Дэвид Балдаччи - The Sixth Man

Was the killer a cop? Or an FBI agent?

That’s what Michelle was thinking now, even more strongly than before. And if that was true, it was beyond troubling.

She had also gone over to Cutter’s Rock to see from a distance if anything unusual was going on. She had set up her observation post on a high point that allowed her to see the compound almost in its entirety. On the surface everything seemed normal. Guards were at their posts. Gates were closed. Patrols were ongoing. The fence was no doubt electrified. She was there for an hour and saw only one visitor go in and out the whole time.

But that one visitor had been Brandon Murdock. Had he gone to see Edgar Roy? That would hardly be legal, since Roy was represented by counsel now and was in no shape to be questioned or to waive any of his rights. Or maybe Murdock had gone to search Dukes’s office? To see if any incriminating evidence had been left behind. Evidence that might lead to Murdock, perhaps, if he was involved in this somehow?

As Michelle had been about to leave her post, she noticed something unusual. She’d done one more sweep of the surrounding countryside, and her optics picked up on another pair of artificial eyes at a position about a half mile distant from where she was. She focused her binoculars on this spot, but all she could see was the sunlight reflecting off the scope.

Was someone else running surveillance on the federal facility?

She gauged the location of this observer, jumped in her truck, and headed there as fast as possible. However, by the time she pulled down the road, ditched her truck, and made her way forward stealthily through the woods, whoever had been there was gone. She checked the road for recent marks but found none. They could have come on foot and left on foot. She checked for this, too, but found nothing helpful.

She drove back to the inn full of questions.

A little before dinnertime she walked down the steps at Martha’s Inn and found the landlady, Mrs. Burke, in the foyer gazing at her disapprovingly.

“You keep very irregular hours, young lady,” said Burke. “And you never eat meals on time. I don’t like that. It’s extra work for me.”

Michelle gazed down at the woman, a look of annoyance on her face. “Since when have I asked you to make me a special meal?”

“The point is I have to be ready to make the meal in case you request it.”

“Who says?”

“It’s a courtesy of our inn.”

“Well, thanks, but you don’t have to do it. So problem solved.”

Michelle headed past her to the front door.

“Where are you going now?” Burke asked.

“Uh, that would be out your front door and then into my truck.”

“I meant where are you going in your truck?”

“That would be none of your business.”

“Are you Southern girls always so rude?”

“Who says I’m from the South?”

“Please, I can tell from your accent.”

“Okay, I’m not trying to be rude. But I am an investigator looking into a series of murders. So when I say it’s none of your business, it’s just a polite way of telling you that it’s none of your business.”

Burke glanced down at Michelle’s waist. “Do you have to wear that thing around here?”

Michelle looked at her holstered pistol revealed through the opening in her coat. “Two people up here are dead. I would think you’d like someone with a gun around. Just in case the killer shows up here.”

Burke gasped and took a step back. “Why in the world would they do that? You’re just trying to scare an old woman. That’s not very nice.”

Since Burke did indeed look very frightened, Michelle sighed and said, “Maybe I was trying to scare you, but just because you got under my skin.”

“That was not my intent.”

“Sure it was,” she shot back.

At first Michelle thought Burke was going to launch into a tirade, but the old woman instead sat down in a chair, wrapping her sweater more tightly around her and said, “You’re right. It was.”

Michelle relaxed a notch. “Why?”

“You remind me a lot of my daughter. Well, when she was younger. Fiery, independent, her way or no way at all.”

“Okay.”

“We had our differences. We had our words.”

“Moms and daughters often do.”

“Are you close to your mother?”

Michelle hesitated. “I… was.”

Burke looked confused. “You were… Oh, yes, oh, I see, I’m sorry. Was it recent?”

“Recent enough, yeah.”

A few moments of silence lapsed. “So what happened to your daughter?” asked Michelle.

“She left to go to college. I just assumed she’d come back here. But she never did.”

“Where is she now?”

“Hawaii.”

“Long way away.”

“About as long as you can get and still be in America. I’m sure that was intentional on her part.”

“Do you ever see her?”

“No. It’s been decades now. It amazes me when I think about it. All those years. The time goes by so fast. She sends me pictures. I have three grandchildren. Before my husband died we had planned to fly out there and break the ice. But then he passed and… Well.”

“I think you should still go.”

She shook her head vigorously. “I think I would be too afraid. When my husband was alive he was the buffer. I could make the trip with him. But alone, no.”

“And not see your grandkids?”

“They don’t even know me.”

“But they will if you go out there.”

“I think it’s just too late.” She stood. “Well, you be careful out there. And I’ll leave some food for you in the fridge. And I’ll put on the coffee. You just have to turn it on.”

“I appreciate that.”

“And I’ll keep an eye on your young friend. She seems very withdrawn. Scared, even.”

“She’s under a lot of pressure.”

“When will Mr. King be back?”

“I’m not sure.”

“He’s very handsome.”

Michelle looked away. “Yes, I guess he is.”

“Are you two an item?”

Michelle did her best not to smile at this quaint term. “Maybe we are.”

“Then you should get married.”

“It’s complicated.”

“No, it’s only the people who make it complicated. Do you want to marry him?”

This question caught Michelle off guard. “What? I… I haven’t thought about it, really.”

Burke scrutinized her so closely that Michelle found her face growing warm.

“I see,” said Burke skeptically. “Well, good night.”

“Good night. And for what it’s worth, I think you should go see your daughter.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t get to see my mom again. I’ll always regret that. You have to take your chances when you have them.”

“Thank you, Michelle. I appreciate the advice.”

Michelle hurried outside, her thoughts now unfocused. A phone call was about to change all that.

“Hello?”

“Maxwell?”

“Who is this?”

“Murdock.”

“What’s up?”

“We need to meet.”

“Why?”

“About this case.”

“What about it?”

“Things you and your partner need to know. Things that I’ve found out.”

“Why are you suddenly playing nice?”

“Because I don’t know if I can trust anyone on my side.”

“That’s a hell of a statement coming from an FBI agent.”

“It’s a hell of a situation.”

“Where and when?”

“Ten o’clock. I’ll give you directions.”

She took down the information, started to walk to her truck but stopped.

This was all a little too fishy.

She pulled out her phone, called Sean. It didn’t go through.

“Crap!” She thought for a few moments and then called another number.

“Dobkin,” said the voice.