“Oh, right, I see what you mean. Well, with new clients they typically make an inquiry by phone. I would ask them their personal information and what the matter related to. Mr. Bergin doesn’t do all aspects of law so I wouldn’t want people wasting their time coming here.”
“You serve as a filter.”
“Exactly. Then they make an appointment if he can do what they need. And if they come to an understanding I would provide them with a retainer agreement.”
“The same day they’re here?”
“Sometimes. Or if it was out of the ordinary and Mr. Bergin had to revise the standard document, it might be sent out a few days later to the client’s address. Mr. Bergin was a stickler for that. No work was done until the retainer was signed.”
“Except in the case of Edgar Roy, apparently.”
“Apparently,” sniffed Hilary.
“Anyone call here asking for Bergin you didn’t recognize?”
“Well, we get a lot of calls. Most of the people I know, of course. Some I don’t. But nothing like that sticks out in my mind.”
“Did anyone come in to meet with Bergin around the time he started representing Roy, anyone who you didn’t send out a retainer agreement for?”
“Not that I can remember, no.”
“But like you said, you’re not here 24/7. He could have met with the person during nonbusiness hours. Or they could have called in when you weren’t here.”
“Certainly. He could come and go whenever he wanted.”
“What can you tell me about Megan Riley?”
“She came to work here just over two months ago. Mr. Bergin had been saying for a long time that he needed to get an associate. That he wouldn’t be practicing forever. And the workload was pretty substantial. There was more than enough for a second attorney. And, of course, he was representing Mr. Roy by that time, and it was demanding a lot of his attention. He needed some help.”
“Did he have a lot of applicants for the job?”
“Several. But Megan and he had chemistry, right from the beginning. You could see that.”
“You like Megan?”
“She’s very nice and works very hard. Now, she’s not very experienced, so she makes some mistakes, but that’s to be expected. Mr. Bergin was being a fine mentor to her, smoothing out some of the wrinkles.” She paused.
“What?” asked Michelle.
“Mr. Bergin and his wife never had any children. I think he looked on Megan as the daughter or even granddaughter he never had. That was probably another reason he brought her on. The other applicants were older.”
“That makes sense. Bergin apparently talked to her on the day he… on the day it happened. Did she mention that to you?”
“No. But if it was after hours she probably wouldn’t have. She went straight to court the next day, and I didn’t get in touch with her until she called afterward. That’s when I passed along Sean’s message.”
“Megan said she brought up all the files on Roy. Do you think she might have left anything behind here?”
“I can check if you want.”
“Please.”
Twenty minutes later Hilary held up a small file that contained only two pieces of paper. “This was stuck in accidentally with another client file. That’s most likely why she missed it.”
Michelle took the file, opened it, and stared down at the writing on the paper.
It was from the FBI. It was a request for information from Ted Bergin on his representation of Edgar Roy. As Michelle saw who’d signed the letter, she gave a start.
CHAPTER
19
SEAN HAD GOTTEN back to the inn and literally fallen into his bed. He’d gotten up in time for a late lunch. There had been no call from Megan. He’d finally phoned her but it had gone directly to voice mail. Then he’d worked through the legal files twice more but found nothing of value. The case was very undeveloped, and Sean could not determine what Bergin had been planning in the way of a defense. But then again the case wasn’t that old. He was probably still feeling his way. And it didn’t help matters that Edgar Roy wasn’t of much assistance.
Now it was dusk, and he pulled the rental with the shot-out windows to the shoulder of the road and got out. The police and Feds had finished their work here and gone; their yellow barrier tape and warning signs had gone with them.
He started his investigation by standing where the car had sat. He envisioned Bergin driving along late at night. What would make him pull off the road in the first place? Was it someone in distress? Had someone flagged him down and claimed some sort of emergency? Bergin was a smart man, but someone of his generation in particular might have been more apt to pull over and help.
Yet Bergin was in his seventies, alone, no weapon. By all logic he should have just kept on driving. If whoever had killed him had faked an emergency to try and get him to pull off, he could have simply continued on and called 911 on his cell phone. He didn’t have to stop and roll down his window just so he could take a fatal round to the head.
So unless he knew the person he should’ve kept going, but he didn’t. Now Sean considered another possibility.
He might have been meeting someone and that person killed him. He studied the gravel shoulder and cast his mind back to that night. They had not seen traces of another car. But he had to admit he hadn’t looked all that closely before the police showed up. But if another car had been parked here there would likely be some evidence of that. Evidence the police and the FBI would have.
He looked toward the woods. The troopers had done a preliminary perimeter search, a down-and-dirty one with a fuller one to follow at first light. Had they found anything? If they had, either Dobkin didn’t know about it or else the FBI was keeping the Maine State Police in the dark, too.
If a meeting, who with and why here?
Bergin might have been a gentle, caring man, but he was no fool. If there had been the slightest chance of an ambush the man would not have come here. Had it something to do with Edgar Roy? It had to, he concluded. The only reason Bergin was in Maine was because of his client.
And if the meeting had something to do with Edgar Roy, there might be a limited number of suspects. Sean wondered if that list began and ended at Cutter’s Rock.
He tensed as a car’s headlights cut through the gloomy dusk. At first he thought it was just a passing motorist, but the car slowed and then pulled in behind his Ford.
Eric Dobkin was not in uniform, and the vehicle he stepped out of was a Dodge pickup, not a Maine State Police cruiser. His shoes made clicking sounds against the asphalt as he came to stand next to Sean. He had on worn jeans, a University of Maine pullover, and a Red Sox ball cap. He looked like a high school senior on the prowl after a football game.
“What are you doing out here?” asked Dobkin, his hands in the pockets of his pullover.
“I thought it would be obvious. Checking out the scene of the crime.”
“And?”
“And it’s not doing me much good, frankly.”
“You really think he might have known the person?”
Sean looked past Dobkin, into the stretch of dark woods. Though they were miles from the ocean the briny smell seemed to overwhelm him, drift into every pore, like the stench of cigarette smoke in a bar.
“Just an educated guess, based on that window. And the fact that he’d pull over on a lonely road late at
