Long Shadows (Amos Decker, #7)(86)

“Let’s talk about it, downstairs. After you put the gun down.”

Instead Davidson lifted the gun and placed the muzzle next to his cheek.

“You don’t want to do that, Barry,” warned Decker, the imagined images of Mary Lancaster in her final moments lurching back into his head.

“J-Julia’s gone. G-gone. G-got nothing l-left. Wh-what’s it m-matter? You tell me.”

His finger edged closer to the trigger.

Decker said, “You have Tyler, you have your son left. You going to leave him all alone? Is that what a father does? Leave his teenager to pick up the pieces?”

Davidson looked up at Decker, maybe seeing him for the first time.

“T-Tyler deserves b-better than me.”

“But you’re all he has left. So give me the gun and we can talk about it.”

Davidson didn’t move the gun, but his finger did slip away from the trigger. He shook his head stubbornly. “Y-you think I k-killed her.”

“We never said that.”

“I know you do!” shouted Davidson. “D-don’t lie to me.”

“We’re just doing our job, investigating lots of things and people.”

“Wh-who else then? Huh? You’re lying. Nobody else. Nobody else.” He dipped his head.

“There’s Dennis Langley. You know about him, right?”

Davidson looked up once more. “L-Langley?”

“You met him, right? At the French bistro. You were there for Tyler’s birthday.”

Davidson slowly nodded. “Why him?”

“He was dating Julia.”

Davidson smiled. “H-he’s a shitty golfer. S-seen him play. Swings his club l-like a f-fucking a-axe.”

“I bet. Let’s go downstairs now and we can fill you in on our investigation.”

“Dad!”

They turned to see Tyler standing there drenched in sweat.

“T-Tyler?”

“Dad, what are you doing with that gun?”

“M-my gun.”

Tyler stepped forward. “Come on, Dad. Let’s go home. Where are your keys? I’ll drive you back. Come on. It’s late.”

He took the gun from him, and helped his father off the bed.

“Let’s go.”

White scooted forward and secured the gun.

As they half-carried Davidson down the stairs, Decker said, “How did you know he was here, Tyler?”

“I was riding my bike and saw his car parked on the side of the road about five hundred feet from the entrance. I figured he was here. He’d just walked around through the golf course side to avoid the gate.”

“Why wouldn’t he just drive through the gate?”

“I think his electronic pass was expired, or something,” Tyler replied, not looking at Decker.

“Expired?”

“Or something, look, I’m not really sure.”

The two of them got Davidson out to the rental car and loaded him in, as White got into the driver’s seat.

“We’ll drive you to his car and you can take him from there,” said Decker. “Where’s your bike?”

“It’s foldable, so I put it in the back of my dad’s car. He left it unlocked.”

“We can follow along if you need help getting him into the condo building.”

“I’m fine. Won’t be the first time I’ve carried my dad inside,” said Tyler, looking embarrassed.

After Tyler drove off in the Mercedes with his father lying down in the back seat, Decker turned to White. “We need to run ballistics on the gun.”

“You don’t think…?”

“I’m not sure. That’s why I want to run the test. And there’s something else.”

“What?”

“Tyler said his father parked his car off the road and slipped into the neighborhood through the golf course side to avoid the gate.”

“Meaning he could have done the same the night of the murder. But his car didn’t leave the garage that night, and he has an alibi.”

“He could have borrowed or rented a car. And maybe Tyler isn’t as sure of the times that night as he said he was.”

“You think he’s covering for his dad?”

“His dad is the only thing he has left.”

“But at least we know one thing for certain.”

“What’s that?” said Decker.

“The man was clearly lying when he said he was over his ex-wife.”





Chapter 63



WHITE COULDN’T SLEEP, SO SHE left her room, trudged down to the hotel lobby, and went out the rear entrance. She sat by the pool and slipped out a single cigarette from her jacket pocket. She had smoked some in high school, and college, but then swore off the habit when she became pregnant the first time. But when her panic attacks had begun, she had allowed herself an occasional flutter. It was no coincidence, she knew, that her panic attacks had commenced right after Donte’s death.

When it had happened she had caught the first flight back and driven straight to the morgue to see her baby lying lifeless on a slab. They had not conducted the autopsy yet. They had held off so White could see her child before the required procedure took place. For that she was grateful. That had been the only thing she had been grateful about.