The Reluctant Coroner (Fenway Stevenson Mysteries Book 1)

by Paul Austin Ardoin

  “Aren’t you taking the lead on the evidence? Just tell him you’ve discovered something that presents a conflict of interest. He’s the one who insisted that no one who had an active file with the coroner could touch the office, not even for fingerprints. I bet he’d recuse himself.”

  “Yeah, I can tell him that,” Fenway nodded. “But stuff like interrogating Bradley is a gray area. You only know for sure that it’s related to Walker’s murder if you know that the same person is behind both the RAT malware and the emails to Walker.”

  “Right. And McVie doesn’t know about what we found on the laptop yet.”

  “But he will soon. And that’s why I have to get him off the case sooner rather than later.”

  They rode in silence for another few miles.

  “Man,” Dez said, breaking their silence. “I can’t believe you slept with him.” Her tone was seething.

  “I’m sorry!” Fenway exclaimed. “I said it was a mistake.”

  Dez was quiet again.

  Chapter Twenty

  Migs was waiting for them at the entrance of the parking garage when they drove in. Fenway saw him and rolled down her window.

  He rushed over, holding his tie down with one hand. “Bradley is back. I asked them to wait for you before they started. Mark is taking lead on it—I don’t know if they’ve started or not.”

  “Crap. Migs, can you park the car?”

  “Aw, Fenway, you gonna let that kid park your brand-new car?”

  “Yes, Dez, I am. Now get out and let’s get over there before they start without us.”

  They grabbed their purses, got out of the car, and started to hurry across the street. Dez, in her street shoes, easily passed Fenway in her high heels.

  Fenway got over to the interview room to find the door closed. The observation room door was unlocked, though. Fenway opened it and found Dez and Sheriff McVie in there with two officers she didn’t recognize. They all were looking through the one-way mirror into the interview room, watching Mark and the officer to whom she had given her moving truck’s keys, Officer Callahan.

  “Why aren’t you in there asking him the questions?” Fenway whispered to McVie.

  “Because Callahan really gets on Bradley’s nerves. He’s had to fix Callahan’s computer a couple of times and got so frustrated with Callahan that they almost got into a fistfight. So, we’re hoping for some of that unhinged magic to pry loose who Bradley is getting money from.” He reached forward to the wall and turned up the speaker a little so they could hear more clearly.

  “I don’t know what you guys are talking about,” Bradley was saying. “I knew I’d have to deal with your stupid questions yesterday,” he nodded to Callahan, “and I was just like, screw it, I’m going to Vegas. Let Piper kiss up to you, Callahan. I didn’t call in, I know, but I figured you wouldn’t fire me since I’m the only one who knows how to close down ports on the firewall.”

  “Sure, I get that. But here’s the thing, Bradley.” Mark reached down next to him and pulled up several reports. “You may be the only one to deal with the firewall, but you’re not the only who can run reports on it. And it looks to me like you’ve opened up some holes in the firewall you shouldn’t have. It looks to me like you’ve been letting someone use their remote access virus—”

  “Hang on, Sergeant.” Callahan held up his hand. “I think Bradley would want you to call that type of malware a Trojan horse. Technically, it’s not a virus.” He turned to Bradley. “Am I correct on that? This is a Trojan horse, not a virus, right?”

  Bradley sneered and looked at the floor.

  “Please continue, Sergeant.”

  “Thanks, Callahan. At any rate, whatever it’s called, you not only allowed it to be installed, you not only opened up the firewall ports so the traffic could go through, but you falsified the reports on all of it too.”

  “Maybe I should ask for my lawyer.” Bradley folded his arms.

  “Oh, you could certainly do that. Callahan, refresh my memory, what did we arrest Mr. Watermeier for?”

  “I believe it was the invasion of privacy statute, Sergeant.”

  Bradley scoffed. “You know that’s only for revenge porn and upskirt photos and stuff. You’re not even accusing me of any of that perverted shit.”

