Piper nodded. “We might know who the email recipient is—and who the RAT hacker is—by the end of the day.”
Fenway looked between their jubilant faces. “That’s fantastic. No wonder you’re excited. The way Migs talks about you, Piper, I thought he was exaggerating about how talented you are. Turns out he was right.” Piper blushed again and mumbled a thank you. Fenway looked at Migs and winked.
“Okay,” Dez said, “but what do the emails actually say? Is there anything in there that tells us anything?”
Piper typed a little more. “Well, I think so. But let’s take a look. I don’t know what some of this stuff means.”
She finished typing and then positioned the screen so Fenway could see. Dez leaned in over her shoulder.
From 92B7J6G9-13E9-41358
To HCW1-6DC19E60B485
Received 1 May 18:21:56 -0800 PDT
Subject Re: Terms and meeting
I accept your terms
Meet 2100 Sunday
Not at beach - Rte 326 just outside Coast H Park
Come alone
I will have paymt
•
“Think that’s from the killer?” Migs asked Fenway.
“Well, it certainly could be.”
“I think it’s pretty likely,” said Dez.
“Okay, now here’s the whole thread that email was in reply to.” Piper clicked off the last email and went to the ‘Sent’ folder. They read five emails between Walker and the unknown person/possible killer.
From HCW1-6DC19E60B485
To 92B7J6G9-13E9-41358
Received 28 April 15:31:03 -0800 PDT
Subject Terms and meeting
Changes you requested can be made
You can have file about 48 hours after payment
Price is 25
Meet at Lot A Guerrero St Beach tomorrow at 10 AM if you accept
•
From 92B7J6G9-13E9-41358
To HCW1-6DC19E60B485
Received 28 April 18:20:33 -0800 PDT
Subject Re: Terms and meeting
25 is more than twice what we discussed
Why go back on our agreement?
•
From HCW1-6DC19E60B485
To 92B7J6G9-13E9-41358
Received 29 April 17:20:08 -0800 PDT
Subject Re: Terms and meeting
You weren’t at the beach this morning
You must want file to keep original conclusions
•
From 92B7J6G9-13E9-41358
To HCW1-6DC19E60B485
Received 30 April 04:43:17 -0800 PDT
Subject Re: Terms and meeting
Told you 25 is too much
You didn’t respond
??
•
From HCW1-6DC19E60B485
To 92B7J6G9-13E9-41358
Received 30 April 15:31:03 -0800 PDT
Subject Re: Terms and meeting
I’m not negotiating
Higher than discussed originally
but your requested changes give me higher risk
You can say no but we both know what
a pain in the ass the investigators can be
if they see the conclusions in there now
If you accept meet me Sunday night
•
“Finished?” Piper asked them.
Fenway nodded.
“Just about.” Dez read the screen for another five seconds. “Okay.”
“What do you think, Dez?” Fenway asked.
“You’re not going to like what I think.”
Fenway remembered her mother, years before, struggling with a painting. They still lived in the tiny apartment at the time. One evening, Fenway came home from the library, and her mother was tired, but happy—Fenway thought she had had a breakthrough. One look at the painting, though, and Fenway knew that her mother was on the wrong track. The focal point was odd. The perspective was off. And it was in a way that didn’t look purposeful. Fenway remembered looking at her mother with trepidation. And her mother read her face. Fenway, tell me. Tell me even if you think I don’t want to hear it. Because I do want to hear it if it gets me closer to a great painting. Even if I have to start over.
“I don’t care if I don’t like what you think, Dez. I want to hear if it gets us closer to finding out the truth.”
Dez looked down. “I don’t like it much either.”
“Oh, you think it’s my dad,” Fenway said.
She looked up. “We should go into the conference room again.”
“Sorry Migs, sorry Piper.” Fenway followed Dez, and they went in and closed the door. “So you do think it’s my dad.”
Dez slowly shook her head. “I do not.”
“You don’t? I thought for sure you were going to say my dad.”
“I think it’s Sheriff McVie.”
Fenway’s face fell. “Oh.”
“I told you that you wouldn’t like it.”
“Okay. All right, yes, there are a lot of things that point to McVie. But walk me through it.”
Dez thought a moment. “Well, it’s obvious that Walker was offering to alter the contents of the files. Something where the original file threatened the killer.”
“Right. That’s pretty evident. But what would be in the file that threatened McVie?”
“McVie is the one who led the investigation at the refinery after the incident. And The Owner has been known to grease wheels before,” Dez continued. “Maybe there was evidence of negligence which McVie was paid to ignore. Maybe McVie screwed up some evidence collection. Maybe McVie looked the other way on some safety audit that was done before. It could be almost anything.”
“Okay.”
“It may not have even been real evidence. I mean, maybe the original file had real evidence that McVie was at fault for something, but I wouldn’t put it past Walker to manufacture evidence specifically for purposes of blackmail.”
“Yeah, I could see any of those scenarios being possible.” Fenway was trying not to be defensive about McVie, but she could feel her hackles getting up.
“And maybe McVie scrimped and saved, maybe sold some stuff or cashed out some savings to get the ten or fifteen thousand. But when Walker upped it to twenty-five, where does a county sheriff get that kind of money?”
