CHAPTER
24
WHEN SEAN LEFT the meeting with the prosecutor he was smiling.
Michelle, who was waiting for him in her truck, looked at him inquiringly. “I take it the meeting went well?”
“He’s pigeonholing the arrest for now. No court hearing. No bail. You’re free to go, in my company.”
“You must have done some sell job.”
“Well, that and the fact that the cops found the slug that almost hit you.”
“Nice. What was it?”
“Remington .45 ACP full metal jacket.”
“Not the round that killed Bergin then. An FMJ at contact range would have blown right through his skull.”
“And it wasn’t the guy I spotted in Maine. He couldn’t be in two places at once.”
“They haven’t done the post on Hilary yet, right?”
“Not yet. But I think when they do, they’ll find a .45 round in her.”
A half hour later they were heading toward the home of Kelly Paul in Michelle’s Land Cruiser after Sean turned in his rental. They rode Interstate 64 over to 81 and took that south. Hours later, about thirty minutes before they would have crossed over into Tennessee, they exited the highway, drove west for a few miles, and passed through several one-traffic-light towns. Ten minutes after leaving the last such hamlet, Michelle slowed the truck and looked around before glancing at her GPS screen.
Sean looked at his watch and yawned. “Nearly two in the morning. If I don’t get eight hours of sleep soon my head is going to disintegrate.”
“I slept fine in jail.”
“No surprise there. I’ve seen your bed. The one in jail is probably softer.”
“I never heard you complain when you were in my bed.”
“Other priorities at the time.”
“How do you want to do this? The GPS says she’s down that road coming up on the left. All I see here are fields. You think she lives on a farm?”
Sean gazed out the window. “Well, that’s a cornfield over there.” He pointed to the right. He glanced to the left. “Not sure what that is. But it’s definitely a farm of some sort. I can’t even see a house.”
As they pulled closer Michelle spotted the mailbox. She hit her high beams. “Nothing on the mailbox, but this must be the place.”
“Kelly Paul and Edgar Roy. What’s the connection?”
“Well, she might be family. Paul might be her married name.”
“Or maybe there’s no family tie,” replied Sean.
“But like you said, there has to be something there. Otherwise how could Bergin rep Edgar Roy just based on this Kelly Paul person saying to do it? Wouldn’t there have to be like a power of attorney or something?”
“Ideally, yes. But apparently Roy lost his mind after he was arrested. So presumably he couldn’t sign off on a POA after he became incompetent.”
“We don’t know exactly when he zonked out. He was arrested. There must have been court proceedings. Bail, competency hearing, his being sent to Maine.”
Sean nodded. “You’re right. He might have hired Bergin before he went silent. But if so, why all the secrecy about the client? Why no billing or correspondence record? And then there’s Murdock’s letter and Bergin writing Kelly Paul’s name in his car warranty book.”
“So do we sit out here all night or go knock on her door?”
“Knocking on someone’s door at this hour in this place might result in buckshot wounds to our person. I say we pull off the road, stretch out, and get some sleep. I definitely could use it.”
“We should take turns being on watch.”
“Watching for what? Cows?”
“Sean, we were both almost killed yesterday. Let’s be prudent.”
“Okay, you’re right.”
She said, “I’ll take the first watch. I’ll wake you in two hours.”
Sean tilted his seat back and closed his eyes, and a few minutes later his soft snore wafted through the truck’s interior. Michelle glanced over at him, reached in the backseat, pulled out a blanket from the floorboard, and placed it over him. She stared back out the front window, alternating this with glances in the side mirrors to check on anyone creeping up on them from the rear. Her hand dropped to the butt of her gun and stayed there.
Sean yawned, stretched, and blinked himself fully awake. Sunlight stared back at him. He jolted up and looked over at Michelle. She was tapping a tune on the steering wheel and sipping on a bottle of G2.
“Why didn’t you wake me up?” He checked his watch. It was nearly eight.
“You were sleeping like a baby. I didn’t have the heart.”
He noted the blanket she’d put over him. “Okay, your drastically heightened sensitivity factor is really creeping me out.”
“I got plenty of sleep in jail. I’m fresh and now you are too.”
“Okay, now that makes more sense.”
His stomach grumbled.
“Want me to run over and pick some corn?” she said with a smile.
“No, but do you have a power bar in that pile of crap in the back? I’m afraid to put my hand in there.”
