The Reluctant Coroner (Fenway Stevenson Mysteries Book 1)

by Paul Austin Ardoin

  A few people turned their heads to look at Fenway, but most of the attendees kept their attention on the speech. She did her best to smile in a slightly embarrassed way, even though she desperately wanted to find Rachel.

  Although the rear pews were mostly empty, it was a well-attended service; the first ten rows were completely full. Fenway looked at one of the back rows. Every few feet, there was a paper program, with a picture of Harrison Walker, A Celebration of Life printed above the photo, and then Walker’s full name, and birth and death dates below.

  A USB stick was on top of each program in the row.

  She looked at a few other pews. Wherever there was an empty seat with a program, there was a USB stick on top of it.

  Fenway scanned the pews, but she didn’t see the back of Rachel’s head in any of them. A few rows in front of her, though, on the right-hand side, she saw her father.

  As stealthily as she could, she started collecting the USB sticks from the empty seats. She picked up more than twenty drives as she walked through a few of the pews, and dropped them in her purse. Fenway looked around—there were many more, and it looked like everyone in a seat had already gotten a USB stick. She walked to the pew behind her father where there were a couple of open seats. Fenway scooted into one of them. She turned and looked up at the back of the sanctuary. There was a small rectangular window above the double doors. The window, Fenway thought, might be the projection room. If the room contained a computer hooked up to a projector, Rachel might be in there. Fenway turned toward the back of her father’s head and knelt down.

  “Dad,” she whispered. He jumped a little and turned to look at her. “I need your help. Follow me out the door and grab the USB drives on empty seats on the way out. I’ll meet you in the foyer.” She turned around and collected a few more drives before making her way to the back and out the door.

  Dez was in the foyer, panting. Fenway suspected that Dez had run all the way from wherever she parked.

  “There are USB sticks on everyone’s seat,” Fenway whispered to Dez. “And I think everyone who’s sitting down already has one.”

  Nathaniel Ferris came into the foyer. “Fenway? What is it?” He handed her a handful of USB sticks.

  She held up one of the USB sticks. “These drives show Harrison Walker attempting to rape a woman. Attempting to rape Rachel, in fact.”

  “What are you talking about? Rachel was putting them down on all the seats right before the service. It’s a video full of photos and music from Harrison’s life.”

  “Is that what she told you it was?”

  Ferris had a puzzled look on his face, and then he went white. “Oh no. Is that why Rob pulled Rachel out of there?”

  “What? Why would Stotsky pull Rachel out of the memorial service?”

  “Rachel is Rob’s daughter, Fenway.”

  Fenway was floored. “Stotsky is the guy who wouldn’t let Rachel go to Princeton? Who had a fit about her spending that semester in Costa Rica?”

  Ferris had a blank look.

  “You didn’t know he was Rachel’s dad?” Dez said.

  “No clue,” Fenway said.

  Suddenly, it all came to her, like the last puzzle piece slipping into place.

  “Okay, we need to find Rachel. And we need to get the rest of those drives. Where do you think Stotsky took her?”

  Ferris paused. “I really don’t have any idea, but I can’t imagine they left the church. Rob and I came together in the limo. He wouldn’t abandon me.”

  “He might choose his daughter over you, Dad.”

  “Why in the world would Rachel want to give a video of that to everyone?”

  “I really can’t talk about it right now. Where do you think they might have gone?”

  “I—I don’t know, Fenway.”

  “You can help me look for Rachel, Dad. Maybe they went to a conference room or an empty office. You look down here, I’ll go upstairs.”

  Ferris nodded and started to walk down the hall.

  “And I’ll go in there and try to take as many of the sticks as I can,” Dez said, turning toward the door of the sanctuary.

  Fenway grabbed Dez’s arm. “And we need to figure out how to get Stotsky down to the station,” she said in a low voice. “Try to think of some excuse. I hope Bradley’s still eating his tacos.”

  Dez got a light of recognition in her eyes, nodded to Fenway, and went into the sanctuary.

