“Hi Megan, I’m Sergeant Roubideaux. We’ve met a couple of times before. I work with your dad.” Dez motioned to Fenway. “And this is my colleague, Miss Stevenson.”
Fenway gave a small awkward wave and smile.
“Sorry for bothering you at home,” Dez continued, “but we need to ask you a couple of questions.”
“I got sick at school and came home.” Megan offered, eyeing them warily.
“Okay,” Dez said.
“Did Dad send you here to check up on me? I’m not skipping school.”
“We don’t really care about any of that,” Fenway said. “We just have a couple of questions.”
“You recognize this man?” Dez pulled the photo of Dylan out of the folder and handed it to Megan.
Megan glanced down at the photo, then looked up at them, trying to read their faces. “Is this some kind of joke?”
Dez looked at Fenway, then back at Megan. “No, it’s not a joke. This man has been seen on your street regularly, and we have a witness who has him going inside your house on more than one occasion.”
“You mean whenever my dad’s not home?” Megan snapped.
“Well,” Dez said carefully, “we haven’t put the timeline together, but yeah, we’re pretty sure he comes over when your parents aren’t home.”
Megan looked from Dez’s face to Fenway’s face then back to Dez’s face. Then she blanched. “Ugh. Eww. You think he’s having sex with me?”
Dez nodded slowly.
“He’s banging my mom,” Megan sneered. “My mom doesn’t think I notice, because I’m in my room all the time, and they stay in the back of the house. But of course I notice. I think she used to do it only when I was at volleyball practice, or at a game. I’d find—stuff—in the trash can of the guest bathroom.” She shuddered a little. “And then when the season ended, she kept trying to get me to go out for other sports. But then when my dad works late, or is on a business trip, that guy comes over.”
Dez nodded again. She looked a little pained.
“I don’t think my dad knows. And frankly, Mom is too busy with that guy to really pay attention to me having my boyfriend over, so I guess it has its benefits.” She shrugged. “But eww, he is not with me. That guy’s so old.”
“Well, that’s a relief!” Fenway burst out, following it up with a small laugh. Megan looked at her, surprised.
“I’m sorry,” Fenway caught herself and stopped her laugh short. “It’s not funny. I mean, relief is the wrong word. It’s just that we were so convinced that he was, well, with you. I don’t know why it never occurred to us that your mom would be home. Or that, you know, she was the one who was with him.”
Dez put her hand on Fenway’s shoulder and looked at her with a serious face. Fenway stopped rambling. Dez turned back to Megan. “Was he, uh, visiting your mom here on Sunday night?”
Megan shrugged. “I was out on Sunday night. My boyfriend and I were studying in the afternoon, and then we got some dinner and we went to a movie. I didn’t get back here until after midnight.”
“On a school night?”
“It’s not like my mom cared.”
Dez cleared her throat. “Did you notice a big black pickup truck parked on the street when you got home?”
“Nope.”
“No, it wasn’t there, or no, you didn’t notice?
“I was paying attention to whether or not my mom was going to hear me coming in late.”
“Did she?”
“Nope. I snuck in and she didn’t notice a thing.”
Fenway nodded. “Okay. Anything else, Sergeant?”
Dez shook her head. “We’ll let you get back to…whatever you’re doing.”
“Don’t tell my mom that I know.” Megan’s eyes were wide. “I don’t want to deal with any kind of serious talks from her.”
“Okay,” Fenway agreed.
She turned away and started inside, then quickly turned back. “Don’t tell my dad either. He’d freak.”
Dez nodded. “Thanks for speaking with us, Megan.”
She stepped inside and closed the door behind her.
“Well, that was crazy,” Fenway said, turning with Dez to walk back to the car.
“This is all kinds of messed up.”
“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a cougar.” She let out another small giggle.
Dez shot her a sharp look. “That’s not funny.”
Fenway stopped giggling. They were silent as they crossed the street to Dez’s car.
