Дэвид Балдаччи - The Sixth Man

He exceeded the speed limit the whole trip and reached the county lockup a little before four. He announced that he was Michelle’s lawyer and wanted to see his client. Twenty minutes after that he was seated across from her.

“You look okay,” he said.

“You, on the other hand, look like crap.”

“Thanks. I’ve just been traveling all day to get to you.”

“You misunderstood. I greatly appreciate the effort. I’m just too used to your Cary Grant-like dapperness. But it’s also nice to know that you’re actually human like the rest of us.”

“I’ve seen the arrest report. I’ve also talked to one of the officers who was on the scene with you last night.”

“How’d you manage that?”

“I overheard him talking about it in the hallway and snagged him for a quick down and dirty. They’ve processed the scene, although he wouldn’t tell me the results. For what it’s worth I don’t believe he thinks you’re guilty.”

“Let’s hope everybody else agrees with him. I still can’t believe she’s dead. I was just talking to her yesterday.”

“I’m meeting with the prosecutor next. I think I can get this all explained. And then get you out of here.”

“What if they think I’m a flight risk?”

“I’ll take care of it. I used to practice law around here. I know the folks.”

“Sounds like a plan,” she said doubtfully.

“I had some fun last night, too.” He explained to her about Carla Dukes and his run-in with the man following her.

“What is going on up there?” she said in an exasperated tone.

“More than we initially thought, that’s for damn sure.”

An hour later Michelle was free to leave. She picked up her truck and followed Sean to the Boar’s Head, where they ate some dinner.

“So how’d you bust me out?” she asked.

“I basically vouched for you. So if you run my ass is fried.”

“I’ll try to hang around this hemisphere.”

“I explained everything about Bergin’s death in Maine and our investigation to the prosecutor. He’s a reasonable guy who knew Bergin well. He agreed that it’s highly unlikely you had anything to do with plotting Hilary’s death. I told him we were doing our best to find out who killed him and part of that investigation led us here. He’s definitely on our side on that.”

“Okay.”

“But the strange thing is that he didn’t know Bergin had been murdered. Someone is keeping a tight rein on the media, that’s for sure.”

“FBI has the muscle to do that,” she said.

Sean nodded. “That’s what I’m thinking, too. And I presume Hilary didn’t go blaring it around. And Megan left to come to Maine right after she found out.”

“Guess it’ll come as a shock to a lot of people then. And now with Hilary dead, too.”

“And the letter you found in Bergin’s files? Agent Murdock asking for information about his client? That’s pretty unusual.”

“Oh my God, I didn’t tell you the best part.” Michelle plunged her hand in her pocket and pulled out the page from the car warranty booklet. She explained to Sean where she’d found it. “Guess if he ever went out to visit her, he’d drive. So the car was a logical place to keep the address.”

“Kelly Paul. Okay.” He checked his watch, pulled out his phone, and pecked in the number while Michelle dug into her fish and chips.

“Kelly Paul, please?” said Sean. He paused. “Right, this is Sean King. I’m working with Ted Bergin on the Edgar Roy case. Hello?”

He put the phone down.

Michelle swallowed a bite of breaded halibut. “Hung up on you?”

He nodded. “Guess she is the client.”

“So it is a woman?”

“Sure sounded like one. She asked who it was. I told her, and click.”

“Do you think she knows Bergin is dead?”

“No way to tell.” He studied the paper. “If I’m remembering correctly this address is about four hours from here in Southwest Virginia.”

Michelle drank down her iced tea. “Let me get a big coffee and we’ll hit the road.”

“Hold on. It’s probably not smart for you to leave the area right now. The police will want to talk to you again at the very least.”

“Then you’re not going either. We split up and each of us almost gets killed.”

“Okay, you’ve got a point. Hang on.” He punched in a number on his phone.

“Phil, Sean King. Look, do you have time to talk tonight face-to-face? Say around eight? Great, thanks.”

He clicked off and motioned to the waitress for the check.

“What are you going to do?” asked Michelle.

“Throw myself on the mercy of the prosecutor’s office to spring you from the confines of Charlottesville. And if that doesn’t work, I’ll mortgage everything I have to post bail.”

“I thought you only had to put up ten percent.”

“Right now, ten percent of just about anything would tax my personal finances. Private investigation is a feast-or-famine business. And I’m not even sure we’re going to get our travel expenses reimbursed now.”

“And if that doesn’t work?”

“I’ll stuff you in a bag and sneak you out. One way or another we’re going to see Kelly Paul.”

“Think she has all the answers?”

“Actually, just one answer would be a nice change of pace right now.”

WHEN SEAN LEFT the meeting with the prosecutor he was smiling.

Michelle, who was waiting for him in her truck, looked at him inquiringly. “I take it the meeting went well?”

“He’s pigeonholing the arrest for now. No court hearing. No bail. You’re free to go, in my company.”

“You must have done some sell job.”

“Well, that and the fact that the cops found the slug that almost hit you.”

“Nice. What was it?”

“Remington .45 ACP full metal jacket.”

“Not the round that killed Bergin then. An FMJ at contact range would have blown right through his skull.”

“And it wasn’t the guy I spotted in Maine. He couldn’t be in two places at once.”

“They haven’t done the post on Hilary yet, right?”

“Not yet. But I think when they do, they’ll find a .45 round in her.”

A half hour later they were heading toward the home of Kelly Paul in Michelle’s Land Cruiser after Sean turned in his rental. They rode Interstate 64 over to 81 and took that south. Hours later, about thirty minutes before they would have crossed over into Tennessee, they exited the highway, drove west for a few miles, and passed through several one-traffic-light towns. Ten minutes after leaving the last such hamlet, Michelle slowed the truck and looked around before glancing at her GPS screen.

Sean looked at his watch and yawned. “Nearly two in the morning. If I don’t get eight hours of sleep soon my head is going to disintegrate.”

“I slept fine in jail.”

“No surprise there. I’ve seen your bed. The one in jail is probably softer.”

“I never heard you complain when you were in my bed.”

“Other priorities at the time.”

“How do you want to do this? The GPS says she’s down that road coming up on the left. All I see here are fields. You think she lives on a farm?”

Sean gazed out the window. “Well, that’s a cornfield over there.” He pointed to the right. He glanced to the left. “Not sure what that is. But it’s definitely a farm of some sort. I can’t even see a house.”

As they pulled closer Michelle spotted the mailbox. She hit her high beams. “Nothing on the mailbox, but this must be the place.”

“Kelly Paul and Edgar Roy. What’s the connection?”

“Well, she might be family. Paul might be her married name.”

“Or maybe there’s no family tie,” replied Sean.