Long Shadows, page 15
“That all makes sense. But the cut-up blindfold on her? And the legal phrase on the paper?”
“Could be something very personal to her, which would make sense if there were two separate killers. And but for the money in Draymont’s throat and the very different criminal elements, I might think he was killed in protecting the judge and then they went and finished her off. But that’s not how this played out. At least I don’t think it did.”
“And why not wait and fill in Andrews on this, too?” asked White.
“Because Roe knew about the Slovakian money in Draymont’s throat. She said it came from her ‘sources.’ I think her source was Andrews.”
“He does seem more deferential with her than I would like, but you can’t know for sure he told her.”
“We will.”
“How?”
“I’m going to ask him.”
“And if Andrews did tell her?”
He shot her a look. “Then you can turn into Muhammad Ali and use your double black belt to kick his ass.”
Chapter 33
THEY WERE NEARING THEIR HOTEL when Decker’s phone rang. It was Barry Davidson. He sounded frantic.
“I can’t find my son. Tyler didn’t come home from school today. I’ve tried his phone and left messages. None of his friends know where he is.”
“Okay, just calm down. We’ll be right over.”
They cleared the gate and rode the elevator up. Davidson was waiting for them at his front door.
They could both smell the liquor on his breath as he hurried them inside.
“When was the last time you saw or spoke to him?” asked White.
“This morning, around eight. He was leaving for school.”
“I didn’t think he’d be going back to school so soon,” noted Decker.
“He…he said he wanted to, to get his mind off things.”
“You said you talked to his friends?” said White.
“Yes, one of them told me that Tyler had left school early. And Tyler hasn’t answered his phone or returned my texts. He’s usually very good at doing so.”
“He might not have his phone with him,” said Decker.
“He always has his phone,” countered Davidson.
“The cops won’t do anything yet, unless we have information that he might be in danger, or distress,” said White.
Davidson slumped into a chair and reached out for what looked to be a glass of whiskey.
“And getting drunk won’t help matters,” pointed out Decker. “In case Tyler needs you.”
Davidson withdrew his hand and looked guiltily at them. “I’m…I’m afraid he might…I don’t know. Hurt himself.”
“Did he ever talk about doing something like that?” asked White, a note of urgency in her voice.
“No, but he never lost his mother before,” retorted Davidson.
“Does he have any usual haunts, places he likes to go, to think, or be alone?”
“Nothing particular, no.”
“Any girlfriends?” asked White.
“He did, but they broke up a month ago. I called her, but she hasn’t heard from Tyler.”
“What’s his normal routine?” asked Decker.
“He gets up around six and goes for a run, usually on the beach with some other players. Then he works out at the gym in the building here. I had to pay for extra weights, by the way,” he added proudly. “They didn’t have enough for him. Then he goes to school. Then he works out some more there. Then he comes home. He’s usually here by six or so.”
“Okay, but it’s only seven thirty now,” said White.
“But I’ve been calling him since noon. I wanted to see how he was doing and if he wanted to help me…help me pick out some music for his mother’s funeral service.”
“When did his friend say he left school?” asked Decker.
“Around two. But he didn’t say where he was going.”
“And they just let him leave?” said White.
“He only had a study hall left.”
“Did he mention to you this morning about leaving school early, or going somewhere?”
“No, nothing like that.”
“Did he take his car today?” asked White.
“Yes.”
“Give us the address of his school,” said Decker.
Davidson wrote it down and handed it to him.
“While we’re here, can you answer a few questions about your ex-wife?” said Decker.
“What?” said Davidson irritably.
“Was your wife seeing anyone, I mean, romantically?” asked Decker.
Davidson seemed to shrivel in the face of this question. “I don’t know. I…I always hoped that we might reconcile, you know?”
Decker glanced at White. “No, we didn’t know. Care to explain?”
“We had problems. Julia seemed to think they were insurmountable.”
“And you didn’t?” said White.
“I’m probably a hopeless optimist,” Davidson said with a grim smile.
“But your optimism didn’t work. Did that bother you?” asked Decker.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” barked Davidson.
“You wanted to get back together with your ex. She didn’t. Now she’s dead.”
“I didn’t kill her. I was here. Tyler confirmed that. And I had Zoom meetings.”
“Before COVID, I thought ‘Zoom’ was just a verb,” said Decker. “I wish it still was just a verb.”
“Why aren’t you out there looking for my son? Find him, goddammit!”
“You’re not planning any trips, are you?” asked Decker.
“Why?”
“Don’t.”
Chapter 34
YOU PULLED HIS CHAIN PRETTY hard in there,” said White as they climbed into the car and set off. “Why was that?”
“I usually pull things to see if they snap.”
“And Davidson? You really think he’s good for his wife’s murder?”
“He’s got a motive, jealousy, if he knew about his ex and Draymont, but not the opportunity. But that becomes meaningless if he hired someone to do it for him.”
“If a hit man did go to her house, there should be some record of a car going through the gate.”
“There are certainly ways around that with all the holes in that wall.”