  Fenway went to the stairway on the side of the foyer and took off her shoes so she could take the stairs two at a time. The hallway had a balcony that looked down into the foyer, and a door on the other side. It was roughly the right place for a room that might have a window over the sanctuary. She turned the door handle; it was locked. She put her ear to the door. She could hear a man talking.

  She put her shoes down, took three of steps back, and then ran and smashed her shoulder against the door. Nothing. She wasn’t sure how effective that would have been anyway, although she probably would have a good-sized bruise there the next day. She debated what to do next.

  Then the door opened.

  “What are you doing?” hissed the fiftyish man who opened the door, angrily. “Don’t you know there’s a service going on?” Behind him, a speaker was broadcasting the reverend’s voice into the room.

  “You didn’t get a USB drive from a young woman, did you?” she hurriedly spit out. “Whatever you do, you can’t play the video file on there!”

  The man put his finger to his lips, and closed the door in her face. Fenway could hear it lock again. She had no idea if Rachel had gotten the USB drive into the projection room, and somehow convinced the man to play it, but it seemed Fenway couldn’t do much about it.

  She picked her shoes back up and turned down the hallway, looking for any open rooms where Rachel and Rob Stotsky might have gone.

  The sanctuary may have been full, but the hallways were eerily quiet. All the rooms on either side of the hallway were empty. Fenway came to the end of the hallway and ran back to go to the other side of the projection room. Another quiet hallway, and the rooms again were just as devoid of people. She gave up and went back downstairs.

  Dez was coming out of the sanctuary, carrying a paper bag, just as Fenway made it to the ground floor. “I couldn’t get them all. I couldn’t do it without calling attention to myself, and a few people didn’t want to give them up. I even told them that there was a computer virus on there that we had just discovered, and still some people were saying they wanted to see the pictures of Walker.” She shook the bag a little. “I got about 80 of them, but about 20 of them are with people who won’t give them up.”

  “Did you see Stotsky?”

  “No. Did you?”

  Fenway shook her head.

  And that’s when they heard the voice of the reverend introduce a video of the life of Harrison Walker. They saw the lights under the door dim. And then they heard a video—the sounds of an office. Typing on a keyboard. And Fenway and Dez both opened the double sanctuary doors at the same time.

  ◆◆◆

  Rachel is on the screen, typing. She’s in a light blue blouse, buttoned all the way up except for the very top button. She looks tired.

  The sound of the office door opening. Rachel looks up. She addresses someone off screen.

  Mr. Walker, she says, if you’re here to help me with the filing, I’m almost finished. Or did you want to take this up to the third floor yourself?

  A gruff voice from offscreen. His voice sounds like he’s been drinking. Don’t play with me, Rachel. You and I both know what I’m here to help you with. And it’s not filing, is it, sweetheart?

  Rachel flinches in her chair and pushes it back from the desk as a man swoops in from the right side of the screen. He is on top of Rachel and her chair instantly. The viewer can only see the man’s back—the back of his head, the back of his sportscoat, his backside as the coat rides up as he’s bending over, pinning Rachel into her chair. At the bottom of the screen, he we
dges his leg between her knees. His left hand holds her shoulder against the back of the chair. His right hand is not visible in the frame.

  Rachel is screaming. No. Get off me. No.

  The man is leaning his head over hers, whispering to her, inaudibly.

  She keeps screaming. No. Get off me. Stop.

  And she shakes her head from side to side, violently, and almost catches him under the chin. He leans back and then forward again. The chair tips back and crashes to the ground, with Rachel still in it, and with him on top of her. Most of Rachel and the man are offscreen, except for her feet and legs; they are flailing.

  Rachel is yelling. Get off me. Get off me.

  Then he bellows in pain. A sharp intake of breath. You bitch.

  And then the sound of a punch. Rachel’s legs and feet leave the screen. A blur of motion.

  Rachel’s voice off screen. You stay away from me.

  The sound of keys, a pile of paper falling onto the floor. Walker’s face now visible as he pulls himself up. You cut me. You little whore, you actually scratched me.

