“If that’s the quality of the security here, I’m surprised only two people are dead,” noted White.
“Well, there might be more that we don’t know about yet,” said Decker.
Cummins’s home was large and of Mediterranean design with white stucco siding and a red tile roof. It was situated on a shady, quiet cul-de-sac. The plantings were mature and well tended. This tranquility was marred by police and unmarked cars parked all over, and yellow crime-scene tape vibrating across the front yard in the brisk breeze.
Decker noted a blue sedan parked in the driveway. “Might be the dead security guard’s ride.”
“How do you figure that?”
“Every other ride here is either a police cruiser, or has Florida government or federal plates.”
“Could be Judge Cummins’s car.”
“A woman who owns what looks to be a two-or three-million-dollar home is not driving a dented-up ten-year-old Mazda. And she would have pulled it into one of those three garage bays, not left it in the driveway. And check out the bumper sticker.”
White read it off: “The Feds are watching you.”
“Not something you’d typically see on a federal judge’s car.”
They parked at the curb, cleared the security at the front door, put on booties and vinyl gloves helpfully provided by a member of the forensics team, and stepped inside.
Decker was immediately hit by a searing vision of overpowering electric blue. This was his synesthesia working overtime. His whole life, in fact, was represented by an overactive memory plus sensory pathways that had crossed streams like a clover exit off a highway.
He put a hand against the wall to steady himself because when the electric blue hit him, it made his balance momentarily say bye-bye.
Deep breaths, in and out.
When White looked at him she didn’t say a word, which made Decker instantly suspicious. He would have to deal with that later. His new partner was getting on his nerves by just being silent.
The short, stocky man marched into the foyer of the house like he was a CEO entering a boardroom for a meeting. He was in his late forties and dressed in pressed slacks and a navy blue jacket. His tie and shirt were immaculate. His hair looked like it had been pressed with an iron. His features were sharp, his expression sharper still.
And he was just the sort of stuffed-shirt official prick that Decker detested.
He flashed his cred pack. “FBI Special Agent Doug Andrews out of the Fort Myers RA.”
Of course you are, thought Decker.
“And you are?” Andrews said.
White produced her cred pack. Decker just stared at the doorway.
“And this is Amos Decker,” said White. “We just flew in from DC.”
Andrews’s expression soured. “I wasn’t told they were sending in agents from out of town. I was just told to hold the bodies here. I wasn’t given a reason.”
“Well, we’re the reason,” said White.
Andrews looked at Decker’s casual dress and said, “I didn’t see your ID, what was the name again, Decker?”
Decker looked around the grand foyer. Delicately furnished with expensive items arranged just so. Custom paint and wallpaper. Antique grandfather clock ticking away in one corner. Rugs were thick and colorful and no doubt expensive. He could smell death in every corner of the place. This was not his imagination. Dead bodies were decomposing in the near vicinity and the foul smell was unmistakable.
He saw a bloody palm print on a wall leading to the stairs. On the stair runner were other blood marks. They had number cones next to them, the mark of the forensics team’s doing its processing. He saw chalky fingerprint powder everywhere. He could hear the clicks of cameras and the murmurs of conversation. Everything was going as it should. Now he had to deal with this asshole, which he didn’t want to do.
Without looking at the man Decker said, “We were sent down to assist in the investigation.”
“We have the matter well in hand. And I—”
Decker walked past him and into the next room.
“Hey!” barked Andrews as Decker disappeared around the corner.
He looked back at White. “What the hell is with that guy?”
“Like me, he’s just here doing his job. And if you have a problem with us being here, you’re going to have to take it up with HQ. But right now, we’re going to work, just like you.”
She followed Decker into the next room.
Andrews hurried after her.
Chapter 7
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.