The Upstaged Coroner

by Paul Austin Ardoin

  Xavier blinked hard, then looked down at the table.

  “You have anything to say?”

  He rubbed his hand over his face, from forehead to chin. “No one was supposed to know.”

  “That you and Jessica were having an affair?”

  Xavier laughed, although a little sadness rounded off the corners. “An affair. That sounds so bourgeois.”

  “What would you call it?”

  He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I don’t know. I guess I’d call it having a good time.”

  “What do you think Amanda would call it?”

  Xavier was quiet. Fenway let him sit in the silence for a moment. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

  She was the first one to speak. “When was the last time you saw Jessica?”

  Xavier looked up toward the ceiling. “Let me see. Uh—I’m not sure. It must have been earlier in the week. I was trying to get one of my costumes taken care of. There was an issue with the fit in the shoulders, I think.”

  “When was that? Monday? Yesterday?”

  “Maybe it was last week. It definitely wasn’t yesterday.” Xavier groaned. “We’re right up against opening night. The days are all running together for me. I’m at rehearsals for six or eight hours every night.”

  “Okay,” Fenway said. “How about Tuesday night? What did you do?”

  “We were rehearsing the early scenes,” Xavier said. “Amanda was out of there by eight o’clock. I didn’t get out of rehearsal till eleven. And I, uh, I texted Amanda just before I left.”

  “Ah. So it was a booty call.”

  He grinned sheepishly. “I wanted to see her. I got home and made myself some dinner. She got to my place about midnight and we—uh, went to bed.”

  “It took her an hour to get from her dorm to your apartment?”

  Xavier shrugged. “She texted me that she was on her way, but then I told her I was eating dinner, and she said she’d see me in a little while.”

  “Where do you think she went?”

  “I don’t know. I figured she just stayed in her dorm and did homework. And we’re not exclusive—for all I know she was with another guy until she came to my place.”

  “Would that bother you?”

  Xavier shrugged. “A little, I guess.”

  “But you think it might bother her a lot to find out about you and Jessica?”

  “Maybe.” He paused. “You—uh, you won’t tell Amanda that I was sleeping with Jessica, will you?”

  “You don’t think she knows already?”

  “Uh—I hope not. Like I said, we’re not exclusive, but I don’t want to hurt her.”

  “If she knows already, do you think she’d have a motive for hurting Jessica?”

  Xavier put his hands on his knees. “No. No way. She’d never hurt anybody.”

  “But you just said she wouldn’t like it if she found out about you and Jessica. She wouldn’t confront her about the affair?”

  “It wasn’t an affair! It’s not like Amanda and I are official or anything. For all I know, she’s seeing other guys.”

  Fenway narrowed her eyes at Xavier. “Now, come on, Xavier. I can tell just by the way you said that. She’s only seeing you, and you know she thinks it’s exclusive. It absolutely would devastate her to find out about you and Jessica. That’s why you don’t want me to say anything.”

  “Yeah, fine, all right, but she still wouldn’t confront Jessica. She’d confront me.”

  Fenway stayed silent for a moment, but Xavier offered nothing else. Fenway leaned forward slightly. “Have you seen the Bardy award that The Guild won for Merchant of Venice?”

  Xavier screwed up his face in thought. “Those ugly awards? Man, if I never see another Bardy again, it’ll be too soon. Yeah, I know it. The Bardies are on the shelf in The Guild office.”

  “That sounds right.”

  “I mean, I’ve seen them before, and Professor Cygnus talks about them a lot, but I don’t know when the last time I noticed them was. Why?” Then a light ignited in his eyes. “Oh. One of them is missing. Or maybe it was the weapon. That’s it, right?”

  “Have you seen it in the last couple of days?”

  “No.”

  “Not on stage, not in the theater—nothing?”

  “Right.”

  “You have a roommate or a family member who can confirm where you were between eleven thirty and one thirty?”

  Xavier shifted uncomfortably. “That’s when Jessica was killed?”

  Fenway pressed her lips together. “We’re just trying to establish some timelines, that’s all.”

  “Then, uh, I don’t know. I think my roommate was home, but he was asleep in his room. Maybe. He might have been staying over at his girlfriend’s. If he was home, he might have heard me come in, or he might have heard Amanda come over.”

  “I’ll need your roommate’s name and contact information.”

  “Um—yeah, sure, that shouldn’t be a problem.”

  Fenway took her notebook and pen out of her purse and handed it to Xavier, who scribbled the name and number down, then handed them back. Fenway glanced at it.

  “His name is Tony?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He around now?”

  “Should be. He’s got a break between classes.”

  “Okay, thanks.” Fenway stood up.

  “All right,” Xavier said, getting to his feet. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  Xavier started to leave and then turned his head back. “Coroner,” he said, “look—I know I wasn’t real forthcoming with you about my relationship with Jessica, and I know I wasn’t serious about her, but, still, I liked her. Not the same way I care about Amanda, but still—she didn’t deserve to be killed. So, please, find out who did this.”

  Fenway nodded. “That’s just what we’re trying to do.”

  Xavier opened the door, hesitated a moment, then exited into the admin building.

