The Sixth Man (31 page)

But that one visitor had been Brandon Murdock. Had he gone to see Edgar Roy? That would hardly be legal, since Roy was represented by counsel now and was in no shape to be questioned or to waive any of his rights. Or maybe Murdock had gone to search Dukes’s office? To see if any incriminating evidence had been left behind. Evidence that might lead to Murdock, perhaps, if he was involved in this somehow?

As Michelle had been about to leave her post, she noticed something unusual. She’d done one more sweep of the surrounding countryside, and her optics picked up on another pair of artificial eyes at a position about a half mile distant from where she was. She focused her binoculars on this spot, but all she could see was the sunlight reflecting off the scope.

Was someone else running surveillance on the federal facility?

She gauged the location of this observer, jumped in her truck, and headed there as fast as possible. However, by the time she pulled down the road, ditched her truck, and made her way forward stealthily through the woods, whoever had been there was gone. She checked the road for recent marks but found none. They could have come on foot and left on foot. She checked for this, too, but found nothing helpful.

She drove back to the inn full of questions.

A little before dinnertime she walked down the steps at Martha’s Inn and found the landlady, Mrs. Burke, in the foyer gazing at her disapprovingly.

“You keep very irregular hours, young lady,” said Burke. “And you never eat meals on time. I don’t like that. It’s extra work for me.”

Michelle gazed down at the woman, a look of annoyance on her face. “Since when have I asked you to make me a special meal?”

“The point is I have to be ready to make the meal in case you request it.”

“Who says?”

“It’s a courtesy of our inn.”

“Well, thanks, but you don’t have to do it. So problem solved.”

Michelle headed past her to the front door.

“Where are you going now?” Burke asked.

“Uh, that would be out your front door and then into my truck.”

“I meant where are you going in your truck?”

“That would be none of your business.”

“Are you Southern girls always so rude?”

“Who says I’m from the South?”

“Please, I can tell from your accent.”

“Okay, I’m not trying to be rude. But I am an investigator looking
into a series of murders. So when I say it’s none of your business, it’s just a polite way of telling you that it’s none of your business.”

Burke glanced down at Michelle’s waist. “Do you have to wear that thing around here?”

Michelle looked at her holstered pistol revealed through the opening in her coat. “Two people up here are dead. I would think you’d like someone with a gun around. Just in case the killer shows up here.”

Burke gasped and took a step back. “Why in the world would they do that? You’re just trying to scare an old woman. That’s not very nice.”

Since Burke did indeed look very frightened, Michelle sighed and said, “Maybe I was trying to scare you, but just because you got under my skin.”

“That was not my intent.”

“Sure it was,” she shot back.

At first Michelle thought Burke was going to launch into a tirade, but the old woman instead sat down in a chair, wrapping her sweater more tightly around her and said, “You’re right. It was.”

Michelle relaxed a notch. “Why?”

“You remind me a lot of my daughter. Well, when she was younger. Fiery, independent, her way or no way at all.”

“Okay.”

“We had our differences. We had our words.”

“Moms and daughters often do.”

“Are you close to your mother?”

Michelle hesitated. “I… was.”

Burke looked confused. “You were… Oh, yes, oh, I see, I’m sorry. Was it recent?”

“Recent enough, yeah.”

A few moments of silence lapsed. “So what happened to your daughter?” asked Michelle.

“She left to go to college. I just assumed she’d come back here. But she never did.”

“Where is she now?”

“Hawaii.”

“Long way away.”

“About as long as you can get and still be in America. I’m sure that was intentional on her part.”

“Do you ever see her?”

“No. It’s been decades now. It amazes me when I think about it. All those years. The time goes by so fast. She sends me pictures. I have three grandchildren. Before my husband died we had planned to fly out there and break the ice. But then he passed and… Well.”

“I think you should still go.”

She shook her head vigorously. “I think I would be too afraid. When my husband was alive he was the buffer. I could make the trip with him. But alone, no.”

“And not see your grandkids?”

“They don’t even know me.”

“But they will if you go out there.”

“I think it’s just too late.” She stood. “Well, you be careful out there. And I’ll leave some food for you in the fridge. And I’ll put on the coffee. You just have to turn it on.”

“I appreciate that.”

“And I’ll keep an eye on your young friend. She seems very withdrawn. Scared, even.”

“She’s under a lot of pressure.”

“When will Mr. King be back?”

“I’m not sure.”

“He’s very handsome.”

Michelle looked away. “Yes, I guess he is.”

“Are you two an item?”

Michelle did her best not to smile at this quaint term. “Maybe we are.”

“Then you should get married.”

“It’s complicated.”

“No, it’s only the people who make it complicated. Do you want to marry him?”

This question caught Michelle off guard. “What? I… I haven’t thought about it, really.”

Burke scrutinized her so closely that Michelle found her face growing warm.

“I see,” said Burke skeptically. “Well, good night.”

“Good night. And for what it’s worth, I think you should go see your daughter.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t get to see my mom again. I’ll always regret that. You have to take your chances when you have them.”

“Thank you, Michelle. I appreciate the advice.”

Michelle hurried outside, her thoughts now unfocused. A phone call was about to change all that.

“Hello?”

“Maxwell?”

“Who is this?”

