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“We still don’t know if Bergin met with Roy yesterday.”
“And we also don’t know where he was headed last night.”
“It would be great to get a list of all his phone calls and e-mails.”
“Wouldn’t it?” agreed Sean.
“But Murdock has all that.”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“All we can do is try.”
“Crossing the FBI? Not a smart career move,” she said.
“Finesse is the key.”
“Finesse is not my strong suit.”
“Which is why I’ll be handling that end of the equation.”
“Opposites attract.”
He smacked her on the arm. “Apparently so.”
CHAPTER
10
A WALL OF COPS and Feds enveloped Gray’s Lodge. Guests had been interrogated and their rooms searched. And then they’d been told to get other lodgings but not to leave the area. Posing as tourists, Sean and Michelle, by a bit of luck and deduction, happened on the lodge owners, a husband and wife in their sixties, who were visibly upset by what had happened.
“Damndest thing,” said the man, a burly fellow with soft white hair and a tanned face, over a cup of coffee at a gas station within sight of the lodge. He wore a bright red flannel shirt and new jeans.
“The cops just came in and told everyone to clear out?” asked Michelle.
The wife nodded. She was slender, wiry, and looked like she could work her larger husband into the ground. “After they gave them the third degree and searched their underwear drawers. Some of our guests have been coming here for decades, too. They had nothing to do with that man dying.”
“Well, those guests may never come back after this,” said the husband miserably.
“And the dead man, this Bergin guy, he’d just arrived that day?” prompted Sean.
“That’s right,” said the husband.
“But we’d seen him before, of course,” added the woman.
Sean pounced. “So he’d been up here before?”
“Twice before,” said the husband.
“Did you know what for?” asked Michelle.
“Wasn’t for the hunting or fishing,” answered the wife.
“He was a lawyer,” opined the husband.
“Any idea what he was doing up here?” asked Sean.
