“Okay, can we see Edgar Roy now?”
“I’m really not too certain about this. I’ll have to consult with our legal counsel and get back to you.”
Sean rose and sighed heavily. “Okay, I was really hoping not to have to go down that road.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Dukes.
“Can you tell me where the local newspaper office is?”
She looked at him sharply. “Why?”
He checked his watch. “If we hurry, the paper can get the story in for the morning print edition of a federal government facility denying an accused access to his legal counsel. I would imagine the story could hit the AP wire as well, and then it’s a safe bet to be all over the Internet a few minutes after that. Just to get the facts right, do you spell Carla with a C or a K?”
Dukes stared up at him, her lips twitching and her gaze bordering on murderous. “Do you really want to do that?”
“Do you really want to break the law?”
“What law?” she snapped.
“An accused person’s Sixth Amendment right to legal counsel. That’s the Constitution, by the way. And it’s always bad to screw with the Constitution.”
“He’s right, Ms. Dukes.”
Sean and Michelle turned to see Brandon Murdock in the doorway. The FBI agent smiled.
“Enjoy your
CHAPTER
7
SEAN AND MICHELLE WERE ESCORTED into a room that was blankly white. Small. One door. Three chairs, one table, all bolted to the floor. Two chairs faced the one. In front of the one was a three-inch metal ring cemented into the floor. Between the two chairs and the one was a three-foot-wide wall of four-inch polycarbonate glass that ran from the floor to the ceiling.
And then the door opened and there he was.
Sean and Michelle had seen photos of Edgar Roy, both in the newspapers and also in a file packet Ted Bergin had sent them. Sean had even seen a segment of video on the man shortly after his arrest for the murders. Nothing prepared them for seeing the man in person.
He was six foot eight and extremely lean, like a giant number two pencil. He had a golf ball for an Adam’s apple set on a long neck. His hair was dark, long, and curly, and it framed a face that was thin and not unattractive. He wore glasses. Behind the lenses were black dots for eyes, like the die cuts on a pair of dice. Sean noted the man’s slender fingers. Tufts of hair stuck out from inside his ears. He was clean-shaven.
His arms and legs were shackled and he hobbled in truncated steps as the guards led him over to the chair behind the glass and locked the shackles into the floor ring. It allowed him mobility of about six inches. Two guards stood on either side of him. They were big men, with impassive faces. They were seemingly crafted from stone to guard other people. Neither one had weapons other than telescopic metal billy clubs. These could extend out four feet and deliver crushing blows.
At the doorway were two more guards. Each one gripped pump action shotguns that had been modified to hold a Taser component that could fire a twelve-gauge projectile up to a hundred feet, delivering a twenty-second pulse of energy that would lay an NFL tackle on the ground and keep him there for a long time.
Sean and Michelle turned their attention back to Edgar Roy behind the wall of bulletproof glass. His long legs stuck out straight, the heels of his prison-issued canvas loafers kissing the wall of unbreakable glass.
“Okay,” said Sean, drawing his gaze from Roy and and eyeing the guards. “We’ll need to speak to our client alone.”
None of the four guards even moved an inch. They could’ve been statues.
Sean said, “I’m his attorney. We need some alone time, guys.”
Still no movement. Apparently the four men were immobile
Sean licked his lips. “Okay, who’s your supervisor?” he asked the guy holding a shotgun.
The man didn’t even look at Sean.
Sean glanced at Roy. Sean wasn’t even sure he was still alive because he couldn’t see the rise and fall of his chest. He didn’t blink, didn’t twitch. His eyes just stared straight ahead, looking but apparently not registering on anything.
“Having fun yet?”
They turned to see Agent Murdock staring at them from the doorway.
“For starters, can you tell the muscle to leave the room?” said Sean, his voice rising slightly. “They don’t seem to get the whole attorney-client thing.”
“Last night you were just a PI. Today you’re a lawyer?”
“I already showed my credentials to Ms. Dukes.”
“And you authorized us to see the guy,” added Michelle.
“So I did.”
“Then can we see him?” asked Sean. “In a professional manner?”
Murdock smiled and then nodded at the guards. “Right outside the door, gentlemen. You hear anything out of the ordinary, you know what to do.”
“The guy’s manacled to the floor and there’s a wall of four-inch polycarbonate glass between us,” said Michelle. “I’m not sure there’s much he
“I wasn’t necessarily referring to the prisoner,” replied Murdock.
The door shut behind them, and Sean and Michelle were finally alone with their client.
Sean leaned forward. “Mr. Roy? I’m Sean King. This is my partner Michelle Maxwell. We’re working with Ted Bergin. I know you’ve met with him previously.”
Roy said nothing. Didn’t blink, twitch, or seem to breathe.
Sean sat back, opened his briefcase, and looked at some papers. All pens, paper clips, and other sharp and potentially deadly instruments had been confiscated, although Sean supposed he could have inflicted a nasty paper cut on someone. “Ted Bergin told us that he was preparing a defense for you. Did he talk to you about what exactly that was?”
When Roy made no reaction, Michelle said, “I think we’re wasting our time. In fact, I think I can hear Murdock laughing his ass off behind that steel door.”
“Mr. Roy, we really need to discuss some things.”
“They put him here because he’s not fit for trial, Sean. I don’t know what he was like when he got here, but I can’t believe he’s gotten any better. By the looks of things this guy might be stuck at Cutter’s Rock for the rest of his life.”
Sean put the papers away. “Mr. Roy? Did you know that Ted Bergin has been murdered?” He said it in a blunt, loud tone, obviously hoping to get some type of reaction from Roy.
It didn’t work.
Sean looked around the small space. He leaned close to Michelle and whispered, “What are the odds this room has hidden recorders?”
“Taping an attorney’s conversation with his client? Can’t they get in big trouble for that?” she whispered back.
“Only if someone finds out and can prove it.” He sat back up, took out his cell phone. “No bars. But I had reception right before we got here.”
“Jamming?”
“That’s supposed to be illegal, too. I wondered why they let me keep it. At most prisons they confiscate it from visitors.”
“Because cell phones in prison are going for more money than cocaine. Heard of a guard somewhere out west making six figures a year selling Nokias and service plans at a state pen. Now he’s dialing from inside the place, too.”
