The other officers tensed. Sean could tell in the fearful looks of the first two troopers on the scene that there would be hell to pay later for them missing such an obvious fact.
“I am,” she said.
“Why didn’t my men know this?”
He gave a prolonged look at the two troopers who had turned about as pale as the moon.
“They didn’t ask,” she replied.
The lieutenant drew his pistol. A moment later a total of six guns were pointed at Sean and Michelle. All kill shots.
“Hold on,” said Sean. “She has a permit. And the gun hasn’t been fired.”
“Both of you put your hands on your heads, fingers interlocked. Now.”
They did so.
Michelle’s gun was taken and examined, and they were both searched for other weapons.
“Full load, sir,” said one of the troopers to the lieutenant. “Hasn’t been recently fired.”
“Yeah, well, we don’t know how long the man’s been dead, either. And it’s only one bullet. Just replace it to make a full clip. Easy enough.”
“I didn’t shoot him,” Michelle said firmly.
“And if we did, do you think we would have hung around and called the police?” added Sean.
“Not for me to decide,” said the lieutenant, who handed Michelle’s gun to one of his men. “Bag and tag.”
“I do have a permit to carry it,” said Michelle.
“Let me see it.”
She handed it to him and his gaze ran swiftly over it before he handed it back. “Permit or not, doesn’t matter if you used the weapon to shoot that man.”
“The deceased has a small-caliber entry wound with no exit,” said Michelle. “An intermediate range shot would have left powder grains tattooing the skin. Here the powder was obviously blown into the wound track. The muzzle end was burned into his skin. Looks to be a .22 or maybe a .32-caliber. The latter’s an eight-millimeter footprint. My weapon would have left a hole nearly fifty percent bigger than that. In fact, if I’d shot him at contact range, the round would have blown through his brain
“I know the weapon’s capabilities, ma’am,” he said. “It’s an H and K .45—that’s what we use in the state police.”
“Actually, mine is an enhanced version of the one you guys just pointed at us.”
“Enhanced? How?”
“Your weapon is an older and more basic model. My H and K is more ergonomic and it’s got a ten-round mag box versus your twelve because of the restyling. Textured, finger-grooved grip and backstraps let it sit lower in the hand web, translating to better control and recoil management. Then there’s an extended ambidextrous slide, a universal Picatinny rail instead of the H and K proprietary USP rail for accessories that you have. And it has an O- ring polygonal barrel. It’ll drop pretty much anything on two feet all in a compact twenty-eight-ounce model. And it’s built right across the border in New Hampshire.”
“You know a lot about guns,
“She’s an aficionado,” replied Sean, seeing the look of growing anger in his partner’s eyes at the officer’s condescending tone.
“Why?” she said. “Are girls not supposed to know about guns?”
The lieutenant abruptly grinned, took off his hat, and swiped a hand through his blond hair. “Hell, in this part of Maine pretty much everybody knows how to use a gun. My little sister’s always been a better shot than me, in fact.”
“There you go,” said Michelle, her anger quickly receding at his frank admission. “And you can swab my hands for gunshot residue. You won’t find any.”
“Could’ve worn gloves,” he pointed out.
“I could’ve done a lot of things. You want to do the GSR or not?”
He motioned to one of the techs, who performed the test on both Michelle and Sean and did the analysis on the spot.
“Clean,” he said.
“Wow, how about that,” said Michelle.
The lieutenant said, “So you two are private investigators?”
Sean nodded. “Bergin engaged us to help with the Edgar Roy case.”
“Help with what? Man’s as guilty as they come.”
“Just like you said, not for us to decide,” said Sean.
“You licensed in Maine?”
“We’ve filed the paperwork and paid the fee,” said Sean. “Waiting to hear back.”
“So that’s a no? You’re not licensed?”
“Well, we haven’t done any investigative work yet. Just found out about the job. We filed as fast as we could. The jurisdictions where we’re licensed have reciprocity with Maine. It’s just a formality. We’ll get the approval.”
“People looking to be PIs need some sort of special background. What’s yours? Military? Law enforcement?”
“United States Secret Service,” said Sean.
The lieutenant eyed Sean and then Michelle with a new level of respect. His men did the same.
“Both of you?”
Sean nodded.
“Ever guard the president?”
“Sean did,” said Michelle. “I never got to the White House before I left the Service.”
“Why’d you leave?”
Sean and Michelle exchanged brief glances.
Sean said, “Had enough. Wanted to do something else.”
“Fair enough.”
Forty-five minutes later another car pulled up. The lieutenant looked over and said, “That’s Colonel Mayhew. Must’ve put the pedal to the metal, think he was over near Skowhegan tonight.”
He hurried off to greet his commander in chief. The colonel was tall and broad shouldered. Though in his fifties, he had retained his trim figure. His eyes were calm and alert, his manner brisk and businesslike. He looked, Sean thought, like a Hollywood-inspired poster for police recruitment.
He was briefed on the situation, took a look at the body, then came over to them. After introductions Mayhew said, “When was the last time you had contact with Mr. Bergin?”
“Phone call earlier today, around five thirty p.m. A little while before we got on the plane.”
“What did he say?”
“That he was going to meet us at the B-and-B where we’re staying.”
“And where is that?”
“Martha’s Inn near Machias.”
The colonel nodded approvingly. “It’s comfortable, food’s good.”
“Nice to hear,” said Michelle.
“Anything else from Bergin? E-mails? Texts?”
“Nothing. I checked before we got on the plane. And then when we landed. I tried calling him around nine o’clock but he didn’t answer. It went right to voice mail and I left a message. Any idea how long he’s been dead?”
The colonel ignored this. “See any other cars?”
Sean said, “None, other than Bergin’s. Pretty lonely stretch of road. And we didn’t see any evidence of another car having pulled up to his, although unless it leaked some fluid there probably wouldn’t be leave-behind trace.”
“So you have no idea where he might have been going tonight?”