“Okay.”
“All right. Now, McVie doesn’t usually work Sundays, but we know he picked up a patrol shift for Callahan just this past Sunday. So, he’s driving around, doesn’t have to be in any particular place.”
“So, we’ve got motive and opportunity.” Fenway held up two fingers. “Weapon?”
“It’s a cop gun.” Dez thought a moment. “Maybe the sheriff’s office bought a couple at auction. Or he’s got a buddy in the CHP.”
“Well, Dr. Yasuda is seeing who has those—and who has reported them missing. We should have that information soon enough. So, possible motive, definite opportunity, possible weapon.”
“And a definite motive to get Dylan Richards away from his wife. McVie has access to the same phone records we do. If he had seen any of Amy’s records, he would have known she was cheating.”
Fenway nodded. “He knew. He knew, he just didn’t think anyone else did.”
“Well, there you go. And he might have stolen Dylan’s truck, smashed it into the building and stolen the files. He would have known where all the cameras were to minimize detection.”
“Do you think McVie is on the hook for Dylan’s murder, too?”
Dez looked squarely at her. “You can probably answer this one better than me. What time did he leave your apartment? It was definitely after 11:30.”
She blushed. “I don’t know. I was exhausted after everything that happened yesterday. We fell asleep after the first time and, uh, we woke up again.”
Dez made a face. “For the love of God, Fenway, I don’t need to know the details.”
“Okay, well, I don’t know what time it was when he and I finally fell asleep fo
r good. I woke up just before six, and he was already gone.”
“So, he could have left at any time?”
“I guess so.”
“And he’s got all the keys to the jail cell, and no one would think anything of him being there anyway. He’d know how to get in without anyone noticing. And the sheriff has every reason in the world to be in that jail anyway.”
Fenway nodded. “But why kill Richards? McVie pretty much had him on a silver platter for the murder. I mean, I’ve seen cases where murder defendants have gotten convicted with a lot less than what they have on Dylan.”
“Because, Fenway,” Dez stressed, “we found his alibi. We found out that Dylan was with McVie’s wife during the murder—a fact no one would believe coming from Dylan, since he had already lied to the police.”
“McVie’s wife would corroborate, wouldn’t she?”
“You haven’t met her yet. She’s kind of a piece of work. I don’t know. I’m not sure she’s the type of person who would come forward.”
“I don’t know either,” Fenway said. “If she had any kind of feelings for this guy—and their affair went on for months, right?—wouldn’t she feel obligated?”
“Or maybe McVie was just really infuriated with his wife’s younger, better looking lover, and he just decided he had to go. People make decisions like that, too.”
There was a knock at the door. Migs stuck his head in. “Hey, it’s past noon. I’m going to take Piper to lunch.”
Fenway smirked at Migs.
“To thank her for all the work she’s done for us,” Migs stammered. His ears turned red.
“Have a good time.” The door closed behind him. “Okay, Dez,” Fenway said. “How do we go about proving that?”
“Well, first, like you talked about earlier, we need to get Amy to admit that Dylan was with her on Sunday night.”
“Okay,” Fenway said. “So, if Dylan was with Amy that night, he definitely wasn’t the killer, and someone is trying to frame him.”
“Right.”
“And you think McVie is the most likely suspect?”
“Well,” Dez paused. “I can’t think of who else would want to frame Dylan.”
“I can’t either,” Fenway admitted. “I guess I could see McVie planting the gun, but how would he plant the LAX long-term parking stub?”
Dez didn’t answer.
“And what about the RAT software? If McVie sent those emails, then McVie also had Bradley install the spyware on Rachel’s PC. Why would McVie want to spy on Rachel?”
“Well, maybe he wanted to spy on Walker, and that’s the closest he could get.”
“I don’t know.” Fenway shook her head. “I mean, I think a lot of it fits for sure, but there are a few things that just don’t make sense.”
“Maybe we haven’t uncovered enough information yet.” Dez grabbed her purse. “Let’s go to step one and talk to Amy.”
Chapter Nineteen
They grabbed sandwiches at the deli down the street. Dez insisted on taking Fenway’s new car, so Fenway insisted that they eat at the deli before they headed out. As much as she wanted to get to the bottom of this case, she didn’t want Dez’s turkey avocado club to get smeared on her new seats.
Amy McVie worked at Coast Harbor Real Estate in Paso Querido, and Dez and Fenway arrived there just before one. The office was large, with overstuffed chairs in the waiting area, and what looked like hardwood floors. Dez showed her badge to the receptionist, and after a brief call, they were sent back. Amy was in her corner office, on the phone, pacing around her desk, but she waved them in.
She was about five foot four, dressed in a stylish business suit. Amy had a lithe, fit build, and her blonde hair cascaded in waves to her shoulders. As she walked, Fenway noticed the muscular, but still feminine, definition of her calves, as she paced in heels about as high as Fenway’s, but more professional, without straps. Her skin was tanned, and she carried herself like someone who was comfortable being in charge. She had a small nose, but large green eyes, high cheekbones, and a determined expression.
