Long Shadows (excerpt two)

Below is an excerpt from Long Shadows, the upcoming thriller in David Baldacci’s Memory Man series.

Click here to pre-order in hardcover, e-book, and audiobook

Decker had experienced crime scenes galore during his time in law enforcement. And he remembered every detail of each one. This one looked both routine and also unique in certain respects.

This was the judge’s study or home office. Bookshelves, a desk, a small leather couch, a wooden file cabinet, a sleek desktop com- puter, and a tabletop copier. One window looked out onto the rear grounds. Paintings on the wall, nice knickknacks, a colorful Orien- tal rug over wooden floorboards. Nothing looked disturbed, no evidence of a frantic search for something, or a robbery or struggle having taken place. Everything neat, tidy, in its place.

Then, on the floor, a body. But not the judge. A man. Obviously, the security guard. Private, not a U.S. marshal as was usually the case with a federal judge. He was in his thirties, lean, six feet, close-cut brown hair that rode like a soft cap on his skull. He was not wearing a security guard’s uniform, but rather a dark tailored suit and a white shirt with a red blotch in the center and two holes as the cause of the blood, and his death. Someone was taking no chances.

The edge of his holstered gun poked out from his jacket. Decker knelt down and checked the suit label: Armani. He looked at the watch on his wrist: Cartier. The shoes: Ferragamo.

Interesting.

The dead man was spread-eagled on the floor, sightless eyes looking up at the small chandelier hanging from the ceiling. He

had a couple days’ worth of beard stubble. Even in death, his features were handsome, if now very pale. His expression was one of surprise, if a dead person could hold such an emotion. And some could, Decker knew.

He eyed the forensics team doing their thing. He approached one, a woman in her forties dressed in blue scrubs and masked as she entered some information on an iPad. White followed.

“You the ME? Got a preliminary cause and time of death?”

She glanced at him in surprise and then looked around until she saw Andrews standing in the doorway. He grudgingly nodded at her as he walked up to stand next to Decker.

“I am the ME, Helen Jacobs. We’re looking at a pair of GSWs to the chest, looks like they pierced the heart. Death instantaneous. TOD is between midnight and two a.m. last night.”

White said, “Any signs of forced entry?”

“None,” replied Andrews. “And who called you guys down here, Agent White?”

“SAC John Talbott out of the WFO. Give me your number and I’ll text you his contact info. I thought you had been informed.”

Andrews did so and White sent him the info. “Anything taken?” asked White.

“Still checking. Nothing readily apparent.” “Name of the deceased?” asked White. “Alan Draymont,” replied Jacobs.

“We understand he was private security,” said Decker. “Who with?”

“Gamma Protection Services,” answered Andrews. “We contacted them and will set up an interview.”

“Wearing a suit and not a uniform?”

“Gamma has a number of levels of protection. They do mall, warehouse, and office security, assignments like that. For protection at this level, they have higher-skilled operatives.”

“Higher skilled? Like the dead guy?” said Decker, eyeing him closely.

“Like the dead guy,” Andrews shot back. “Nobody’s perfect.” White said, “Why a bodyguard? Was she getting threats?” “Checking on that with Gamma,” said Andrews a bit petulantly. “And if so, why not a U.S. marshal?” said White. “That’s the way

it usually works with federal judges, right?”

“Again, checking on that,” said Andrews, now huffily. “But the judge could hire private security if she wanted to. She could afford it.”

Decker looked at him. “You knew her?”

“Acquaintances. I live in Ocean View. It’s sort of a small-town vibe here.”

“Did Draymont fire his weapon?” asked White. “It’s still in its holster,” replied Andrews.

“And the killer or killers could have put it back there after he fired it,” noted Decker.

Andrews stiffened and said, “We’ll check.” “Any trace of the killer?” White asked.

Jacobs answered, “Most of the prints we’ve found so far belong to the judge, and a few to Draymont. There are some others, though, that we haven’t identified yet. No footprints that we could find. There’s a low-pile carpet runner on the stairs that didn’t show any trace. And hardwood floors here in the study, upstairs hall, and the deceased’s bedroom. Tough to get anything from that. It hadn’t rained or anything, either, so no shoe impressions that we could find.”

