David Baldacci: The Sixth Man

Roy said nothing. Didn’t blink, twitch, or seem to breathe.

Sean sat back, opened his briefcase, and looked at some papers. All pens, paper clips, and other sharp and potentially deadly instruments had been confiscated, although Sean supposed he could have inflicted a nasty paper cut on someone. “Ted Bergin told us that he was preparing a defense for you. Did he talk to you about what exactly that was?”

When Roy made no reaction, Michelle said, “I think we’re wasting our time. In fact, I think I can hear Murdock laughing his ass off behind that steel door.”

“Mr. Roy, we really need to discuss some things.”

“They put him here because he’s not fit for trial, Sean. I don’t know what he was like when he got here, but I can’t believe he’s gotten any better. By the looks of things this guy might be stuck at Cutter’s Rock for the rest of his life.”

Sean put the papers away. “Mr. Roy? Did you know that Ted Bergin has been murdered?” He said it in a blunt, loud tone, obviously hoping to get some type of reaction from Roy.

It didn’t work.

Sean looked around the small space. He leaned close to Michelle and whispered, “What are the odds this room has hidden recorders?”

“Taping an attorney’s conversation with his client? Can’t they get in big trouble for that?” she whispered back.

“Only if someone finds out and can prove it.” He sat back up, took out his cell phone. “No bars. But I had reception right before we got here.”

“Jamming?”

“That’s supposed to be illegal, too. I wondered why they let me keep it. At most prisons they confiscate it from visitors.”

“Because cell phones in prison are going for more money than cocaine. Heard of a guard somewhere out west making six figures a year selling Nokias and service plans at a state pen. Now he’s dialing from inside the place, too.”

“Look at his ankle, Michelle.”

The ankle bracelet was the color of titanium. A glowing red light sat in the center of it.

Michelle said, “They use them in some of the supermaxes and on the likes of Paris Hilton and Lindsay Lohan. Throws out a wireless signal, pinpoints the person’s precise location. Go outside the zone and an alarm is triggered.”

Sean dropped his voice. “How many places can the guy go in here that he needs an electronic ankle bracelet?”

“Good point. Want to ask Murdock? Or maybe Carla Dukes?”

Sean glanced sharply up at Edgar Roy. Had there been some slight—

No. The eyes were still lifeless dots.

“You think he’s been drugged?” asked Michelle. “His pupils look dilated.”

“I don’t know what to think. Without a medical exam.”

“He’s really tall. But skinny. Doesn’t look strong enough to have killed all those people.”

“He’s only thirty-five. So prime of his life when he did the killings.”

“ If he did them, you mean.”

“Right. If.”

“But the details of the killings haven’t been made public. The bodies haven’t even been identified.”

“Maybe they have but that info hasn’t been released to the public either,” he replied.

“Why wouldn’t it have been?”

“Maybe this is a really special case.” He rose. “Mr. Roy. Thanks for meeting with us. We’ll be back.”

“We will?” asked Michelle in a low voice.

When they knocked on the door it immediately opened.

“How’d it go?” asked Murdock with a smirk.

“He told us everything,” said Michelle. “He’s innocent. You can let him go now.”

“Found some interesting things at Bergin’s digs at Gray’s Lodge,” said Murdock, ignoring her.

“Oh, yeah, like what?” asked Sean.

“Nothing you need to know about.”

“Oh, you’re a real tease, Murdock,” said Michelle. “Do they teach a class in that at Quantico?”

Sean added, “If it’s attorney work product I do need to know about it. That’s privileged.”

“File some papers then. The Bureau lawyers need a good laugh. In the meantime, you’re not getting the document.”

“So Roy is a zombie. Can he take a pee, feed himself?”

“He’s in good shape. Physically. That answer your question?”

He turned and left.

“That guy really likes us,” said Michelle sarcastically. “Think he’ll want to go on a date with me? I can dispose of the body pretty efficiently.”

Sean wasn’t paying attention to her. He was watching the guards escort Roy back to his cell. As the man passed, Sean could see that he towered over even the biggest of the four guards. Sean also noted that Roy moved under his own power, shuffling along with his manacles clanking. But in the face there was nothing.

Black dots.

Nothing.

Which was exactly what they had right now.

CHAPTER

8

IT WAS EASIER LEAVING Cutter’s Rock than it had been entering it, but not by much. Sean finally grew so exasperated with the level of scrutiny that he snapped at the last layer of guards, “Edgar Roy is not stuffed in our damn tailpipe.” He turned to Michelle. “Hit it!”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

The Ford left twin black stripes on the previously pristine asphalt ribbon of Cutter Rock’s entryway. Michelle even gave them a single-finger salute out the window.

As the car made the reverse trek along the causeway Michelle glanced over at her partner, who was lost in thought.

She said, “Your brain is obviously in overdrive. Want to share?”

“While you were getting probed on the way out, I had a chance to ask Duke’s assistant a couple of questions. Roy eats, though not much, and does his necessary bodily function duties during the day. He’s lost some weight, but he’s technically healthy.”

“So he can do all that, but he can’t communicate with anyone?”

“There’s a medical term for it the guy used, but I don’t remember what it was. In any event, apparently his body is working but his mind has shut down.”

“Convenient.”

“Okay, Bergin is dead. Murdered. FBI is on the scene. They’ve covered his lodgings. All his work product is in their hands.”

“So like the guy said, we file some papers in court to get it back.”

“The only problem is I’m not really Roy’s lawyer.”

“But you are a lawyer. You were retained by Ted Bergin, who was Roy’s counsel of record. Doesn’t take a big leap to get you as his legal mouthpiece. Bergin certainly can’t dispute it. So who’s to know or say otherwise?”

“I haven’t practiced in a while.”

“Your license is still active, right?”

“Maybe.”

She slowed the car. “Maybe? That doesn’t quite cut it for death penalty clients, does it?”

“I might need a couple of CLE courses to make things right.”

“Great. I’m sure Agent Murdock will drive you to class.”

“Besides, we were retained as PIs, not lawyers. The court will go by the record in the case. I’m not on the papers as his counsel.”

“All right. Stupid question, then: Was Ted Bergin a solo practitioner?”

Sean shot her a glance. “That’s actually a brilliant question. And one we really need an answer to.”

They got back to Martha’s Inn and both headed to Sean’s room. This caught the eye of the owner, whose name was not Martha but Hazel Burke. She’d lived in this part of Maine all her life, as she had told them at breakfast.

“Your room is on the other side of the hall, dear,” she called up to Michelle from the bottom of the short stack of stairs. From this vantage point she could clearly see the entrance to both rooms. “That is the gentleman’s room you’re about to enter.”