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

The tears stopped after a few minutes. Fenway took some deep breaths. She dabbed at her eyes and her face with the tissues, which she hoped would get rid of both the spit and tear streaks running down her face. She pulled the compact out of her purse and checked herself in the mirror. She hadn’t had time to put on any makeup or do her hair at three in the morning—and the ball cap could only help so much. Especially with a bullet hole in it. Fenway thought she looked ragged and worn out.

Fenway thought about how her mother would react to news that she had been shot at. How she would tell her mother to minimize the shock. Then a wave of loneliness cascaded over her like an avalanche and almost knocked the wind out of her. She didn’t have anyone to call here in Estancia. No one she trusted, no one she wanted to open up to. Maybe McVie.

She had to wait about fifteen minutes before there was a knock at the door. A female detective came in.

“Miss Stevenson?”

“Fenway.”

“Fenway, I’m Deputy Celeste Salvador. You can call me Celeste.” She was medium height, a few inches shorter than Fenway. She looked to be in her early thirties, with umber-colored skin, and had her shoulder-length dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. Celeste had a strong chin, and dark brown eyes with heavy lids. She was wearing a black sheriff’s uniform. She offered her hand in greeting.

“Hi, Celeste.” Fenway shook her hand.

Celeste glanced at her. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.” Then Fenway paused. “No. I’ve never been shot at before.”

Celeste nodded. “I’ll tell you something. I’ve got ten years in law enforcement, and I’ve never been shot at before either. Not once.”

“I’ve got less than twenty-four hours in law enforcement, and I’ve already got you beat.”

Celeste laughed softly. “Listen, Fenway, we need a statement from you, and I need to record it. Are you ready to do that now?” When Fenway responded with a nod, Celeste put a small recorder in the middle of the table and hit the red button.

“Deputy Celeste Salvador interviewing Dominguez County Coroner Fenway Stevenson. May sixth. The time is ten twenty-three a.m.”

Fenway shook her head. It wasn’t even eleven o’clock yet.

Celeste asked Fenway to describe what happened in detail. She went over it, starting with Dez going out to get coffee because of their busy morning, Fenway starting the Google search on the toxic fumes, and then Lana bursting in, yelling. Celeste didn’t ask questions about what happened before, and nodded in a few places.

“Do you think you might have done something to antagonize Lana?” she finally asked.

“When?”

“I was thinking before she spit in your face.”

“I don’t think so. But Lana didn’t like what I was saying about not knowing anything.”

“Do you have any idea what Lana was referring to?” Celeste said.

“I didn’t then.” Fenway rested her elbows on the table. “But afterwards I saw my search found an L.A. Times article where a man named Carl Cassidy was one of the people killed in the accident. I assume Lana Cassidy and Carl Cassidy were related? She probably blames my father, and I guess she thinks I’m trying to cover it up. If she had walked in literally thirty seconds later, I would have known why she was so upset. I might have been able to talk her down.”

Celeste nodded. “Let’s get back to what she did after she spit at you.”

Fenway relayed the rest of the story. Celeste interrupted when Fenway said she bull-rushed Lana.

“Why did you go after her like that?”

“Because I thought she was going to shoot me, and I couldn’t run away. My only option was to try to get the gun away from her.” Fenway ran her hand over her face. “Honestly, I didn’t really think, I just did it. As soon as her attention was off me, and on Dez coming through the door, I just did it.”

Celeste had a couple of follow-up questions after Fenway’s story was done, but seemed satisfied enough with the answers. They shook hands and Celeste left.

Fenway stayed in the conference room for a couple minutes more, clearing her head, trying to gain her composure. Once she did leave the room, she saw the other deputy was finishing up with Dez. Fenway walked out of the office and into the ladies’ room.

She grabbed a few paper towels and washed her face with water, which got, she hoped, the rest of the tear streaks and spit off her face. She decided against trying to put makeup on now. She gave herself a once-over in the mirror, and decided she looked all right for someone who had just been assaulted with a deadly weapon. She left the ladies’ room and walked back to the coroner’s office. It looked like the deputy had left, and Dez was sitting at her desk.

Fenway went over to Dez. “Did you give your statement?”

“Yep. They told me they had everything they needed. Seems like Lana listened to her Miranda warnings, and is keeping her mouth shut for the time being.”

“Celeste seemed like a good cop.”

“One of the best.” Dez sighed. “She needs to get promoted, or go to L.A., or something. She’s too talented to get stuck here.”

Fenway paused, took a deep breath, and let it out. “Shall we go get another coffee? Somebody dropped ours all over the floor.”

She laughed. “You’re buying.”

“I get shot at and I have to buy the coffee? Some morning.”

They started the short walk down to the coffee shop. “Hey, Dez, did you know one of the guys who died in the toxic fumes at Ferris Energy was Carl Cassidy?”

She looked at Fenway. “Yes, of course. Didn’t you?”

“No, I had no idea. Any relation to Lana?”

Dez cocked her head to the side. “I forget you don’t know this town. Yes. Carl and Lana were married. Had been for almost twenty years. Lana didn’t come back to work for about two months after Carl died. She was devastated. They have a son, Shane, who’s about to graduate high school. Estancia High—the same school Megan McVie goes to.”

They arrived at Java Jim’s. The morning rush had died down long before, and Dez and Fenway were the only customers at the counter. Dez ordered a drip coffee and Fenway got her large latte, and they sat down on the same overstuffed chairs Fenway and Rachel had sat in earlier that morning.

“Estancia High is the only high school in town, right?”

“Some parents send their kids to Saint Benedictine’s over in Paso Querido. And there’s the continuation high school. But, yeah, almost all the kids in town go to Estancia. I heard Shane took his dad’s death pretty hard. He struggled this year; almost didn’t graduate. I think he’s got to go to the community college instead of going right to USC now.”

“And Lana blames my father for everything—for killing her husband, for her son not going to the college of his choice.”

Dez shrugged.

“And that’s why she came after me, after finding out the Ferris Energy accident file was stolen.”

“Well, rookie, let’s say that’s the primary theory of the case, as it stands.”

Fenway sighed, heavily. “This is so messed up.”

“It’s weird, Fenway. I’ve been working in the coroner’s office for about eight years, and I’ve investigated a bunch of deaths. Mostly suicides and drug overdoses, of course, but a few weird accidental deaths, and a handful of homicides every year.” She stood up and stretched. “But I’ve never seen anything like this. There’s never been a homicide of anyone in the office—unless you count the drunk driver who ran over one of our officers a few years ago. The homicides in this county are usually pretty straightforward: a drug deal gone wrong, or a husband killing his wife or his wife’s lover. Whoever killed Harrison Walker went through a lot of trouble to hide their motives, and there’s a lot of misdirection here.”

“So, you don’t think it was Dylan.”

“No, I don’t. I think Dylan was with McVie’s wife when Walker was murdered.”

“Me too.” Fenway took another drink of her latte.

“And I don’t think he would have been smart enough to ditch Walker’s car in a long-term lot at LAX. I think he would have taken it into the forest and abandoned it, or set it on fire, or something.”

Fenway nodded. “Yeah, good point. Stashing the car at a long-term lot seems like something someone would do who’s