  Callahan nodded. “Now, Sergeant, isn’t Mr. Watermeier correct in saying that this wasn’t used for anything lascivious or dirty? Surely this is only punishable by firing, correct? This is obviously against our internal policies, but it cannot possibly meet the criminal standard—and besides, invasion of privacy is only a misdemeanor, right?”

  “Well, Callahan, you’re sure thinking like a defense attorney.” Mark tapped his temple. “It sounds like Mr. Watermeier did his homework on this one.”

  “They’re doing a good job playing off each other,” Fenway whispered to McVie. “This is entertaining to watch.”

  “Shh,” shushed McVie.

  “But,” Mark continued, “we’re actually going to be filing some additional charges. We found out when that malware was installed, and when those ports were opened to allow it, and we can conclusively prove that it was Mr. Watermeier who did it. So, we’ll also be adding electronic eavesdropping charges.”

  “Ah.” Callahan smiled knowingly.

  “Bradley, you’re a smart guy. You know what a wobbler is?”

  “Yeah.” Bradley’s voice was miserable.

  Callahan looked at Mark with a comically confused expression. He was clearly enjoying this. “A wobbler. I’m not sure I know what that is. But then, I’m not that bright. In fact, Mr. Watermeier can attest to me not being that bright. I think I need my memory refreshed on that one, Sergeant.”

  “Sure thing, Callahan. A wobbler is when the prosecutor can decide if they want to charge a crime as a misdemeanor or a felony.”

  “Oh, right!” Callahan exclaimed, smacking his forehead. “The misdemeanor is a maximum of six months. The felony is three years.” He smiled. “That’s quite a wobble.”

  “Callahan, is there anything that you can think of that would make the prosecutor decide to charge this as a misdemeanor and not a felony?”

  “Sure I can, Sergeant. I don’t think we’ve let Bradley know that we have also seen that several large cash deposits have been made every month since the time those firewall ports were opened. And even I know that if Bradley, here, tells us who paid him to electronically eavesdrop on Rachel, the prosecutor will be a lot more lenient.”

  Mark swiveled his head slowly to look at Bradley. “What do you think, Bradley? You think you might want to tell us who it was who paid you?”

  Bradley shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “He never told me his name.”

  “Did you see him?”

  “Yeah.”

  Callahan picked up the folder in front of him. “Well, it just so happens that I’ve got some photos for you to look at.” He got a six-photo array out of the folder and set it down in front of Bradley. Fenway saw that the top right was a photo of Dylan Richards.

  Bradley looked at them. “It wasn’t any of these guys.” He hung his head. “I told you, I don’t know the guy’s name. He sat behind me in the coffee shop one day and made the offer. I barely talked to him. The next day I went back to the coffee shop to meet him, and I thought he didn’t show, but when I got home, I had an envelope full of cash in my laptop bag, and a note that identified what ports to open, and where to leave a flash drive for the anonymizer. I covered my tracks when I made the changes, too, because I knew it would raise red flags.”

  “Hey, Sergeant, covering his tracks—isn’t that obstruction of justice?”

  “Good question, Officer. It’s a gray area in state law. Maybe not so gray with the feds, though. But I don’t think Bradley is going to do anything to make us call the feds.”

  “I don’t know. Bradley’s a pretty smart guy. He’s smarter than me, for sure. Maybe he thinks he’s smarter than the feds.”

  Bradley looked wretched. “I’m telling y
ou, I don’t know who hired me. I’ve told you everything I know.”

  “Well, Bradley, sit tight. Callahan and I are going to go discuss this with the D.A. We’ll let him know you wanted to cooperate, but you don’t have any useful information.” Mark stood up and turned to the door.

  “Wait!” exclaimed Bradley. “That’s it? Those six pictures are all you have? Isn’t there, like, some big binder I can look through?”

  Mark nodded. “Well, Bradley, that’s the kind of stuff we like to hear. That is cooperation! I’m delighted to hear that. Callahan, why don’t you get a couple of the binders for Mr. Watermeier to start on. Bradley, you hungry? You want anything to eat?”

