Дэвид Балдаччи - The Sixth Man

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.”

“I’m Edgar Roy’s lawyer. That’s the only alliance I’m concerned with,” replied Megan.

“You’re his lawyer for now .”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Sean.

“Just that things change.”

“Come on, Murdock, you’re among friends. What’s so special about Roy? Why do you care about the guy so much?”

“Six bodies.”

“Jeffery Dahmer had a lot more than that and I didn’t see the Bureau flying around the country stirring up trouble.”

“Every case is its own kingdom.”

Michelle smirked. “So now you’re a poet?”

“You folks have a productive day.” Murdock walked off.

At the inn, after Megan went to her room, Sean and Michelle sat in the small front parlor.

“When I mentioned Kelly Paul’s name to Roy?”

“I didn’t know you did. I couldn’t hear what you said.”

“That was intentional in case they were recording. But when I did say the name, I got a reaction. It wasn’t much, but there was a slight jerk of the head, a tiny widening of the eyes.”

“You really think he understood you?”

“I really do. And that’s not all. The same thing happened when I mentioned Judy Stevens.”

“So he is faking? Why would he do that? To keep from going to trial? That’s a long shot. He can’t be a zombie forever.”

“I’m not sure it’s just to keep from going to trial.”

“What other motivation would he have?”

“If we answer that question, we answer pretty much everything.”

EDGAR ROY SAT in his cell. He had assumed the usual position. Long legs splayed out, his back at a comfortable angle against the metal chair that was bolted to the floor. He fixed his gaze on the far end of the ceiling. It was six inches to the right of the back wall and four inches from the wall perpendicular to that. Roy imagined that spot to represent a crossroads of sorts. There was actual comfort for him in that tiny piece of concrete.

Over his shoulder a camera recessed into the wall behind a protective transparent shield watched his every move, not that there were any moves. A listening device embedded in the wall recorded everything he said, not that he had said anything since coming here.

Lesser minds might not have been able to pull this off, at least over a long period of time. But one thing Roy had always been good at was losing himself within his mind. For him, his brain was a very interesting place to be lost. He could entertain himself endlessly with memories, puzzles, and assorted contemplations.

He’d begun thinking about his earliest recollections going forward in exact chronological order. His first memory had been at eighteen months. His mother had spanked him for closing the door on the cat. He remembered exactly what she had said, the shriek of the cat, the cat’s name – Charlie – the song being played on the radio when it had happened. Colors, smells, sounds. Everything. It had always been that way for him. Other people complained that they couldn’t remember where they had been yesterday, or that long-ago memories just wouldn’t come to mind anymore. Roy had the opposite problem. He had never been able to forget anything, no matter how trivial, no matter if he wanted to forget it or not. It was there. It was all there.

I can never forget anything.

Over the years he had come to terms with this ability. He had learned to compartmentalize it all in discrete places in his mind, which seemed to have limitless space, able to elasticize when he needed it to, like putting in another USB memory stick or a zip drive. He could recall it instantly if need be, but he didn’t have to think about it until he wanted to.

He had never sought notoriety for this special ability. Indeed, growing up he’d always been considered a freak because of the way his mind worked. Consequently, he’d tried to hide his special talents rather than flout them. Then, conversely, people who knew of his gifts had always called him an underachiever.

It was easy to label someone, he felt, until you walked in his shoes. But no one could ever truly walk in his shoes.

Since the camera was behind him he was able to move his eyes and alight on a different spot on the ceiling. He forgot about being eighteen months old, about the spanking and the shrieking cat.

His sister.

And Judy Stevens.

They were the only friends he had.

But they had not forgotten him. They were perhaps working on the outside to help him. These people who had come to visit him. Sean King and Michelle Maxwell. And the young woman, Megan Riley. His lawyer was dead. His secretary murdered. That was what they had said. Roy actually remembered everything they had said, everything they had worn, every body tic made, every pause, every bit of eye contact. The tall woman was skeptical. The short woman was nervous and naïve. The man seemed solid. Maybe they were there to help him. But he had long ago given up on trusting anyone completely.

His mind turned to that awful day. On a whim he’d stepped into the barn. Smells from his childhood had come bolting at him from all directions. He’d looked up at the old hayloft. And more memories had come back to him. He’d walked around the bottom level of the barn, running his hand along the old John Deere tractor parked in one corner, its tires rotted. The old tool bench, the oat bins, the rusty license plates he and his sister had collected and tacked to one wall.

When he’d come to the patch of earth alongside one wall of the barn he’d stopped. The hay here had been moved aside and the dirt was freshly turned over, though he didn’t know why. He’d knelt next to this section and picked up a clod of dirt, squeezed it, and let it drizzle out between his fingers. Good Virginia clay with its sweet, nauseating smell.

He’d noticed a shovel resting against one wall, picked it up, and shoved the digging end into the disturbed earth. He dug away until he stopped and dropped the shovel. Revealed in the dirt was something not even his mind would have predicted.