The Sixth Man Read Online Free

out for a better look. “It’s a Buick. I doubt someone would use a Buick to lure unsuspecting motorists into a trap.”
    Michelle touched the gun in its holster. “I doubt we qualify as unsuspecting motorists.”
    She slowed the Ford and pulled in behind the other car. The hazard lights blinked off and on, off and on. In the vastness of coastal Maine it looked like a small conflagration stuck in the limbo of fits and starts.
    “Somebody’s in the driver’s seat,” noted Michelle, as she put the Ford in park. “Only person I can see.”
    “Then he might be worried about us. I’ll get out and put the person at ease.”
    “I’ve got your back in case someone’s hiding in the floorboard and they don’t want to be put at ease.”
    He swung his long legs out and approached the car slowly fromthe passenger’s side. His feet crunched over the sparse shoulder gravel. His breath came out as puffs of smoke in the chilled air. From somewhere among the trees he heard an animal’s call and briefly wondered if it was a moose. Animal Planet hadn’t been clear on what a moose actually sounded like. And Sean had no interest in finding out for himself.
    He called out, “Do you need any help?”
    Blink, blink of the hazard lights. No response.
    He looked down at his cell phone clutched in his hand.
He
had reception bars. “Are you broken down? Do you want us to call a tow truck for you?”
    Nothing. He reached the car, tapped on the side window. “Hello? You okay?”
    He saw the silhouette of the driver through the window. It was a man. “Sir, you okay?” The guy didn’t budge.
    Sean’s next thought was a medical emergency. Maybe a heart attack. A marine haze had obscured the moonlight. It was so dark inside the car he couldn’t make out many details. He heard a car door open and turned back to see Michelle climb out of their ride, her hand on the butt of her weapon. She glanced at him for communication.
    “I think the guy’s in medical distress.”
    She nodded and moved forward; her boots made clicks on the asphalt.
    Sean eased around to the driver’s side and tapped on the window. In the darkness all he could see was the man’s outline. The red light from the flashers lit the interior of the car, casting the surroundings into a bright crimson before going dark again, like the car was heating up one second and going cool the next. But it didn’t help Sean see inside the car. It only made it more difficult. He tapped on the glass once more.
    “Sir? Are you all right?”
    He tried the door. It was unlocked. He opened it. The man slumped sideways, held in the car only by his seat harness. Sean grabbed the man’s shoulder and righted him as Michelle rushed forward.
    “Heart attack?” she said.
    Sean looked at the man’s face. “No,” he said firmly.
    “How do you know?”
    He used the light from his cell phone to illuminate the single gunshot wound between the man’s pupils. There was blood and grayish brain matter all over the car’s interior.
    Michelle drew closer and said, “Contact wound. You can see the gun’s muzzle and sight mark burned onto his skin. Don’t think a moose did that.”
    Sean said nothing.
    “Check his wallet for some ID.”
    “Don’t have to.”
    “Why not?” she asked.
    “Because I know him,” replied Sean.
    “What? Who is he?”
    “Ted Bergin. My old professor and Edgar Roy’s lawyer.”

CHAPTER

3
    T HE LOCAL POLICE SHOWED up first. A single Washington County deputy in a dented and dusty but serviceable American-made V8 with an array of communication antennas drilled into the trunk. He came out of the cruiser with one hand on his service weapon and his gaze fastened on Sean and Michelle. He warily approached. They explained what had happened and he checked the body, muttered the word “Damn,” and then hastily called in backup.
    Fifteen minutes later two Maine State Police cruisers from Field Troop J slid to stops behind them. The troopers, young, tall, and lean, came