WALTER DABNEY HAD done well for himself.
Decker was standing right in the middle of it all.
The house in McLean was easily worth four or five million bucks. The grounds were extensive and professionally landscaped and maintained. A crew was outside right then trimming bushes, cutting the broad, plush lawns, and generally sprucing up the outdoor space. Another crew was working on the Olympic-size heated pool. And there was a poolhouse that was about the size of a normal home. The cost of merely maintaining this place each year was probably far more than Decker was paid by the FBI.
He turned from the window to stare over at Jules Dabney. She was an interesting mixture of her parents. Tall and athletically built like her mother, she had her father’s jawline, long forehead, and pale green eyes. Her blonde hair hung straight down and skimmed the tops of her shoulders.
Her manner was brisk, businesslike even, and she hadn’t shed a tear since Decker and the others arrived. Her mother, she told them, was in her bedroom, heavily sedated.
Translation: She’s not talking to you.
Jules instantly struck Decker as a micromanager and able handler of adverse situations. He wondered if that was going to help or hinder their investigation.
They were in the library, three walls of books clearly proclaiming the purpose of the room. Bogart sat in a comfy leather recliner, Jamison in an upholstered settee, and Jules in what looked like an antique wing chair. Decker stood in the center of the room.
Bogart said, “I can appreciate how difficult this is for you, Ms. Dabney.”
Jules waved this off. “It’s not difficult, it’s impossible. But we have to get through it, and so we will.”
“Where did you come in from?” Decker asked her.
She looked at him as though bewildered why this held any relevance.
“Palm Beach, why?”
“What do you do there?”
She frowned. “Is that important? Or pertinent?”
“It’s hard to say since you haven’t told us yet.”
Her lips pursed, she said, “I have my own company. Health care consulting.”
Jamison said, “I would imagine Florida is a good place for that. What with the large retired population.”
“Most of them are on Medicare, of course, but there’s a great deal of wealth down there and people have supplemental insurance. Health care is complicated. It’s hard for people to navigate it. And we advise businesses too. In fact, that’s where most of our revenue comes from. We have twenty employees and are growing double digits every year.”
“That’s very impressive,” said Decker. “When I was your age, I could barely take care of myself.”
She said curtly, “My father instilled an excellent work ethic in all his children. Along with ambition.”
She suddenly looked away, and for a moment Decker thought she might burst into tears. She rubbed her mouth and turned back to them.
“My father is…was a huge influence on me.”
Decker said, “I’m sure. And you wanted to meet with us because your father told you something?”
“Things,” she said. “I wrote them down on the flight in.”
She handed the paper to Decker. He looked down at it.
Bogart said, “Can you read them out loud, Decker?”
Decker appeared not to have heard him.
Jules stared impatiently at the silent Decker for a few moments and then said sharply, as though she were giving a business presentation, “One, he told me to take care of my mother. Two, he said for me to get married and have a family. Because life was too short. Three, he told me that above all I was to remember that he loved me.”
Bogart said, “And was this unusual?”
“My father was attentive and caring, but, yes, these particular statements were unusual because he had never spoken to me about these things before. At least not like that.”
Jamison said, “So were you concerned?”
“I point-blank asked him if something was wrong. He said no. Just that he’d been thinking about life in general and wanted me to know these things. He joked that he must be getting old, but it still struck me as odd.”
“Did you talk to anyone else about it?” asked Bogart.
“No. I was going to phone my siblings to see if he’d a similar conversation with them, but then I got busy. By the time I got around to thinking about doing it I got the call about Dad.”
Decker held up the list. “You have a number four marked here but nothing beside it.”
Jules reached in her pocket and pulled out a key. “He sent me this the next day.”
Decker took the key and looked it over. “Appears to be a safe deposit box key,” he said, handing it across to Bogart.
“It is,” said Jules. “He has a box at a bank in downtown McLean. He’s had it for years.”
“Do you know what’s in it?”
“I assumed it was just things one puts in a safe deposit box. I’ve never seen inside it.”
“Why would he send you the key?”
“I don’t know. I was going to call him, but then, like I said, I got distracted with business. I assumed I would have plenty of time to talk to him about it. I just thought it might have something to do with his estate planning. It would make sense that he would involve me. He’d named me executrix a couple of years ago.” She added in an explanatory note, “I’m the oldest. That stuff sort of fell to me by virtue of birth order.”
“But your father obviously had confidence in you too,” said Jamison.
“I hoped he did.”
Decker looked at Bogart. “Can we look inside it?”
Bogart glanced at Jules. “If your mother is a signatory on the box we’ll need her permission. Otherwise, we’ll have to get a warrant.”
“Get the warrant, because I’m not disturbing my mom right now. She needs to rest, not worry about signing papers.”
Bogart pulled out his phone and stepped from the room.
Jules looked around the space and her expression changed from flint to despair. “I grew up in this house. I love every nook and cranny of it.”
Jamison said, “I can see why. It’s beautiful. So warm and inviting. Did your mother do the decorating?”
Jules nodded. “She had an eye for that. Dad was great at his business. But Mom did everything else. She was the perfect partner. Wonderful hostess, a great sounding board when he needed it. And she raised four kids, mostly on her own because Dad was always traveling back then.”
