night. Odds are he wouldn’t have for a stranger.”
“Maybe somebody suckered him. Faked a car being broke down. That’s what got you to stop.”
“Yeah, but there were two of us and my partner had a gun.”
“I know your theory about a cop pulling him over sounds plausible, but I don’t think that’s possible. This is an isolated area, but everybody knows everybody else. Some stranger running around in a police cruiser would’ve been noticed.”
“I think you’re right. And if they wanted Ted dead, they really didn’t need to go to that much trouble.” Sean paused, studying the face of the other man. “You guys totally off the case?”
“Not totally. FBI’s running it, of course, but they have to use us for some stuff.”
“Find anything of interest here?”
“Nothing really. I would’ve told your partner if we had.”
“What if he were meeting someone?” asked Sean. “That would account for him both pulling off the road and lowering his window. Was there any trace evidence of another car?”
“No wheel impressions. But that’s easily gotten around. Pull your car back on the road and go back and sweep the gravel. Who would he have been meeting with?”
“I was hoping you’d have some idea of that.”
“Didn’t know the man. You did, though.”
The last comment was said in a more accusatory tone than Sean thought the other man probably intended.
“I mean if he were meeting with someone they were probably from around here,” said Sean. “And since that doesn’t include a lot of people, I thought you might have at least a guess. Maybe somebody at Cutter’s Rock? You must know some of the folks who work there.”
“I do know some of the folks.”
“I’m listening.”
“I’m not sure I have anything to tell you.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“All the same to me.”
“You spoke with my partner.”
“Right. Where is she, by the way?”
“Checking some other things out.”
“Murdock will be all over your ass if you get near his investigation.”
“It won’t be the first time we’ve rubbed the official machine the wrong way.”
“Just giving you my two cents.”
“So why’d you stop here then if you’ve got nothing to tell me?”
“Man was killed. Like to know who did it.”
“That’s what I want, too.”
Dobkin scuffed the road with his shoe. “Got a chain of command. You’re not in it. Got a family. Can’t throw my career in the toilet. Not for nothing. Sorry.”
“Okay, I get that. I appreciate what you’ve done.” Sean headed back toward his car.
“Any idea who took a shot at you?”
Sean turned back around. “No, other than it wasn’t the first time they’d fired a rifle. That fact was pretty clear.”
“I’ll look into that.”
“Okay.”
“Why didn’t you notify the police? Somebody tried to kill you.”
“No, they were warning us off. Different thing.”
“I’ll still look into it.”
“Suit yourself.”
“You don’t seem to be taking this too seriously.”
“I take it very seriously. I just doubt you’re going to find anything.”
“We’re pretty good at our job,” Dobkin said stiffly.
“I’m sure you are. But something tells me the other side is pretty good at its job, too.”
The two men stared at each other and seemed to reach a silent meeting of the minds.
Dobkin finally pointed at the Ford. “If I were you I’d get those windows covered over. Supposed to rain tomorrow.”
Sean watched him drive off and then he steered the Ford back to Martha’s Inn, his coat buttoned all the way up against the damp chill coming through the open windows.
CHAPTER
20
MICHELLE FLASHED her light around as she walked toward the back of the house. She’d had some dinner, reported back to Sean, and mulled over what she’d found thus far. She’d waited until it was well after dark before heading to Bergin’s house. She wasn’t breaking and entering, but the nighttime suited her better for these types of activities.
Ted Bergin had lived in an eighteenth-century farmhouse that he had restored about five years ago, just in time for his wife of forty years to die in a freak car accident. Sean had provided Michelle with this nugget of information, and it had served to deepen her empathy for the man and make her want to find his killer all the more.
The house was about eight miles from his office. The location was rural and isolated, with rolling green hills serving as a picturesque backdrop. She wondered what would happen to the place now. Maybe in his will he had left the property to Hilary Cunningham for years of faithful service.
The woman had given her a key to the house. She explained that Bergin had kept a spare at the office in the case of an emergency.
Michelle opted for the rear door, because she liked to avoid entering anyplace through the front entrance. Or at least she did ever since she’d nearly gotten herself ripped in half when thirty rounds from a machine gun clip had blasted through the front door of a home in Fairfax, Virginia, that she had been standing in front of a second before.
She eased the door open and peered in, flashing her trusty Maglite around.
Kitchen, she easily concluded after the beam bounced off the refrigerator and then a stainless steel dishwasher. Michelle closed the door behind her and advanced into the space.
The house was not large and the rooms were not numerous, so after an hour she had pretty much covered the basics. Unless she was committed to tearing up floors and ripping open plaster walls, she wasn’t going to find anything of significance. Ted Bergin had been a man of tidy habits who had opted for quality over quantity. His possessions were relatively few but of excellent craftsmanship. She found a deer rifle and a shotgun locked behind the barred glass of a cabinet hung on the wall in what looked to be the lawyer’s library/home office. Boxes of ammo were housed in a drawer built into the lower part of the cabinet.
She’d found a shotgun vest, fishing tackle, and other sporting gear in a mudroom and concluded that Bergin had been an avid outdoorsman. Maybe if he’d retired from the practice he would still be alive and enjoying his golden years. Well, there was no maybe about it—he would have.
In a photo album she discovered a number of pictures of Mrs. Bergin. Several showed the woman in her twenties and thirties. She was pretty, with a coy smile that had probably garnered the attention of many young men. There were other photos where the lady’s hair had turned white and the skin had wrinkled. But even later in life there had been true warmth and even mischievousness in her expression. Michelle wondered why they had never had children. Maybe they couldn’t. And were of a generation that didn’t have the availability of fertility clinics and surrogate wombs, although they could have adopted.
She put the album down and considered what to do next.