“And the judge’s body?” asked Decker. “How did she manage to do the stairs after she was wounded?”

Jacobs looked at him curiously, then said, “You saw the blood trail on the stair runner when you came in, and on the hardwood floor leading out of here.”

“Hard to miss with your little cones set out. But it was really the bloody palm print on the wall next to the stairs. I assume that must be the judge’s, since two shots to the chest means Draymont wouldn’t have made it out of this room under his own power.”

Jacobs said, “I think she was stabbed once down here and the killing took place upstairs in her bedroom.”

“Let’s go,” said Decker, not liking the two words I think.

They avoided the evidentiary trail on the carpeted steps and reached the second-floor landing, where Andrews led them into the bedroom.

“Killer didn’t step in the blood from downstairs?” asked White. “No, he was careful about that,” said Jacobs.

Judge Julia Cummins was lying on her bed wearing a short white terrycloth robe. The robe was open, revealing the woman’s black underpants and a white camisole. Someone had put a blindfold over her eyes, but then cut out holes in the cloth where the eyes were. There was blood all over her clothing, and on the bedspread and also on her hands, the bottoms of her feet, and her knees.

“She’s been stabbed repeatedly,” said Jacobs. “Ten times by my unofficial count, not counting defensive wounds. COD was blood loss due to the stabbings.”

“So she was downstairs where she was attacked, ran up here, and the intruder came up and finished her off,” said White.

“Appears to be that way,” said Jacobs cautiously.

“Stabbing someone that many times is personal,” noted Decker.

Andrews interjected, “But we have a ways to go. It’s a complicated crime scene.”

Decker eyed the twisted covers and took in the fact that the mattress was out of alignment with the box springs.

White must have been reading his mind. “Looks like a struggle took place there.”

“You mentioned defensive wounds?” asked Decker, noting the cuts on the woman’s forearms.

Jacobs said, “Yes. It’s natural for a person getting attacked with a knife or blunt instrument to use their arms to block the blows. Multiple slashes. However, the wound to her lower sternum was probably the fatal one. From the location and depth, it likely cut right through her aorta. I’ll know for certain when I do the post.”

“Any trace under her fingernails?” asked White.

“None that I could find on a preliminary exam. I’ll look closer when I do the post.”

“Blood on her hands, knees, the bottoms of her feet?” noted Decker.

Andrews said, “Explained by the fact that she was attacked downstairs, stepped in her own blood, maybe fell, and got blood on her knees. Ran up here. Mark on the wall by the stairs where she no doubt put her hand to steady herself, and spatter on the stair runner.”

“Any signs of sexual assault?” asked Decker, who did not look convinced by this theory as the blood spatter images from the stairs and the study marched across his mind’s eye.

Jacobs replied, “I did a prelim. No signs of that. I’ll know more once I get her on the slab. But I don’t think she’s been sexually assaulted.”

Decker looked at the blindfold. “Nice of the killers to leave us this little symbol.”

Andrews stepped forward. “Why blindfold her but then cut the holes so her eyes are showing?”

“The blindfold was most likely put on postmortem,” noted Jacobs. “Of course it was,” said Decker abruptly.

“You said symbolic?” said White, looking at the blindfold.

Decker said, “The lady was a judge. Justice is supposed to be blind. Only with her, I guess it wasn’t, or at least in the opinion of her killer, since they made sure she was seeing clearly, or as clearly as the dead can.”

Andrews sucked in a sharp breath. “Shit, that could be true.” “Where did the blindfold come from?” asked Decker.

“From the judge’s closet,” answered Jacobs. “It was taken from a set of handkerchiefs she had.”

“Any trace of the killer left in the closet or here? Footprints, residue of blood spatter from stabbing the judge?” asked White.

“We’ve found nothing so far. We’re still dusting for prints, and

we’ll take the prints of family and friends for elimination purposes, of course.”