  They started talking about the kind of tacos that Bradley wanted. Fenway figured Bradley would be busy with lunch and the binders for a couple of hours, at least—maybe more. She figured it was time to see if she could pull the sheriff off the case.

  Fenway tapped the sheriff on the shoulder and motioned with her head for him to come outside with her. She let herself out of the viewing room and he followed.

  They stopped in front of the coffee station and she turned to him, a serious look on her face. “I really don’t want to tell you this.”

  McVie tilted his head.

  Fenway lowered her voice. “I think you better recuse yourself from these investigations.”

  He looked annoyed. “Look, Fenway, just because you don’t like what I had to say this morning—”

  Fenway scoffed. “I sure as hell didn’t like it. But that’s not the issue. It is very possible that it will come out that Dylan and Amy were having an affair, and if we don’t pull you off the investigation now, whoever we do arrest will have more than reasonable doubt to throw out every piece of evidence you’ve touched.”

  McVie nodded. “I know I told you to treat everyone, even me, as a suspect, but when Dylan became the lead suspect—I don’t know if you noticed—but I haven’t gone anywhere near the Walker investigation unless I’ve had to. Mark’s the one who found the car. I didn’t even go down to LAX.”

  “You had Dylan’s Glock in your custody when we went to see the M.E.”

  McVie looked at the ground. “Yeah, but you saw how that turned out. You know I’m not trying to railroad him.”

  “Don’t you see, though, Craig? That looks bad. It looks bad that you know these details. If you were trying to pin the murder on Dylan—which I guarantee is what the defense will argue—you had access to all the evidence. You might have hidden exculpatory evidence, or had Mark plant something to make it look like he did it.”

  “Yeah, well, there isn’t going to be a defense now, is there?” McVie snarled. “I know that you and I don’t know each other very well, but accusing me of planting evidence with absolutely no foundation is pretty low.”

  “Craig, I’m not—”

  “Stop it!” he barked. An officer at a desk nearby turned his head toward them. “Stop it, Fenway,” he said more quietly. “I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but it feels like a coup.” He took a few steps back and put his hand over his mouth and closed his eyes.

  Fenway felt the awkward silence as she stood and waited. It felt like a long time to her.

  McVie opened his eyes and dropped his hand to his side. “Okay, Fenway. I’m going to step away from the investigation completely in the hopes that this doesn’t become public. I’ll continue with Bradley, and I’ll stay far away from any car, or any laptop, or any stolen files.”

  Fenway rubbed her forehead. “You can’t investigate Bradley either.”

  “What? I thought we just established that Dylan wasn’t the one who paid Bradley. This looks to me like a separate case.”

  Fenway shook her head. “It’s not. It’s the same case.”

  McVie set his jaw. “Oh, I see what’s going on.”

  She was quiet.

  “Just like I was afraid of. Am I a suspect in Dylan’s death, now?”

  She paused. “I don’t think you killed Dylan.”

  McVie stepped closer to Fenway, speaking softly. “Well, I should hope not, as we were going for round two when Dylan killed himself.” He stepped back and shook his head. “And you’re thinking that you don’t want to tell anyone that we were together last night, because Daddy would get mad and might not pay for your apartment anymore.”

  “That’s not why, and you know it,” she whispered, a hard edge in her voice. “Besides, you know it would be worse for you than for me; your wife doesn’t know about last night, and sheriff is an elected position in this county. A man who sleeps with the much-younger woman he just appointed might not get re-elected.”

  “So not only are you forcing me into a leave of absence, you’re telling me I’m too old. Well, I’ll tell you something. The voters don’t care that you’re much younger, princess, they only care—” And he stopped suddenly.

  Fenway’s eyes narrowed. “They only care what?”

  “Never mind.”

  She grabbed his wrist. “They only care that your ghosty-white ass fucked a black girl? Is that what you were going to say?”

  “Let go of me.”

  “Or were you going to use another term besides ‘black girl’?” she hissed.