“Murdock.”

“What’s up?”

“We need to meet.”

“Why?”

“About this case.”

“What about it?”

“Things you and your partner need to know. Things that I’ve found out.”

“Why are you suddenly playing nice?”

“Because I don’t know if I can trust anyone on my side.”

“That’s a hell of a statement coming from an FBI agent.”

“It’s a hell of a situation.”

“Where and when?”

“Ten o’clock. I’ll give you directions.”

She took down the information, started to walk to her truck but stopped.

This was all a little too fishy.

She pulled out her phone, called Sean. It didn’t go through.

“Crap!” She thought for a few moments and then called another number.

“Dobkin,” said the voice.

“Eric, it’s Michelle Maxwell. How would you like to provide me with a little backup tonight?”

“T
HEY RECRUITED YOU
?” exclaimed Sean.

Kelly Paul nodded. “Not to be the Analyst. I was smart, but my mental acuity did not come close to the level required.”

“What then?”

“They wanted me to run the program.”

“They? You mean Peter Bunting?”

She rose. “How about some coffee? I know a place close by where we can talk in private.”

It wasn’t a café or restaurant. It was a one-bedroom apartment three blocks off the park on a normal-looking residential street where little kids probably played on the sidewalk during good weather.

The inside was no more than what one needed to survive. It had a door with locks, a window, a kitchen, a bed, a TV, and a toilet. No paintings, no drapes, no plants; there was the original gray carpeting, eggshell white walls. A few pieces of furniture.

Paul made the coffee and brought two cups with sugar and cream into the living room. The decision to seek shelter had been a good one. The rain now lashed the window, and there were rumbles of thunder and flashes of lightning.

Sean looked around the space while he sipped the hot coffee. “This yours?”

“Not just mine, no.”

“Shared facilities?”

“Everyone’s budget has been cut.”

“Must be nice to actually have a budget.”

She eyed him over the rim of her cup. “You would think.”

“We were talking about your recruitment. Bunting wanted to hire you?”

“Understand that the E-Program even seven years ago was not what it is today. It came on-line two years after 9/11. Since then it’s grown immeasurably both in fiscal appropriation and operational scope. Its budget is in the billions, and there’s not one intelligence arena it does not serve. That alone makes it totally unique. Well, my brother’s intellectual gifts made it even more special.”

“And he wanted you to run it. I’m sure you were more than capable, but wasn’t it his job to do that?”

“Bunting was expanding his business back then. He wanted to delegate. I’d had a very successful career. And to those in the field my successes were well known. I attracted his attention. We were contemporaries. Our philosophical identities weren’t so different. It would have made me a great deal of money and taken me out of what had become a very dangerous occupation. And it would free him up to pursue other business opportunities. On paper it seemed perfect.”

“On paper,” said Sean. “But not in practice?”

She put her cup down. “I came very close to accepting. For a number of reasons. Eddie was with the IRS by then. He seemed happy and challenged. Well, to the extent anything can actually challenge him. But our mother had just died.”

“And he’d be all alone?”

“Yes. I wasn’t sure that he could cut it all by himself. This job would allow me to spend more time with him, become more of a presence in his life.”

“So what happened? It seemed perfect.”

“At the end I couldn’t do it. I wasn’t prepared for what would amount to a desk job. I’d also gotten used to being my own boss, running my own show. Bunting had the rep of being a micromanager. I wasn’t ready for that.”

“And maybe you weren’t ready to be a caretaker for your brother either.”

“Maybe I wasn’t,” she admitted. “In retrospect it was astonishingly
selfish of me. I put my career wants over my brother’s needs. I guess maybe I’d always done that.”

“You wouldn’t be the first person.”

“Small comfort.” She hesitated. “I had been his protector when he was young.”

“Against his father?” asked Sean quietly.

Paul rose and walked to the window, looked out at the stormy night.

She said, “He was just a little boy. Couldn’t take care of himself.”

“But you did.”

“I did what was right.”

“Your stepfather’s death?”

She turned to look at him. “I have probably more regrets than most. That is not one of them.”

“So you recommended your brother for the program years later?”

Paul seemed relieved by the change in the direction of the conversation. She sat back down. “There was no one to touch him in the very skill sets the program required. He was so good they designated him an E-Six, the first ever.” There was sisterly pride in her voice.

“And Bunting and you?”

“What about it?”

“You and your brother were both vetted for positions with the E-Program. Bunting must know you two are related.”

“So? I seriously doubt Bunting thinks I framed my own brother for murder.”

“But he may think you’re working from behind the scenes to help him.”

“Well, I am. But again, I don’t think Bunting will perceive that as a threat. If Eddie is cleared Bunting gets him back.”

“At Cutter’s your brother just stares at the ceiling, never says a word, never moves a muscle. Is he pretending?”

“Yes and no. It’s hard to explain. Eddie can lose himself in his mind like few others. He did that as a child, too.”

“Because of his father?”

“Sometimes.”

“So now your brother has withdrawn into his own mind as a form of protection?”

“He’s afraid.”

“Well, if they convict him for those murders they can execute him. And what’s more dangerous than facing lethal injection?”

“Yes, but at least lethal injection is painless. The people we’re up against won’t be that generous. I can guarantee you that.”