“All right, what are we going to do?” Fenway asked. “This is material, isn’t it? The guy that the sheriff locked up for Walker’s murder might have been at the sheriff’s house that night, having relations with his wife.”
“Don’t call it relations, Fenway.” Dez’s face scrunched up. “That sounds like you’re in a damn Jane Austen movie.”
“Well, whatever. A booty call.”
Dez ignored Fenway’s comment. “That stuff you said earlier about revenge is sounding kind of dangerous now.”
“I know, right? Maybe the sheriff did know about Dylan and his wife.”
They got in the car. They sat for a minute, Dez not starting the engine.
“You okay, Dez?”
“I don’t know, Fenway. This feels weird. Parts of this feel really planned out—like someone was trying to get rid of Walker for a long time—and then parts of it feel like a crime of passion. Shooting someone in the back. Making Walker’s car disappear. The incredibly audacious smash-and-grab. It’s just weird.”
“There’s something here that we’re not seeing.”
“Well, maybe it’s time to talk to some folks at The Own—uh, your daddy’s company. Usually, when there’s some convoluted shit going on, Ferris Energy is in the middle of it.”
“And my dad knew a lot more than he’s letting on. He knew that the files were missing because someone took them last night. Not that they might have been misfiled, or that someone might have checked them out. Or that they could have been stolen a while ago. And he knew the whole file drawer was missing, not just a couple of files.”
“He’s coming to the office later?”
“Yeah,” Fenway nodded. “I managed to convince him that this looks bad, that his files are missing, and to come in and give a statement. He said he’ll come in right before lunch.”
“Well, we’ve got a couple of hours before that happens,” Dez sighed as she started the car.
When they got back to the office, Migs was at his desk.
Dez set her notebook on her desk. “Migs, have you seen Mark this morning?”
“Yeah, he was in for a few minutes. We got the message from the sheriff that we can all work on the case now. Mark called San Miguelito because the autopsy results still aren’t here, if you can believe it. The M.E. wanted to talk to either the coroner or the sheriff—didn’t want to courier the results. She asked for you too, Dez.” Migs shrugged. “I think Mark left McVie a message. And then he got a call from the LAX airport police—they found Walker’s car in one of the private long-term lots by the airport. He decided to drive down there to see it for himself.”
“LAX long-term parking, huh,” Fenway muttered. “Wonder where that idea came from.”
Dez sat at her desk. “Walker’s car. That’s a big break.”
“I wonder if his laptop will be in there.”
“We can hope.”
“Hey Migs,” Fenway said, “can you get a file off Rachel’s machine?”
Migs looked quizzically at her. “I guess so, but why don’t you just ask her? She should be in any minute now.”
Fenway shook her head. “I don’t think she’s coming in today.”
“Why? Did she call in sick or something?”
“Something like that.”
Migs frowned. “Well, yeah, I’ve got the admin passwords. I think I can get into her machine.” He walked over to Rachel’s computer and leaned down over the keyboard, but froze before he touched it.
; “How long has that light been on?” Migs’ eyes were wide.
“What light?”
“The light on the camera, right there.” Migs pointed to the webcam perched on top of the monitor.
“I don’t know. Can we get the file off the machine, or not?”
Migs knocked the camera off the monitor. He grabbed at the camera’s cord going into the back of the machine and yanked it out. Then he pulled out the PC’s power cord, too.
“Hey!” Fenway yelled. “What are you doing? I need to get that file.”
“Not now you don’t.” Migs hurriedly pulled all the cords out of the back of the computer. “I’m going to take this over to IT right now. Like, right now. I think someone’s been spying on us.”
“What?”
Migs looked over his shoulder at her. “That camera was on, Fenway. The computer looked like it should have been asleep, but the camera was on.” He was disconnecting all the cables that went into the machine.
“Someone was watching us?”
“Maybe. And maybe listening, too. And I’m taking it over to IT right now.” He picked up the tower and went out the door.
