The Reluctant Coroner by Paul Austin Ardoin (distant reading txt) 📖

hole-in-the-wall taqueria.

“Here?” Fenway said.

“Dos Milagros. Best food in Estancia.” Rachel held open the door and followed Fenway in. “Carne asada? Chile verde? Chicken? Vegetarian?”

“Chicken.”

Rachel ordered, in Spanish, four tacos and horchatas for the two of them. She started to pull her wallet out, but Fenway stopped her.

“Got the HR lecture on the appearance of impropriety. Supervisors always pay.”

Rachel smiled. “Thanks.”

Fenway paid, and Rachel found a high table with two stools. Fenway sat down.

“What number are we?” Rachel asked.

“Twenty-three. You speak Spanish?”

“Yeah, I was in the Semester Abroad program at UCLA, and I spent it in Costa Rica. My dad was freaking out the whole time at how far away it was.”

“UCLA? That’s a great school.”

“I got into Princeton. My dad wanted me closer.”

The woman behind the counter called out, “Veintitres,” and Rachel went to get their tacos.

She came back and handed Fenway two tacos half-wrapped in foil.

Fenway unwrapped the first one. The tangy smell of fresh cilantro was heavenly. “You get along with your dad?”

Rachel shrugged. “He didn’t much like it when I eloped.”

“Yeah. I know a little about strained relationships with fathers, too.”

Rachel smiled and took a drink of horchata. “Maybe our dads could compare notes. My dad has been working for Ferris Energy ever since he got out of the CHP.” Rachel grinned. “And now I work for you. There’s a kind of, I don’t know, symmetry.”

“Did your dad know what a creep Walker was?”

“Are you kidding? He would have made me quit. He thinks I can’t handle myself. He didn’t want me taking this job in the first place.” Rachel started in on her second taco. “I got the job in the coroner’s office last June, right after graduating. I’ll be there a year next month. There aren’t a lot of press releases to write, but I get to do two or three a month. I have to start somewhere, right?”

“Right.” Fenway took a bite and chewed quickly. “Man, these are great. No wonder you like it so much.”

“Honestly, the carne asada ones are way better.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Fenway swallowed. “So you want to do PR?”

“Honestly,” she said conspiratorially, “I’d love to be White House press secretary one day.”

Fenway nodded. “That’s ambitious.”

“Yeah.”

“So, let me ask you something. Now that I’m officially investigating his death, do you know if Walker had any enemies?”

“Only everyone.”

“No one liked him and he was a horrible boss. I got that. But people don’t kill because of that. I’m talking about cheating someone out of money. Or sleeping with someone who was married.”

“Or sexually assaulting someone?” Rachel shuddered.

Fenway leaned forward, studying Rachel’s face. “Anyone come into his office and argue with him?”

“Barry Klein. Alice Jenkins. Lana Cassidy, once. I assume that one was HR-related. Dez had a couple of screaming matches with him.” She thought. “McVie.”

“McVie? He seems so even-keeled.”

“Yeah, if you get the Boy Scout worked up, you know you’ve done something wrong.” Rachel wiped her hands and took another drink of horchata.

“You know what any of these screaming matches were about?”

Rachel squinted. “Uh… no.”

“Maybe I could see his calendar when I’m done with Lana.”

Rachel looked a little abashed. The calendar had been the thing she’d gotten snippy about last night. “He didn’t keep anything personal on it,” Rachel said. “He barely knew how to turn on the computer.”

They walked back to work in the sunshine. Fenway marveled at the weather: it was a beautiful day, the kind of day that comes only two or three times a year in Seattle. It was warm, but Fenway was still comfortable, even wearing a blazer, and there was a nice breeze off the ocean.

Lana Cassidy was waiting for her when they got back to the office. A willowy young woman stood at the counter next to Lana, a couple of inches taller than Fenway, with long, straight red hair and pale skin with an almost cartoonish amount of freckles. She was wearing a short-sleeved green dress with black ballet flats, a laptop bag over one shoulder.

Fenway checked the wall clock—one forty-five.

“Hi, Lana. I thought you said we had an hour for lunch.”

“I assumed you’d want to get this finished up so you could get started,” she snapped. “Miss Patten and I have been waiting for you for fifteen minutes.”

