Zoso shrugged. “Can’t complain.”
“So,” Fenway said, shooting a look at Callahan and motioning Zoso to the sofa in the living room, “what brings you here? I would have thought the cops outside would scare you away.”
Zoso laughed, a little uneasily. “Yeah, well, they would have if I had noticed them. Once they started talking to me, I figured I’d better go through with talking to you. Otherwise it’d be more suspicious.”
Fenway nodded and took a seat on the sofa.
“Anyway,” Zoso said, sitting down on the sofa a couple of feet away from Fenway, “did you sic that sheriff chick on me? She’s been up my ass the last couple days. I never saw her around before. She new?”
“Sheriff chick?” Fenway asked, confused, then remembered Gretchen Donnelly. Dez must have her doing some work on this too. Fenway paused. “Did you come here to tell me something?”
“Oh, right.” Zoso cleared his throat. “Uh—so, anyway, this sheriff chick starts talking to me about Thursday night. Like, where I was, who I was with. And I don’t want to say anything, because I don’t know what they have on me, or what they think they have on me. I said they could see me with a lawyer next time they wanted to talk to me. I’ve got a rep to protect.”
“Sure.” Fenway paused. “But your customers aren’t here. Your connections aren’t here. Your friends aren’t here. It’s just us. So where were you?”
Zoso screwed up his mouth. “I went to a customer’s house. And, uh, well, it was the wife of the dead guy. The one they found in the pedestrian underpass.”
“You went to see Cricket Kapp.”
“Yeah.”
“How long did you stay?”
“Not long. She was already on something when I got there. Oxy, probably, since that’s what I—uh...”
Fenway shook her head. “I’m interested in the murder, not your Oxy business, Zoso.”
Zoso glanced up at Callahan, who was still sitting at the table with Rachel.
“Hey, Rachel,” Fenway said, “can you and Callahan go over to The Coffee Bean for me?”
Rachel cottoned on. “Sure. Come on, Brian.”
“I’m not supposed to—”
Fenway interrupted. “I can’t have you listening into a conversation with an informant, Callahan.”
“If you’re worried, I can go get the coffee.” Rachel said. “You can stand outside the door.”
“I’ll even open the blinds,” Fenway offered. “You can look right in. I just can’t have you hearing our conversation.”
Callahan looked torn.
“They already frisked him,” Fenway said, “and look at him. I can take him.”
Zoso frowned.
Callahan sighed. “Fine,” he said. He leaned over the sofa to the front window and opened the blinds. Then he followed Rachel out the front door. Zoso watched the door close firmly behind them, and Callahan’s head appeared outside the front window.
“We good now?” Fenway asked.
“Yeah.” Zoso cleared his throat. “Thanks.”
“Okay, so you went to see Cricket Kapp. Now when you say you weren’t there for long, what do you mean? A couple of hours?”
“What? No way. I was there maybe ten minutes. Probably not even that.”
“What time did you leave? Before midnight?”
“Uh...”
“Come on, Zoso.”
“What time did she say I left?”
Fenway narrowed her eyes at Zoso. “You and Miz Cricket have a thing going?”
Zoso’s eyes went wide. “A thing? Like, a sex thing?”
“Well, yeah. Why not?”
Zoso had a look of horror on his face. “For real? She’s like, forty.”
“Sure, but she looks great. Big boobs, nice firm butt—”
He shook his head adamantly. “No, no, unh-uh. I don’t go for the cougars.”
“I don’t know, Zoso. Her kids seemed to think you had it bad for her.”
“No way.”
“All right,” Fenway said. “So after you were there for ten minutes, what did you do?”
“I left. I got in and started up my car after, uh, seeing Mrs. Kapp, and I remember the clock said eleven thirty-six.”
“Eleven thirty-six? That’s pretty specific.”
“Yeah, well, I remember it.”
“You didn’t stay there for two hours.”
“No way.”
“You didn’t sell Mrs. Kapp some Oxy and then have her give you a little physical payment? Maybe a five-finger discount of another kind?”
“Ugh, Fenway, gross. She’s almost twice my age.”
