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“Was it your slug that killed her?”
“They don’t know yet. They haven’t done the post. But it wouldn’t surprise me if it were. I fired in that direction at someone.”
“Do you think Hilary was firing at you?”
“There was no gun found on her person. All I know is a round came within six inches of landing in my head instead of the dirt.”
“Well, the slug will confirm your story.”
“Let’s hope they find it.”
“Isn’t it in the dirt?”
“I think it might be. But it also might have hit a stone buried in the grass and ricocheted off. I didn’t hang around to find out.”
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“Okay. I’ll take the same flight you did to D.C. and then drive over to Charlottesville. I should be there around three.” He paused. “Do the cops really think you killed her intentionally?”
“I think the fact that I called it in, and they confirmed the call came from my cell, has made them less suspicious, but it still looks bad.”
“Okay, just sit tight until I get there.”
“Not much else I can do. Any news from Megan?”
“No.”
“Anything exciting happen to you while I was gone?”
Sean hesitated, debating whether to tell her. “Nothing that can’t keep.”
“Oh, bring the gun I bought up in Maine.”
“Fine. Let’s just hope this one isn’t confiscated, too.”
Sean clicked off, called the airline, bought a ticket, packed his bag, retrieved Michelle’s gun case from her room, and then called Megan’s cell phone. It again went right to voice mail. The FBI was definitely keeping her under wraps. In the message Sean didn’t tell her why he was heading back to Virginia, only that he would be in touch.
He also left a note for Mrs. Burke and headed out. He cranked the heater up and drove as fast as he could with the wind rushing through the shattered windows. He got to Bangor at about five in the morning. He prayed that when he went to check Michelle’s gun and ammo, they would not scrutinize his permit to carry a weapon, since he didn’t have one that was valid in Maine.
It was early, the airport folks were tired, and they didn’t even raise an eyebrow when he showed them his Virginia concealed weapon’s permit. Maine was the Vacation State, after all, and Americans did love to vacation with their weapons. And it also probably helped that he was checking the gun with no way to get to it during the flight.
He had coffee and stepped onto the plane at six thirty. He catnapped for the short flight. The connection in Philly did not go smoothly, and he had to scream at several airline personnel before they stuck him in the rear of a turboprop outbound to Reagan National. By some miracle Michelle’s gun found him at baggage claim, and he cabbed it home, packed his things, and was on the road to Charlottesville in a one-way rental about forty-five minutes behind schedule.
He exceeded the speed limit the whole trip and reached the county lockup a little before four. He announced that he was Michelle’s lawyer and wanted to see his client. Twenty minutes after that he was seated across from her.
“You look okay,” he said.
“You, on the other hand, look like crap.”
“Thanks. I’ve just been traveling all day to get to you.”
“You misunderstood. I greatly appreciate the effort. I’m just too used to your Cary Grant–like dapperness. But it’s also nice to know that you’re actually human like the rest of us.”
“I’ve seen the arrest report. I’ve also talked to one of the officers who was on the scene with you last night.”
“How’d you manage that?”
“I overheard him talking about it in the hallway and snagged him for a quick down and dirty. They’ve processed the scene, although he wouldn’t tell me the results. For what it’s worth I don’t believe he thinks you’re guilty.”
