The Reluctant Coroner

by Paul Austin Ardoin

  Dez exhaled loudly. “Ugh. Rachel must be beside herself. Probably won’t be seeing her today.”

  “Probably not. She ran out.”

  “What did they have on him?”

  Fenway looked down at Dez. “We have enough for suspicion. Motive. An alibi that didn’t match up. A gun that’s probably the same caliber as the murder weapon.”

  “Hmm.” Dez stood back up. “We haven’t seen the ballistics report yet. I’ll call the M.E. in San Miguelito first thing this morning.”

  “You have a good relationship with the M.E.?”

  Dez looked at Fenway sideways. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Fenway was a little taken aback. “I just meant that I have some new territory to cover here, and if you’re on decent terms with the M.E., I might like you to introduce him to me.”

  Dez relaxed. “Yeah, we’re not on the best of terms, but I’ll see what I can do.” Dez put her arms above her head and stretched. “And it’s a her, by the way.”

  “What?”

  “The M.E. It’s a her, not a him.”

  Fenway nodded. “Oh, that’s right. You said she was a bitch.”

  Dez chuckled. “Yep. I gotta tell you something else, Fenway. That drawer that they stole was the F through G drawer in active files.”

  Fenway closed her eyes. “Let me guess. Ferris Energy had some active files in there.”

  “Yep. But F through G covers a lot of ground. Dylan’s last name is Richards, just like Rachel’s, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, that ain’t it,” Dez said.

  “Maybe his mom’s maiden name is Ferguson or Gatsby or something.”

  “Maybe, but these are active cases.”

  “Yeah.”

  “But I know for a fact there was an active file in there on Ferris Energy. There were a couple of deaths there about six months ago, and Walker still hadn’t determined a cause of death.”

  “It wouldn’t have been under the last name of the deceased?”

  “Not in Walker’s filing system.” Dez shook her head. “When multiple deaths are related like that, Walker filed it under a group name. Two John Does found in Querido Park last year were filed under Q.”

  They both fell silent, watching the CSI team carry out the last few pieces of furniture.

  “I’m not going to sweep anything my dad did under the rug,” Fenway said. “I don’t know if that’s why he suggested my name to McVie, but I’m not doing that. My mom and I left my dad twenty years ago, and I’ve barely talked to him. If I have to arrest him for murder, and I get run out of town, so be it. It’s not like I have any ties here.”

  Dez kept watching the CSI team, but she nodded slowly. “Well, I like hearing that you’re not going to give your father special treatment. But don’t be putting him in maximum security just yet. There’s nothing we’ve found to tie him to anything.”

  Fenway looked down at her feet. “Yet.”

  “All right, I think we can go in now. We’ll figure out where they put everything, and you can go through it later.”

  “Later?” Fenway stifled a yawn. “I already feel like I’ve been on the job for a full day.”

  “And it’s not even eight a.m.”

  They walked around to the front of the building, where Dez let them in with her keycard.

  “I need to clue you in on something, Dez,” Fenway said, “and I know I’ve only known you a couple of days, but I have to trust somebody, and I think if you weren’t trustworthy, you’d act differently around me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Fenway raised her eyebrow. “You’d be a lot nicer to me, for one thing.”

  Dez laughed. “Honey, this is me being nice. Just ask the M.E. what my not-nice looks like.” She opened the door to the office suite and they went inside.

  “Okay. So, this is delicate, and given what I’m about to tell you, this whole thing is probably going to blow back on the county.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Well, first, Dez, this is between you and me.” Fenway sat down at Rachel’s desk, Dez perched beside her. “No Mark, no Migs. Don’t even tell family members. Just you and me.”

  “All right.”

  “It’s about Walker. Two nights before he was killed, he sexually assaulted Rachel in the office.”

  “What?” Dez asked, incredulous. “What do you mean, ‘sexually assaulted’?”

  “He ripped her clothes. Tried to rape her. When she fought to get away from him, he told her she was fired.”

