“I was there when McVie made the first phone call to her,” she said. “She’s been in the loop. I knew there was something else going on than her being mad at you.”
“But you played along.”
Dez clapped Fenway on the shoulder. “I’ve been doing this a long time, rookie.”
Fenway’s phone buzzed. It was a message from McVie.
Coming to your office to get my car
“That McVie?” Dez said.
“Yeah. I need to give him his car keys.” Fenway put her hands on her hips. “Seriously, has Dominguez County ever had this many open homicide cases at one time?”
“Hey,” Dez said, “Listen, I know I call you ‘rookie’ all the time, and I ride your ass. But don’t beat yourself up over this. You solved one murder while winning an election. That’s something. You’ve got the highest close rate on homicides of any coroner in this county’s history.”
“If you don’t count the last three.”
“Which have been active cases for less than a week.”
“Still, it’s a small sample size,” Fenway said.
“It’s always a small sample size.”
“Not if we don’t catch the person who’s responsible for the other murders last week. I’m afraid it’ll keep multiplying.”
“I don’t know,” said Dez carefully. “Look, Jeremy Kapp’s murder was a family thing, personal. Now that that fact is public, that it had nothing to do with money laundering, maybe whoever killed Dr. Tassajera and Rory Velásquez will realize the killing can stop now.”
Fenway shook her head. “Maybe, but we still need to investigate whether Jessica Marquez got herself involved with these other payments.”
“You can’t jump to conclusions that Jessica Marquez’s death had something to do with the other murders. Don’t get ahead of yourself. And remember—you’ve assigned me to the Marquez case. I happen to think I should dig through her financials, but you better believe I’ll keep an open mind.”
“Look for payments like the ones Jeremy Kapp and Dr. Tassajera received.”
“Hey—no. I’ll look for evidence of motive. If anything is connected, I’ll point it out. But I won’t have any preconceived ideas of what I might find.”
Fenway nodded. “Right—yes. I know you’re right.”
Dez cocked her head and looked at Fenway. “Did you get any sleep when you went back home?”
Fenway shrugged. “I tried. Couldn’t sleep. I called Charlotte, which was a mistake.”
“Your dad out of jail yet?”
Fenway shook her head. “No. I’m not sure what’s going on. I ran into the detective from Bellingham on my way over here, and I think there’s a jurisdictional issue. I guess my father’s rich lawyers can’t seem to make any headway on getting him out. Maybe I can talk to the d.a. and find out what’s going on.”
“You should take the day off. Try to get some rest.”
“I need to be briefed on the Marquez case.”
“Yes, and we need to get Piper started on the financial records, and we need to keep the feelers out for Domingo Velásquez. But you won’t do any good if you’re exhausted.”
“We’ve got three open homicides,” Fenway said.
“Listen, rookie,” Dez said, “you’re for real now. You’re not babysitting the position anymore. You’re not here to keep everyone happy. You’re here to make sure that we do everything we can to get to the bottom of every suspicious death. But you’ve got a staff. A good staff I know you believe in. Mark and me—you know we’re good. And you know we’ve got your back—Migs too. But you’ve got to realize the rest of us can shoulder an equal amount of the load. If you let us help you, you’ll be in a position to do your best work.”
“You’re right,” Fenway said, avoiding Dez’s eyes.
“Hah!” Dez said. “Of course I’m right. I got a couple of write-ups for insubordination over the years to prove it, too.” She lowered her voice. “Listen, Fenway, I’ll make you a deal. You show me you’re okay letting your team handle their share of the work in these homicides, and I won’t call you ‘rookie’ anymore.”
“Not at all?”
Dez grinned. “Well, not in front of other people.”
Fenway paused. “Look, Dez, I’ve never managed anyone before. I’ve always had to rely on myself, think on my feet. I’m not used to it.”
“Are you making an excuse to keep being a control freak? Or are you asking for help figuring out what you can assign to me, Mark, and Migs?”
“Uh, I guess I’m asking for help.”
“No problem,” Dez said. “I’ve done some management in my time. If I see you drowning in work, or you feel yourself pulled in a bunch of different directions and you don’t know what to do, talk to me.”
“All right, it’s a deal.” Fenway smiled at Dez, then picked up the folder that Mrs. Velásquez had given her. She walked out with Dez. Piper was sitting on Migs’s desk again, dangling her legs as he smiled at her through a mouthful of cake.
“Thanks for the cake, Piper,” Fenway said.
“You’re welcome,” she said. “By the way, the warrant came through for Jessica Marquez’s financials. I should be getting access to the files soon.”
“Those warrants came through fast.”
“There wasn’t much to consider against it,” Piper said. “McVie ran into a judge on his way in and dragged him back into the building to sign it.”
“Even getting the application for the warrant done that quickly? Someone was sure on the ball.”
“You’re welcome,” Migs said.
“Ah,” Fenway said. “I should have guessed. Thanks, Migs.”
“See, Fenway?” Dez said. “We’ve all got your back.”
“You’ll miss me when I’m a real lawyer,” he said. Piper lightly punched him on the shoulder.
“Hey, Piper, walk with me, would you?” said Fenway.