Decker said, “So this might have been heat of the moment. The killing certainly seemed to be. And the killer used the judge’s hand- kerchief instead of bringing one already fashioned as a mask. What’d the killer use to cut the holes?”

“We’ve found nothing that had blood on it that would have been used.”

“The killer might have used the knife to do it and then took it with him or her,” said White, who then noted the card in an evidence bag next to the dead woman. “The card was found here?” she asked.

Jacobs nodded. “It was actually placed on her body.”

White looked at the card in the clear plastic bag. “‘Res ipsa loquitor.’ ”

She glanced over at Decker, who was watching her.

“Any paper or pen here match the card and the ink?” asked Decker.

“The pen is generic, but we’ve found no match here on the card so far,” said Andrews. “The killer might have brought it.”

“Any prints on the card?” asked White. “No.”

“If the killer brought the card, that does smack of premeditation,” noted White.

“Yes, it does,” said Decker. “But that coupled with the mask and the frenetic stabbing makes this a very contrarian crime scene.”

Decker looked around the space and noted a photo on the nightstand.

In the picture was the deceased, and on either side of her a man and a teenage boy.

Andrews picked up the photo with his gloved hand and said, “That’s Judge Cummins, of course. And that’s her ex-husband, Barry Davidson, and their son, Tyler. Looks like this was taken at the club, judging by the background.”

“The club?” asked White.

“Harbor Club. It’s right down the coast, about five minutes. They were members. Well, the judge was.”

“And her ex and her son? Where are they?”

“We contacted Barry Davidson. He lives nearby.” “Alibi?”

“He was with his son. It was the week he had him.” “So his son is his alibi?” said Decker.

“Yes. I understand the boy is devastated.” “How old is he?”

“Seventeen.”

“Do you know the ex and the son?” asked Decker. “I’ve met Barry Davidson.”

“And you know this club, obviously, since you recognized it in the photo.”

“Yes. I belong to the Harbor Club, too.”

Decker eyed the man’s costly suit and shoes. “Is that your Lexus outside?”

“Yes, it is. What about it?”

“Nothing. Is the Mazda Draymont’s ride?”

“Yes,” answered Jacobs, looking anxiously between the two men.

Decker said, “So, what’s your theory on what happened here last night, Agent Andrews?”

Andrews glanced at White and then took a moment to compose his thoughts. “I think it seems reasonably clear. Since there was no forced entry, either one of the doors was unlocked or the person or persons was let in. The fact that the judge was in her underwear leads me to believe that Draymont was shot first. The judge, on hearing something from her bedroom, put on a robe, came downstairs, and was attacked. She ran back to her room, probably to lock herself in, but wasn’t able to. They killed her here. Then they left the card and put the blindfold on her.”

“If Draymont let the person in he must have known them. Either on his own, or because they knew the judge,” said White.

“But if the murders occurred between midnight and two, that would be pretty late for a visitor,” observed Decker.

“Could Draymont have been in on it, let the person in, and then had a change of heart, or the killer intended on leaving no witnesses behind?” said White.

Andrews said, “That’s certainly possible.”

“Who called the police about the bodies?” asked Decker.

“They got a call from the neighbor next door, Doris Kline. She went out on her rear deck this morning to drink her coffee and read her iPad, and saw the back door of Cummins’s house open. She went over to make sure everything was okay. It was after nine at that point. And the judge was normally on her way to court before then. Kline walked in the rear door, went into the kitchen and then through to the study, where she saw Draymont’s body. She ran back to her house and called the cops. They found the judge’s body, too, and called us in because of her federal status. I’ve already contacted the U.S. Marshals Service to loop them in. I’ve been busy here, but I plan to interview Kline next.”

Decker nodded absently and surveyed the room once more, imprinting every detail onto his memory cloud, as he liked to refer to it now. When he’d first learned he had perfect recall he’d named it his “hard drive,” but times changed and he had to change with them.

His hyperthymesia was an amazing tool for a detective, but it was also overwhelming at times. He had been told that there were fewer than a hundred people in the world who had been diagnosed with the condition, and Decker would have preferred not to have been one of them.

