The Upstaged Coroner

by Paul Austin Ardoin

  “Brian,” Fenway said, “I’m sorry, but the rest of this conversation needs to be for McVie only.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously, Brian. I’m sorry.”

  “It makes it hard for me to do my job if I don’t know the whole story.”

  McVie looked Fenway in the eyes, and she tried to communicate her fear of the mole telepathically.

  “Fenway’s right, Callahan,” McVie said. “Sorry, but you’ll have to go out of earshot for this.”

  “I could just take the cruiser back,” Callahan said. “You can all catch a ride with the sheriff.”

  “Thanks for understanding, Callahan,” McVie said, although no understanding registered on Callahan’s face.

  Piper got out of the rear seat of the cruiser, and Callahan closed the door behind her. He walked around to the driver’s side without another word, got in, and drove out, leaving the three of them in the dark parking lot.

  McVie watched the cruiser leave.

  “Okay,” Fenway said. “Here’s what’s going on. A supertanker goes into port at Ferris Energy and leaves a few days later, but that particular dock is supposed to be out of service the whole time. And the ship shows up on the Ferris Energy manifest, but it doesn’t go where it says it goes, and it doesn’t always hold the type of cargo that the manifest says it does.”

  “You’re saying Ferris Energy is hiding a tanker twice the size of a football field for three days?”

  “Three times the size,” Piper said, “and it’s more like four days.”

  “I think it’s why Carl Cassidy and Lewis Fairweather were killed,” Fenway added.

  McVie looked at Fenway, then at Piper, and then back at Fenway. He opened his mouth, closed it again, and finally spoke. “What could they possibly be doing that would get two people murdered?”

  “Embargoed oil,” Piper said. “Getting oil from La Mitad, then selling the refined gasoline and diesel to customers under u.s. sanction—we’re pretty sure it’s rebels in East Timor.”

  “And it’s making someone billions,” Fenway said.

  “And your father is involved.” McVie folded his arms.

  Fenway shook her head. “I can’t be sure, but I don’t think so. I haven’t come across his name yet in this investigation.”

  “But the buck stops with him,” McVie said. “He is the ceo, after all.”

  “Possibly,” said Fenway. “I guess he’s either involved, or he should have known and didn’t, but I haven’t seen his name come up.”

  McVie put his hands on his hips. “So, out with it, Piper. What are you doing here, and how is this Grayheath guy involved?”

  “Well,” Piper began tentatively, “there’s only one Grayheath in the county—in the dmv database, anyway. Peter. So I called him up, and I asked him if he sold a boat recently.”

  “You didn’t think that he’d be involved?”

  Piper’s eyes went wide. “Honestly, Sheriff, no. Whenever I’ve come across records, the real names are always hidden, or in code, or missing completely. The only way I’ve been able to uncover the names I have is through account numbers and cross-referencing information. When I saw a real name in that ledger, I assumed it was because he wasn’t involved at all.”

  “At what point did you think he was involved?”

  “Let’s see,” mused Piper. “When he asked why I wanted to know, I told him I was looking into some old records—I think I said it was part of a routine audit—and I noticed a payment for something related to the ocean, and I thought it was a boat or something, and he said, ‘The ocean? I can’t think of what that would be,’ and I said, ‘This clearly says Grayheath with the word sea after it’—I even spelled it. He got quiet for a minute, and then he said I must be mistaken, that he never owned or sold a boat, and said it must be another Grayheath. He wanted to get me off the phone, fast. That’s when I knew I had screwed up and that he was in on it.”

  “And that’s when you told me about it,” said Fenway. “I’m sorry I didn’t come back when I promised I would.”

  Piper didn’t say anything.

  McVie nodded. “Okay. So why did you show up here?”

  Piper screwed up her mouth. “I think he realized that I had the ledger. I think he knew that ‘Grayheath-dash-sea’ could only have been written in a few places, and I had a hunch he’d check if the ledgers were where they were supposed to be.”

  “But this ledger wasn’t where it was supposed to be.”