  Chapter Twelve

  Fenway turned off the recorder and put it back in her purse. Should she go join Dez, or leave her alone? After a few minutes of waiting, she stood up and stretched her arms above her head and walked down the hall to the glass windows of the conference room.

  Amanda looked stricken, her face melting in grief. Dez sat at the head of the table, watching Amanda through narrowed eyes. She got up and walked to a side table where she picked up a box of tissues and handed it to Amanda.

  So much for Xavier not wanting Amanda to find out about his affair with Jessica.

  Fenway returned to the workroom and sat down on the folding chair. She called the number in her notebook for Xavier’s roommate, who told her that on Tuesday night Xavier had come home, and then Amanda came over. He didn’t know exactly what time either of them arrived. She ended the call in disappointment.

  After another ten minutes, Fenway heard the door of the conference room open and the muted voices of Amanda and Dez. After a moment, Dez came into the workroom.

  “That looked rough,” Fenway said.

  “I hated to do it. She bawled.”

  “He asked me not to tell her.”

  “Too bad for him. It gives her motive.”

  “You think Amanda knew about Xavier and Jessica being together?”

  Dez shrugged. “She’s a great actor. I couldn’t tell if she knew or not. Of course, she said she didn’t—she even denied it, and said how stupid she was, on and on.”

  “You find out where she was the night of the murder?”

  Dez nodded. “She said she stopped at a convenience store. Bought a couple of lottery tickets.”

  “Lottery tickets?”

  “The last refuge of the hopes and dreams of kids who grow up without money,” Dez said.

  “I never bought lottery tickets when I was in college.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re the exception that proves the rule.”

  “Should we go see if any other students are over by the t
heater?” asked Fenway.

  Dez chuckled. “Surely you’re not suggesting we go talk to them without Dr. Pruitt’s permission.”

  “I mean, if we just happen to run into Professor Cygnus, and if we just happen to ask him questions—”

  “Yeah, well, good luck with that.”

  “Maybe I could take a look at the ransacked office.”

  Dez nodded. “That’s not the worst idea. Maybe something will click.”

  “Has anyone cleaned it up?”

  Dez shook her head. “I think we have until Monday. The students and the professor are too busy with Othello.”

  They walked across campus, students on bikes whizzing by on the paths. The two of them diagonally cut across the quad near DiFazio Hall.

  Afternoon classes were in full swing, and the empty first-floor hallway echoed with their footsteps. They wandered into the lobby, and Fenway started to pull the door to the theater open before she realized a lecture class was in session. She quickly let go of the door handle.

  “I guess we struck out,” she said.

  “Did you want to see the office while we’re here?”

  “Might as well.”

  They went to the stairwell, where the body of Jessica Marquez had lain. The cleanup had been thorough; there was no sign of blood. Dez and Fenway were silent as they walked up the metal staircase to the second floor.

  The Guild’s office was at the other end of the hallway, past several classrooms and offices. They walked past quietly, Fenway feeling as if she were in a library. Stopping in front of the office door, Dez pulled a key out of her pocket and unlocked the office to the North American Shakespeare Guild.

  The room was in half darkness; the gray sky filtered weak light through the drawn blinds. Even in the shadows, Fenway could tell that the room had been tossed. She carefully reached out and with a single gloved finger flicked the light on.

  The fluorescents sparkled and snapped, then came on with a low hum. Blue-tinged light washed over the space.

  Four desks were in the room, one at each corner. The drawers in each desk were either pulled open or missing, and two tall file cabinets stood on the other side of the room from the window, each with a drawer pulled out. Folders and paper covered the floor.

  “Looks a lot like the pictures, Dez.”

  “I’m a talented photographer. I changed my last name from Liebowitz.”

  “Only one pc tower in this front office?”

  Dez nodded.

  “Hmm,” Fenway mused.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know. Something seems off.”

  “What?”

  “If I knew, I’d tell you.” Fenway shook her head back and forth, as if to get the blood flowing. “Jessica’s office is behind that door?” she asked, pointing.

  Dez nodded.

  Fenway pulled her phone out of her purse and picked her way over the papers and furniture to Jessica Marquez’s office. She opened the door, revealing open drawers, chairs on their side, papers all over the floor, and one of the two file cabinets lying facedown. She entered the office, gingerly stepping around fallen items. The desk was a mess, too, and she carefully stepped through the clutter to the space behind it. The bookshelf back there was half dumped, many of the books thrown off, a black hairbrush with a mottled handle lying askew in front of a few leaning hardbacks.

  Turning the flashlight of her phone on, she leaned down and noticed a red leather purse.

  “No one took the purse?” Fenway called to Dez.

  “csi cataloged everything.”

  She looked under the desk and got a crick in her neck. Ugh. Must have slept wrong. The hazards of having a man in your bed. She twisted her neck farther and heard a satisfying crack as her bones realigned and her muscles stretched. She turned her head the other way.

  And that’s when she saw the piece of folded white paper, stuck behind one of the hardbacks on the bottom shelf, with the letters oct handwritten on it.

  She reached out and pulled the paper from the behind the books.

