Дэвид Балдаччи - The Sixth Man

“I think we need to look at what he was actually doing at the government.”

“Ted told me he worked at the IRS.”

“So we head back to Virginia?”

“We need to take care of Megan first. And we need to find out who retained Ted Bergin.”

“Seems like an attorney would check in with the paying client when he’s about to talk to the defendant.”

“Dobkin told you he only talked to Megan and Cutter’s. What about e-mails?”

“Dobkin didn’t mention any. A guy Bergin’s age might not be into smartphone e-mailing anyway.”

“Maybe not. But you’re right. He must be in contact with the client in some way.”

“Do you remember from the media reports whether Roy had family? If so, they might be the ones who hired Bergin.”

He said, “I recall reading that his parents were dead. I don’t remember the mention of any siblings. We’ll have to run it down some other way.” He opened his notepad and began scribbling. “Okay, Bergin’s investigation is closed off for now. We track down Roy’s background, the client, and then we need to get to the obvious point.”

“Namely, did Roy kill those people?” replied Michelle. “That’s what it comes down to. Which means we have to poke our nose into that investigation, too.”

“We were always going to do that anyway,” he pointed out. “But under discovery laws the prosecution has to provide the defense with all the evidence.”

“Can we poke around at the crime scene, too?”

“I think it would be malpractice if we didn’t.”

“Do you think Roy is faking it? I’ve seen guys do that zombie routine before when I was a cop. Especially if they’re staring at the death penalty.”

“If he is, he’s damn good at it.”

“Maybe he is drugged up.”

“I don’t know what purpose is served by the government keeping an accused killer drugged up so he can’t stand trial.”

“Okay, when do you want to leave for Virginia?”

“I told Megan to call me when the Feds were done with her.”

“Considering Murdock will try to screw us at every turn, it might be a while before she surfaces. Can we afford to wait for that?”

He looked at her. “What do you have in mind?”

“How do you know I have anything in mind?”

“We’re an old married couple, remember? Or at least we act like one.”

“Don’t start finishing my sentences. You could get badly hurt.”

“So?” he said expectantly.

“So maybe I head to Virginia and start looking into the murders down there and Roy’s connection to the Feds while you stay up here, wait for them to kick Megan loose. And maybe you go back to Cutter’s Rock again, this time with Megan, and dig up what you can on Bergin’s murder. Then we rendezvous and compare notes in the near future.”

He smiled. “What about you taking care of me?”

“So put on your big-boy pants and suck it up.”

“So we divide and conquer.”

“Or cut our strength in half.” She handed him her gun. “You better keep this.”

“I don’t have a permit.”

“Better they arrest you for not having a permit than my identifying your body because you didn’t have a gun.”

“I get the point. But what about you?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll stop by my apartment and grab a spare.”

“How many guns do you have?”

“Neither one more nor one less than I need.”

He took the gun.

SEAN DROVE THROUGH the night and dropped Michelle off at the airport in Bangor, where she boarded a seven a.m. flight. After switching to another plane in Philadelphia, she reached Virginia a few minutes before noon. She’d slept soundly on both flights and felt recharged when she touched down at Dulles Airport. She picked up her Toyota from the parking garage, drove home, packed another bag, grabbed a spare pistol, and drove to the office. She checked messages and mail, packed a few more things, looked up some addresses, made some calls, and headed to Charlottesville. She got to town around four that afternoon and drove directly to Ted Bergin’s law office, which was located in a business complex near the Boar’s Head Inn and Resort.

It was on the first floor of a clapboard-sided building painted white with green shutters and a black door. It had a simple arrangement: reception area, two offices, a conference room, and a small kitchen and workspace area in the back. As was her habit, Michelle scouted out and noted the rear exit on the other side of the building.

Michelle was greeted by a woman in her sixties wearing a pale-blue blouse with a ruffled collar, black skirt, and black heels. Her hair was bottle blond and starting to thin from one perm too many. She had puffy eyes and reddened cheeks. Michelle assumed this was Hilary Cunningham and was proven right when the woman introduced herself. After offering condolences about her unfortunate boss, Michelle asked to look around Bergin’s office.

“We need to track down who the client is,” she explained.

Hilary led her to Bergin’s office and then left her alone, murmuring something about burial arrangements. From the utterly devastated look on the woman’s face Michelle wondered if their relationship had been something more than employer and employee. If so, that might be another lead they would have to run down. Bergin’s death might not stem from his representation of Edgar Roy at all. He had been Sean’s friend and law professor, but the truth was the two had not seen each other much over the last few years. There could be secrets in Bergin’s past that might explain his death, even all the way up in Maine.

Michelle closed the door to the office and sat down behind the man’s old-fashioned partners desk, running her fingers across the faded leather inlay. As she gazed around the room it seemed everything in here was old-fashioned. And solid. She closed her eyes and cast her mind back to the dead man in the car.

The diminished body. The saggy face. The hole in the head.

And the rolled-down window that had been rolled back up by the killer.

A killer Bergin might have known. If true, that could possibly cut the suspect list down substantially.

She rifled through Bergin’s desk and files. There were several litigation bags parked in a corner of the room but they were empty. No address book. There was no computer on his desk. She slipped back out to the front room and asked Hilary about that.

“Megan and I use computers, obviously, but he never cared to. Pen and paper and a Dictaphone were good enough for him.”

“And his calendar?”

“I kept an appointment calendar on the computer for him and would print out a copy every week. He also had a Daily Planner he carried with him.”

Michelle nodded. And that Daily Planner would now be in the hands of Agent Murdock. Along with the rest of Bergin’s papers.

“Do you know if he ever e-mailed or texted from his cell phone?”

“I seriously doubt he knew how. He preferred talking on the phone.”

Michelle went back to his office and noted the jar of pens and pencils and stacks of legal pads on the desk.

Definitely old-fashioned. But then there’s nothing wrong with that.

She turned her attention to the wooden file cabinets, the closet, a trench coat that was hanging on a wall peg, and lastly a small oak credenza.

After an hour of searching she came away with nothing helpful.

She spent another hour questioning Hilary. He had not confided much to her about the Roy case, and Michelle could tell this had somewhat irked the lady.

“He’s usually very open about his cases,” Hilary said. “We worked together, after all.”

“And you do the billing?”

“Absolutely. Which made it strange why he never mentioned to me who had retained him to work for Edgar Roy. How were we to be paid, after all? I mentioned to Sean that Mr. Bergin might have taken the case pro bono, but the more I thought about it the less likely I think that is.”