“Oh. Sure.” She hopped down from the desk. “I’ll see you after work, Migs.”
Dez said, “I’ll do some paperwork and head to Nidever in about an hour. Catch me before I leave, if you want a briefing.”
Fenway nodded, walked around the front desk, and held open the door; Piper went through.
“Everything okay?” Piper said in a low voice.
“We got something, but we can’t let anyone know we have it,” Fenway said. “Because it might endanger the person who gave it to me.”
“Oh, okay, understood.”
Fenway stopped and looked Piper in the eye. “I mean anyone,” she repeated. “That means no one else in the it department. That means talk to me, and me only about what you find. Make sure you do your research so it can’t be tracked.”
Piper’s eyes widened. “You think someone on the inside—”
“I don’t know what I think,” Fenway interrupted, “and I won’t play around when I don’t know what the risk is. I trust you, Piper. Keep this between you and me. Not even Migs.”
“But Migs is—”
“I know. I trust Migs too, but the more people know, the more this could go off the rails. I’m not telling Mark. I’m not even telling McVie.”
“Wow.” Piper paused. “Did you tell Dez?”
“Dez figured out what was going on already,” Fenway said. “But I wouldn’t have told her if she hadn’t.”
Piper was quiet for a moment.
Fenway tapped the folder. “There are more financial records in here, so you need to be careful with it.”
“More financial records? From who?”
“This is a ledger and a bunch of spreadsheets from Central Auto Body.”
“That’s the shop owned by Rory’s father, right?”
“Right.”
“I’ve already got a bunch of their financial records. Lots of sketchy payments back and forth.”
“Right, but I’m hoping we can connect some of those payments and shell companies to real people. I think Domingo Velásquez made some notes. We might get some insights�
��and hopefully, some real names.”
They walked down the hallway and stopped at the door to the it office.
“You okay?” asked Fenway.
“Uh, yeah,” said Piper, reaching out to turn the door handle, then pausing. “Actually—no.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Last week, we’ve had four murders in Dominguez County,” she said. “Sure, violent crime has risen the last few years, but we only had one murder all of last year.”
Fenway shook her head. “Carl Cassidy and Lewis Fairweather are getting reclassified as homicides,” Fenway said.
“Okay,” Piper said, “but that’s still three last year and four last week. The people involved in this money laundering scheme for the oil that supposedly isn’t coming in and isn’t being shipped out? They’re all dropping dead.”
“But Jeremy Kapp’s murder wasn’t because of that,” Fenway whispered. “He was involved, but the money laundering didn’t factor into the motive.”
“I know,” Piper said, “but I know you think the other murders were. I think whoever is behind those murders started to freak out when Jeremy Kapp was killed, and they started putting a plan in motion.”
Fenway smiled. “That’s exactly what I told Dez.”
“And you’re not freaking out?”
“Why? You’re afraid you’ll get caught up in it?”
“Yes! I’m just a computer geek. I’m not on the front lines. I’m not carrying a gun to work every day. I’m happy sitting in front of my pc and getting overtime if I don’t leave by five. I’m going a little crazy.”
Fenway paused. “Okay,” she said after a moment. “I’m not sure what I can do, but I’ll figure something out.” She paused. “You know what will make us safe?”
“Catching this guy,” Piper said.
“Right.”
“And I’m the only one who can help.”
Fenway shrugged. “I guess we’d figure out a way to get it done if you weren’t here—actually, no, we probably wouldn’t. You’re crucial. You have a unique skill set here.”
“I wish my paycheck reflected that.”
“That’s the spirit.” Fenway handed her the folder. Piper took it, opened the door, and stepped into the it office, shutting the door behind her.
Fenway turned, intending to go back into her office and get a briefing on that morning’s activities, but instead walked down the hallway and went outside.
The gray of the morning had settled into midday as well, and the wind had picked up, coming cold and damp off the ocean. She stood close to the sidewalk, breathing the wet air, and decided she was ready to go in. She turned—and a sharp pain in her knee almost made her lose her balance. She caught herself, wincing, then gingerly felt her knee; it still hurt to the touch, but the sharp pain receded and then it was fine again.
Fenway straightened up, and it hit her, all at once, how tired she was. The lack of sleep—not only from the night before, but all week—descended upon her, and she was so overwhelmed for a minute she had to hold back tears.
She couldn’t remember the last time she had a good night’s sleep. Fenway was often used to being exhausted at the end of the workday with the coroner’s responsibilities, but she was usually able to fall into a deep, heavy sleep quickly, even when she had a full day ahead of her, or a problem she couldn’t solve. But this was different. The explosion in the parking garage. The vandalized car. The brick through her window. Now she had to—as McVie put it—delegate responsibility, making sure her team did the job right without doing it herself. All while showing the world that she was calm and levelheaded.
But she didn’t feel calm and levelheaded anymore. The last few days were clawing at the back of her mind, and more than anything, she wanted to pull up the covers and forget about life for a few hours. Or maybe even a few days.
She didn’t want to quit, though. The job had its hooks in her.
She wondered what would have happened if she hadn’t run for coroner. If she had just babysat the coroner’s office like she was supposed to. That had been the deal with her father, after all.