“I suppose. But you think two different people killed Draymont and Cummins. If Davidson was still in love with her, he would have had motive to hire someone to kill lover boy, too.”
“Yes, he would.”
“But you don’t think he did?”
“I’m not sure I believe he even killed his wife, much less Draymont. But I still think it was two different people. The fact remains, if the person who shot Draymont killed Cummins, then that person would have still been there. So why chase her upstairs with a knife? The shooter fired two nine-mill rounds into Draymont. I don’t know of any pistol that only chambers two nine-mill rounds. The shooter would’ve had plenty of ammo to take her out.”
“You make a compelling case, Decker, I’ll give you that. Shooter shoots and then leaves. Judge rushes down and while she’s trying to save Draymont a second person comes in with a knife and kills her.”
“Or they could have used a knife from her kitchen. The ME described a six-inch serrated blade. Lots of kitchen knives match that description. We’ll have to try to determine if any knives are missing.”
“So Draymont’s murder was premeditated, but Cummins’s was spur of the moment?”
“Maybe,” said Decker.
“If so, we’re talking one incredible coincidence.”
“And I don’t even like your run-of-the-mill coincidences, much less incredible ones.”
“I never pegged you for a sense of humor.”
“Don’t confuse humor with lack of a filter,” he cautioned.
“Where are we going now?”
“To find Tyler.”
“You mean, you have an idea where he is?” she said.
“I might.”
* * *
Arriving at the high school they saw that the mascot was the Monarch.
“Monarchs, huh? Always thought that was funny in a democratic country,” observed White as they parked in the visitor’s lot.
“I’ve seen lots of funny things lately in a democratic country, and I haven’t laughed at a single one of them.”
They got out. When Decker headed to the rear of the school grounds, White said, “Where are we going?”
“To Tyler’s world.”
“Tyler’s world?” said White as they walked along.
Decker pointed to the football stadium, where someone had turned on the lights illuminating the field. “There.”
As they drew nearer, they could both see Tyler, clad in shorts and no shirt, running all over the field catching footballs being thrown by another young man.
They went through the gate and walked down the bleacher steps to the track that ran around the fenced-in field.
“Nice facilities,” said White. “My high school football field was pretty much just a parking lot.”
“Good wheels,” said Decker as he watched Tyler run his routes. “Nice cuts.”
“If you say so.”
“Hey, Tyler!” he called out.
Tyler looked over at them, caught one more ball, wiped the sweat off his face with a towel hanging from his waistband, motioned to his friend that they were done, and trotted over. His torso was lacquered in sweat, every defined muscle shining brightly.
“Yeah?” he said, breathing heavily. He bent down, snagged a bottle of G2 off a bench, and guzzled it.
“Your father was worried about you. He’s tried calling. You didn’t answer.”
“I left my phone in my car over there,” said Tyler, pointing to a navy blue BMW convertible parked outside the fence at the other end of the field. “And I lost track of time. What’s the big deal?”
“No big deal to me, but it was to your old man.”
Tyler finished his drink and wiped down his arms and legs.
“You run nice routes,” observed Decker.
“Yeah, I work hard on it.”
“But you cut faster to the left than you do to the right. That’s because you’re right leg dominant.”
Tyler stared at Decker, clearly interested now.
“In college, particularly the schools you’re looking at, you have to be balanced. Otherwise, the linebacker or the safety or, better yet, the corner who covers you will read that weakness within a few plays and he’ll get the jump on the ball every time you cut right. Then it’s an interception all the way. It’s just a millisecond difference, but on a timed throw to a spot certain from the QB, he’ll get there before you will.”
“A college trainer my mom hired told me the same thing. He gave me some drills to work that out.”
“Good. Keep drilling. But if you do eight reps to the left, do twelve to the right. Hack squat with your left leg a few more reps than your right to build up the muscle mass. Do balance drills with your left leg to try to reach parity with the right. Quick-twitch exercises to that side are a good idea, too, along with maxing out hip flexibility. That’ll improve your rotation and range of motion. Lots of guys have that same issue. You may never get to complete parity, but you can get close, and your QB will love you for it.”
“You know your shit.”
“It was my life for a long time.” Decker leaned on the fence. “How’s your dad? Still drinking hard?”
“Drinking and maybe doping, too.” Tyler suddenly looked afraid. “Hey, I didn’t mean that. I don’t want my dad—”
Decker waved this off. “We’re not DEA. We’re FBI. But your dad shouldn’t do drugs because you pop a pill thinking it’s Oxy and it’s actually fentanyl and your next place of residence is a coffin.”
“Yeah, I guess so. I’ll make sure he’s not doing any of that.”
“You care about your dad, don’t you? Despite being pissed at him.”
“He and my mom were all I had. Now I just have him. So I want him to get his head on right and get through this.”
Decker glanced at the BMW. “Nice ride. Mom or Dad get that for you?”
“Dad. Mom didn’t like the idea. But I’m responsible. I don’t drink. I don’t do drugs. I go to school, play football, watch my p’s and q’s, and keep my head down.”
