The Sixth Man (22 page)

“I can hardly stand the anticipation.”

“What kind of dirt was in the barn on Roy’s property?”

“This is Virginia. So red clay. Why?”

“The findings indicated that each of the bodies showed evidence of dirt present that was different from that found in the barn.”

Michelle put her sandwich down again. “But that would only be possible if—”

“Excuse me?”

They both looked up to see the man in the jean jacket standing next to their table.

“Yeah,” said Sean, who looked annoyed at having allowed the guy to come right up to the table without him noticing.

“I was wondering if you two could step outside with me?”

“And why would we want to do that?” asked Michelle, whose right hand had snaked toward her own weapon and her left hand had curled into a fist.

“Let’s do this the easy way.”

“Let’s not do this any way at all,” she shot back.

The man reached inside his jacket, which was his first mistake.

Michelle swiveled, and her left leg shot out and caught him right in the gut. He was propelled back and hit the table against the wall.

His second mistake was coming at her again.

Before he could strike, Michelle had tagged him on the chin with
a powerful swing kick that lifted him off his feet and put him on his back, out cold on the worn, yellowed linoleum.

Sean stood, looking down in shock at the man.

The few other patrons in the deli, mostly older folks, sat frozen in their chairs at the sudden violence.

Michelle looked at them and said, “Little misunderstanding. Someone will be in to get him shortly. Just return to your meals and, what the hell, order some dessert.” She pointed at the fallen man. “It’s on him.” She turned back to Sean and hissed, “I suggest we get out of here before a strike team interrupts our coffee.”

He threw some cash down on the table for the meal and said, “If he is a Fed we are in deep shit.”

“Look, he never flashed a badge. For all we knew he was going for his gun.” She edged his jacket open with the toe of her boot and the weapon was revealed.

“But still,” said Sean.

“Cross that bridge when we get to it. Personally, I’m a little tired of being pushed around by the badge-and-baton community. And patience has never been my virtue.”

“How is it that you actually passed the Secret Service entry psychological exam?”

“Easy. Lots of Diet Coke and a ton of chocolate.”

They left the deli by the rear door, circled around, and spied another car with another man in it. Michelle edged into her truck from the passenger side followed by Sean. She fired it up and had backed out before the driver in the sedan could react.

As Sean looked in the side mirror he said, “Driver doesn’t know what to do. Follow us or, okay, there he goes inside to check out what happened to his buddy.”

Michelle hit the road and sped up. The car didn’t follow them.

He said, “Two minutes from now there’ll be a BOLO out on us for attacking a Fed.”

“If he is a Fed.”

“Come on, the guy was screaming it.”

“Do we ditch these wheels and get another?”

“They’ll have markers in the system in five minutes. Our credit cards and driver’s licenses will pop up.”

“Then call Murdock, tell him what happened.”

“Are you out of your—” Sean’s face froze. “That is actually a brilliant idea.”

“Thank you. Cut him off at the pass and tell him some armed guy came at us. Wanted to warn him that something was up. When he says why the hell did we attack a Fed, we can plead ignorance.”

Sean was already punching in the number. He spent two minutes on the phone and did not let the FBI agent get a word in edgewise until the end. But whatever Murdock said did not sit well with Sean, by the look on his face.

“Yeah, I can give you a description. And the plate number.” He did so. He talked a bit more, answered two more questions and clicked off.

“Unless he’s a world-class liar, Murdock knew nothing about it.”

“Then the guy is not FBI?”

“So it’s another alphabet agency.”

“What about the BOLO?”

“CIA doesn’t use them. They go systemwide, the spooks have to explain stuff to the cops they don’t like to explain.”

Sean’s phone chirped and he looked at the text. Smiling, he looked over at Michelle. “Want some really good news?”

“That would be a really big yes.”

“This text is from my friendly local prosecutor. The kill round on Hilary Cunningham did not match your weapon.”