  “Did Rachel tell you that?”

  Fenway nodded. “And it’s on video.”

  Dez shook her head. “That piece of shit. I knew he was a letch, but I didn’t think he’d do that.”

  “But listen,” Fenway continued, “there’s more. Walker had been harassing Rachel for weeks, and she went to Lana Cassidy, and Lana blew her off. Told her she needed proof, and that she couldn’t file a report based just on Rachel’s testimony.”

  “Then he escalated from harassment to rape,” Dez spat. “And since Lana said she needed proof, Rachel recorded it?”

  “Yep.”

  “And she told her husband, who went ballistic.”

  “Well, maybe. I mean, Rachel says she didn’t tell him, but she left a backup copy of the video on a USB stick in their junk drawer.”

  “That’s crazy. Why would she leave it there if she didn’t want him to look at it?”

  “She says that he wouldn’t pay any attention to a random USB stick in a junk drawer. But you never know; Dylan might have found the drive and watched the video on it anyway. That’s certainly McVie’s working theory—that Dylan watched the video, then lost his mind with rage, and lured Walker out to the woods to kill him.”

  “You don’t think so, though.” Dez looked thoughtful.

  Fenway hesitated. “It would fit really well. Except, why take the files? And you can clearly see his license plate in the cameras—it’s almost like the driver of the truck wanted us to see the plate. The driver was wearing a ski mask, and knew enough to avoid the security cameras once he was out of the truck, but didn’t think to remove the license plate?”

  “So, you think someone is framing Dylan.”

  “I guess that’s what I think. That sounds so crazy, like a conspiracy theory. Who would frame Dylan?”

  “Maybe someone at his work? Maybe a family member?”

  “Well,” Fenway said, “I actually think McVie is looking to see if Rachel’s involved. But if Dylan did it, maybe he could say it was the only way to prevent Walker from attacking her in the future. Rachel had already reported it to HR, but it didn’t stop. If that were the case, I think it’s possible that the county could be legally liable for Walker’s murder.”

  “Wait.” Dez put up her hand to stop her. “I totally get that the county is liable if Rachel wants to sue us for a zillion dollars. But, Walker sexually assaults a girl at work, and his family can sue because the county let him get away with it?”

  “Well, yeah. I’ve seen this kind of thing happen in Seattle. A doctor in the ER messed up during an operation and he sued the hospital and won. Anything can happen once lawyers get involved, but even if the Walker family doesn’t sue, you’re right, Rachel sure could. She tells her story to any lawyer in the country and they’ll have a lawsuit on the mayor’s desk by the next morning. But my point isn’t that Rachel could sue. My point isn’t even that Walker’s family could sue. My point is that Dylan could be found innocent, or, you know, it could be ruled a justifiable homicide, because there was no reasonable legal recourse to the sexual assault.”

  “You watch too many lawyer shows,” Dez said.

  “Maybe I do, but Lana Cassidy put us in a very awkward position. I don’t know why she wouldn’t take Rachel’s statement.”

  “It’s all CYA, Fenway. Human Resources isn’t there to protect employees; it’s there to reduce the employer’s liability. She didn’t want to open the county up fo
r harassment claims. If she lets Rachel file, this is a government office—that shit goes public. That makes it hard to recruit new employees. Plus, it’s not like Walker could get fired. It’s an elected position. Getting him out of there would’ve meant convincing him to resign, or to, I don’t even know, impeach him.”

  “Well, Lana Cassidy covering her own ass resulted in Rachel getting sexually assaulted in the office. If I were Rachel, I’d be calling Gloria Allred and negotiating book rights.”

  “Nice to know our new coroner is bitter and jaded like the rest of us.” Dez put a hand on Fenway’s shoulder and smiled.

  “All right, enough jaded employee talk. I’ve got to figure out if Rachel sent the video file to anyone through email.”

  “She recorded it from her work computer?”

  “Yeah. See, that’s what I’m saying: all kinds of liability issues, right?”