“Then you’re way ahead of me when I was in high school.”
“And you made it to the pros,” noted Tyler.
“I worked my butt off, but I got lucky, too. And my career didn’t last long.”
“You regret any of it?”
“Just my last play on the field.”
“What happened?”
“Long story, not worth retelling. Give your dad a call before he has a heart attack, okay?”
Tyler looked down, seeming embarrassed. “I left my phone in the car on purpose.”
“I know you did. You wanted to get away from all the shit. Come out here, run some routes, think about nothing but catching the ball and going all the way with it.”
Tyler glanced up and smiled. “I feel like I’m talking to an older version of me.”
“In some ways, Tyler, you are.”
Chapter 35
WHERE ARE WE GOING NOW?” asked White as Decker turned onto the highway and rode it east, toward downtown Ocean View.
“Duncan Trotter, Cummins’s estate lawyer. I made an appointment to meet with him this evening and go over who benefits from her death.”
“You have been a busy boy. So, what do you think Trotter will tell us?”
“In many homicides, following the money is a pretty good philosophy.”
* * *
Trotter was in his sixties with curly gray hair, a high, lined forehead, and a thin physique. He wasn’t dressed in a suit, but rather a dark blue polo shirt and gray slacks. Instead of wingtips on his feet, he had flip-flops. His law empire consisted of a few rooms in a one-story office building a couple blocks off the town’s main street.
They sat across from him in his cluttered office. He had told them when he answered the door that his secretary had long since left for the day. When they asked their questions about the last will and testament of Julia Cummins he commenced tapping some keys on his computer and then studied the screen.
“It was awful, awful about Julia. What a nightmare.” His voice was thin and reedy and only carried a foot or so before fading away. Decker actually had to hunch forward to hear him. He could see, with that voice, why the man was not a trial lawyer.
“Yes, it was tragic,” said White. “And we need to find out who did it. That’s why we’re here.”
“Yes, yes, of course. I know Barry took it hard.” He lifted his rimless specs to his forehead and gave them a knowing look. “He’s never gotten over Julia, you know. Still in love with her.”
“So the divorce was her idea?” said White.
“Oh, without a doubt. I’m not telling stories out of school, you understand. Common knowledge among our set.”
“So you socialized with them?” said Decker.
“Yes. It’s how you get clients. X refers you to Y and Y refers you to Z.”
“Do you know Tyler?”
“Fine young man. Amazing athlete. He adored his mother.”
“And his father?”
Trotter slid his glasses back into place. “Let’s just say that in that relationship Tyler is the father and Barry is the child. Again, no tales out of school. Indeed, I have to wonder why Julia ever married him in the first place.”
“Love makes you do crazy things,” said Decker.
“So was that the reason for the divorce? Barry never grew up?” asked White. “A lot of women don’t want to raise kids all their lives.”
“I think that was one very significant reason. And when Barry hit forty-five, he had an early midlife crisis. Bought expensive cars, dressed like he was still in college, wanted himself and Julia to hang out with a far younger crowd.”
“We were told that the judge might have recently had her own midlife crisis,” said Decker. “Dressing hipper, going out more, dancing, clubbing?”
“Um, yes, I had noticed that, too. The hemlines got a little shorter and the heels a little higher. It was no business of mine and I’m in no way judging her choices,” he added quickly.
“Did Barry ever cheat on her?” asked Decker. “We understand he dates very young women now.”
“No, I actually think he loved Julia more than anything,” said Trotter. “But Julia finally got tired of his ‘new ways,’ and then they had a tax issue that nearly landed Barry in jail. That was apparently the last straw for Julia. She filed for divorce shortly thereafter.”
“Did you handle that?” asked White.
“Me? No, no, no. I don’t handle divorce cases. Don’t have the stomach for it.”
“Did you find what you’re looking for?” asked Decker in a prompting manner as he eyed the man’s computer.
“Yes, yes I did. Now, Julia was a very wealthy woman.”
“How wealthy?”
“Not counting her home, Julia’s estate is worth over twenty million dollars, all of it in liquid assets, stocks, bonds. Just the income from the portfolio alone is over a million a year.”
“And who gets it?” asked Decker.
“There are some charitable bequests and a few small gifts to various people, but the vast bulk of the estate is to be held in trust for Tyler Davidson.”
“In trust. So who’s the trustee?”
“Barry Davidson. He’s also the executor. After the divorce, Julia talked about changing that, but never got around to doing so.”
“What are the terms of the trust?” asked White.
“Pretty standard. The principal will be disbursed in three tranches. When Tyler is twenty-five, twenty-eight, and thirty-one. Until that time he can apply to the trustee for funds for education, starting a business, purchasing a home, that sort of thing. Pretty standard. Oh, and the home goes to Tyler as well, unless Barry decides to sell it instead. If he does, the proceeds will go into the trust.”
“So Tyler is rich then?”
“Well, he certainly will be when the funds are disbursed, even after applicable taxes.”