Fenway looked at the shelves around the office: there were several pictures of Megan, a wedding photo with Craig, and two photos of Amy in a San Diego State soccer jersey; in one she was holding a trophy.
Amy hung up and turned to them. “I’ve got a house to show tomorrow at nine, and the staging company isn’t happy.” She motioned them to the chairs in front of her desk. “But whatever questions you have, I’m sure I can make a little time for you. Lord knows how many referrals you’ve given me, Dez.”
“There’ve been a few for sure.” Dez motioned to Fenway. “This is Fenway Stevenson, the new coroner. Fenway Stevenson, Amy McVie.”
“Nathaniel’s daughter, right?” Amy said. “Craig was really doing the hard sell to get you to replace Harrison.” She smiled politely.
Dez closed the door behind her, then she and Fenway sat down in front of Amy’s desk.
“So.” Dez hesitated. “We have a few questions for you, Ms. McVie.”
“Dez, please call me Amy.”
“I’m not sure you’ll be saying that after you hear our questions.”
Amy looked up. “Did Craig say something to you? Whatever problems Craig and I are having, it’s really none of your—”
Dez put her hand up. “I’m sorry, Amy. Let me just ask the questions and then we can be on our way. We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t important.” She cleared her throat. “We have a witness who puts Dylan Richards at your house on Sunday night, between eight o’clock and midnight. Can you tell us if Dylan was, in fact, there that night?”
Amy’s eyebrows knitted. “Look, Craig is mad at me, I get that. Arresting Dylan for killing the coroner when he is clearly innocent—well, if I can be frank—it’s a really shitty thing to do.” She looked at Dez. “And you can tell him I said that. And basically forcing me to admit to adultery to save Dylan, just so it will be on the court records—that’s really low.”
Dez shook her head. “We don’t really care about any of that. Dylan is our prime suspect, and I really don’t think we should be wasting our time and energy if we can clear his name.” She looked at Fenway. “No matter what Sheriff McVie thinks.”
Fenway gave a slight nod.
“Well.” Amy sniffed in disapproval. “I’m going to have to think about whether or not I’ll admit to this in court, but yes. Dylan was at my house from about eight o’clock until well after midnight on Sunday. Craig called to say that there was a body found in the woods, and that he’d be home very late. I think Dylan left around two-thirty.” She smiled. “He wanted to go home a little earlier, because he had to work Monday morning, but I might have convinced him otherwise.”
Fenway looked at Dez; she was trying not to make a face.
“Thanks, Amy.” Dez got up from the chair. “That’s all we needed.” Fenway got up with her.
“So, you’ll let Dylan go?” Amy asked.
Dez closed her eyes.
“Oh, Amy.” Dez dropped her arms to her sides. “You haven’t heard.”
Amy stopped and swallowed. “Heard? Heard what?” Her voice was demanding, but had a hint of worry in it.
“Dylan was found in his cell this morning.”
“‘Found in his cell’? What does that mean?” Amy’s voice wavered.
“I’m so sorry, Amy. He’s dead.”
Amy’s face fell. She leaned forward, elbows on the desk, and covered her face with her hands. “No. No, Dylan can’t be…” Her voice trailed off.
Dez took a step forward to the desk. “I’m really sorry to be the one to tell you.”
“How?” Amy’s voice broke.
“I’m sorry.” Dez put her hand on Amy’s shoulder. “I’m really sorry, Amy. I wish we could tell you, but we aren’t allowed to comment on open investigations.”
Fenway grabbed a box of tissues off the bookshelf and put them on her desk. “Do you need us to drive you home?”
Amy’s breath caught, and s
he gasped a little, trying to keep control. “No. No, I told you, I have to deal with this house, and the buyers probably won’t take ‘my lover was murdered’ as an excuse.”
“We didn’t say he was murdered,” Dez said.
“Oh, give me a break,” Amy snapped. “It wouldn’t be an open investigation otherwise.”
“We’ll leave you alone then.” Dez motioned with her head for the two of them to leave.
They left Amy’s office and closed the door behind them. They walked in silence outside and got to the car.
“Okay,” Fenway said on a hard exhale as they got into the Accord. She started it up, and looked to Dez. “Now what?”
“Well, there will be some paperwork. Lots of paperwork. Maybe I can pawn that off on Migs.”
“Hey—isn’t Bradley supposed to be coming in for his interview?”
Dez looked at her watch. “Yeah. Migs told us he’d be in town by two, right? We’ll be able to get back in plenty of time.”
Fenway was quiet for a minute. “The sheriff is still investigating the case.”
“Yes.”
“And you and I are now treating McVie like the chief suspect.”
Dez blinked. “Yes.”
“Is there any way to get the sheriff to stop investigating?”
“Ugh. That’s going to be a political nightmare.”
“I kind of figured,” Fenway agreed, “but we can’t have him anywhere near this case, can we?”
Dez crossed her arms and tapped her foot. “No, I suppose we can’t.”
“So, who can get the sheriff off this case? Do we have to have the state police take over? Or the state attorney general, or the FBI?”
The Reluctant Coroner (Fenway Stevenson Mysteries Book 1) Page 23