  “No,” Piper said, “but this is only one ledger book. The dates only cover a few months. The last page in this book ends in the middle of September. I knew there must be more, and I thought the other ones—the ones where we could keep building our case—would be at Central Auto Body. In a warehouse, or in a locked filing cabinet, something like that.”

  “So you came here.”

  “Um,” Piper said, “I might have called Marisol Velásquez first. She told me where the other ledgers might be.”

  “Mrs. Velásquez is the one who gave me the ledger in the first place,” Fenway said to McVie. She turned to Piper. “But she didn’t trust anyone in the department except me. How did you get that information out of her?”

  Piper turned red.

  “Did you tell her that you were me?” Fenway asked, an angry edge to her voice.

  “Not exactly. I said I had some questions about the ledger, and she called me ‘Miss Stevenson,’ and she told me there was a backroom with a loose floorboard.”

  “And you didn’t correct her.”

  “Well—no. I thought Grayheath was on his way, and I didn’t want to spend the time convincing Mrs. Velásquez that she could trust me.”

  McVie frowned. “You’re skating on thin ice, Piper. Burglary and impersonating an officer.”

  “Don’t blame her,” Fenway said. “I should have gone back to see Piper before I left. I knew she was concerned, and I knew it was time-sensitive, and besides, she had no intent to impersonate me.”

  McVie was still looking at Piper. “You broke in with the intent to steal those ledgers.”

  “But Mrs. Velásquez told me I could take them,” Piper said, a desperate note in her voice. “She told me where to find them.”

  McVie exhaled loudly. “You know she thought she was telling Fenway, not you. That still makes it burglary—and that’s still a felony.”

  “Oh, come on,” Fenway said. “It’s not like she did a home invasion. This is a commercial building—it’s a misdemeanor at most.”

  “Misdemeanors are for shoplifting, not for breaking into a commercial establishment after hours.”

  “You can’t be serious, Craig.” Fenway’s tone was sharp. “You honestly think Piper wouldn’t get a jury of her peers to disagree with that?”

  “It’s still not ethical, Piper,” McVie said, “and now we can’t use any of that in court.”

  “But—but I didn’t get it,” Piper said. “I didn’t even make it into the backroom. If the ledgers are there, I didn’t see them. I didn’t touch them.”

  McVie shook his head. “We’ll deal with your criminal acts later. It’s a good thing you didn’t get into that backroom.”

  “I still think Grayheath will destroy those ledgers as soon as he can. He was about to go into that backroom when he heard the sirens.”

  McVie set his jaw. “That’s why we’ll get Marisol Velásquez out here to make sure nothing was taken.”

  Chapter Nine

  Piper profusely apologized to both McVie and Fenway, and as it dawned on her the seriousness of what she had done, her face grew ashen. Fenway felt bad for Piper because McVie was treating her like a disappointed father would.

  After McVie woke up Marisol Velásquez, and she agreed to come to Central Auto Body, Piper slunk into her Prius and drove off.

  McVie leaned against the driver door of the Highlander and watched the Toyota’s taillights disappear. “I don’t know what she was thinking,” he muttered, staring into the darkness.

 
“That she needed to save evidence from getting destroyed,” Fenway said. She stood next to McVie, and looked at the parking lot exit where Piper’s car had vanished around the bend.

  “She doesn’t usually take risks like that.”

  “She wouldn’t have if I had gone and talked to her like I promised. This is a big deal.” Fenway wrung her hands. “We’re talking about a billion-dollar conspiracy, national security, lots of people high up getting a piece of the pie.” Fenway looked over at McVie. “And you haven’t even heard about the money laundering yet.”

  “Money laundering?”

  “You don’t think a billion dollars in profit can just show up without tripping alarms, do you?”

  McVie’s eyes widened. “No one can launder a billion dollars.”

  “I said the same thing when Piper told me about it.” Fenway looked around. She didn’t see anyone, but she lowered her voice anyway. “She said there are a bunch of companies in Estancia that are laundering a few million each—and she’s right.”