  Rachel’s voice again. You stay the hell away from me.

  I don’t want to see you again, you stupid bitch. Don’t bother coming in on Monday. You’re lucky I don’t have you thrown out of here.

  There is the sound of Walker spitting.

  There is the sound of rapid footfalls and the door opening and closing.

  The video stops.

  ◆◆◆

  The sanctuary stayed at low light. It was dead silent for what felt to Fenway like minutes.

  Then the murmuring started in the front row.

  Walker’s widow got up; she looked to be in her fifties, and was dressed in a modest black pantsuit, paired with short black heels. From her black purse, she took out a pair of sunglasses and put them on. Then she turned, and purposefully walked up the aisle, past Dez and Fenway, and out of the sanctuary.

  The reverend went over and started talking to the rest of the front row. They were keeping their tones low, but seemed to be speaking urgently. Fenway couldn’t make out what they were saying, but the woman who had been sitting next to Walker’s widow was getting louder and more angry-sounding as she spoke. The man who had been sitting on Walker’s widow’s other side was gesturing wildly with his hands; he seemed to be upset too.

  The reverend stood up and cleared his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced in a loud, clear voice, “our service is over. Please exit out the sanctuary’s rear doors.”

  The murmuring spread through the entire sanctuary. The lights came up a little more.

  Fenway turned around to watch the attendees leave the room. She saw her father, still sitting in the back on the far left. She saw Rachel sitting two pews behind him, much closer to the center. Her jaw was set and she stared straight ahead, trancelike; she had a blank expression on her face. Her father—Stotsky—was in the pew in front of her, his head in his hands, his shoulders drooped.

  Fenway looked back to the front; the woman and the man in the front row were still talking with the reverend. It looked like he was trying to calm them down, but failing.

  Fenway went to the back pew and sat next to Rachel. “Hi,” she said tentatively.

  “Hi, Fenway. Are you going to arrest me?”

  Fenway’s brows knitted. “What for?”

  “I don’t know. I figured I’d probably be breaking some law by showing that video.”

  “I don’t think so, but what do I know? I’ve only been on the job a couple of days. I don’t even know California law that well.”

  Rachel was silent for a minute, then whispered, “I didn’t mean to hurt my Dad. I wanted everyone to know that Walker didn’t deserve to have his life celebrated. I wanted everyone to know that Walker was a rapist, and a predator, and that he wanted to ruin my life. But I didn’t think how much it would hurt Dad if he saw that.” She ran her hands through her hair. “To see that happen to his daughter.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what I would do if I were him. I don’t know what I would think.”

  “I’m sorry, Rachel.”

  “And Dylan,” she continued, “I wanted to make sure everyone knew that Dylan killed Walker to protect me—not because of money, or anything like that.” She blinked and looked down.

  Fenway hesitated. “Well, Rachel, we actually don’t think that Dylan killed Walker after all.”

  Her head popped up. “What? What do you mean?”

  “We have two witnesses who can put him miles away at that time. Same with his phone—it triangulates from an area miles from where Walker was shot. Plus, some of the physical evidence doesn’t match.”

  “I thought he and Parker were lying about where they were Sunday night.”

  Fenway hesitated again. She raised her head to look at Rachel’s father. He was still slumped forward in his seat. But she thought he might be straining to listen to them. “Well, yes,” she said, quietly, but loud enough for Stotsky to hear. “They were lying about where they were. But it wasn’t anywhere near the murder scene.”

  Rachel’s voice broke a little. “What was he doing? Where was he?”

  Rob Stotsky flung himself around to face them. “I’ll tell you where he was, Rachel,” he said loudly, his voice cracking with emotion. “That creep was cheating on you. He was cheating on you with a sixteen-year-old girl.”

  Rachel’s face fell.

  Fenway saw the man in the front stop talking to the reverend and look at them.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, sweetie, but it’s true,” Stotsky continued. “Maybe, like Miss Stevenson said, maybe Dylan isn’t a murderer. But he’s a liar and a cheat and a pedophile, and he deserved to be locked up.”

