David Baldacci - The Sixth Man

“Megan said she brought up all the files on Roy. Do you think she might have left anything behind here?”

“I can check if you want.”

“Please.”

Twenty minutes later Hilary held up a small file that contained only two pieces of paper. “This was stuck in accidentally with another client file. That’s most likely why she missed it.”

Michelle took the file, opened it, and stared down at the writing on the paper.

It was from the FBI. It was a request for information from Ted Bergin on his representation of Edgar Roy. As Michelle saw who’d signed the letter, she gave a start.

Special Agent Brandon Murdock .

CHAPTER

19

SEAN HAD GOTTEN back to the inn and literally fallen into his bed. He’d gotten up in time for a late lunch. There had been no call from Megan. He’d finally phoned her but it had gone directly to voice mail. Then he’d worked through the legal files twice more but found nothing of value. The case was very undeveloped, and Sean could not determine what Bergin had been planning in the way of a defense. But then again the case wasn’t that old. He was probably still feeling his way. And it didn’t help matters that Edgar Roy wasn’t of much assistance.

Now it was dusk, and he pulled the rental with the shot-out windows to the shoulder of the road and got out. The police and Feds had finished their work here and gone; their yellow barrier tape and warning signs had gone with them.

He started his investigation by standing where the car had sat. He envisioned Bergin driving along late at night. What would make him pull off the road in the first place? Was it someone in distress? Had someone flagged him down and claimed some sort of emergency? Bergin was a smart man, but someone of his generation in particular might have been more apt to pull over and help.

Yet Bergin was in his seventies, alone, no weapon. By all logic he should have just kept on driving. If whoever had killed him had faked an emergency to try and get him to pull off, he could have simply continued on and called 911 on his cell phone. He didn’t have to stop and roll down his window just so he could take a fatal round to the head.

So unless he knew the person he should’ve kept going, but he didn’t. Now Sean considered another possibility.

He might have been meeting someone and that person killed him. He studied the gravel shoulder and cast his mind back to that night. They had not seen traces of another car. But he had to admit he hadn’t looked all that closely before the police showed up. But if another car had been parked here there would likely be some evidence of that. Evidence the police and the FBI would have.

He looked toward the woods. The troopers had done a preliminary perimeter search, a down-and-dirty one with a fuller one to follow at first light. Had they found anything? If they had, either Dobkin didn’t know about it or else the FBI was keeping the Maine State Police in the dark, too.

If a meeting, who with and why here?

Bergin might have been a gentle, caring man, but he was no fool. If there had been the slightest chance of an ambush the man would not have come here. Had it something to do with Edgar Roy? It had to, he concluded. The only reason Bergin was in Maine was because of his client.

And if the meeting had something to do with Edgar Roy, there might be a limited number of suspects. Sean wondered if that list began and ended at Cutter’s Rock.

He tensed as a car’s headlights cut through the gloomy dusk. At first he thought it was just a passing motorist, but the car slowed and then pulled in behind his Ford.

Eric Dobkin was not in uniform, and the vehicle he stepped out of was a Dodge pickup, not a Maine State Police cruiser. His shoes made clicking sounds against the asphalt as he came to stand next to Sean. He had on worn jeans, a University of Maine pullover, and a Red Sox ball cap. He looked like a high school senior on the prowl after a football game.

“What are you doing out here?” asked Dobkin, his hands in the pockets of his pullover.

“I thought it would be obvious. Checking out the scene of the crime.”

“And?”

“And it’s not doing me much good, frankly.”

“You really think he might have known the person?”

Sean looked past Dobkin, into the stretch of dark woods. Though they were miles from the ocean the briny smell seemed to overwhelm him, drift into every pore, like the stench of cigarette smoke in a bar.

“Just an educated guess, based on that window. And the fact that he’d pull over on a lonely road late at night. Odds are he wouldn’t have for a stranger.”

“Maybe somebody suckered him. Faked a car being broke down. That’s what got you to stop.”

“Yeah, but there were two of us and my partner had a gun.”

“I know your theory about a cop pulling him over sounds plausible, but I don’t think that’s possible. This is an isolated area, but everybody knows everybody else. Some stranger running around in a police cruiser would’ve been noticed.”

“I think you’re right. And if they wanted Ted dead, they really didn’t need to go to that much trouble.” Sean paused, studying the face of the other man. “You guys totally off the case?”

“Not totally. FBI’s running it, of course, but they have to use us for some stuff.”

“Find anything of interest here?”

“Nothing really. I would’ve told your partner if we had.”

“What if he were meeting someone?” asked Sean. “That would account for him both pulling off the road and lowering his window. Was there any trace evidence of another car?”

“No wheel impressions. But that’s easily gotten around. Pull your car back on the road and go back and sweep the gravel. Who would he have been meeting with?”

“I was hoping you’d have some idea of that.”

“Didn’t know the man. You did, though.”

The last comment was said in a more accusatory tone than Sean thought the other man probably intended.

“I mean if he were meeting with someone they were probably from around here,” said Sean. “And since that doesn’t include a lot of people, I thought you might have at least a guess. Maybe somebody at Cutter’s Rock? You must know some of the folks who work there.”

“I do know some of the folks.”

“I’m listening.”

“I’m not sure I have anything to tell you.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“All the same to me.”

“You spoke with my partner.”

“Right. Where is she, by the way?”

“Checking some other things out.”

“Murdock will be all over your ass if you get near his investigation.”

“It won’t be the first time we’ve rubbed the official machine the wrong way.”

“Just giving you my two cents.”

“So why’d you stop here then if you’ve got nothing to tell me?”

“Man was killed. Like to know who did it.”

“That’s what I want, too.”

Dobkin scuffed the road with his shoe. “Got a chain of command. You’re not in it. Got a family. Can’t throw my career in the toilet. Not for nothing. Sorry.”

“Okay, I get that. I appreciate what you’ve done.” Sean headed back toward his car.

“Any idea who took a shot at you?”

Sean turned back around. “No, other than it wasn’t the first time they’d fired a rifle. That fact was pretty clear.”

“I’ll look into that.”

“Okay.”

“Why didn’t you notify the police? Somebody tried to kill you.”

“No, they were warning us off. Different thing.”

“I’ll still look into it.”

“Suit yourself.”