Maybe the last two killers she caught would have gotten away with it.
Maybe her father’s handpicked candidate would have won the election instead.
But it still wouldn’t have gotten her away from the four murders in the last week. Granted, she wouldn’t have had to deal with the election at the same time, but without the election, she might not have known about the refinery’s political deals. And that might be the key to solving the case.
Of course, McVie might not have run for mayor without Fenway running for coroner. He might be looking forward to four more years as sheriff instead of staring bleakly at an unknown future. In fact, she and McVie would probably already be dating, with neither of them needing to hold off on anything because of the election. She’d be applying to hospitals and clinics for open nursing positions, maybe a few not even in Estancia.
Maybe it would have been good. Maybe she would have been happier.
Her phone rang.
It was McVie.
“Hey,” she said, trying to sound calm and happy.
“Hey,” McVie said. “Sorry, I got waylaid.”
“Yeah. I got waylaid, too. Rory’s mom came into the office when I was there and she—”
Fenway bit her tongue. She had almost told McVie about the ledger.
“She what?”
“She was angry with me for not doing more to help out on her son’s investigation.”
“What?”
“I know. I told her you were handling it, but she read me the riot act in my office.”
McVie grunted. “I guess I should have been keeping her more informed. I mean, I thought I was doing okay with her, but we don’t have much to go on. A bunch of leads haven’t led anywhere, and we’re still waiting for the lab results.” He paused. “And I checked—you won’t get your car for another few days, but they’ll make sure it’s at the front of the line for processing.”
“They haven’t even started processing it yet?”
“Sorry. The lab is backed up. You know how it is.”
“What the hell are they doing with it? My car didn’t even get covered with that debris from the bomb. I mean—the blast totaled a couple of cars on either side. Mine was at least fifty feet away.”
“Ask them. I don’t know what’s taking so long.”
Fenway opened her mouth to rant some more, then closed it. “Okay, sorry. I know it’s not your responsibility. Come on over. Your keys are on my desk.”
“Okay. I’m going back to Nidever and interviewing a few of the students now. Pruitt finally agreed to make them available.”
“That’s good.”
McVie was silent for a moment.
“So—I’ll see you in a few minutes?” Fenway prodded.
“Yeah. A few minutes.”
Fenway hung up and went inside.
“Okay,” Dez said, cutting herself another slice of cake and following Fenway into her office. “So. The evidence from this morning.”
“Right,” Fenway said, settling into her seat.
“Open up your email. You should have the photos in there by now.”
Fenway woke up her pc and found several dozen photos in her email.
“Okay, rookie,” Dez said, “the first few are the fragment of bone and the piece of glass you found. The techs have them now. Just one other item I found in the stairwell—a stray hair, visual match to Jessica Marquez.”
“Okay. Did you cordon off the second-floor hallway?”
Dez smirked. “Yeah—that university president sure got his panties in a twist over that one, let me tell you.”
“I’m sure you handled him with your usual charming diplomacy, Dez.”
“You know it. My voice is the music that soothes the savage beast.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, something like that, anyway.” She turned Fenway’s monitor so she could see it better. “No
w, at the side of the hallway, photo 6a.”
Fenway squinted. “Is that a big earring?”
“Nope. It’s a button.”
Fenway enlarged the photo until it filled her screen. The metal button had been treated to look like brushed nickel, with a small emblem on the front: a stylized k and an equally stylized q, intertwined in a latticework pattern. It was a famous logo on an expensive-looking button.
“Not just any button, either,” Dez said.
“Is that a Kendra Quinlan logo?”
“Sure is. I see someone was paying attention during Fashion Week.”
“Well, rich-kids’ school, right?”
Dez nodded. “Right.”
“But who knows how long that button was there?”
“I can’t be sure,” Dez said, “but I talked with the cleaning staff, and that hallway got cleaned last night at six thirty. They might not clean the corners the way my mother would have wanted, but they do okay. And they wouldn’t have missed this button. It’s not like it was hidden or wedged in a corner. I think someone dropped it there last night. You can’t see this in the photo, but there’s not much dust on it. It hasn’t been there long.”
“Okay. What else?”
“So have you heard of this group that Jessica Marquez managed?”
“Uh, no. You mean the theater group?”
Dez nodded. “She was the—let me see.” Dez flipped through her notebook. “Here it is. She was the general manager of the North American Shakespeare Guild.”
“Wow, that sounds fancy.”
“I think it’s intentional that it sounds fancier than it is. But Nidever agreed to have this professor run things—you might have heard of him. Professor Virgil Cygnus?”
Fenway shook her head. “But I’ve only been around here for six months, remember?”
Dez nodded. “Yeah. I see their plays every year. They’re student-led—I guess there’s a class associated with it—but it’s a lot more professional than most local theater I’ve seen. Certainly around here, anyway. Not a whole lot of cultural experiences in Estancia, and Professor Cygnus seems like he cares about the text. He gets a little crazy sometimes, though. They did a production of The Merchant of Venice last year that—I swear to God—had a live capuchin monkey.”
“A live monkey?”
The Upstaged Coroner Page 4