  “I wasn’t going to say anything like that,” he snarled, shaking her loose. “Don’t worry, Fenway. I’m done investigating any of this. With or without you. We’re done.” McVie looked her in the eye, then turned and stormed off.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Fenway watched him go into the back offices. Then she turned and left through the front door, past the strange look she thought she was getting from the desk officer who had raised his head when McVie raised his voice. She hoped he hadn’t heard the other parts of their conversation.

  She had to clear her head. She wanted to walk a circuitous loop around the city center buildings, through the plaza, but she knew it would be uncomfortable in her high heels. She started through the plaza anyway, then turned halfway through and headed back across the street. The memorial service was in a few hours, she remembered, and she needed to find out how to get to the church. As Fenway went inside her office building, she pulled the map up on her phone, but realized she didn’t know what church it was.

  “Hey, Migs.” Her head was down as she stared at her phone. “Any more on the identity of the emailer from Piper?”

  “No,” a female voice said, “but they found Dylan’s truck.”

  Startled, Fenway popped her head up. Rachel was sitting back at her desk.

  “Rachel!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

  “That’s what I said when she came in,” said Migs, sounding a little exasperated. “You should be at home, Rachel.”

  “Listen, Fenway,” Rachel said with a guilty look on her face. “I know you were expecting me to be out all week, but if I don’t have something to distract myself, I’m going to go crazy.”

  “No, Rachel, absolutely not. I can’t let you do that.”

  Rachel’s eyes were wide and doe-like. “Please, Fenway, I couldn’t get Walker out of my head all weekend, and now I can’t get the image of Dylan out of my head.”

  Fenway shook her head. “You need to give yourself some time. You need to be with family.”

  “Please. My dad hated Dylan.”

  “Rachel, come on. You’ve been through a lot this week. Don’t you have arrangements you need to make?”

  “Dylan’s mom insisted on handling everything. I don’t have anything to do but sit in our apartment feeling sorry for myself.”

  Fenway studied Rachel’s face for a minute. She thought she could see the stress in her eyes, but she wasn’t sure. Rachel looked away quickly. “I don’t know if you’re in shock, or what, but you need to take some time off.”

  “Listen, Fenway, if Dana Perino can brief the press with one eye, I can do my job after everything that happened to me this week.”

  “One eye?” Fenway cocked her head to the side.

  “Yeah, remember at that pr
ess conference during the Iraq war? That one reporter threw his shoe at George W. Bush?”

  “Vaguely...”

  “Well, Dubya ducked, and the shoe hit Dana in the eye.”

  Fenway was about to argue about how getting hit in the eye with a shoe is not the same thing as finding out that your husband was arrested for murder, and then found dead in his cell, but she realized that would be counterproductive. Instead, she walked over to Rachel’s desk.

  “Well, be that as it may, Rachel, I don’t know anyone who’s been through what you’ve been through this week. I’m worried, frankly. You need to take care of yourself.”

  Rachel patted Fenway’s hand. “I heard that Lana Cassidy shot at you yesterday, and here you are back at work. In fact, I heard you kicked Lana’s ass. If she had just done her job, maybe none of this would have happened.” She sighed. “Besides, you guys are super shorthanded right now. Piper’s getting me a computer so I can do some tracking and get the latest info from the M.E. in San Miguelito. And there are still a ton of files to go through from that asshole’s office.”

  Fenway thought for a minute. “If you need the distraction for a little bit, I guess you can stay today.” The words were out of her mouth and she instantly regretted it. “If you feel tired, or overwhelmed, or stressed out, you go, okay? You don’t even have to tell me. Promise me you’ll go if you start feeling it.”

  Rachel waved her hand. “Fine, fine. And while I’m waiting for something to do, maybe we can go see Dylan’s truck. They just found it on a fire road about a mile off 326.”

  “Absolutely not.” Fenway folded her arms. “You realize I’d get in a ton of trouble if I let you do that, right?”

  “Figured I’d ask.”

  Fenway turned to Migs. “Migs, split up the file work with Rachel.”

  “Sure thing.”

  “I’m going to grab Dez and head to the truck. Rachel, do you know if there’s a CSI team there?”

  “That’s what I heard. They’re fingerprinting the truck and assessing the damage.”