She reached back, snagged one, and tossed it to him. “Chocolate fudge. Twenty grams of protein. Knock yourself out.”
“Any activity from Kelly Paul?”
“No cars in or out and no sightings of any humans, though I did see a black bear and what I think was a beaver.”
Sean rolled down the window and sucked in the clean, chilly air. “My bladder is telling me I need to do something.”
Michelle pointed to a spot across the road. “I already did my business.”
He was back in a few minutes. “I think it’s time we had our face-to-face with Kelly Paul.”
Michelle started the Land Cruiser. “Okay, but let’s hope there’s some coffee in the house.” She turned down the gravel road. “What if Paul won’t talk to us?”
“Then I think we have to insist. We came all this way, after all.”
“And we tell Paul about Bergin?”
“If Kelly Paul hired Bergin, then his death might make her more likely to help us. How all of this connects to what happened in Maine I don’t know. But I have to believe that unless Bergin had some dark secret in his past, his death and his secretary’s death are connected to Roy. And that means Paul is connected too.”
“Despite what you said earlier I could have been the one to kill Hilary Cunningham.”
“Is that the real reason you didn’t sleep last night?”
“She was an innocent old lady, Sean. And now she’s dead.”
“If you did it you sure as hell didn’t mean to do it. Someone was shooting at you. You shot back. That’s instinctual. I would’ve done the same thing.”
“She’s still dead. What do they tell her kids or grandkids? ‘I’m sorry, she’s dead because she was accidentally shot’? Come on.”
“Life is not fair any way you cut it, Michelle. You know that and I know that. We’ve lived that stuff too often to recognize it any other way.”
“That can’t stop me from feeling guilty. From feeling like a piece of shit.”
“You’re right, it can’t. But keep this in mind. Somebody brought Hilary Cunningham to that house against her will in all likelihood. And if you did shoot her I don’t believe it was accidental, at least on their side.”
“What, you mean they wanted me to shoot her?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Hilary might have known something that certain people didn’t want to get out. And if you shoot her then the police are all over us. That puts us out of commission, or so they think.”
“If that’s the case these are some pretty sick people we’re up against.”
“We’re always up against psychos, Michelle. It’s what we do. But I want these sons of bitches more than I’ve wanted anybody else.”
CHAPTER
25
THE HOUSE WAS A WHITE SINGLE-STORY clapboard with a black shin
gle roof in need of replacement. The porch was wide and inviting, with a couple of beat-up-looking rockers moving slightly to and fro in the breeze. The sun was coming up to the left of the house, but the reach of a monster oak blanketed it in shadows.
The front drive was more dirt than gravel. The lawn was cut short, there were a few flowers in pots, and a rooster strutted in front of the Toyota as Michelle braked to a stop. The bird cocked its head in their direction, rustled its feathers, gave the pair a withering one-eyed gaze, and crowed as they got out of the Land Cruiser.
The edge of a chicken coop could be seen sticking out from behind the rear of the house. Beyond the coop a red barn rose up about a hundred feet from the house and at an angle to it. A clothesline hung in the right side yard, and the few garments strung on it lifted lazily with the dull movement of air.
“Okay,” said Michelle. “Five gets you ten that a fireplug of a woman in either bib overalls or a cotton print dress and work boots is going to answer the door smelling of chickenshit. And she’s going to be holding a shotgun pointed right at our guts.”
“I’ll take that bet,” said Sean with an air of confidence.
Michelle shot him a glance before gazing up at the house. Somehow the woman had materialized on the porch seemingly without making a sound. Michelle, who had perfect vision and hearing, hadn’t seen or heard anything.
“You must be Sean King. I’ve been expecting you,” said the woman. Her voice was deep but still remained feminine. It was an assured voice.
When Michelle’s boots hit the top step of the porch she did something she almost never had to do with another woman. She had to look up. The lady must have been at least six feet tall in bare feet. She was lean without an ounce of fat on her frame. And even though she wasn’t exactly young anymore, she had retained the physique and the graceful movements of a formidable athlete.
They had to be related. Same eyes, same nose, obviously the height factor. The only differences from Edgar Roy were the color of the hair and the eyes. Her hair was light brown and the eyes were green instead of black dots. The green was less intimidating.
And obviously she could talk.
Sean put out his hand. “We’re sorry for coming by so early, Ms. Paul,” he said.