  “That would have to be dozens of businesses.”

  “Right.”

  “Are there even that many businesses in Dominguez County?”

  Fenway shrugged. “Maybe not, but Dr. Tassajera was in on it. So was Jeremy Kapp’s landscaping company, and so was Central Auto Body. Piper’s sure there are more.”

  McVie looked at Fenway. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

  “When, Craig? When would I have told you? Piper uncovered all of this—jeez, I think it was the day before the election.” Fenway smirked. “As I recall, when you came over that night, neither one of us were that keen to talk about work.”

  McVie smiled and elbowed Fenway. “We weren’t that keen to talk at all, if I remember right.”

  “Yeah. You remember right.” She looked sideways at him. “I sure didn’t think we’d talk this much tonight, either.”

  “Hazards of the job.”

  They were silent for a few minutes.

  “So,” McVie said, “you think Grayheath is involved in this whole thing?”

  “Piper’s right a lot more often than she’s wrong,” said Fenway. “But her judgment might be a little off on this one because I think she’s scared.”

  “Scared?”

  “Yes. She uncovered what looks like a massive conspiracy. A billion dollars in laundered money. Frankly, I can’t believe that there aren’t alarm bells going off with some big law enforcement agency somewhere—Interpol, the u.s. Attorney’s Office, Homeland Security.”

  McVie furrowed his brow. “Yeah. It seems like this is too big to go under the radar.”

  “Which means someone high up in law enforcement either isn’t doing their job, or is on the take.”

  He shook his head. “Don’t jump to conclusions. If this is spread out among a hundred businesses, like you say it is, that means there are a hundred businesses showing the same sort of financial transactions. If the system is built to report anomalies, maybe it doesn’t think a hundred businesses showing the same transaction types are anomalous.”

  Fenway nodded. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  McVie turned toward Fenway. “It’s not that you shouldn’t worry about it. You and Piper are smart to be careful.”

  “But you’re saying we might not need to look over our shoulders.”

  McVie was quiet.

  A Dodge Ram pickup, one of its headlights dimmer than the other, drove into the lot.

  “I think that’s Mrs. Velásquez now,” Fenway said.

  The pickup ground to a stop in front of them and the door opened. Marisol Velásquez jumped to the ground.

  “Hi, Mrs. Velásquez.” Fenway nodded at her.

  “I’m so sorry, Miss Stevenson. I swear I thought that was you on the phone when you called. I didn’t know I was—”

  “No, no, don’t worry about it. We’re dealing with her later,” said Fenway. “The sheriff and I just have to know if anything else is missing.”

  “We can trust the sheriff?” she said to Fenway, but eyeing him.

  McVie gave Mrs. Velásquez a tight smile.

  “We can,” Fenway said.

  Marisol scrutinized McVie’s face. “Okay,” she said. She pulled a large keychain out of her purse and opened the front door. “Who did you say was here earlier with that woman who works for you?”

  “A man named Peter Grayheath,” McVie replied. “He said his manager told him to keep an eye on this place, but he doesn’t work here.”

  “I’ve never heard of him,” Mrs. Velásquez said. “I mean, he might work for Domingo, but I don’t think so. I know most of his mechanics.”

  “He’s not a mechanic,” Fenway said. “At least, he doesn’t dress like a mechanic. He was in a suit. Blue dress shirt, top two buttons undone. The kind of guy who thinks he’s so handsome he can get away with anything.”

  “Is he?”

  “Is he what?”

  “Handsome.”

  Fenway looked sideways at McVie. “Yes, but not as handsome as he thinks he is.”

  “I would have remembered a handsome man in a suit who worked for….” Marisol frowned.

  “What is it?” Fenway said.

  “On Friday, I come by the office to see if Domingo wants to go to lunch, and I see a strange car in the driveway, and a strange man in the office, too. Handsome, yes, but he looks arrogant.”

  Fenway pulled out her phone. “Hang on,” she said, bringing up the photo of Peter Grayheath. “Is this the guy?” She turned the screen toward Mrs. Velásquez.

