“Lovely,” Fenway muttered. She found the table with a “3” on a white plastic sign.
There was a short white woman with thick glasses on at table two. Another woman, tall with stringy hair, wearing an orange jumpsuit, sat with her, speaking in hushed tones, but with a sense of urgency in her voice. The short woman wasn’t making eye contact.
About thirty seconds later, a door in the back of the room opened and Charlotte appeared, followed by a prison guard.
Even in the orange jumpsuit, Charlotte exhibited a certain confidence. She stood straight and tall. Fenway was a couple of inches taller, but Charlotte, even from the wrong side of the fence, had the air of an aristocrat, too good for the room, too good for the building.
“I never thought you would be the first person besides Nathaniel to visit me in jail,” Charlotte said when she sat down. “The guard said you were here as a family member, too. Not as an investigator or whatever.”
“Right.” Fenway leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I got kicked off your case because of our family relationship. But people keep sending me things,” she said. “I need you to take a look at this and see if you recognize anything. If something jogs your memory.”
Charlotte sat back. “Of course. I knew your visit couldn’t be because you’re concerned for my well-being.”
“You know I’m great at getting to the truth,” Fenway said, “and the truth is, you didn’t do this. And your well-being will improve if you get out of here. So shut up and look at this.” She pulled the evidence bags out of her purse. “Now listen, I’m not supposed to talk to you about this case, so if you want my help, don’t tell anyone about what I’m about to show you. Deal?”
Charlotte set her lips in a tight line and cocked her head to the side, but after a second, she nodded.
Fenway put the two clear evidence bags on the table, with the pictures of Charlotte and Kapp face up.
Charlotte recoiled. “What the hell is that?”
“They’re two doctored photos of you and the man you were supposed to have shot,” Fenway said.
“I didn’t ever have sex with him! I wasn’t there!”
“I know,” Fenway said, as patiently as she could. “I said the photos were doctored. I can tell it’s not you.”
“How?”
“Because of the way the shadow falls on your face. It was obviously Photoshopped. Plus, you’re taller.”
“Oh.” Charlotte leaned over and pointed to the woman’s lower back. “And whoever this is, she doesn’t have the tattoo I have on my back,” Charlotte said.
“Ah,” Fenway said. “Even more compelling.” She paused. “So I have to ask you, Charlotte, who do you know who might do something like this to you?”
Charlotte looked puzzled. “Do this to me?”
“Yes,” Fenway said. “Someone’s trying to set you up. I think someone used your gun to kill Jeremy Kapp. Someone planted your earring there. And now someone is going through a lot of trouble to make it look like you’re guilty. Who did you piss off?”
“Who did I piss off? Fenway, I think you know by now I’m not the one who pisses people off. That title belongs to my husband.”
Fenway laughed uneasily. “Sure. But then they wouldn’t come after you, would they? They’d come after him.”
“Who knows? I sure don’t know how this works.”
“You said you were at home when Jeremy Kapp was murdered.”
Charlotte nodded. “The police have all the footage—your sergeant and that awful woman she was with. They made sure to take it all with them when they arrested me.”
“And how did your gun end up on the beach?”
“I’m sure I don’t know. I didn’t even know it was missing.”
“You don’t keep it locked in a safe?”
“No. It’s in my bedside table. For when Nathaniel is on business trips, which is more often than I’d like. Our house is a big target. I feel a lot safer with a gun in easy reach.”
“Did anyone have access to your room?”
Charlotte shrugged. “Sandrita. But it’s not like I keep my room closed. Anyone who came through the front door, I suppose, could have gone up and gotten it.”
“What about your earring?”
“I don’t know how it got on the beach either,” Charlotte said. “I don’t think I’ve ever even been to that beach—and even if I had, I’d certainly never wear those earrings. They’d get lost in the sand—I’m frankly amazed anyone found it.”