“Then I didn’t shoot her?” The relief on Michelle’s face was overwhelming.

“No, you didn’t. Which means someone else killed her either there or somewhere else and brought her body there in order to frame you.”

“Maybe just like Edgar Roy?”

“Maybe.”

“But they had to know the police would get the ballistics run.”

“I didn’t say they wanted to have you convicted of the crime. Just screw things up for you for a while. Mess with your head.”

“Okay, on that point they succeeded. So what did ballistics show? Was it another round from the .45 that almost hit me?”

“No. Nine-by-nineteen-millimeter Parabellum jacketed hollow-point.”

“If you seek peace, prepare for war,” said Michelle. He looked at her curiously. “The word
parabellum
is derived from a Latin saying that means: ‘If you wish for peace, prepare for war.’ That was the motto of the German weapons manufacturer that made the Parabellum round based on Georg Luger’s design. It’s also called the nine-millimeter Luger, as distinguished from the Browning round, for example.”

“You are a positive treasure trove of ballistic jewels.”

“The nine-millimeter Luger is also the most popular military cartridge in the world and is used by the majority of the police forces in the US. Who was the manufacturer and what was the load?”

Sean looked at his phone screen again. “Double Tap. Gold Dot JHP load. Hundred and fifteen grain.”

“Okay, that has a one-stop rating of over ninety percent and a penetration factor in excess of thirteen inches. Not in the league of a .44 or .357 Magnum load, but still plenty powerful. It can definitely deliver hydrostatic shock wounds.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning a hit to the chest can cause the target’s brain to hemorrhage.”

“So it obviously wasn’t the round used to kill Bergin.”

Michelle shook her head. “No way. That ordnance would’ve gone through the skull at contact range. It never would’ve stayed in the head.”

“That’s interesting. Then the odds are whoever killed Bergin didn’t murder Hilary Cunningham.”

“That’s right. So what now?” she asked.

“I say we go back to Maine.”

“Plane?”

Sean shook his head. “Stop and get a big cup of coffee. We’re driving.”

“Can I get my gun back from the local cops before we go?”

“With my blessing.”

Michelle floored it.

T
WELVE HOURS LATER
, they were in Boston, where they stayed overnight at a hotel. They hadn’t gone all the way to Machias, Maine, because even Michelle’s mega-caffeine pop had worn off and she’d slid into the backseat for some shut-eye after seven hours of piloting. After five hours at the wheel of the Land Cruiser, Sean’s eyes had begun to close once too often. After a few hours’ deep sleep and an early start the next morning, they pulled into the parking lot of Martha’s Inn in the early afternoon.

Megan Riley met them outside the front door. “Agent Murdock is an asshole,” she snapped.

“Well, that’s one way of putting it,” said Sean.

“A nicer way than I would have,” added Michelle.

“What did the FBI want to know?” he asked.

“Everything. But I told them zip. I’m Roy’s legal counsel. They can’t bully me around even though they tried.”

“Good for you,” said Michelle.

“I called Murdock, sort of read him the riot act,” added Sean.

“I know. He was not happy about that. That’s why he let me go. The jerk.”

“And we found out who the client is,” said Michelle.

“Who?”

Sean answered, “Roy’s half sister, Kelly Paul. She’s an interesting lady. Haven’t quite figured her out yet. But she’s a force to be reckoned with.” He stopped talking and led Megan over to a bench under a tree in front of the inn. “Sit.”

“Why?” She looked up at him with a fearful expression.

“We’ve got some bad news. Another death.”

They both could see Megan grip the seat of the bench so tightly her fingers turned white. “Who?”

“Hilary Cunningham.”

Megan managed not to cry. At least for a few seconds. Then she bent forward and started to sob into her hands.

Sean looked desperately at Michelle, who muttered, “Sorry, not good with this stuff.”

Sean sat down next to the woman and patted her back awkwardly. “I’m very sorry, Megan.”