Jamison said, “Wealth like this doesn’t come easy. A lot of hard work went into it.”
“Yeah,” said Jules absently.
“So his words to you, given what happened, make sense,” said Decker. “Sort of parting advice?”
She looked up at him, her face reddening. “So you’re suggesting he told me to get married and have kids before he goes and murders someone and then blows his own head off? How screwed up is that?” she added shrilly.
Decker said imperturbably, “But he might not have thought he had a choice.”
“What does that mean?”
“Did you know your father was sick?”
“What do you mean, sick?”
“He had an inoperable malignant brain tumor. He was terminal.”
Jamison gave a little gasp at Decker’s blunt words, but he kept his gaze squarely on Jules.
Tears appeared in Jules’s eyes. “W-what?” she stammered.
Decker sat down across from her. “The autopsy revealed the tumor and an aneurysm. He had maybe a few months left to live. You’re saying you didn’t know?”
She shook her head as the tears suddenly spilled down her cheeks.
Jamison pulled some clean tissues from a pack in her purse and handed them to Decker, who passed them to Jules. She wiped her eyes.
“Do you think your mother knew?” asked Decker.
She shook her head. “Impossible. If Mom knew we all would have known.”
“Even if he didn’t want the children to know?” asked Jamison.
She took a few moments to compose herself. “Wouldn’t have mattered. My mother is incapable of keeping something like that secret.”
Decker nodded. “Understood. Is there any reason you can think of for your father having done something like this?”
She barked, “You might as well ask me why the sun won’t be coming up tomorrow. This is…this can’t be happening.” The next instant, she bent over and started to sob uncontrollably.
Decker looked at Jamison with an awkward expression. Jamison rose and knelt down next to Jules, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and offering more tissues. “Decker, go get her some water,” she hissed.
Decker left the room and found the kitchen, a large, airy space that looked like it should be in the pages of an architectural design magazine. He opened some cupboards. In one he saw some medicine bottles. He quickly looked at the labels. One was for increasing bone density; another was Zoloft. He found the glasses in another cupboard, filled one at the tap, and walked back to the library. He handed it to Jamison, who helped Jules to drink it.
They heard a car drive up to the front door. Decker left the room again and walked down the hall in time to see the front door fly open. A woman stormed in and threw her coat and bag down on the hardwood floor. Behind her Decker could see an airport taxi gliding back down the paved driveway.
The woman was in her early thirties, with brown hair cut short, glasses, and the same tall, lean build as Jules.
“Who the hell are you?” she demanded.
Decker held out his FBI credential. “I take it you’re one of the daughters.”
“Samantha. Where’s my mother?”
“Sedated. Your sister Jules is in the library.”
Samantha Dabney brushed past Decker and hurried down the hall. Decker followed. He got there in time to see her kneel down and hug her still-weeping sibling. Jamison rose and backed off, giving the women space.
When Jules finally composed herself, she sat up.
Samantha said, “What the hell is going on? Why is the FBI here?”
Jules said, “I told you what happened, Sam. Did you think they wouldn’t be investigating? Dad mur…Dad shot someone. Right outside of the FBI building.”
Samantha collapsed into the chair that Jamison had been sitting in. “I know that’s what you told me. But it…it can’t be, Jules. You know that. Why would he do this? He had so much to live for.”
“Daddy was terminal. He had a brain tumor.”
The blood drained from Samantha’s face. She jumped up from the chair and glared down at her sister. “What? And you didn’t tell me?”
Decker interjected, “I just told her. His autopsy revealed it.” He paused. “Did your dad phone you recently?”
“No. About three weeks ago he sent me an email. Nothing special. Just checking in.”
She shot Jules a glance. “First Dad shoots someone. And now a brain tumor. What is going on? Wait, do you think the tumor affected his mind? Is that why he did it?”
Decker said, “Anything’s possible. But if there’s another reason, we need to find it. Have either of you ever heard your father mention the name Anne Berkshire?”
They both shook their heads.
Samantha said, “Is that the woman he shot?”
Decker nodded.
Samantha looked at her sister. “Jules? You kept in touch with Dad more than me. You sure it doesn’t ring a bell?”
“No. I never heard of the woman.”
Jamison said, “It might have been random. There might be no connection. Maybe he was affected by his illness. Maybe Berkshire was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Decker said, “I found some medicine bottles in the cupboard. One was for increasing bone density, the other was Zoloft. Who were they for? Part of the labels were removed.”
Samantha looked at her sister and then back at Decker. “For Mom. She’s had a problem with brittle bones. The Zoloft was for her depression.”
“How long has she suffered from that?” asked Decker.
“At least since we were kids,” said Samantha.
“She also has kidney issues,” added Jules.
“But she looks so healthy,” said Jamison. “Tall and athletic and robust.”
“Looks can be deceiving,” said Jules curtly. “Anyway, Dad took good care of her. Now, I don’t know. I might have her come and live with me.”
Bogart returned a moment later. He said, “The warrant is coming in now. Let’s head to the bank.”
Samantha said, “What bank?”
“Daddy sent me the key to his safe deposit box,” said Jules.
“Why, what’s in it?”
Bogart held up the key. “That’s what we’re going to find out.”