As soon as the Benz pulled off, Decker steered his rental into the driveway.
He got out and said, “Mr. and Mrs. Perlman?”
Mr. Perlman turned to him. “Yes? Who are you?”
Decker held out his credentials. “Amos Decker with the FBI.”
Mrs. Perlman glanced sharply at her husband. “FBI? What is going on, Trevor?”
Trevor glanced toward the house. “My God, what’s happened? Have we been robbed?”
Decker drew closer. “No. But a crime was committed next door.”
Both Perlmans looked around. “Which neighbor?” he said.
“Julia Cummins. Can we go inside and talk about this?”
“We just got back from a long trip,” protested Trevor, indicating the suitcases.
“It won’t take much time. Just a few questions.”
Trevor said resignedly, “All right.”
The interior of the home was spacious, with a flowing floor plan, lots of neutral colors, and an abundance of rear windows opening out to views of the Gulf beyond.
Decker noted the costly furnishings and oil paintings on the wall and the sculptures resting on pedestals, and thought that, unlike Doris Kline, the Perlmans had the money to keep their home up.
On the wall were photos of the Perlmans on a sailboat and another of Trevor Perlman at the wheel of a cabin cruiser with a captain’s hat worn at a jaunty angle. They looked happy and carefree. When he glanced over at them now, they looked anything but.
Trevor put the suitcases in a corner and turned to his wife. “Maybe some coffee, Maya?” He looked at Decker. “Would you like some?”
“Thank you, yes.”
After the coffee was made and given out, they sat on the lanai, where, with the press of a button by Trevor, a wall of glass opened up.
“Nice place,” commented Decker.
“We like it,” said Trevor. “Now, you mentioned a crime?”
“Yes, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but it was a double homicide at Judge Cummins’s home. She and her bodyguard were killed.”
Maya gave a little shriek and nearly spilled her coffee. Trevor stared blankly at Decker, as though he could not have possibly just said what he had.
“Julia…was…killed?” said Trevor.
“Yes. And her bodyguard, Alan Draymont.”
“Oh my God,” wailed Maya. She stood up, staggered, and fell back onto the sofa with her eyes shut.
“Maya!” cried out her husband. “Maya!” He gently smacked her cheeks and glanced at Decker.
“Water, there’s a fridge right over there.”
Decker grabbed a bottle of cold water. With her husband’s aid, Maya had come around and sat up. She drank the water and her color returned.
“I…I need to…compose myself.”
“Of course,” said Decker.
Trevor helped her from the room and then came back to the lanai and sat down.
“My wife and Julia were very…close.”
“So I understand. I’m sorry.”
“Do you…what in the hell happened?”
“As I said, someone killed her and her bodyguard. We have no suspects yet. How long have you and your wife been out of town?”
“For the last week. We were visiting some of Maya’s children in New York. From her previous marriage,” he added.
“When was the last time you spoke to or saw Judge Cummins?”
Trevor put his coffee cup on a side table. “I think I saw her a couple of days before we left. Just in passing. Just to say hello. Maya may have seen or talked to her before we left.” He looked up at Decker, his face taut. “How…was she…killed?”
“I can’t get into that. I understand that you recommended Gamma Protection Services to Judge Cummins?”
His voice breaking, Trevor said, “Y-yes, w-we did.”
“Why was that?”
He sipped his coffee and composed himself. “Maya was a lawyer. A defense attorney. No lawyer wins every case. One she lost involved a man accused of sexually assaulting his wife and children. He was sent to prison. But he got out about six months ago. He apparently didn’t think Maya had done a good enough job. He made threats. He even came by the house a couple of times. We got a restraining order. But he broke it. So we hired Gamma.”
“Was it Alan Draymont?”
“I…I don’t know. What does he look like?”
Decker produced a picture on his phone. “This is him.”
Trevor looked at it and shook his head. “I don’t know. It might be him. But it was more than one person. After a while, they blur together.”