Finally the young woman sat up, wiped her face dry with the sleeve of her jacket, and said, “How?”

“She was shot. And her body was left at Bergin’s home.” He glanced at Michelle, who said, “I was there when it happened.”

Megan looked up at Michelle. “Why would anyone want to kill Hilary? She was just a nice old lady.”

Sean answered. “She worked for Bergin. Bergin represented Roy. That seems to be enough in this case for certain people.”

Megan caught a breath. “So that means, what, I’m next?”

“We’re not going to let anything happen to you,” said Michelle. She sat down on the other side of the young lawyer.

“Maybe I should have stayed with the FBI,” said Megan, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Is that what you want?” asked Sean.

“Not really, no.” Her voice grew firmer. “What I really want is to find out who did this.”

“That’s what we want too.”

“So where do we go from here?”

“To see your client.”

“But you said he doesn’t talk.”

“You still have to see him. I’ll make the arrangements.”

Sean and Michelle showered, changed their clothes, and ate. After getting clearance from Carla Dukes at Cutter’s Rock, they drove to the facility. If possible, the security was even tighter. Finally, Michelle had had enough when one guard was too enthusiastic in his search of her.

“You cop one more feel on my ass, you’re going to have to learn to live with prosthetic hands,” she snapped.

He stepped back, stared at the ceiling, and motioned that they could proceed.

They waited in the little room. Edgar Roy was brought in. His appearance and demeanor remained unchanged. When Megan saw him she gasped and then sat in her chair, enthralled. When the guards had left and the door had clanged behind them, Megan remained silent. Finally, Sean said, “Uh, do you want to try and ask him some questions?”

Megan started, her face reddened. She opened her briefcase and meekly tapped on the glass wall separating them.

“Mr. Roy, I’m Megan Riley.” She pressed one of her business cards against the glass. Her face flushed again as Roy just sat there staring at the ceiling. She slowly withdrew the card and put it back in her pocket.

“Mr. Roy, I’m representing you in your legal case. You are being charged with multiple counts of murder. Do you understand that?”

Nothing.

She stared at Sean, who nodded encouragingly at her while Michelle gave him an incredulous look.

Megan said to Roy, “We have to prepare your defense and we need your full cooperation in order to do that.”

The ceiling, however, still captured Roy’s full attention.

Sean said, “Mr. Roy, another person connected with your case has been murdered. Hilary Cunningham worked for Ted Bergin. She was shot and her body left at his house.”

This also prompted no reaction from Roy.

Sean abruptly got up and moved around the glass so he was standing right next to the man. Michelle immediately rose and joined him.

“Do you think this is wise?” she whispered.

“I don’t know, but I figure we have nothing to lose.”

“Except a body part if he really is a psycho.”

“That’s why I have you, for protection.”

He leaned down so close to Roy that he could smell the man’s breath. At least, Sean thought, he was still breathing. That was more than could be said for Bergin or Hilary, or the six guys in the barn.

“We met the client,” he whispered. His voice sank even lower. The only one who could hear him now was Roy. “Your sister, Kelly Paul?”

Sean leaned back, studying the other man. Then he hunched forward again, his cheek nearly touching Roy’s ear. “And Judy Stevens sends her best. And she believes in your innocence. She asked me to tell you that.”

Sean scrutinized the other man’s features again. Silence lingered for a few beats.

Megan started to say something, but Sean stopped her. “I think that’s enough for today.”

“But he hasn’t said anything,” exclaimed Megan.

Sean looked at Michelle in a way that indicated he didn’t necessarily agree with this statement.

As they walked down the hall, Sean slowed his pace as Brandon Murdock approached.

Michelle said, “What, does the Bureau have a satellite office at Cutter’s Rock now?”

“I thought you’d have something better to do with your time than talk to a wall.” He glanced at Megan. “You know, you really should think about who your friends are here. The wrong alliances can get you in trouble.”