  She looked carefully and then nodded. “I didn’t get a long look at him, but yes, that could be him.”

  “What kind of car?”

  “A big sedan. Maybe a Lincoln or Cadillac. It looked fancy, but estadunidense fancy, not like a German car.”

  “He was in Mr. Velásquez’s office?” Fenway asked.

  “Yes,” Mrs. Velásquez said. “Neither one of them looked happy. They were arguing about something.”

  “Did you hear any of the conversation?” McVie said.

  Mrs. Velásquez closed her eyes tight and was silent for a moment. “The other man said that they had a good thing going, I think. That wasn’t exactly what he said. Maybe ‘too good of a thing going.’ And Domingo said that it wasn’t him, or that he wasn’t at fault, or something like that. Honestly, I thought he was from your father’s company.” She nodded at Fenway. “I thought maybe a car had crashed, or had come in with damage on the inside, and Domingo said that he hadn’t done it.”

  “Has that happened before, that kind of confrontation?”

  “Not usually with Mr. Ferris,” Mrs. Velásquez said. “He is a great client. Domingo usually likes working with him.” She lifted her head and stared at the wall. “You know he gives us a bonus at Christmas, every year. It’s big, too, about twenty percent of what we charge him throughout the year. No questions asked, won’t let Domingo refuse it, so we always make sure your father’s fleet is top priority.”

  Of course, that’s why he does it. And then, Fenway remembered that it had been her father who went over to the Velásquez house to give them his condolences about Rory.

  She looked at Marisol. The woman was strong, standing up straight, not in a defeated or depressed posture, and yet there was a sadness behind her eyes, and when Fenway recognized it, suddenly it was all she saw. She cleared her throat.

  “How long did Mr. Grayheath stay?” Fenway asked.

  Mrs. Velásquez shook her head. “I don’t know. With Domingo busy, I waited around for about five minutes, but then I left. I didn’t know how long that meeting would go on, and I had errands to run.”

  Fenway almost asked if her kids were in school that day, but then she remembered that Rory had had a teacher in-service day, and decided that she didn’t want to open a fresh wound with that question.

  “Grayheath didn’t tell us he was here on Friday,” McVie said.

  “No,” Fenway mused. “You would think that would be something
he’d have mentioned.”

  “You would think.”

  Mrs. Velásquez dug through the large number of keys on her ring, and she unlocked the door with a large copper colored key.

  “All right,” said Fenway, “shall we see if the ledgers are in here?”

  “Are you sure that man didn’t take them?” Mrs. Velásquez asked.

  “Almost positive,” McVie said. “He didn’t have anything in his hands when he left, and I don’t think he got into the backroom.”

  “But he got inside?”

  McVie nodded.

  “Why didn’t you arrest him? He is trespassing. This is my property. I don’t want him here.”

  McVie harrumphed. “He had a key. I’m not sure where he got it, but he said his supervisor asked him to keep an eye on the place. It seemed like he knew what he was doing.”

  Fenway grimaced, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Mrs. Velásquez grunt. Grayheath was trespassing, and neither McVie nor Callahan had batted an eye. Of course, Fenway hadn’t either, but she was also stuck in the car the whole time.

  “I don’t understand,” Mrs. Velásquez said. “You know this building is owned by us. You know our employees are all mechanics. Why do you just assume he belongs here? He might have stolen cash, tools, customer lists, computer equipment. Just because he was in a suit?”

  Fenway heard the unspoken words, too—just because he was a white man?

  McVie seemed to hear the subtext as well because he paled and shifted uncomfortably. “I, uh,” he said. “I suppose I made some bad assumptions.” He looked at Mrs. Velásquez. “Do you want to press charges against him?”

  Mrs. Velásquez sighed. “For what? Will that bring Rory back? Will that bring Domingo home?” She shook her head adamantly. “The time for that has passed. Whatever he took, whatever he stole—now he’s had plenty of time to hide or get rid of it.”