The Sixth Man Page 4

  Sean motioned to the car. “You mind?”

  They trooped over to the Buick.

  While they all looked on, Sean pointed to the window and then to the body. “Entry head wound, lot of blood splatter. No exit wound, so all the blood was driven out of the front of his head. It would have been a gusher. The steering wheel, Bergin, dashboard, seat, and the windshield all have splatters. I even got some on my hands when I opened the car door and he slumped out.” He pointed to the clear window. “But not here.”

  “Because it was lowered when the shot was fired,” said Michelle, as Murdock nodded.

  “And then the killer raised it back up because obviously Bergin couldn’t,” said Murdock. “Why?”

  “Don’t know. It was dark, so he might not have noticed that the window was clean, or else he could have smeared some blood on it to throw us off. But blood splatters have reached such a level of forensic sophistication now that the police would see right through something like that. And maybe the shooter also initiated the flashers, to make us think Bergin had broken down or stopped of his own accord. But if you pull off and lower your car window on a lonely road at this time of night? Well, that’s very telling.”

  “You’re right. That means you know the person,” said Murdock. “Good observation.”

  Sean eyed the troopers. “Well, there could be another explanation. The person who stopped him might have been in uniform.”

  To a man, all the state troopers angrily stared back at him. Mayhew said indignantly, “It wasn’t one of my men, I can tell you that.”

  The county officer said, “And I’m the only unit in this sector tonight. And I sure as hell didn’t shoot the man.”

  “I’m not accusing anyone,” said Sean.

  Murdock said, “But he is right. It could have been someone in uniform.”

  “Only an imposter,” amended Michelle.

  “Hard to pull off up here,” said Mayhew. “Getting the uniform, police cruiser. And they could have been seen. Big risk.”

  “It’s still something we have to check out,” said Murdock.

  “How long has he been dead?” asked Sean.

  Murdock glanced at one of the Maine forensic techs. The person said, “Best guess right now, about four hours. We’ll have a firmer number after the post.”

  Sean checked his watch. “That means we missed the killer by about thirty minutes. We saw no car pass us, so whoever did it must’ve gone the other way or else turned off the road.”

  “Unless they were on foot,” said Murdock, looking around at the dark countryside. “But if it was an imposter in uniform they would’ve been in a car. I doubt Bergin would have stopped just because he saw someone in a uniform walking down the road.”

  Mayhew cleared his throat. “My men did a perimeter search in all directions. Found nothing. We’ll be able to do a far more thorough search in the morning.”

  “What’s the closest road to here?” asked Sean.

  “About a half mile in that direction,” said the lieutenant, pointing east.

  “The shooter could’ve walked to his car, parked there,” said Murdock.

  “Too risky,” said Michelle. “Leaving a parked car on a road like this would invite instant suspicion. They couldn’t be sure a cop wouldn’t stop and check it out.”

  “An accomplice then,” said Murdock. “Waiting in the car. The person walks through the woods to avoid anyone on the road seeing them. Gets to the car and off they go.”

  Sean looked over at the Washington County lawman who’d been first on the scene. “You see any other car parked like that on your patrol tonight or when you were heading here?”

  The cop shook his head. “But I came from the same direction you did.”

  Mayhew said, “We’ve got cars patrolling the nearby roads looking for anyone or anything suspicious. But it’s been hours now, so the person could be pretty far away. Or else holed up somewhere.”

  Murdock said, “I wonder where Bergin was going?”

  “Well, he was supposed to be meeting us at Martha’s Inn,” said Sean. “But now we know he was heading in the wrong direction for that. He would have turned off for Martha’s Inn before he got to this point. If he was coming from Eastport.”

  Murdock looked thoughtful. “Right, so we still don’t know where he was headed. If it wasn’t to meet you, then where? And with whom?”

  Michelle said, “Well, maybe the answer is as simple as he was somewhere south and west of here for some reason and was driving up to Martha’s Inn to meet us. That would put him on the same road and in the same direction as we were.”

  They all considered this. Murdock looked at the colonel. “Any thoughts on where he might’ve gone if that theory turns out to be correct?”

  Mayhew rubbed his nose. “Not much down that way unless he was visiting someone at home.”

  “How about Cutter’s Rock?” asked Sean.

  “If he was leaving from Gray’s Lodge to go to Cutter’s he wouldn’t be on this road at all,” said the lieutenant, as Mayhew nodded in agreement.

  Mayhew added, “And Cutter’s is locked down now. No visitors after dark.”

  Murdock turned to Sean. “Did he know anyone up here that he talked to you about?”

