The Sixth Man (Sean King & Michelle Maxwell 5)

“No, you didn’t. Which means someone else killed her either there or somewhere else and brought her body there in order to frame you.”

“Maybe just like Edgar Roy?”

“Maybe.”

“But they had to know the police would get the ballistics run.”

“I didn’t say they wanted to have you convicted of the crime. Just screw things up for you for a while. Mess with your head.”

“Okay, on that point they succeeded. So what did ballistics show? Was it another round from the .45 that almost hit me?”

“No. Nine-by-nineteen-millimeter Parabellum jacketed hollow-point.”

“If you seek peace, prepare for war,” said Michelle. He looked at her curiously. “The word parabellum is derived from a Latin saying that means: ‘If you wish for peace, prepare for war.’ That was the motto of the German weapons manufacturer that made the Parabellum round based on Georg Luger’s design. It’s also called the nine-millimeter Luger, as distinguished from the Browning round, for example.”

“You are a positive treasure trove of ballistic jewels.”

“The nine-millimeter Luger is also the most popular military cartridge in the world and is used by the majority of the police forces in the US. Who was the manufacturer and what was the load?”

Sean looked at his phone screen again. “Double Tap. Gold Dot JHP load. Hundred and fifteen grain.”

“Okay, that has a one-stop rating of over ninety percent and a penetration factor in excess of thirteen inches. Not in the league of a .44 or .357 Magnum load, but still plenty powerful. It can definitely deliver hydrostatic shock wounds.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning a hit to the chest can cause the target’s brain to hemorrhage.”

“So it obviously wasn’t the round used to kill Bergin.”

Michelle shook her head. “No way. That ordnance would’ve gone through the skull at contact range. It never would’ve stayed in the head.”

“That’s interesting. Then the odds are whoever killed Bergin didn’t murder Hilary Cunningham.”

“That’s right. So what now?” she asked.

“I say we go back to Maine.”

“Plane?”

Sean shook his head. “Stop and get a big cup of coffee. We’re driving.”

“Can I get my gun back from the local cops before we go?”

“With my blessing.”

Michelle floored it.

CHAPTER

31

TWELVE HOURS LATER, they were in Boston, where they stayed overnight at a hotel. They hadn’t gone all the way to Machias, Maine, because even Michelle’s mega-caffeine pop had worn off and she’d slid into the backseat for some shut-eye after seven hours of piloting. After five hours at the wheel of the Land Cruiser, Sean’s eyes had begun to close once too often. After a few hours’ deep sleep and an early start the next morning, they pulled into the parking lot of Martha’s Inn in the early afternoon.

Megan Riley met them outside the front door. “Agent Murdock is an asshole,” she snapped.

“Well, that’s one way of putting it,” said Sean.

“A nicer way than I would have,” added Michelle.