“So they might not let us in.”
“They let us come this far,” replied Sean.
“Yeah, and now I’m wondering why they have.”
“Little slow this morning?”
“What?”
He said nervously, “I’ve been wondering that ever since they cleared us through the first gate.”
CHAPTER
6
THERE WAS ONE more checkpoint inside the facility. A magnetometer for any stray weapons the other searches didn’t reveal, another probe of their persons, an X-ray for Michelle’s small bag, an ID and document check, a cross-reference on the visitor’s list, an oral interview that would have done Mossad proud, and a few phone calls. After that they were told to wait in an anteroom off the reception area, if one could call it that. The windows were at least three inches thick and presumably bullet-, fist-, and footproof.
Sean tapped on one. “Feels like the windows in the Beast.”
Michelle was examining the interior wall construction. She rubbed her hand up and down one section. “Don’t think this is run-of-the-mill drywall. Feels like a composite. A composite made of titanium. I doubt a round from my .45 could pierce it.”
“Called a buddy of mine who knew about this place,” said Sean. “It’s set on a rocker platform like they do the skyscrapers.”
“You mean in case there’s an earthquake.”
“Right. Must have cost a pretty penny.”
“Like you said, it’s only taxpayer money. But I wonder if its floodproof? We’re pretty close to the ocean here.”
“Retractable seawall. They can raise it in twenty minutes.”
“You’re kidding.”
Sean shook his head. “What my buddy told me.”
Michelle looked around the small, Spartan space. “I wonder how many visitors there are here? They don’t even have any magazines. And I doubt you could find a vending machine.”
“Would you want to come and visit someone here? Even if the person was family? I mean, it’s a facility for the criminally insane.”
“They don’t call it that anymore, do they?”
“I guess not, but it is what it is. They are criminal and they are insane.”
“Now look who’s being judgmental. Roy hasn’t even been tried.”
“Okay, you got me there.”
“But he’s still probably a psycho,” added Michelle, drawing a raised eyebrow from her partner. She said, “How many inmates—sorry, patients—here, do you reckon?”
“That’s classified, apparently.”
“Classified? How can that be? This isn’t part of the CIA or the Pentagon.”
“All I can tell you is I tried to find that out and ran right into a stone wall. I do know that Roy is probably the most high-profile inmate they have right now.”
“Until he’s supplanted by an even crazier psycho.”
“Excuse me?”
They turned to find a young man in a blue smock standing at the doorway. He held a small electronic pad. “Sean King and Michelle Maxwell?”
They rose together, towering over the shorter man. “That’s right,” said Sean.
“Here to see Edgar Roy?”
Sean was prepared to have a fight on his hands about them being able to see the man. But Blue Smock merely said, “Please follow me.”
A minute later he handed them off to a woman who was far more intimidating. Nearly as tall as Michelle but considerably wider and heavier, she looked capable of holding down the nose tackle position for a Division I football team. She introduced herself as Carla Dukes, the director of Cutter’s Rock. When her long fingers clamped around Michelle’s in a handshake, Michelle wondered if the woman used to call herself Carl.
Her office was a fourteen-by-fourteen square. A desk with a computer, three chairs counting hers, and nothing else. No file cabinets, no pictures of family or friends, no paintings on the wall, no view outside the room, nothing personal whatsoever.
“Please sit,” she said. They sat. She slid open her drawer, retrieved a red file, and opened it on her desk. “I understand that Ted Bergin is dead.”
He said, “That’s right. The police and FBI are investigating. But we’re still scheduled to meet with Edgar Roy today and we didn’t want to forego that opportunity.”
“The appointment was for Ted Bergin and you accompanying him.”
“Well, he obviously can’t be here,” said Sean, his voice calm but firm.
“Of course not, but I’m not sure that in light of the circumstances—”
Michelle said, “But his defense will continue. He will be tried at some point. He is entitled to representation. And Sean is also a licensed attorney working with Ted Bergin.”
Dukes eyed Sean. “Is that right? I just thought you were both investigators.”
“I wear two hats,” said Sean, smoothly picking up on Michelle’s spur-of-the-moment tactic. “I’m a licensed PI and attorney in the Commonwealth of Virginia, where Roy will ultimately stand trial for the charges against him.”
“Do you have some evidence of that?”
Sean handed her his State Bar ID. “A call to Richmond will verify it,” he said.
She handed the card back. “So what exactly do you want to talk to Mr. Roy about?”
“Well, that’s confidential. If I told you, it would break the attorney-client privilege. That would be malpractice on my part.”
“It’s a delicate situation. Mr. Roy is a special case.”
“So we’re finding out,” interjected Michelle.
“We really need to see him,” added Sean.
“The FBI called this morning,” said Dukes.
“I’m sure they did,” said Sean. “Was it Special Agent Murdock?”
She ignored this. “He said that the murder of Ted Bergin might have something to do with his representation of Edgar Roy.”
“Do you think it does?” asked Michelle.
Dukes glanced sharply at her. “How would I know anything about that?”
“Had Bergin been to see Edgar Roy?” asked Sean.
“Of course he had. He was Roy’s legal counsel.”
“How often had he come? And when was the last time?”
“I don’t know that offhand. I’d have to check the files.”
“Could you do that?”
Her hand didn’t stray to the computer keyboard. “Why? If you’re working with him you should already know that information.”
“He came up here separately. We were going to meet with him last night and go over everything. But we obviously never got that chance.”
“I see.” Her hand still didn’t venture to the keyboard.
“Did Special Agent Murdock ask for that information?”
“I’m certainly in no position to tell you whether he did or didn’t.”