  Fenway saw Rachel fold in on herself. She pulled her knees up and put her feet on the chair. She put her elbows on her knees, extending her arms, then put her head, face down, right between her elbows.

  Fenway turned toward Stotsky. “I don’t know what you heard, or where you heard it, Mr. Stotsky, but Dylan wasn’t sleeping with a sixteen-year-old girl. He was sleeping with her mother.”

  “Her mother?”

  “Yes, her mother. Who has definitely passed the age of consent.”

  Stotsky was silent.

  “Dylan might have been a liar and a cheat,” Fenway said, “but he wasn’t a pedophile. For God’s sake, have some decency.”

  Stotsky huffed. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Either that or you’re just bald-faced lying to me right now.”

  “I’ve been working on this investigation since I came onboard, and I sure as hell do know what I’m talking about.”

  Stotsky looked from Fenway to his daughter—his daughter who was emotionally deteriorating in front of their eyes. “It’s true,” Rachel keened. “I knew he was cheating on me. Texting at random times. Not responding at weird times of the day. Not being at home, or with his brother when he said he would be.” She sniffled. “And he laughed at me when I confronted him.” She looked to Fenway. “Cheating with some teenager’s mother? Like a forty-year-old?”

  Fenway shrugged.

  Rachel’s brow crinkled. “But why wouldn’t he just say that he was with her when I left the interrogation? Unless there was a reason he couldn’t say anything.” She looked Fenway in the eyes. “You know, don’t you, Fenway?” she asked. “You know, and you’re not telling me.”

  Fenway hesitated and looked down. “You’ve been through a lot this week.”

  “You need to tell me.”

  Fenway looked into Rachel’s pleading eyes. “It’s McVie’s wife.”

  Rachel drew her breath in sharply. “Amy?”

  Fenway nodded.

  “Oh.” She folded her hands over her heart and tightly shut her eyes. “Ouch. Oh.”

  “I’m sorry,” Fenway said to Rachel, but she had one eye on the front of the sanctuary. The couple was getting more agitated, and the reverend looked stressed.

  “Dylan and I went over to their house for New Year’s. Am
y served me hors d’oeuvres. I had too much champagne.”

  “Dylan really wasn’t sleeping with the daughter?” Stotsky asked, incredulous.

  Fenway shook her head. Stotsky went quiet again.

  There was a bang at the front of the church.

  “YOU!”

  The man who had been sitting on the other side of Walker’s widow had just slammed a hymnal onto the wooden pew. He looked a bit like Walker—same nose, same browline. His jaw was a little different, and his face was a little pinkish, where Walker had been ruddy.

  He started up the aisle, looking directly at Rachel. Nathaniel Ferris took notice and stood up, but he looked unsure what to do.

  “What right do you have to come in here and ruin this—don’t touch me, Martha,” he snapped at the horrified-looking woman next to him “—ruin this service? Do you feel better about yourself now?” He pointed at Rachel. “You think you can just accuse a man like that and get away with it? I will sue you for every last penny you have.”

  “Doug, stop it,” hissed Martha.

  “I’m not going to let anyone ruin Harry’s reputation,” Doug called back to her, not taking his eyes off Rachel.

  “Don’t listen to him,” Fenway whispered to Rachel. “You made no accusation. You just showed a tape. He can’t sue you for anything. You didn’t do anything wrong.” She wasn’t actually sure that Rachel couldn’t be sued, but she thought she should keep Rachel calm, and get them both out of there—hopefully with her dad in tow. “In fact, why don’t we all leave the building?”

  But Doug was incensed. “What are you two talking about? You talking about how you can steal money from the estate?”

  Rob Stotsky stood up, his huge frame towering over the pew. “I think you’re going to want to stop right there.”

  “Mind your own business,” Doug said. “I’m talking to this bitch who thinks she can lie about my brother and get away with it.”

  Stotsky cracked his knuckles.

  “Gentlemen.” Fenway stepped next to Stotsky. “Don’t fight. If you fight, I’m going to have to arrest you.”