Most people with hyperthymesia concentrated their recall on personal events, memories from the past, mostly autobiographical in nature. Because of that, Decker had learned that they often tended to live in the past as well because the stream of recollections was unrelenting. While Decker certainly had some of that, too, his memory recall was different. Pretty much everything he heard or

saw or read in the present was permanently encoded in his mind and could be pulled out at will.

He turned to Jacobs. “TOD on the judge?”

“Approximately the same range as Draymont. Midnight to two

a.m. I might be able to get a little tighter on the parameters, but that time box is looking pretty solid.”

He handed her his business card. “Let me know about Draymont’s gun and the possible sexual assault.”

“All right.”

He looked at Andrews. “We told the guard at the entrance gate to get us the list of people who came through over the last twenty-four hours. He was going to bring it here.”

“I had planned to do that,” said Andrews.

“Good, we’re operating on the same wavelength. While we’re waiting for him, let’s go talk to Mrs. Kline.”

He walked out of the room.

Andrews whirled on White. “How long have you and Decker been partners?”

White checked her watch. “Oh, about six hours.”

***

Doris Kline ushered them into her home after they knocked, and led them to the rear lanai. She was in her late fifties with permed hair and too much makeup, at least to Decker’s mind.

But what the hell do I know?

Kline had on a pair of white slacks and an orange shirt with the sleeves half rolled up, revealing taut, tanned forearms, mottled over with coppery sunspots. She was skinny for her five-foot-eight height, and the woman was a smoker, which might have been a factor in her thinness. A pack of Camels and a purple Zippo lighter sat on the table on the screened-in lanai, which overlooked the backyard. Beyond that were some slender palm trees and compact shrubbery. A pool was situated in front of them. From the smell it was apparently filled with saltwater. Through the screens enclosing the space, Decker noted a well-trod path down to the beach, with the dull gray stretch of the Gulf just beyond that. Seagulls swooped and dove across the clear sky looking for things no human could see.

The house was smaller than Julia Cummins’s place and hadn’t been kept up as well. The stucco was damaged in several areas, and the outdoor heat pumps heavily rusted from the heavy salt air had drawn Decker’s notice. The lawn and landscaping hadn’t seen much attention, either. He didn’t know if that was simply the result of indifference or a lighter wallet than the judge had had.

“Were you the only one in your house last night?” asked Decker. Kline blew smoke from her nose and nodded as she reached for

a glass of what looked like orange juice, but Decker smelled the alcohol in it.

“I was. I’m divorced, my kids grown and off. I don’t go out much because my ex left me with lots of bills and not enough alimony. He had the better lawyer, unfortunately.”

“Can you take us through this morning?”  asked  White,  her eyes widening, apparently at the woman so casually revealing this personal info.

“I came out here around nine, saw the rear door was open, and that seemed strange. At that hour of the morning Julia had usually long since left for court, and she really never used that door. She just went right from the house to the garage.”

“Did you know her well?” asked Decker.

“We were neighbors and good friends for years.”

“I’m sure you’re upset about what happened,” interjected White.

Kline tapped ash into a crystal bowl, her lips firmly set. “I’m not a crier. But I’m very distraught that Julia is dead. I cared for her. A lot. We were good friends. We would vent to each other. But I’ve seen a ton of shit in my life. The best defense is just to keep it at arm’s length, at least that’s my take.”

“So, you investigated and found the body of the man in the study?” said Decker.

“Scared the crap out of me. I ran right out and called the police. They were here in maybe three minutes. There’s a station not that far from here.”

“You knew the dead man?” said White.

“I’d seen him at Julia’s. I never spoke with him.”

“Did the judge discuss with you why she needed security?” “Not really, no. I guess all judges get threats and stuff. Hell,

these days, who doesn’t? Look at social media. I could post some- thing about saving orphans and I’d be attacked as a sex-trafficking pedophile. People are such animals online.”

“But did she actually say it was because she had received threats that she had the bodyguard?” asked Decker.

“No, I don’t believe she did. I guess I just assumed.”