“Then let’s get back into it.”

“Piper Patten,” the redhead said, shaking Fenway’s hand. She had a high-pitched, almost elfin voice. “I work over in IT. I’ll be setting up your laptop.” Fenway thought she was kind of delightful. The way Migs kept stealing glances at Piper, it seemed he thought so, too.

The three of them went into the conference room. Piper and Fenway sat down, but Lana stayed standing, then paced around the table. Piper gave Fenway her temporary keycard, reviewed the rules and regulations documents, and gave her a username and temporary password to her department laptop. It was a three-year-old Acer with the Escape key missing.

“Sorry about this,” she said. “It was the only loaner we had on short notice.”

“I’m sure it’s fine.”

“Lana, can you stop pacing?” said Piper. “It’s really distracting.”

Lana shot eye daggers at Piper. “I’ve got a two o’clock. Are we done here?”

“Uh, I’ve got to set up her VPN.” Piper looked at Fenway.

“You can set that up later.” Lana was already halfway out the door. “Come on, Piper. And Miss Ferris, make sure to submit the direct deposit form by noon on Friday.”

Piper’s eyes widened and she looked at Fenway apologetically before following Lana out.

Fenway leaned back in her chair and stared at the ceiling. At least it was mercifully short.

Maybe something in Walker’s office would give some idea of what he was doing on that road. And the medical examiner could give more information of where the killer stood and where Walker was when he was shot. She wasn’t sure what it might mean, but it was a place to start.

Dez had been in the department longer than anyone. She might know how to get answers from the lab.

Fenway stood and walked to the door. “Hey, Sergeant Roubideaux,” Fenway said, “can you help me with something, please?”

“Ooh, first day and I get ‘Sergeant Roubideaux,’” Dez said, leaning back in her seat. “Settle down, Coroner, I ain’t in my dress blues. Save ‘Sergeant Roubideaux’ for my Outstanding Service Award.”

“Okay, Dez, get your ass in here.”

“Hmph.” She stood, unable to suppress a smile. “Maybe something in between.”

Fenway shut the conference room door behind Dez. “What’s the process for getting information from the lab in San Miguelito?”

“They were planning to do the autopsy this morning. They were supposed to do it yesterday, but without a coroner here, and without an investigator, they called yesterday and said they’d push it back.”

“Think they’ve done it yet?”

“I haven’t heard.”

Fenway thought. “Maybe I could call them.”

Dez shrugged, opening the conference room door. “Suit yourself. I hear the San Mig medical examiner is kind of a bitch.”

“You would know, Dez,” Migs called from around the corner.

She ignored Migs and lowered her voice. “Listen, I don’t think Little Miss Cassidy has a problem with you, I think she has a problem with…” and she pointed to the black skin on her exposed wrist.

Fenway nodded, tight-lipped.

“So watch yourself. She won’t lift a finger to help you with any insubordinate employees.” Dez laughed. “Except if it’s me. She hates me.”

“Okay. Another thing, Dez—there are security cameras in this building, right?”

“In the hallways and at the entrances and exits.”

“How about in here?”

She looked at Fenway a little quizzically. “In here? Why?”

“I have to search and fingerprint Walker’s office. And one of the board of supervisors members thinks I’m in cahoots with my father.”

“We know all about Barry Klein and his feelings about your daddy.”

“Yeah, well, if Klein doesn’t like the way I’m handling Walker’s murder, I want to make sure I can prove there’s no impropriety.”

“Oh, Fenway. Thinking like a politician already.”

Fenway tilted her head to the side playfully. “If HR already hates me, don’t you think I need to document my behavior?”

Dez laughed. “I certainly do, Coroner Stevenson. But if there are cameras in here, I don’t know about them.”

“Okay, one last thing. Is there someone who can assist me with Walker’s office? We don’t know anything about motive or opportunity yet, but I think it goes without saying that everyone who worked with Walker is under suspicion. It has to be someone from outside this office—maybe the medical examiner from San Miguelito or a member of the staff there?”

Dez looked surprised. “I thought McVie would have told you already. You aren’t just the lead investigator on the physical evidence—you’re the only investigator. Everyone