  “The only one he talked to us about was Edgar Roy.”

  “Right,” said Murdock. “His client.”

  The way he said it made Sean remark, “We understand that Roy was on a federal tag list. Anything happens remotely connected to him, you guys get called in.”

  Murdock’s expression showed how plainly he disliked Sean knowing this. “Where did you hear that?” he snapped.

  Behind him Sean could almost sense the heat rising from the face of the trooper who’d let this fact slip to him.

  “I think Bergin told me when we talked a couple days ago. You guys knew all about him repping Roy, correct?”

  Murdock turned away. “Okay, let’s finish processing the area. I want pictures, video, every fiber, hair, blood splatter, print, DNA residue, footprint, and anything else out there. Let’s roll.”

  Michelle turned to Sean. “I think he’s lost the love for us.”

  “Can we go?” asked Sean, his voice rising.

  Murdock turned back. “After we take fingerprints, DNA swabs, and impressions of your shoes.”

  “For exclusionary purposes, of course,” said Sean.

  “I let the evidence lead me wherever it goes,” replied Murdock.

  “They already checked my gun,” said Michelle. “And we both passed a GSR test.”

  “I don’t care,” retorted Murdock.

  Sean said, “We were retained by Bergin. We certainly had no reason to kill the guy.”

  “Well, right now we only have your word for it that you two were working for him. We’ll need to check that out.”

  “Okay. And after you’ve taken your samples from us tonight?”

  “You head on to where you’re staying. But you are not to leave the area without my permission.”

  “Can you do that?” asked Michelle. “We haven’t been charged with anything.”

  “Material witness.”

  “We saw nothing that you haven’t seen,” countered Sean.

  “Don’t get in a pissing contest with me over this,” said Murdock. “You’ll lose. I know Chuck thinks you guys are great stuff, but I always thought he made up his mind too fast. So the jury’s still out as far as I’m concerned.”

  “So much for professional courtesy,” groused Michelle.

  “This is a homicide investigation. It’s not a friendship contest. And the only courtesy I owe is to the dead guy over there.”

  He stalked off.

  “I really think he’s lost the love for us,” said Michelle.

  “Can’t blame him. We were on the scene. He doesn’t know us. And he’s under pressure. A lot of it. And he’s right. It’s his job to find the killer, not make friends.”

  “On a pair of wings in minutes. All the way from Bos
ton. They got here so fast I’m thinking chopper instead of a plane. Pretty high priority tag on Edgar Roy.”

  “And I’m wondering why.”

  As they were getting back in their car after being processed by a pair of field techs the lieutenant sidled over to them. “My guy told me he was the source for you about the FBI. Appreciate you covering for him,” he said. “That could’ve really dinged his career.”

  “No problem,” said Michelle. “What’s your name?”

  “Eric Dobkin.”

  “Well, Eric,” said Sean, “it looks like the FBI is throwing its typical eight-hundred-pound-gorilla act, so the rest of us have to help each other out.”

  “Help how?”

  “We find out stuff we bring it to you.”

  “You think that’s wise? I mean they are the FBI.”

  “I think it’s wise until it turns out not to be.”

  Michelle said, “But it’s a two-way street. We help you, you help us.”

  “But it’s a federal investigation now, ma’am.”

  “So the Maine State Police just turns tail and runs. Is that your motto?”

  He stiffened. “No, ma’am. Our motto is—”

  “Semper Aequus. Always Just.” She added, “I looked it up.”

  “Also Integrity, Fairness, Compassion, and Excellence,” Dobkin said. “That’s our set of core values. I don’t know how it works in D.C., but we stick to them up here.”

  “All the more reason for us to work together.”

  “But what’s there to work on? You were retained by a guy who’s now dead.”

  “And now we have to find out who killed him.”

  “Why?”

  “He was a friend of mine.” Sean leaned in closer to the officer. “And I don’t how you do things in Maine. But where I’m from, we don’t abandon our friends because someone killed them.”

  Dobkin took a step back. “No sir.”

  Michelle smiled. “Then I’m sure we’ll be seeing you. In the meantime.” She handed him one of their business cards. “Enough phone numbers on there to find us,” she added.

  Michelle started the car and punched the gas, and the Ford hurtled off.

  CHAPTER

  5

  THEY BOTH SLEPT.

  In separate rooms.

  The proprietress was a seventy-three-year-old woman named Mrs. Burke who possessed an old-fashioned idea about sleeping arrangements, in which a wedding band was required for cohabitation on the premises.