“Last night, did you hear or see anything?” asked White. “Say between midnight and two, or even before or after that? Flash of headlights turning into the drive next door? Gunshot? Screams or raised voices? Sounds of a fight?”

She shook her head and sharply cleared her throat. “I use a CPAP machine at night, and I take an Ambien. I wasn’t going to hear anything.”

“Do you have an alarm system?” asked Decker. “Oh sure. But I don’t usually turn it on.” “Why not?” asked White curiously.

“Well, we have a gate and twenty-four-hour security.”

Decker said, “So did the judge. Plus her own private bodyguard.

Clearly wasn’t enough.”

Kline looked less sure of herself and tapped ash into the bowl. “I guess I see your point.”

“How about the neighbor on the other side of the judge?” asked Decker.

“The Perlmans? They’re in New York. They left last week and will be back tomorrow.”

“They knew Cummins?” asked Andrews.

“Sure, we were all friends. Maya, that’s Mrs. Perlman, was a retired lawyer, so she and Julia had that connection. Trevor is her husband; it’s her second marriage. Oh and I think they were the ones who told Julia about the protection service she ended up using.”

“Why was that?” asked White.

“I’m not entirely sure, but I think the Perlmans had used them in the past. I don’t know why. You’d have to ask them.”

Decker and White exchanged a glance.

“Do you know the judge’s ex and their son, Tyler?” asked Decker. “Yes. Barry and Tyler Davidson. Cummins was Julia’s maiden name. She kept it after they were married. Saved her some paper- work after the divorce since she didn’t have to change it back. They

all lived next door until the breakup. Barry still lives nearby. When I was married, we would all go out together. After our divorces Julia and I would still go out, or else have a girls night in. We’d either cook, or do takeout with white wine and Hallmark movies. Although lately she seemed a bit different.”

“How so?” asked White.

“Over the last year or so she wanted to go out more. Dinner, dancing. Hitting the club scene. She was dressing, well, how shall I say, a little younger than she had been. Don’t get me wrong, she looked fabulous. She was a decade younger than me. She seemed to be having fun. Why not?”

Her lips started to twitch and tears suddenly clustered at the corners of her eyes.

“And they had shared custody of Tyler?” said White quietly.

She dabbed at her eyes with her hand. “Yes, one week on and off. But Tyler will be going to college in about a year and a half, so it would have ended then. With Julia gone I guess it ends right now . . . ” Kline set her drink down and stubbed out her Camel. She put a hand to her face and let out a sob. “I’m . . . I’m sorry, I th-think it just h-hit me that she’s really g-gone.”

White produced some Kleenex from a pack in her pocket and passed them across.

Kline wiped her eyes. “Thank you.” She collected herself and continued in a husky voice, “Julia was very nice. Very caring. After my divorce she was so supportive.”

“She talk to you about any problems lately? You ever see any strange cars around or people you didn’t recognize loitering?” asked Decker.

Kline shook her head and finished her drink in one gulp. “No, nothing like that. Again, this is a gated community so they keep the riffraff out, or at least they’re supposed to.”

“You never really talked about the bodyguard? Seems strange between close friends.”

She lit another Camel and blew fresh smoke out. “Look, I tried

to ask her about that a couple of times, but she shut it down. I respected that, so I didn’t push it. I just figured it was crap someone in her position had to put up with.”

“To confirm, she actually told you about the guard, but didn’t say why he was there?” asked Decker.

“That’s right.”

“When was the last time you saw Barry or Tyler?” asked Andrews. “Tyler was here last week when he was staying with his mom.

Barry, I saw about three weeks ago. He had come by for some reason. Maybe to pick up Tyler.”

“How does Tyler usually get here from his dad’s place?” asked White. “Did his parents drive him back and forth?”

“He has his own car, a BMW convertible, and a gate pass, so he usually drives himself. But sometimes his father brings him, or Julia would drive him back to Barry’s condo. A couple times I’ve seen an Uber drop him off. And he has a bike, too. It’s not far, a couple of miles.”

“So that’s the last time you saw Barry? About three weeks ago?” asked Decker.

“No, now that I think about it, I saw him at the clubhouse. Oh, about a week or so ago.”