Her long fingers enveloped his hand and then she waved his apology off. “This isn’t early, at least in these parts. I saw your truck out there at five this morning. I would’ve gotten you to come in for some breakfast, but you were sleeping and the lady here was doing her business in the woods.”
Michelle looked at Kelly Paul with a mixture of admiration and astonishment. “I’m Michelle Maxwell.” She shook hands with Paul and came away respectful of the woman’s grip.
“Would you like some breakfast now?” she asked them. “I’ve got eggs, bacon, grits, biscuits, and good, hot coffee.”
Michelle and Sean glanced at each other.
Paul smiled. “I’ll take your famished looks as a yes. Come on in.”
The interior didn’t have a homey feel to it. It was minimally furnished, but was clean with simple lines one would have expected from the exterior. She led them down the hall and into the kitchen that was sturdily and plainly built out with old appliances. There was a fireplace set against one wall that looked as old as the house. Another fireplace was in the front room.
“Have you lived here long?” asked Sean.
“By local standards, no. It’s a typical little farmhouse. But that’s what I wanted.”
“So where did you move from?” asked Sean.
She reached out a hand and flicked on the coffeepot, then pulled a bowl and skillet from the cupboard.
When she didn’t answer, Sean said, “You said you were expecting us?”
“You called me last night. I recognized your voice when you spoke outside just now.”
“But I didn’t speak to you before you said I must be Sean King.”
Paul turned around and pointed a long-handled wooden spoon at Michelle. “But you spoke to your partner here. I’ve got excellent hearing.”
“How’d you know we’d come to visit you? Or that we even knew where you lived?”
“Coffee will be ready in just a minute. Can you pull down some plates and cups from the cupboard right there, Michelle?” She pointed to her left. “You can just set them on the kitchen table right here. I’ve eaten but I will have coffee. Thank you very much.”
While Michelle got the dishes, Paul tended to the eggs and bacon sizzling in another pan. Grits simmered in a closed pot, and Sean could smell the biscuits rising in the oven.
“Got a Smithfield ham in the refrigerator. I can fry that up too if you’d like. Nothing better than a salt-cured Smithfield.”
“The bacon will be fine,” Sean said.
When it was ready Paul filled their plates with food and apologized that the grits were instant. “Otherwise, it would be a while, I’m afraid.”
She sat down across from them with her cup of coffee and watched with what looked like sincere pleasure as they ate.
Sean glanced at her every few seconds. Kelly Paul had on khaki pants, a worn denim shirt, a light blue jean jacket, and beige Crocs that seemed too small for her long feet. Her hair was shoulder length and tied back in a ponytail. Her face was fair and relatively unlined. He estimated the woman to be in her early forties or perhaps even younger.
When they had eaten their fill and she had topped off their coffee cups, they all sat back, looking expectant.
She said, “Bellies full, let’s get to it. Of course I knew you’d come to see me after I hung up on you. As to how you’d know where I lived, I assumed that former Secret Service agents would be able to find that out. I expect that’s why Teddy Bergin hired you.”
“Teddy?”
“My pet name for him.”
“So you knew Bergin before all this?”
“He was my godfather. And one of my mom’s best friends.” Paul studied their reaction to this revelation and then said, “I want you to find out who killed him.”
“So you know he’s dead?” said Michelle. “How?”
Paul tapped the table with her long index finger. “Does it matter?”
“We’d like to know,” said Sean.
“Hilary phoned me.”
Sean looked angry. “She said she had no idea who the client was.”
“That’s because I made her promise me she wouldn’t tell.”
“Why?”
“I had my reasons. Same ones that made Teddy keep everything under seal with the court.”
“What’s your relationship to Edgar Roy? Are you his sister? You have the same height, same features.”
“Half sister. Same mother, different father. Mother was over six feet. Funny thing is, both our fathers were shorter than she was. Guess we got her height genes.”
“Is Paul your married name?” asked Sean.
“I hope not, since I’ve never been married. Paul was my father’s surname.”
“But you obviously know Edgar Roy?”
“Yes, although I’m eleven years older than he is.”
“You’re forty-six?” said Sean.
“Yes.”
“You look a lot younger than that,” said Michelle.
She smiled. “It’s not from pious living, I can tell you that.”
Sean returned the smile. “I guess a lot of people could make that
The Sixth Man Page 15
