It wasn’t a café or restaurant. It was a one-bedroom apartment three blocks off the park on a normal-looking residential street where little kids probably played on the sidewalk during good weather.
The inside was no more than what one needed to survive. It had a door with locks, a window, a kitchen, a bed, a TV, and a toilet. No paintings, no drapes, no plants; there was the original gray carpeting, eggshell white walls. A few pieces of furniture.
Paul made the coffee and brought two cups with sugar and cream into the living room. The decision to seek shelter had been a good one. The rain now lashed the window, and there were rumbles of thunder and flashes of lightning.
Sean looked around the space while he sipped the hot coffee. “This yours?”
“Not just mine, no.”
“Shared facilities?”
“Everyone’s budget has been cut.”
“Must be nice to actually have a budget.”
She eyed him over the rim of her cup. “You would think.”
“We were talking about your recruitment. Bunting wanted to hire you?”
“Understand that the E-Program even seven years ago was not what it is today. It came on-line two years after 9/11. Since then it’s grown immeasurably both in fiscal appropriation and operational scope. Its budget is in the billions, and there’s not one intelligence arena it does not serve. That alone makes it totally unique. Well, my brother’s intellectual gifts made it even more special.”
“And he wanted you to run it. I’m sure you were more than capable, but wasn’t it his job to do that?”
“Bunting was expanding his business back then. He wanted to delegate. I’d had a very successful career. And to those in the field my successes were well known. I attracted his attention. We were contemporaries. Our philosophical identities weren’t so different. It would have made me a great deal of money and taken me out of what had become a very dangerous occupation. And it would free him up to pursue other business opportunities. On paper it seemed perfect.”
“On paper,” said Sean. “But not in practice?”
She put her cup down. “I came very close to accepting. For a number of reasons. Eddie was with the IRS by then. He seemed happy and challenged. Well, to the extent anything can actually challenge him. But our mother had just died.”
“And he’d be all alone?”
“Yes. I wasn’t sure that he could cut it all by himself. This job would allow me to spend more time with him, become more of a presence in his life.”
“So what happened? It seemed perfect.”
“At the end I couldn’t do it. I wasn’t prepared for what would amount to a desk job. I’d also gotten used to being my own boss, running my own show. Bunting had the rep of being a micromanager. I wasn’t ready for that.”
“And maybe you weren’t ready to be a caretaker for your brother either.”
“Maybe I wasn’t,” she admitted. “In retrospect it was astonishingly selfish of me. I put my career wants over my brother’s needs. I guess maybe I’d always done that.”
“You wouldn’t be the first person.”
“Small comfort.” She hesitated. “I had been his protector when he was young.”
“Against his father?” asked Sean quietly.
Paul rose and walked to the window, looked out at the stormy night.
She said, “He was just a little boy. Couldn’t take care of himself.”
“But you did.”
“I did what was right.”
“Your stepfather’s death?”
She turned to look at him. “I have probably more regrets than most. That is not one of them.”
“So you recommended your brother for the program years later?”
Paul seemed relieved by the change in the direction of the conversation. She sat back down. “There was no one to touch him in the very skill sets the program required. He was so good they designated him an E-Six, the first ever.” There was sisterly pride in her voice.
“And Bunting and you?”
“What about it?”
“You and your brother were both vetted for positions with the E-Program. Bunting must know you two are related.”
“So? I seriously doubt Bunting thinks I framed my own brother for murder.”
“But he may think you’re working from behind the scenes to help him.”
“Well, I am. But again, I don’t think Bunting will perceive that as a threat. If Eddie is cleared Bunting gets him back.”
“At Cutter’s your brother just stares at the ceiling, never says a word, never moves a muscle. Is he pretending?”
“Yes and no. It’s hard to explain. Eddie can lose himself in his mind like few others. He did that as a child, too.”
“Because of his father?”
“Sometimes.”
“So now your brother has withdrawn into his own mind as a form of protection?”
“He’s afraid.”
“Well, if they convict him for those murders they can execute him. And what’s more dangerous than facing lethal injection?”
“Yes, but at least lethal injection is painless. The people we’re up against won’t be that generous. I can guarantee you that.”
CHAPTER 48
THE PLACE MURDOCK WANTED to meet at turned out to be a post office building set two miles off the main cut-through between Eastport and Machias. It was one-story, all brick and glass with an asphalt parking lot. In front of the building an American flag flapped in the breeze atop a thirty-foot stainless steel pole.
There was one car in the parking lot, next to the mailbox drop-off.
Even from a distance Michelle could see the man in the driver’s seat. As her headlights hit the car, she saw the government plates. And she saw the man stir in the front seat. She pulled up beside the car, killed her engine and lights, and got out.
She looked around, studying the topography. The building was on one acre of cleared land with some grass, poured concrete sidewalks and curbs, and good old American-made asphalt to park your wheels on. Besides that there was nothing but wilderness.
She wondered what position Dobkin had taken up. He had several to choose from. She would have posted to the left of the building right near the tree line. That provided for decent cover and optimal sight lines.
“Thanks for coming,” Murdock said, as he got out of his ride and joined her.
“You made it sound important.”
“It is.”
She leaned against her truck and folded her arms. “One preliminary question.”
Murdock frowned. “What?”
“Sean and I have pretty much been on your shit list from the moment you met us. Now, you want to work together?”
Murdock drew out a stick of gum and popped it in his mouth. “I flew off the handle. I tend to do that more than I probably should.”
“We’ve all been there.”
“This case is giving me ulcers.”
“You’re not alone on that.”
“Every time I think I’m close something else happens.”
“And something tells me none of us have really been close to solving this.”
“You’re probably right,” admitted Murdock.
“So your change in tactics? You said you couldn’t trust your own side?”
“Let’s just say I’m getting paranoid from the chatter on my own end. And you can also put it down to wanting to get results. I’ve got my boss screaming at me every five minutes. If I waste any more time fighting with you and King and don’t solve this thing, it won’t matter. I’ll be cradled around a cubicle buried in some Bureau outpost and wondering where the hell my career went.”
“Sean was right about you and national security, wasn’t he?”
“Not that I like to broadcast that, but yeah, I am. Counterterrorism unit.”
“So national security and Edgar Roy. The connection?”