Fenway made a mental note: Charlotte didn’t realize her earring was found away from the beach, in the planter in front of the villa at the Belvedere Terrace. It underscored Fenway’s belief that Charlotte hadn’t been there when Jeremy Kapp was killed. “And you don’t have any enemies?”
“Darlin’,” Charlotte drawled, “I live a boring life. The most interesting thing that happened to me lately is one of our dinner guests tried to sneak a peek at me when I was getting out of the shower.”
Fenway fought the urge to guffaw. It would be just like Charlotte to “forget” what time the guests were showing up, to “forget” to close the door when she got in the shower, to “forget” a towel. She wouldn’t put it past her.
“Oh, gosh, you must have hated that,” Fenway said coldly.
Charlotte looked into Fenway’s face and steeled her gaze, as if she had read Fenway’s mind. “It was an accident, Fenway. I’m sure I closed the door to the bedroom. The little pervert was definitely looking at me.”
“What about your housekeeper and your cook?” Fenway asked. “Or the driver? Did they ever come in to the house, somewhere that they could have taken your gun and your earring?”
“Of course,” Charlotte said. “They all have keys to the house. Listen, Sandrita has been with us for eight years. Roderick has been driving your dad since before I met him. If they ever wanted to steal anything from us, they would have done so long before now.”
“What about money?” Fenway said. “Everyone has a price, don’t they?”
“I suppose they do,” Charlotte said, “but we pay them well. They should have no need to accept bribes.”
“Maybe it was something else,” Fenway said. “Maybe Sandrita’s boyfriend is in trouble or needs a job or something. Or Roderick maybe has a gambling problem and owes money to the wrong people.”
“I haven’t heard anything like that,” Charlotte said. “They’ve been with us so long because their drama is at a minimum. They do their jobs, they’re quiet, and we trust them.”
“Okay,” Fenway said. She would look into them, but something told her it wouldn’t be fruitful. In any case, Dez had probably looked into them already—and hopefully at the financial records for all of the Ferris’s household employees, not only their personal finances. But Fenway thought a personal vendetta against Charlotte herself was a long shot.
“It’s possible,” Fenway said, “there is a big issue with some, uh, illegal trading using Ferris Energy for a cover.”
“Illegal trading? Of what?”
Fenway shook her head. “I can’t tell you just yet. But my theory—as far as I have one—is someone is trying to frame you and my father.”
“Frame us? Why?”
“It’s only a theory.” Fenway looked up at Charlotte. “Maybe you noticed something during one of the business dinners my father hosted at the house, or maybe you went with him to dinner with one of his investors or board members, and you noticed something amiss.”
“I do know that Cynthia Schimmelhorn seems to have it out for your dad,” Charlotte said. “She doesn’t much care for me, either. But, then, there are a lot of women who don’t particularly care for me.” She looked Fenway squarely in the eyes.
Fenway ignored Charlotte’s stare. “Did you have dinner with Ms. Schimmelhorn recently?”
“I got dragged to a dinner with the board and all the wives and husbands,” Charlotte said. “She was challenging Nathaniel quite a bit. What with the whole kerfuffle with Robert, and th
en Nathaniel picking a candidate who wasn’t exactly above-board.”
Charlotte did have a gift for understatement—Robert Stotsky, Ferris Energy’s head of security, murdered two people, and she could call it a kerfuffle.
“She wants my father to—what?” asked Fenway. “Resign as CEO?”
Charlotte nodded. “She made that pretty clear.”
“Did anything come of it? Any threats?”
“No threats. At least—nothing verbal. When Nathaniel made it clear it was his company and his decision to resign—‘it’s my name on the front door, and I’ll decide when I go’—she sat back down and was quiet. But she was fuming, and I noticed she didn’t touch the rest of her dinner. She left first, before anyone else.”
“Hmm,” Fenway said. “I wonder what she was doing on Friday night.” Fenway looked at her watch. “Oh, crap. I’ve gotta get back. Thanks for your time, Charlotte.”