  “Well, yeah,” Dez shrugged. “But you don’t know her password. You’ll have to wait for Migs to come in at eight, or someone from IT.”

  Fenway got her laptop out of her bag and put it on the desk. “There’s gotta be something I can do before the workday ‘officially’ starts,” she mumbled.

  Dez was quiet for a minute. “Is Rachel all right?”

  “I don’t know. I think she’s angry with me because she told me all of this, and I had to tell the sheriff, which let him know that Dylan had a motive. So,” Fenway began to tick each point on her fingers, “she was sexually assaulted on Friday by her boss, her boss gets murdered on Sunday, she gets a new boss on Wednesday, and then Thursday morning her husband is arrested for murder because she told her new boss about her rape.” She looked down at the keyboard. “I wouldn’t be okay, if I were her.”

  “Someone should check in on her.”

  “Think you could? I’m probably not her favorite person right now.”

  Dez nodded, got her cellphone out, went into the conference room and closed the door.

  Fenway got her cellphone out, too, and thought for a moment. She needed to ask her father some uncomfortable questions, and wondered the most tactful way to go about it. She remembered when she was six or seven, and her mother had to tell her father some bad news. She remembered wondering what her mother was doing with her eyes closed, taking deep breaths. Now, Fenway realized her mother had been preparing herself to tell him the bad news, centering herself, before picking the phone, calling him, and handling him masterfully.

  She remembered that her mother had made sure that her father had thought the solution to whatever problem it had been was his idea, and that she could turn him from angry to helpful with a few well-chosen words.

  Drawing on her mother as inspiration, Fenway closed her eyes, took deep breaths, and called up her father.

  It rang.

  “Fenway!” he answered. “Good to hear from you. Everything OK? Are we still on for tonight?”

  “Sure, Dad. Listen, I hate to do this, but I’ve got to talk with you about something.”

  “Business or personal?”

  “Well, unfortunately, Dad, it’s business.” She sighed. “It turns out that there are some files missing from Walker’s office. And it looks like they’re files on Ferris Energy.”

  “Ferris Energy? Why in the world would anyone take Walker’s files on Ferris Energy?”

  Fenway paused. She had expected her father to be surprised to learn that Walker had files on Ferris Energy. Instead, her father expressed surprise that someone took the files. Was it common knowledge that Walker had open files on Ferris Energy? Had he heard about the break-in already? Fenway hadn’t said someone took them—she just said they were missing. She supposed it was reasonable to assume they were taken, but perhaps it was a strange slip-up from a man who Fenway thought was always in control.

  “Well, I don’t really know, Dad. I was kind of hoping you might be able to fill me in.”

  There was silence on the other end of the line. Fenway wondered if her father had caught his slip.

  She chose her words carefully before continuing. “It’s weird, because I don’t know if you’ve heard from the sheriff yet, but we arrested a suspect this morning in Walker’s murder.”

  “What? That’s great!” Ferris exhaled. “No, I haven’t heard from the sheriff—wow, two days on the job and you’ve already caught the killer! I knew this was the right call. Congratulations!”

  “Well, hang on, Dad, congratulations aren’t in order for me; Sheriff McVie was the one who made the arrest, and he’s the one who requested the search warrant.”

  “You don’t need to be modest with me, Fenway. I bet you had a lot to do with it.”

  “Well, here’s the thing.” She tried to get the conversation back on track. “The missing files are the one thing that don’t fit with the theory of the crime.”

  “Oh, you are learning something in your forensics classes.” Fenway thought she heard in her father’s voice that he was trying to get her to change the subject. She had been easily distracted when she was eight; she didn’t think she was that easily distracted now, twenty years later.

  Her father was right, however. Fenway was learning a lot in her forensics classes. Her witness interviewing class had been difficult, and she had had to work her tail off for an A. In fact, she had used her mother as an interview subject for one of her projects. The lesson of the project was about unspoken assumptions. The exercise was this: the interviewer lays the groundwork for establishing if the subject has prior knowledge of a fact that hasn’t yet been presented. Fenway had this in her mind as she continued the conversation with her father.