  It said, in half printed, half connected handwriting with large loops and open letterforms:

  oct 6

  Rep $27,846,577.48

  Act $27,346,577.48

  Fenway clicked off the phone’s flashlight and took a picture of the paper.

  “Hey, Dez?” She looked up.

  Dez appeared in the doorway. “Did you find something we missed?”

  “I don’t know. csi might have cataloged it. I pulled it out from behind these books.”

  “What is it?”

  “Handwritten note. Two numbers, both over twenty-seven million dollars.” Fenway stood up and walked to the doorway, showing the paper to Dez.

  “What do you think ‘rep’ and ‘act’ stand for?”

  “I don’t know. This is a theater company, right? Maybe ‘repertory’ and ‘actors’? Maybe what the company had in its account before and after the London actors did their last visit here?”

  “Big difference between the two numbers. Half a million dollars.” Dez scratched her nose. “Nice round number.”

  Fenway nodded. Something else didn’t feel right. This time, she knew just what it was. “Twenty-seven million is too much for a university theater company to have, isn’t it? I mean, even if they make ten grand off every person who goes on that Guild at the Globe thing, and even with all the ticket sales, that’s maybe at the most—what, five or six million over the last ten years?”

  “Maybe they get grants.”

  “You think they get grants for fifteen million dollars? And that their expenses don’t eat up a big chunk of their revenue?”

  Dez shrugged. “More forensic accounting for Piper. We should see if this matches with any of Jessica’s bank statements.”

  Fenway nodded. “Or maybe this refers to Cygnus’s personal accounts.”

  “You think a university Shakespeare professor has twenty-seven million in his personal account?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe his parents left him a lot of money. Maybe he invested it in Apple in the nineties. Maybe his wife is rich. There are a few scenarios.”

  “They’re unlikely.”

  “Still, we have to consider them.”

  In the outer office, some postcards from Professor Cygnus to “Jessica and the nasg team,” postmarked from London and Stratford-upon-Avon, lay on the floor. The sun had faded some of the postcards more than others. That handwriting didn’t match the note.

  Fenway went into Jessica’s office and stepped to the file cabinet lying on its face.

  “Help me push this upright,” said Fenway.

  “Think there’s something in there?”

  “Maybe this is where the bank statements are. Everything else seems to be in paper—checks, schedules—I bet Cygnus wants paper copies of all the financial records, including the bank statements.”

  They struggled for a moment but got the cabinet upright.

  The second file drawer from the bottom had five years’ worth of The Guild’s bank statements. The bank was a small local firm, and there was a business checking account as well as a high-interest business savings account. Neither account had more than two hundred thousand dollars. Fenway suspected the checking account was used for payroll. On the savings account statement, the transaction detail showed deposits in multiples of $12,000, probably full-price payments for The Guild at the Globe, the summer excursion, and quite a few expenses for airline tickets, hotels, and names of people she assumed were actors paid to come speak to the classes.

  In one folder, Fenway found an envelope with a sticky note on it. “Amanda, deposit this before 5 —J.” Fenway pulled the envelope out and compared the writing to the note with the dollar amounts. Fenway looked at the loops on the letters, the shape of the two letter ns, and the way the 5s were written.

  They matched.

  “I think Jessica wrote both of these notes,” Fenway said.

  Dez came over and looked at the two notes, and
then she nodded, pressing her lips together. “Those abbreviations don’t refer to theater accounts. I think they stand for reported and actual. Maybe Jessica discovered that five hundred thousand dollars was missing.”

  Fenway went quiet for a moment. “Dez, there’s something weird, and I can’t put my finger on it.”

  “About what?”

  She looked around. “For one thing, this office doesn’t feel lived-in.”

  “Lived-in? How can you tell with all this shit all over the floor?”

  “I mean there are no personal effects. No photos of parents or dogs or anything. No wall art from Jessica’s hometown. This might as well be a conference room.”

  “Some people aren’t like that.” Dez looked around Jessica’s ransacked office. “What is that supposed to mean, anyway?”

  “You’ll laugh, but I was watching this cop show once, and the murder victim didn’t have anything in her house that was over three years old. The detectives thought that was odd, and she turned out to be in the witness protection program.”

  “You think Jessica Marquez was in witness protection?”

  “Probably not, but I still think it’s weird.”

  Dez tapped her foot. “I’ll put a call in to the organized crime unit down in l.a. If one of their informants was murdered, it puts a new spin on the case.”

  Fenway bobbed her head from side to side. “No one’s been in here yet to tell us what was here and what’s missing?”

  “I would ask Amanda to come over and do it, but she’s too upset.”

  “I guess in retrospect we should have had her go through the office first.”

  “I don’t know. With Xavier and Amanda coming over to the president’s office, I don’t think we could have done that without the secretary having us wait for Dr. Pruitt to come back. Yes, that would have been the right procedure, but we always have to balance it by how much resistance we’ll encounter.”

  “Maybe this is how we get Professor Cygnus to come over here?” Fenway suggested. “Tell him that some award he won—or some checks that they have for the summer trip to London—are in disarray, or that we think something got stolen.”

  Dez shook her head. “We tried that. He said he wasn’t familiar enough with the contents of the office to help us out.”