“And you’re working on getting me out of here?”
“I am.”
Charlotte paused. “I know we’ve had our differences, Fenway, but I have to say, I’m glad you’re on my side.”
“Remember,” Fenway said, standing up, “not a word that we talked about the case. If anyone asks, I called you a golddigger and got angry at you for ruining my father’s life.”
Charlotte gave her a sardonic smile. “Got to keep it believable, after all.”
FENWAY MET CALLAHAN in the entrance hall to the jail. He handed her the large latte, keeping a jumbo cup in his hand.
“Thanks. You get something appropriately expensive to get back at me for ditching you at the jail?”
Callahan chuckled. “I was going to, but I don’t like all that sweet foam whipped cream flavored soy milk crap.” He lifted his cup. “I take mine black.”
“I’m glad I bought you something you like.”
“Good, because you bought me a large piece of coffee cake too. That was almost five bucks. I didn’t save you any, either.”
Fenway smiled as they walked out of the jail building.
“Charlotte tell you what you needed to know?”
“I was there strictly as family. To give her my support.”
Callahan laughed, then his look grew thoughtful. “You know,” he said, “at some point, you’re going to have to get to a campaign event. You must have had a bunch of stuff scheduled for today.”
“I did,” Fenway said. “Millicent is going to be mad at me. If I had a phone, she’d be blowing it up right now.”
Callahan looked sideways at Fenway. The thought of Rory flashed in Fenway’s mind.
“Sorry,” she said. “Poor choice of words.”
“You think maybe you should reassemble your phone and get back to the real world?”
Fenway sighed. “I guess.”
“Unless you don’t want to have a job on January first.”
“No, I don’t want to be out of a job. I guess I don’t want to campaign for it. Of course, my car is still in evidence. That makes getting to these campaign events a little difficult.”
“That’s not even a good excuse. I’m sure your campaign manager will make sure you have a ride.”
“Yeah.”
Callahan started to turn toward the sheriff’s office, but Fenway stepped into the crosswalk.
“Did you forget something in your office?” he asked.
“I need to talk to Piper again before we go.” Fenway paused. “And I guess you’re right. I should get my phone from the office and reassemble it.”
They crossed the street in silence. Callahan stepped ahead and opened the door to the building for Fenway.
“How long is your shift?”
“On Fenway protection duty? From six until six. Then Officer Young comes on.”
Fenway remembered Rachel was skittish around Officer Young, and she didn’t know why. She wondered what Rachel was concerned about.
“Hey, Brian?”
“Yeah?”
“I think Rachel is weird about Officer Young. I don’t think she feels comfortable around him.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t had a chance to talk with her today. But I know one of you is assigned protection to me, and two of you are supposed to secure the area, right?”
“Right.”
“Well, maybe you can talk to whoever is in charge of the detail. Have them switch it around.”
Callahan nodded, opening the door into the IT office. “Let me think about it for a minute.”
Piper looked up from her desk. “Hey—didn’t expect you back. Thought you’d be off campaigning.”
“When I could be getting admonished for investigating murders I’m not supposed to be party to anymore? And miss all the fun?”
Piper looked confused.
“We found an envelope under the coroner’s office door,” Callahan explained. “The deputy sheriff didn’t want her touching the envelope or anything, even though there was no sign it was—uh,” he finished, catching Fenway’s look, “well, I guess it’s not important.”
“I thought I’d see if you got anywhere with any of the other financial data since I’ve been gone.”
“Financials? Not really. I mean, I’ve gotten additional information about earlier payments, enough to establish a pattern. But strangely enough, the pattern of payments doesn’t start to change at all until two days ago.”
“Two days ago? The day Jeremy Kapp’s body was found?”
“Or the day of the explosion, if you prefer. That day there was a flurry of activity, and even though yesterday was a Saturday, there were quite a few transfer requests.”
“What do you suppose that’s about?”
