The Sixth Man kam-5

by David Baldacci

  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 shingle 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 po
inted 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 concession, including me. But then again I think I look every day of my age and then some.”

  Paul continued. “Our mother divorced my father when I was nine. She married Edgar’s father, and they had him shortly afterward.”

  “So you two were together as a family for how long?”

  “Until I left for college.”

  “And your mother and stepfather are dead?”

  “My stepfather died about the time I left. Our mother passed on seven years ago. Cancer.”

  “What happened to your stepfather?” asked Sean.

  “He had an accident.”

  “What sort of accident?”

  “The sort where he stopped breathing.”

  “And your father?”

  “He and my mother divorced when I was a little girl. Haven’t heard from him since. Probably why she divorced him in the first place. Not the most caring man in the world.”

  Sean said, “How did you get permission to hire a lawyer to represent your brother?”

  “Eddie is a brilliant person. It wasn’t that he could sort of remember everything he ever saw, read, or heard. He could recall it precisely right down to the date and time he’d experienced it. And he could take pieces of any puzzle you gave him and spit out the solution in no time. He operated on a different plane than the rest of us.” She paused. “Do you know what an eidetic memory is?”

  “Like a photographic one?” said Sean.

  “Pretty much. Mozart had one. Tesla too. Someone with an eidetic memory can, for instance, recite pi’s decimal places to over one hundred thousand. All from memory. It’s a genetic thing coupled with a little freak-of-nature occurrence. It’s like the wiring in the brain is simply better than everyone else’s. You can’t learn to be eidetic—you either are or you aren’t.”

  “And your brother obviously had an eidetic memory?”

  “Actually something more than that. He never forgot anything, but beyond that, like I said, he could see how all the pieces of any puzzle went together. ‘This fact affecting that fact’ sort of thing. No matter how disparate or seemingly unrelated. Sort of like looking at an anagram once and knowing exactly what it’s really saying. Most people use about ten percent of their brain. Eddie is probably up around ninety to ninety-five percent.”

  “Pretty impressive,” said Michelle.

  “He could have achieved greatness in any number of fields.”

  “I sense a but coming,” prompted Sean.

  “But he didn’t have a lick of common sense. Never did, never will. And if something didn’t interest him he ignored it, regardless of the consequences. Years ago, after he forgot to pay his bills, renew his driver’s license, and even pay his taxes, I got a power of attorney from him. I couldn’t do everything for him, but I tried my best.”

  “If you did all that, how could you remain in the shadows of his life? The press didn’t even mention that he had a half sister after he was arrested.”

  “I’d been gone for a long time. And I’d never come back home for long. And I had a different last name. But much of the help I provided him could be done long-distance.”

  “But still.”

  “And I’m a private person.”

  “Is that why you moved here?” asked Michelle.

  “Partly.” She sipped her coffee.

  “Hilary is dead, too,” said Sean suddenly. “Did you know that?”

  CHAPTER

  26

  FOR THE FIRST TIME Kelly Paul did not appear to be in control. She set the coffee cup down, raised a hand to her eyes, and then put it back down. “When?”

  The tone was one of curiosity mixed with anger. Sean thought he might have also gleaned a hint of regret.

  “Last night, outside of Bergin’s house.”

  “How?”

  Michelle glanced at Sean, who said, “She was set up and shot.” He leaned forward. “Do you have any idea what’s going on here, Ms. Paul?”

  Paul wrested herself from whatever she was thinking. Clearing her throat, she said, “You need to understand that my brother didn’t kill those people. He was framed.”

  “Why? By whom?”

  “If I knew that I wouldn’t need you. But I would say that whoever did it is particularly powerful and well connected.”

  “Why would people like that be targeting your brother?”

  “Well, that’s the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question, now isn’t it?”

  “And you’re saying you don’t even have an idea?”

  “I’m not really saying anything. You’re the investigators.”

  “So you knew Bergin had hired us?”

  “I suggested it. He told me he knew you, Sean. I’d read about some of the work you’d done. I said we needed a pair like you on the job because it wouldn’t be simple.”

  “When was the last time you saw or spoke to your brother?” asked Sean.

&
nbsp; “You mean before he stopped talking at all?”

  “How did you know that? That your brother had stopped talking?”

  “Teddy told me. And the last time I spoke with my brother was by phone a week before he was arrested.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Nothing of great importance. Certainly not that he suspected six bodies were buried at the family farm.”

  “How long had the place been in your family?”

  “My mother and stepfather bought it when they got married. After our mother died, she left it to both of us. I was living abroad and so I told Eddie to take it.”

  “Even after he started working for the government he lived with his mother?”

  “Yes. He was at the local IRS office in Charlottesville, although I know he had responsibilities that would take him to Washington fairly regularly. Edgar really had no ambition to move into his own place. He liked the farm. It was quiet, isolated.”

  “And he obviously lived there alone after your mother died.”

  “He had no alternative. I was out of the country.”

  “Where were you living abroad?” asked Sean. “And what were you doing?”

  Paul, who had been staring at a spot on the wall about a foot above Sean’s head, now swung her gaze directly in his direction. “I wasn’t aware that I was the subject of your investigation. And yet the truly personal inquiries seemed all aimed in my general vicinity.”

  “I like to be thorough.”

  “A grand attribute. Just point it in the direction of my brother’s case.”

  Sean took this snub in stride. And he did note that her vocabulary and tone had subtly changed. “We’ve read the police file on the bodies discovered at the farm.”

  “Six of them. All men. All white. All under the age of forty. And all as yet unidentified.”

  “As I understand it nothing has come back on fingerprints or DNA.”

  “Quite remarkable. On the TV police shows everyone’s in the database and it only takes a few seconds to find them.” Paul smiled and took a long sip of coffee.

  “I could see one or two or maybe even three not being in the system. But all six?”