“Okay.” Fenway paused, briefly thinking about the wedding of her nearly-fifty-year-old father and his twenty-five-year-old bride. “Did you see anyone else there? Was Blair home?”
“Yeah,” Zoso said. “Blair was home. So was Donovan. At least, I think so. Their doors were closed to their rooms. But Mrs. Kapp wanted me to keep it down so we wouldn’t bug them.”
“Keep it down?”
Zoso rolled his eyes. “Our voices. Jeez, give it a rest. She didn’t want her kids to know she bought Oxy.”
“The kids were there?”
“Yeah.”
“How do you know?”
Zoso shook his head. “I just told you, she said they were home.”
“Yeah, Zoso, but she could have been lying. Or just plain wrong. Did you see either of them? Or maybe the kids’ cars were in the driveway?”
Zoso shrugged. “They’re rich. They’ve got garages for all their kids’ cars. Mrs. Kapp said not to wake up the kids, so I kept my voice down. I didn’t have some sort of magic kid tracker.”
Fenway nodded. “When did you get back home?”
“It was before midnight.”
“Prime dealing hours, right?”
“Sometimes. I’ll go to clubs and dive bars. But not Thursday.”
“Thursdays are a busy night, though, right? Still at that one club?”
Zoso shook his head. “Some nights, yeah, but Thursday is two-dollar shot night there. Their Thursday clientele is always too cheap to buy kickers. They figure, why spend money on some Oxy when they can get drunk for ten bucks?”
“Fair point.”
He scoffed. “You obviously haven’t tried Oxy, if you think it ain’t any better than a buzz off cheap liquor.”
Fenway smiled. “It’s a real shame I’m not a candidate for your wares, Zoso.”
He smiled. “Oh, the hoity-toity talk. I always recognize my cue to leave.” He stood up. “All right, hope I gave you what you need. Keep you guys off my ass for another few months, all right?”
“You got it, Zoso.”
He opened the door and left.
Callahan watched Zoso walk all the way down to the sidewalk, then came back in the apartment and closed the door. “So did he help anything?”
Fenway shrugged. “It means Cricket Kapp no longer has an alibi for her husband’s murder.”
FENWAY HAD TO HURRY through a single cup of coffee and a shower. When she got back downstairs, Callahan told her he had been pulled off protective duty—the threat on Fenway’s life was no longer deemed serious. Fenway hadn’t gotten her Accord back—it was still in evidence from the car bomb blast—but Callahan drove her to the St. Bonaventure Pancake Breakfast.
The St. Bonaventure Church, the largest in the diocese, had hosted a candidates’ pancake breakfast for years at nine in the morning the day before Election Day. Sheriff McVie was there, along with Barry Klein and his wife. Fenway’s opponent was a no-show.
“This couldn’t have worked out better,” Millicent Tate whispered to Fenway, who had eaten most of the plate of buttermilk pancakes. “I thought for sure Ivanovich would be pushing for the Catholic votes. But after Imelda spit on you at the dinner last night? I bet that did a number on them. Maybe Ivanovich doesn’t want to show his face where he’ll have to answer questions about trying to punch a cop.”
“Oh man, I had forgotten
about that,” Fenway said. “Didn’t they let his wife go last night?”
“They were talking about it,” Millicent said, “but as far as I know, she’s still in jail. I think they’re trying to keep it out of the media.”
“Are you going to change that?” Fenway asked with a gleam in her eye.
“We don’t need to. Things are looking good for us: our commercial is running on Channel 12 all day, and our opponent didn’t show up at the biggest campaign event the day before the election.”
“And his wife is in jail,” Fenway said.
As soon as the words left her mouth, Fenway saw Dez out of the corner of her eye. With a start, she realized she hadn’t called her before she left for the church.
Dez entered the hall. She snaked her way through the tables and stopped in front of Barry and Catherine Klein.
Fenway strained to see what was happening—a few people kept walking through her field of vision, and Dez faced the other way. But she heard, clearly, Barry Klein’s voice say, “Whatever she has to say to you, she can say it in front of me.”
She didn’t hear what Dez said next, but Klein’s response rang through the hall. “We don’t need to go anywhere more private, Sergeant. I don’t have anything to hide.”