  Michelle slept heavily. Sean did not. After only two fitful hours tossing in the sack, he rose and stared out the window. To the north and even closer to the coast sat Eastport. The sun’s rays would be tickling the town shortly, the first city in the United States to receive the morning light each day. He showered and dressed. An hour later he met a sleepy-eyed Michelle for breakfast.

  Martha’s Inn turned out to be cozy and quaint, and close enough to the water to walk down to the shoreline in five minutes. Meals were served in a small, pine-paneled room off the kitchen. Sean and Michelle sat in ladder-back chairs with woven straw seats and had two cups of coffee each, eggs, bacon, and piping hot biscuits pre-slathered in butter by the cook.

  “Okay, I’ll have to run like ten miles to burn this goop off,” said Michelle, as she poured a third cup of coffee.

  He looked at her empty plate. “Nobody said you had to eat it.”

  “Nobody had to. It was delicious.” She noted the local paper in his hands. “Nothing on Bergin, right? Happened too late.”

  He lay the paper aside. “Right.” He tugged his sport coat closer around him. “Pretty nippy this morning. I should’ve brought warmer clothes.”

  “Didn’t you check the latitude, sailor? This is Maine. It can be cold anytime.”

  “No messages from our friend Dobkin?”

  “None on my cell. Probably too early yet. So what’s the plan? Not hang around here?”

  “We have an appointment to meet with Edgar Roy this morning. I plan on keeping it.”

  “Will they let us in without Bergin?”

  “I guess we’ll find out.”

  “You really want to do this? I mean, how well did you know Bergin?”

  Sean folded his napkin and set it down on the table. He looked around the room; there was only one other occupant. A man in his forties, dressed all in tweeds, was drinking a hot cup of tea with his pinky extended at a perfectly elegant angle.

  “When I resigned from the Service, I’d hit rock bottom. Bergin was the first guy who thought I had something left in the tank.”

  “Did you know him before? And did he know what had happened?”

  “No to both questions. I just ran into him at Greenberry’s, a coffee shop in Charlottesville. We started talking. He was the one who encouraged me to apply to law school. He’s one of the main reasons I got my life back.” He paused. “I owe him, Michelle.”

  “Then I guess I owe him too.”

  The initial approach to Cutter’s Rock took them on a circuitous path toward the ocean. It was high tide, and they could see the swells slamming against the outcrops of slimy rock as they drove along. They made one hard right, then doglegged left. Another hundred feet carried them around a rise of land, and they saw the warning sign on a six-foot-wide piece of sheet metal set on long poles sunk deep into the rocky earth. It basically said that one was approaching a maximum security federal facility, and if one didn’t have legitimate business there, this was the last and only chance for one to turn around and get the hell out.

  Michelle pressed the gas pedal harder, hurtling them faster at their destination. Sean looked over at her. “Having fun?”

  “Just working off some butterflies.”

  “Butterflies? What butterflies can you—” He caught himself, realizing that not that long ago Michelle had checked herself into a psych facility to work out some personal issues.

  “Okay,” he said, and returned his gaze ahead.

  A man-made causeway consisting of asphalt bracketed by built-up and graded-solid Maine stone led them out to the federal facility. The entry gate was steel and motorized and looked strong enough to withstand a charge by a herd of Abrams tanks. The guard hut held four armed men who looked like they had never smiled in their lives. Their utility belts each contained a Glock sidearm, cuffs, telescopic head-crushing baton, Taser, pepper spray, stun grenades.

  And a whistle.

  Michelle looked at Sean as two guards approached them. “Bet me ten bucks that I won’t ask the bigger one if he’s ever blown his whistle to stop a rampaging psycho from escaping.”

  “If you make even one joke to those gorillas I will find a gun and shoot you.”

  “But if I did ask they’d be mad at me, not you,” she said with a smile.

  “No. They always beat up the guy. The girl never gets the speeding ticket. And thanks.”

  “For what?”

  “Now I have butterflies.”

  The perimeter wall was locally quarried stone, twelve feet tall with a six-foot-high stainless steel cylinder riding on top. It would be impossible to get a grip on, much less climb over.

  “Seen that equipment on some supermax prisons,” noted Sean. “Latest whiz-bang technology in keeping the bad guys inside.”

  “What about suction cups?” asked Michelle, as they both stared at the metal wall topper.

  “It rotates like a hamster wheel. Suction cups won’t help you there. Still fall on your ass. And it’s probably loaded with motion sensors.”

  Their car was analyzed by an AVIAN, or Advanced Vehicle Interrogation and Notification System, which used seismic sensors placed on their car