Fenway looked at Dez. “I saw that on one of those cop shows. Some guy had taken over his classmate’s laptop camera so he could watch her change clothes. He ended up dead, I think.”
“Was your experience watching television cops at all helpful in determining that we’ve been watched all morning?” Dez deadpanned.
“How do you know it was just this morning? It could have been for months.”
Dez was silent for a few seconds. “Man, technology just sucks. My mouth gets me in enough trouble as it is. If those hackers even caught half the shit I say and post it on YouTube, I’ll be so out of a job.”
“Well, I, for one, welcome our benevolent robot overlords.”
Dez shook her head, trying not to laugh.
“Check and see if your PC has a light on its camera,” Fenway said, nodding to the machine in front of Dez.
“Nope. I don’t even have a camera.”
Fenway opened her laptop. “Well, my camera light isn’t on. Migs would have noticed if there was something on his machine, right?”
“I guess so. Man, this whole case just gets weirder and weirder.”
“You think Rachel’s camera has something to do with the case?”
“What, Fenway? You don’t?” Dez started counting on her fingers. “Rachel gets the camera to record Walker’s sexual harassment. Walker gets murdered. Someone takes that machine over in order to spy on the office. You don’t think that’s all connected?”
“I guess it would be a pretty big coincidence if it weren’t.”
“Damn right.” Dez stifled a yawn. “I gotta go get some more coffee. Some real coffee. You want anything?”
Fenway nodded. “A latte, please.”
“Just a regular latte? No flavors, or soy foam macchiato, or magic beans?”
“Oh, but Dez, espresso beans are magic.”
She laughed. “Fine, just a regular latte, coming up.”
“Actually, make it a large latte. I’m dragging.”
Fenway grabbed her purse, but Dez waved her off. She was out the door before Fenway could protest about the HR policy.
Fenway stood and stretched. She took off the Red Sox cap for a moment, ran her hand through her loose curls, and put the cap back on. She sat back down and adjusted her chair a little bit. First thing on her agenda for the rest of the day was to do some more research on the industrial accident at the Ferris refinery.
She opened a browser on her laptop and searched for stories that identified the employees who were killed. She found a link to another Los Angeles Times story, published two days after the first one. Fenway clicked on it, and the page started loading.
Suddenly the door to the office burst open.
Lana Cassidy stormed through.
“You’re not even here one day and you’re already making a mockery of the department!” Lana screeched, slamming the door behind her.
“What?”
Lana pointed a finger at Fenway. “You know damn well what I’m talking about. You show up out of the blue, and someone just happens to drive through the wall that very night and steal Walker’s files?”
Fenway was taken aback. “How is that my fault?”
Lana stormed over to Fenway’s desk and got up right next to her. She leaned down, keeping her face only about six inches from Fenway’s; the bill of Fenway’s cap was almost touching Lana’s forehead. “Your father put you up to this,” she said quietly. “But I’m onto you. You’re not getting away with anything.”
“Lana, I have no idea—”
Lana spit in her face. Fenway recoiled, disgusted.
“You might think you’re better than everyone else because you’re rich, but your daddy can’t help you now.”
Fenway was roiling with anger inside, but made herself stay calm. She looked down to her purse and reached into it for her cell phone.
“Don’t you dare!” Lana screamed.
Fenway had been planning to call security, or maybe record Lana on her cell phone, but she looked back up to see that Lana had a snub-nosed revolver drawn on her, holding it in both hands.
“What the hell are you doing?” Fenway yelled, putting her hands up, Lana’s spit running down her cheek. Fenway stood up, her legs pushing the chair backwards. She didn’t know how good of a shot Lana was, but given the short distance, it probably didn’t matter.
“I’m going to shoot you before you shoot me.”
“I don’t have a gun! Are you crazy? I was getting a Kleenex to wipe my face!” Fenway was lying, but thought Lana might have been just as angry about a cell phone as a gun.
“Don’t lie to me! It’s probably the same gun you used to shoot the coroner so you could take his job.”