“The Harbor Club?” asked Decker.

“No, we have a clubhouse here and a golf course. Very challeng- ing. Do you play?”

“No. Why was he there?”

“Well, he was playing golf, nine holes, and then he had lunch. I said hello to him.”

“So he’s still a member?” asked White.

“Oh, yes. He retained all of that even after the divorce. In fact, it might have been part of the divorce for all I know.”

“What does he do for a living?”

“He runs his own company. Investments, that sort of thing. Does quite well. And Julia’s house is beautiful. Pool and big lanai. I have that, too, on a smaller scale, but I don’t have the money to really

keep it up anymore,” she added bitterly. “I’m going to have to downsize at some point.”

“Was he the major breadwinner in the marriage?” asked White. “I wouldn’t say that. Before she was a judge, Julia was a high-

powered lawyer, made a ton of money. And she also came from serious New York money. Trust funds and all that. Her father was a Wall Street bigwig. She got millions from him in inheritance. She was an only child. She wasn’t even fifty yet and now she’s dead.” Kline shook her head, her expression one of misery.

“Do you know who the beneficiary is of her estate?” asked Andrews.

Kline refocused. “I would guess Tyler, but I don’t know for certain. He’s their only child. I can’t believe she’d leave a dime to Barry. You’d have to check with her lawyer to be certain.”

“Do you know who that is?” asked White.

“Duncan Trotter. I know because he handles my stuff, too. Julia recommended him, in fact. His office is on Pelican Way, off the main street in town. He can tell you everything about that.” She sat back. “Anything else?”

White exchanged glances with Andrews, who shook his head. Then she looked at Decker, who was staring at the sky through the screened roof.

“Decker, you got anything else for Ms. Kline?” “Why the divorce?” asked Decker.

“Mine?”

“No, Julia and Barry.”

Kline shrugged. “Why does anyone get divorced?” “That’s what I’m asking.”

“There were issues, just like any marriage. Barry could tell you more, but it would just be from his perspective.”

“And what was your perspective? You said you were good friends. When married, you all socialized as couples. You shared very personal information. You must have an opinion,” said Decker.

“Why do you care about that?”

“Not to be too blunt, but most wives who are murdered are killed by their husbands. Same holds true for ex-wives and ex-husbands.” Kline pursed her lips. Her look was clear: She did not want to go there. “Julia was as straight as they come. Barry, well, he cut

corners.” “How?”

“He just wasn’t much of a rule follower.” “Can you give us an example?” asked White.

“They were audited about five years ago. Turns out Barry got caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and they had to pay hefty fines and Barry almost went to jail. Julia had only just gotten on the bench. If that had come out before? She probably wouldn’t have been confirmed. She filed for divorce shortly afterward.”

“And she was upset?” asked White.

“More like livid. I think that hastened the end of what was already a troubled marriage.”

“Why already troubled?” asked White.

“Barry never grew up. He wanted to be a college frat boy forever.

Goofy and boozing and just having fun.” “Did he cheat on her?” asked White.

“Not that I know. I actually believe he loved her and only her.” Andrews said, “Okay, anything else, Decker?”

Decker had looked up at the sky again. When he didn’t answer, White put her notebook away and rose. “Well, thank you for your time. We’ll probably have follow-up questions.”

“I just want you to catch whoever did this.” “We want that, too.”

Andrews rose and looked down at Decker. “You ready, Decker?

We’re heading out.”

Decker lowered his gaze to Kline. “Who told you the judge was dead?”

“What?” said Kline, looking surprised.

“You saw Draymont’s body in the study, but you didn’t see the judge’s body upstairs?”

“That’s right.”

“Did the police come over here and tell you?”

“No. I just assumed. I mean, if Julia had been alive, she would have come over here. I would have seen her out in the yard. She would have called the police herself last night.”

“So you just assumed she was home last night?” “Yes, that was why the guard was there, I presumed.” Decker nodded and rose. “Okay.”

“I’m not sure I appreciate the allegations in your questions,” Kline said irritably.

“That’s okay. People never do.”

-END-