“No. How much farther to her place?”
“It’s the next street.”
They turned into the driveway of a small bungalow with stucco siding and green-and-white-striped awnings over the windows. A short, squat palm was planted out front. The grass was clipped short, and the flower beds didn’t have much in them. They got out, and Decker looked through the window of the one-car garage.
“Empty. Her car must be at work still.”
“We don’t have a search warrant, like I pointed out before,” noted Andrews.
“But we can look around, right?” said Decker. “Until you file for and get a search warrant?”
“Yes. On the outside. And in plain sight.”
They made a perimeter search of the yard and found that Lancer didn’t really make much use of it. There was a small wooden deck on the rear of the house, but there was no outdoor furniture to sit on. The backyard looked as uncared for as the front.
Decker used his height to peek into some windows but couldn’t see much.
“Can I help you?”
He turned to see a woman staring at him from the yard next door. She was in her seventies, gray haired, with a plump frame and wearing white sweatpants, a long-sleeved dark blue shirt, and orthopedic shoes. Glasses dangled from a chain around her neck.
They all showed their credentials.
She put on her glasses and drew closer. “The FBI! Has something happened?”
“And your name?” asked Andrews.
“Dorothy Steadman.”
“Have you lived here long?”
“Over fifteen years.”
“What can you tell us about Ms. Lancer?” asked White.
“I don’t really know her all that well. I’m long retired. So our paths don’t cross very often.”
“When was the last time you saw her?” asked Decker.
“I saw her drive off this morning. I believe she works in Miami.”
“Did she seem normal?”
“Yes, I mean, nothing looked out of the ordinary.”
“Have you spoken with her lately?” asked Decker.
The woman considered this. “Oh, a few days ago. She was taking a walk. This was in the evening. We chatted for a few seconds. The weather, that sort of thing.”
“She have many visitors?”
“Not that I’ve seen. I mean, occasionally.”
Andrews took out his phone, brought up a screen, and held it up. It was a picture of Alan Draymont. “This man?”
The woman said, “Yes, I have seen him. He’s been over to see Alice many times, at least that I’m aware of. I assumed they were dating.”
“Did they seem romantically engaged?” asked White.
“Not particularly so. I just assumed. Has…has something happened to Alice?”
“We’re trying to find out. What else can you tell us about her?” asked Decker.
“She lives quietly. She keeps to herself. Never spoke of having children. I thought she had something to do with law enforcement.”
“Why’d you think that?” asked White.
“I saw her getting in her car once, and she had a gun on her belt.”
Andrews handed her a card. “If you think of anything else, please give me a call. And if you see Ms. Lancer back here, please alert me right away.”
“Alert you? Is she in some sort of trouble?”
“Like we said, we’re trying to find things out,” said Decker. “Thanks.”
As they got back into the car White said, “So Draymont and Lancer were maybe a couple?”
Decker said, “Draymont gets murdered, and Lancer fakes a fainting spell to get out of answering our questions. This is not a dating issue. This is something more than that.”
“What could they have been involved in?” said Andrews.
Decker replied, “They both worked at Gamma. That might be the common denominator.”
“You mean involving Gamma?” asked Andrews.
“Not necessarily. But let’s keep an open mind, okay?” Decker added.
“It would be hard to believe that an organization with the sterling reputation of Gamma would be—”
Decker interrupted. “Yeah, go tell that to Bernie Madoff’s investors. And where’d you get that photo of Draymont?”
“From Gamma’s website.”
“And you need to file that search warrant request for Lancer’s place.”
“I’m on it,” said Andrews, hitting a speed dial number and putting the phone to his ear.
“And now, we go to court,” said Decker.