Piper shook her head. “It’s impossible to tell without getting access to the correspondence on this.”
Fenway thought for a minute. “We could get a warrant for Jeremy Kapp’s computer and email. And maybe Domingo Velásquez’s as well.”
Piper nodded. “That would be great.”
“I can give a call to the sheriff, if you want,” Callahan said. “Start drawing up the paperwork.”
“And use your secret judge list to get it signed,” said Fenway. “Thanks, Brian.”
Callahan stepped out into the hall to talk on his radio.
“I don’t think the sheriff will be in. I think he’s off campaigning,” Piper said. “I believe there was a dinner tonight.”
Fenway closed her eyes. “Oh no,” she groaned. “There is a dinner tonight. The George Nidever County Dinner. It’s tradition—all the local candidates the Sunday before election day. And all the business leaders too. I have to be there.”
Piper raised her eyebrows. “You think Ivanovich will show his face after what happened with his son?”
“For all I know, this whole thing has emboldened all the white supremacists in the county who usually don’t vote because there aren’t enough racists on the ballot.”
“What time does it start?”
“Six,” Fenway said. “That’s in less than an hour.”
“Just over an hour,” Piper said. “And you just got a latte. You can do this.”
Fenway shook her head. “My father will probably be there too. I’m not looking forward to it.”
“Are you taking someone to the dinner?”
“This isn’t a date thing, Piper.”
She shrugged. “I thought it was a fancy black-tie thing. Barry Klein is taking his wife.”
“That’s different. They’re married. I’m not even seeing anyone.” She sighed. “And I don’t even have time to get my hair decent. Crap. That was supposed to be my afternoon—directly from the senior center to the salon.”
“Well,” Piper said, “maybe after the election.”
“I can get my hair done after the election?”
“No, no,” Piper said, frustration on her face. “You can date someone after the election.”
Fenway thought of everything that happened two months before: McVie asking her out on a date, then put
ting that on hold until after the election—but seeing the look on his face after the car bomb, and after Dr. Tassajera’s murder, gave her butterflies.
She looked at Piper, who was looking back at her; it seemed Piper knew exactly who Fenway wanted to be with. Fenway could feel the color rise to her cheeks. She cleared her throat. “All right. I guess I’m going to go to this stupid candidate dinner. And it’s going to be up at Nidever University too. What a pain.”
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” said Piper as Fenway turned and walked out.
Callahan was in the hallway, clicking off the radio. “Okay—the sheriff is at some candidate dinner tonight, so I couldn’t okay it with him, but I got ahold of Dez and they’re going to draw up the warrant for the computers and emails.”
“That’s good news. Hopefully we’ll find a clue there. Thanks, Callahan.” She walked into the coroner’s office, again using the key, and went into her private office. She pulled open the drawer where she had stashed her phone, and took it and the SIM card out.
“Okay,” she said. “Let’s get to the cruiser. I’ve got forty-five minutes to make myself red-carpet ready.”
“Oh,” Callahan looked stricken. “You have to go to the election dinner too, don’t you? I didn’t talk to anyone about taking Officer Young off your protection detail tonight.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Fenway said. “Can you call him and ask if he owns a tux?”
FENWAY PUT THE SIM card in her phone as soon as she got into the passenger seat of the cruiser. She powered the phone on and braced herself. Sure enough, the phone started to buzz crazily, lighting up, and giving her several overlapping alert sounds.
“Ugh,” she said under her breath. “I’m sure these are all from Millicent Tate. Either from her or my father.”
Callahan drove quickly to her apartment, and he stood outside the door while she went in, wrapped her hair and took a quick shower. She went to her closet to find the dress she had purchased for formal dinners like this, and briefly touched the dress she used to wear to clubs in Seattle. For a moment, she wanted to go out dancing instead of going to this stuffy political dinner, where she’d have to talk to a bunch of people she didn’t want to talk to, including both her father and Barry Klein.
The Candidate Coroner Page 22