  “Yeah, Dad, I gotta tell you, it’s great to be able to use the stuff I’ve learned in class. One of the things they talked about in my advanced investigation class was loose ends, and only looking at theories through the lens of your own expectations. So, I’m using it now. This guy we arrested matched the motive we theorized, and everything like that, but we still have these missing Ferris Energy files, and I can’t figure out how they fit.”

  “Your suspect doesn’t work for me, does he?” Ferris laughed a little uneasily.

  “No. We haven’t found any connection to Ferris Energy at all.”

  “Well,” he mused, “maybe there was a file in the missing drawer that the guy did have a connection to. Maybe it wasn’t anything to do with the company.”

  And there it was.

  Fenway hadn’t mentioned a missing drawer, or that there were any other files missing. She tried to contain her reaction; her voice remained calm. “I suppose that could be the case. But the files didn’t turn up at his apartment when we executed the search warrant. Do you know what was in that Ferris Energy file?”

  Nathaniel Ferris sighed. Fenway could hear him calculating in his head how to address the contents of the file—now that he realized he had slipped up by telling her that he knew of their existence. “Well, if it’s the one I’m aware of, it’s probably the file on our industrial accident about six months ago. We lost a couple of workers in the refinery. Our internal review concluded it was human error—specifically, errors made by the two men who were killed, who didn’t follow several safety procedures—but the county investigation was still open.”

  “So, you asked why anyone would take those files—who stands to gain from those files going missing?”

  “Honestly, Fenway, I have no idea. Ferris Energy certainly has nothing to gain from those files going missing. Our lawyers are about to get a letter from OSHA that we were in compliance with everything, and not at fault. And, in most of these cases, OSHA reviews any relevant files—like the one that Walker had—before sending any letters like that.”

  “Okay.” Fenway thought for a moment before continuing. “So, you’re saying it wouldn’t make sense for anyone from your company to steal those files.”

  “Right—in fact, I remember our lawyers saying that those findings would make it a lot more difficult for the families to sue us. So, if anything, those files getting stolen last night h
urts us a lot more than it helps us.”

  “That’s good to know.” She exhaled audibly into the phone. “I’m kind of relieved, frankly. My dad’s company files getting stolen really doesn’t look good for me. Especially after I told you I was going to go through the files today. I was afraid people were going to look at me sideways, as if I had something to do with them being stolen.” She paused for maximum effect. “I wish I could convince people that I’m not in your pocket.”

  “Well, Fenway,” Nathaniel Ferris said, putting on his pontificating voice, “with me as your father, people are always going to think you’re in my pocket. Especially in this town. But I know you can do the job you need to do. And I know you can get your nursing certificate for California, and finish up your degree, and then you’ll have a lot more opportunities.”

  “Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Can you maybe get whatever company files you have on the accident, on the families involved, and come down to the station—make an appearance—so it looks like I’m looking at you just as hard as everyone else? You know, tying up the loose ends?”

  He thought that was a fantastic idea. Then he gave Fenway a few more words of encouragement. She realized that she had gotten more words of encouragement from Nathaniel Ferris in the last two days than she had in the last twenty-eight years.

  He suggested that he could come down to the station just before lunch, around eleven-thirty. They also confirmed their dinner plans before saying their goodbyes just as Dez came out of the conference room.

  “How’s Rachel holding up?”

  “She’s not,” Dez shook her head. “Girl talked my ear off. She’s so quiet in the office I didn’t even know she could talk for that long. She’s sad, and confused, and mad as hell. I called her sister for her, and she’s going over there to be with her.”

  “Good. I’m worried about her.”

  “Who were you on the phone with? Daddy dearest?”

  Fenway smiled. “Yes. And I’m not sure, but I think he’s involved in all this. I think he’s the one who stole the files.”

  “He was the one in the truck?”

  “Well, no. He wouldn’t actually get his hands dirty. But you know what I mean.”