cummins’s personal financial manager was Stuart Jones. He ushered them into his large corner office and offered them tea, coffee, and water, all of which they declined.

Jones was a man of fifty with hair so carefully styled, Decker thought he could see the gel still gleaming among the whitening strands. The man’s suit was custom. His shoes looked expensive and no doubt were. His tie was a work of art. His teeth were too perfect to be real.

“It was awful what happened to Julia,” he said as he plopped into his leather chair. “Just terrible.”

“Yes it was. And we’re trying to find those responsible for it,” said Decker.

“And I wish you good luck and Godspeed on that,” said Jones heartily.

“I alerted you in my phone call as to what we needed,” said Decker.

“Yes, yes.” Jones sat forward and coughed into his hand. “I hope you can understand that client confidentiality is our utmost priority.”

“And I hope you can understand that finding who killed your client is our utmost priority,” replied Decker. “So I think my ace beats your king.”

Jones noticeably winced and looked down at his leather-topped desk. There wasn’t a scrap of paper on it. Decker strongly suspected that it, like the office, was mainly for show. He had the impression of a bank of computers with proprietary algorithms loaded in doing the work that people like Jones would later take credit for.

But honestly what do I know? I don’t have any money to invest.

“I understood from your phone call that you were thinking Julia was the target of some blackmail scheme?”