“I wasn’t even in the state when he was killed!”
Lana sneered, “Oh, sure, play stupid, Miss Ferris.”
“You obviously think I’m planning something with my dad, but I’m not. He abandoned me and my mom years ago—I’ve barely seen him the last twenty years!”
“You’re as good of a liar as he is, too.” She cocked the gun.
Just then, the door opened. Lana turned her head slightly.
Fenway rushed her.
She put her hands straight out and ran at Lana as hard as she could.
Fenway grabbed Lana’s hands—the hands that were holding the gun—drove her head down into Lana’s solar plexus, and forced her hands up.
Lana was off-balance and stepped backward. The gun went off.
Lana fell on her back; Fenway landed hard on top of her.
Lana was still holding the gun in her right hand, and Fenway held her wrist to the floor. Lana gasped for breath.
Fenway picked up Lana’s right hand, slammed it against the floor, and Lana dropped the revolver. It fell to the floor, out of reach.
Fenway could see Dez’s pants and shoes, and the dropped coffee cups on the floor. Dez was standing above them, pistol drawn.
Fenway tried to catch her breath and looked up at Dez. “Give me your handcuffs.”
Dez shook her head. “I leave for five minutes and anarchy erupts. Jeez, I gotta keep you in my sight at all times. You’re worse than a rookie cop. How about you let me take care of the handcuffs.”
Fenway pulled herself onto her knees and helped Dez roll Lana onto her stomach. Lana was still out of breath. Dez pulled Lana’s arms behind her, her wrists together, and cuffed her.
Two officers appeared in the doorway. “Is everything all right?” the tall one shouted into the room. “We heard a gunshot.”
Dez helped Fenway up, then got Lana to her feet and started the Miranda warning. “Lana Cassidy, you are under arrest for assault with a deadly weapon. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can, and will, be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for y
ou. Do you understand the rights I have just read to you?”
“Damn,” the short officer muttered under his breath.
Lana struggled against Dez’s hold, and screamed at Fenway, “You and your father will pay! This isn’t over!”
“Lana!” Dez yelled in her ear, and Lana was quiet. “You know how this works. You need to answer me. Do you understand the rights I have—”
“Yes, yes, I understand my rights,” Lana sneered.
Fenway sat down slowly in the chair at her desk. She looked around. Her cap was lying on the floor next to her desk; it had come off her head in the struggle. She picked it up. There was a bullet hole through the bill of the cap.
She set the cap down and noticed her hands were shaking.
The Times article she had clicked on before Lana came in was on the screen.
ESTANCIA—The two employees killed by toxic fumes in Tuesday’s industrial accident at the Ferris Energy oil refinery have been identified as Carl Cassidy, 46, and Lewis Fairweather, 37, both of Estancia…
“All right.” The short officer stepped into the room. “We’ve got to secure the scene. Mike, you take Mrs. Cassidy to the sheriff’s office and book her for assault.” Mike, the tall officer, nodded, and led Lana out of the office.
“Why aren’t you going with them?” Fenway said to Dez.
“Scott’s going to treat this like an officer-involved shooting, even though neither of us fired a weapon, but he just heard a shot. He doesn’t know who fired it, even if we both say it was Lana. So, he’s being cautious. Probably a good idea, considering that we’re in the coroner’s office.”
Scott nodded. “Yes, ma’am. And since I’ll be treating this like an officer-involved shooting, I’ll need you and Miss Stevenson in separate rooms so you can’t compare stories.”
Dez turned to Fenway. “See? We hire Boy Scouts here.”
“I guess so.”
Dez grabbed a few tissues off the desk and handed them to her. “You’ve got something on your face.”
“She spit on me.”
Dez’s mouth tightened.
Scott asked Fenway to go into the conference room and wait for someone to take her statement. She grabbed her purse and went, closing the door behind her. She tried to calm herself. She sat at the conference table and stared at the wall.
The Reluctant Coroner (Fenway Stevenson Mysteries Book 1) Page 15