Дэвид Балдаччи - The Sixth Man

She said slowly, “Well, truthfully, I almost did run. But I do want to help.”

“I know.” A thought struck him. “Was Hilary at the office all day?”

“No, by the time I got back from court she’d left to look into some funeral arrangements for Mr. Bergin. But no one came by while I was there.”

Sean turned back around. “I’m not sure when they’ll be done with the remains.”

“I still can’t believe he’s dead.”

He turned back around and saw the tears trickling down her face. He reached over the seat and took her hand. “Megan, it’s going to be okay.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“No, I can’t, but we can do everything possible to make sure it turns out that way.”

She quickly wiped her face dry. “I’m cool. It’s okay. No more tears.”

Michelle said, “No law against grieving.”

“From the looks of things up here I’m not sure we have time for that.”

Sean and Michelle exchanged another glance, each visibly impressed at her insightful remark.

“So what’s the first order of business?” asked Megan.

Sean answered. “We go back to Martha’s Inn, make a big pot of coffee, and start going over these files.”

They were an hour out when Michelle’s phone rang. It was Eric Dobkin from the Maine State Police. Michelle listened and then clicked off.

“He wants to talk. Got some info for us. I know it’s late, but why don’t I drop you and Megan at the inn and then swing over and meet him? Save us some time to split up.”

“After what happened this afternoon I’m not sure splitting up is a good idea.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I know that. I was worried about me and Megan.”

“I know Tae Kwon Do,” said Megan. “I have my green belt.”

“That’s nice,” said Sean, holding back a smile. “But if they go with their prior method, they won’t be near enough for you to kung fu them.”

“Oh.”

Sean studied Michelle. “Okay, you meet with Dobkin. The legal stuff will go faster with Megan and me anyway. We can fill each other in when we’re done. Where are you meeting him?”

“At his house. He gave me the address.”

“Okay, but you better put on your A game all the way. Okay?”

“Only way I know how to play, Sean. Thought you would have known that by now.”

ERIC DOBKIN’S HOUSE was in a location that the GPS finally gave up on about a half mile away. Michelle had to call him, and he led her the rest of the way by voice instructions. When she turned a corner and saw the lights of the house up ahead, she also saw a late-model Dodge pickup truck parked in the driveway. Next to it was an old Chrysler minivan. As she peered inside the van she saw three car seats buckled in. “Wow,” she said to herself. “I’m betting no one in that house is sleeping much.”

The house was constructed of pine logs, the roof of cedar shakes, and the door of unadorned oak. The little flower garden around the house had long since lost its summer luster and just looked exactly what it was: dead.

She knocked.

A light tread started somewhere inside. Not Dobkin’s. Perhaps his wife. Michelle stared at the structure, figuring out the interior from her observations of the exterior.

Front room. Three bedrooms set off a central hall. Kitchen probably in the back. No garage, which in Maine seemed a little crazy. Maybe one and a half baths. It looked sturdy, each log tethered securely to its neighbor.

The door opened. The woman was short and carrying a child on her hip. The size and shape of her belly indicated she was also clearly expecting another little one. And soon.

“I’m Sally. You must be Michelle,” she said in a good-natured if tired tone. “This is Adam. Our oldest. Just turned three.” The little boy stared back at Michelle, one finger in his mouth.

“You have three kids?”

“How’d you know?”

“Car seats in the van.”

“Good observer. Eric said you and your partner were good at what you do. Yep, three little boys.” She patted her stomach. “And one in the oven. Each a year apart.”

“You didn’t waste any time.” Michelle stepped inside. “Sorry to come by so late.”

“With Eric’s work hours we’re all night owls. He’s back in the den.”

Michelle looked around. A den? There must be a room in the back that she had missed in her internal calculation.

“I’ll be right back,” Sally said.

She disappeared and Dobkin appeared about a minute later. He was dressed in LL Bean jeans, a white cotton shirt, and a sleeveless orange ski parka. His blond hair was still matted down from his trooper hat.

“Nippy tonight,” said Michelle.

He looked at her funny. “Nippy?”

“Well, I guess by Southern standards. You really live out in the boonies.”

He cracked a grin. “I’m only five miles from the stoplight. You should see where some of the other guys live. Now that’s the boonies.”

“If you say so.”

“So your partner’s preoccupied?”

“Trying to cover all the bases. And I appreciate you calling. I know this can’t be easy. Sort of stuck in the middle.”

“Come on back.”

He led her past the kitchen where they could see Sally feeding Adam and what was probably the two-year-old, who looked half asleep and ready to fall right into his plate of food. The youngest child already must be in bed, she assumed.

They settled in the small den, which held an old, battered, gunmetal-gray desk, a shelf made of planks and concrete blocks, and a scarred, two-drawer oak file cabinet. A red Dell laptop sat on the desk along with a locked portable gun case, where she presumed he kept his service pistol. With three little and no doubt inquisitive kids in the house, that was a real necessity. One window looked out onto the back of the house. A rectangular blue rug did its best to soften the starkness of the wooden floor. Dobkin sat behind the desk and indicated a ladder-back chair with a faux leather seat for Michelle to take. She drew it up and plunked her butt down.

Dobkin eyed her waistline. “Fresh hardware?”

She glanced down at the revealed Sig. “When in Maine, you know. And Murdock was vague about when I could expect my weapon back.”

“Heard you got over to Cutter’s to see Edgar Roy.”

“We did. Impressive place. No dollar spared, I take it.”

“Lot of good-paying jobs. And we need every one of them.”

“So homicidal psychos do have their benefits.”

“Didn’t get very far with him, did you?”

“Been talking to Special Agent Murdock?”

“No. My wife’s friend works at Cutter’s.”

“So you have a direct line into the place?”

Dobkin shifted uneasily in his chair. “Wouldn’t go that far.”

“So how’s the investigation coming?”

“FBI is being characteristically tight with developments.”

“What did you want to see me about?”

“Couple of things. In addition to the phone message your partner left him, Bergin received one phone call about the time he left Gray’s Lodge last night. And made one as well.”

“Who called him and who did he call?” Michelle knew the answer to the first question but not the last.

“The one he received was from a Megan Riley. Virginia number.”

“That’s his associate.” Michelle said nothing about the woman being less than an hour away at Martha’s Inn. “And who did he call?”

“Cutter’s Rock confirming his appointment the next morning.”

“That’s strange, since he was there earlier. You’d think he would have just confirmed it then.”

“Maybe he’s a belt-and-suspenders kind of guy. Or at least he was,” amended Dobkin.