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

Fenway was lost in thought on the drive back to Estancia. She was almost on autopilot, with only the sound of the GPS voice.

She could feel the pieces starting to slip into place, even though there were twice as many murders to solve as the day before. It also looked increasingly likely she’d have to provide Sheriff McVie with an alibi that could wreck his marriage and career, and, Fenway feared, derail her plans in California before they even got off the ground.

She made the trip back in a little under an hour. Fenway walked from the parking garage to the office in the sunlight, which, a month ago, in rainy Seattle, she would have welcomed. Now, rather than enjoy the weather, she was impatient to get inside and do more research to figure out how the pieces would fit together.

Dez looked up as she entered. “Hey, Fenway. Any news?”

“You first. Anything come back from the phone records between Dylan and Lana?”

“We went back a year on both of their cell phones. Lana’s home phone, too. Nothing between them, and nothing between their phones and any suspicious numbers. Lana called a lot of people after Carl was killed, but it was mostly extended family members, lawyers, the funeral home, florists, that kind of thing.”

Fenway deflated slightly. “That wasn’t what I was expecting.”

“I did find a ton of texts, phone calls, and private social media messages between Dylan and Amy McVie, though. Going back about six months. Dylan didn’t keep any of this stuff private. Since I was able to find out about Dylan and Amy so easily—I found all kinds of stuff in about ten minutes—then for sure I would have found something by now between Dylan and Lana.”

“So it doesn’t look like Dylan and Lana were sleeping together.”

“Early indications, anyway. But that’s not all. Since you said Carl uncovered Lana’s affair with someone—not necessarily Dylan—I paid attention to any calls or texts that were regularly sent. I didn’t see anything that looked like an affair to me—not from a younger man, not from an older man, not from a woman. Nothing. I also took a look at Lana’s social media accounts, and looked to see if she had an account with any of the dating or affair sites. That’ll take a little longer to get through, of course, but so far, no hits. It doesn’t look like Lana was cheating at all.”

“That’s crazy.” Then Fenway remembered who she got the information from. “Ah, crap. My father gave me bad information. Again.”

Dez shrugged.

“He told me Carl hired a private investigator to look into the affairs. It might be worth seeing if Carl had any outgoing money to any P.I. firms locally, but if my dad lied about Lana’s affair, I bet the P.I. doesn’t exist either.”

Dez nodded. “Okay. Now you.”

Fenway leaned against the desk and pulled the notes out of her purse. “Dylan Richards was murdered. The killer tried to make it look like a suicide by hanging.”

Dez pursed her lips and shook her head.

“And the gun they pulled out of Dylan’s garden was a weapon custom-made for the California Highway Patrol, and it was the weapon that killed Walker.”

“Ugh. Someone’s going way far out of their way to set Dylan up.”

“Let’s not jump to conclusions yet, Dez. Dylan had motive—the video of Walker and Rachel.”

“What?” Migs sprang up from his chair. “What video of Walker and Rachel?”

Fenway put her hand up. “Hold on, Migs,” she said. “Dylan had the weapon. The CHP stopped using that gun a few years ago. Dylan could have bought it at auction or something.”

Dez furrowed her brow. “Be careful about your conclusions, too, Fenway. Dylan didn’t have the weapon. Dylan’s garden had the weapon. Anyone could have jumped the fence and gotten in there. And the anonymous tip was awfully convenient.”

“But Dylan lied about his alibi,” Fenway pointed out.

“Yes,” said Dez, “but a neighbor saw his truck in front of the sheriff’s house.”

“In front of the sheriff’s house?” Migs exclaimed. “What was he doing at the sheriff’s house?”

Fenway continued, “The neighbor said he wasn’t sure it was Sunday night. Now pipe down, Migs. We’re trying to figure this out.”

“You guys don’t tell me anything.”

Dez pulled a sheet of paper out of a folder. “Plus, the report came back on Dylan’s cell phone. It pinged cell towers right in the area of the McVies’ house.”

“Doesn’t necessarily mean Dylan was there,” Fenway pointed out.

“Enough for reasonable doubt for most juries, though.”

Fenway looked at the floor and pinched the bridge of her nose, thinking. “We should interview Amy McVie.”

“You have a death wish.” Dez shook her head.

“That may be true, but we should still interview her. In fact, we should interview her before she finds out Dylan is dead. If we can do it so she convinces us he was with her, then I agree with you, Dez, someone is definitely trying to set Dylan up to take the fall.”

“I can’t believe you still doubt he’s being set up,” Dez said. “He was murdered, but someone staged it to look like a suicide. Come