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“If he is, he’s damn good at it.”
“Maybe he is drugged up.”
“I don’t know what purpose is served by the government keeping an accused killer drugged up so he can’t stand trial.”
“Okay, when do you want to leave for Virginia?”
“I told Megan to call me when the Feds were done with her.”
“Considering Murdock will try to screw us at every turn, it might be a while before she surfaces. Can we afford to wait for that?”
He looked at her. “What do you have in mind?”
“How do you know I have anything in mind?”
“We’re an old married couple, remember? Or at least we act like one.”
“Don’t start finishing my sentences. You could get badly hurt.”
“So?” he said expectantly.
“So maybe I head to Virginia and start looking into the murders down there and Roy’s connection to the Feds while you stay up here, wait for them to kick Megan loose. And maybe you go back to Cutter’s Rock again, this time with Megan, and dig up what you can on Bergin’s murder. Then we rendezvous and compare notes in the near future.”
He smiled. “What about you taking care of me?”
“So put on your big-boy pants and suck it up.”
“So we divide and conquer.”
“Or cut our strength in half.” She handed him her gun. “You better keep this.”
“I don’t have a permit.”
“Better they arrest you for not having a permit than my identifying your body because you didn’t have a gun.”
“I get the point. But what about you?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll stop by my apartment and grab a spare.”
“How many guns do you have?”
“Neither one more nor one less than I need.”
He took the gun.
CHAPTER
18
SEAN DROVE THROUGH the night and dropped Michelle off at the airport in Bangor, where she boarded a seven a.m. flight. After switching to another plane in Philadelphia, she reached Virginia a few minutes before noon. She’d slept soundly on both flights and felt recharged when she touched down at Dulles Airport. She picked up her Toyota from the parking garage, drove home, packed another bag, grabbed a spare pistol, and drove to the office. She checked messages and mail, packed a few more things, looked up some addresses, made some calls, and headed to Charlottesville. She got to town around four that afternoon and drove directly to Ted Bergin’s law office, which was located in a business complex near the Boar’s Head Inn and Resort.
It was on the first floor of a clapboard-sided building painted white with green shutters and a black door. It had a simple arrangement: reception area, two offices, a conference room, and a small kitchen and workspace area in the back. As was her habit, Michelle scouted out and noted the rear exit on the other side of the building.
Michelle was greeted by a woman in her sixties wearing a pale-blue blouse with a ruffled collar, black skirt, and black heels. Her hair was bottle blond and starting to thin from one perm too many. She had puffy eyes and reddened cheeks. Michelle assumed this was Hilary Cunningham and was proven right when the woman introduced herself. After offering condolences about her unfortunate boss, Michelle asked to look around Bergin’s office.
“We need to track down who the client is,” she explained.
Hilary led her to Bergin’s office and then left her alone, murmuring something about burial arrangements. From the utterly devastated look on the woman’s face Michelle wondered if their relationship had been something more than employer and employee. If so, that might be another lead they would have to run down. Bergin’s death might not stem from his representation of Edgar Roy at all. He had been Sean’s friend and law professor, but the truth was the two had not seen each other much over the last few years. There could be secrets in Bergin’s past that might explain his death, even all the way up in Maine.