Again, Dez’s voice was too muted for Fenway to hear, but again, Klein’s agitated response: “Is this out of revenge for the things I’ve said about Nathaniel Ferris?”
“No,” Dez said, “I—”
Klein stood up. “Maybe it’s because you’re taking bribes from Ferris?”
Dez pulled herself up to her full height, still a few inches shorter than Klein, but more imposing. “Maybe you want to take that back before I sue you for slander.”
“It’s not slander if it’s true,” Barry Klein said.
Fenway looked at McVie’s face. He was horrified.
Dez bristled. “Just because your wife was with the murder victim in a hotel room the night of his death does not give you the right—”
Fenway then couldn’t make anything out. Barry Klein was yelling; Catherine Klein was yelling, an angry look on her face; McVie stepped up and tried to separate them, and Dez finally pulled Catherine Klein out of the scrum and tried to lead her off.
“You’re not taking her anywhere!” yelled Klein. “This is a stunt by the sheriff’s department because you don’t want me to be mayor!”
Dez walked quickly, Catherine Klein ahead of her, and went through the double doors at the front of the hall.
Barry Klein kept yelling, and McVie kept blocking his path. “You’ve been getting kickbacks from Ferris for years—and you’ve got the whole department gunning for me!” he said.
“That’s not true, and you know it, Barry,” McVie said, loudly but calmly.
“Get out of my way, McVie, or I’m going to punch you in the face.”
“Don’t add assault on a police officer to your troubles today, Barry,” McVie said. “I won’t have any qualms about locking you up.”
The two of them stared at each other for a moment, then Barry Klein took a step back, straightened his tie, and strode off through one of the side doors.
McVie had an angry look on his face. He walked slowly back to his table, then stood with his hand on the back of his chair, staring at his plate of half-eaten pancakes.
Fenway walked over to McVie.
“You okay?”
“No,” McVie said, quietly. “I hate this stupid election.” For a moment, he looked stricken. Fenway longed to take his hand, but didn’t dare in front of all the people at the breakfast. Finally, he sighed and looked Fenway in the eyes. “I have a confession to make, Fenway.”
Oh no, Fenway thought. He’s going to tell me he’s taken bribes from my father.
McVie took a deep breath. “I don’t want to be mayor.”
Fenway blinked. “What?”
McVie shook his head. “I don’t want to be mayor. I only want Barry Klein not to be mayor. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m a good sheriff. I like being sheriff.”
“You had to run for sheriff before.”
“It was nothing like this,” he said, “and the last couple of times, I’ve run unopposed.”
“I hate this election too.”
“Yeah,” he said, “but at least you want to be coroner.”
Fenway nodded, a little sadly. “Did you hear—are they arresting Mrs. Klein?”
McVie shook his head. “Material witness warrant. They’re compelling her to give a statement. Dr. Klein didn’t want her to cooperate, so they had to take her down to the station.”
“Donnelly keeping you in the loop?”
McVie nodded. “And Dez.” McVie looked squarely at Fenway. “I wish this election hadn’t screwed up my dating life,” he said. “I think you and I would really be something.”
Fenway felt her heart swell. “Yeah,” she said. “Me too.”
He smiled, a little sadly. “We still on for dinner Wednesday night?”
Fenway nodded. “Yes. I’d like that.”
She felt like putting her arms around McVie and pulling him close, but she knew she couldn’t. She turned and started walking away from him and almost smacked into Millicent.
“What the hell are you doing?” Millicent hissed through a smile.
“Seeing if my friend is okay,” Fenway replied.
“I thought you two were going to start making out.”
“Oh, stop it.” Fenway walked back toward her table. Millicent followed her.
“Yeah, well, let’s hope no photographers caught the two of you making goo-goo eyes at each other. You’ll have a lot to answer for if they did.”
Fenway rolled her eyes and shook her head as she came to her seat. “Honestly, Millicent, you might be good at managing campaigns, but you don’t know what’s going on when it comes to interpersonal relationships.” She took her seat.
Millicent took the seat next to her. “I know you’re not Catholic,” she said, smirking, “but I don’t think it would be a good idea to lie during the church breakfast.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
AS WAS THE CUSTOM AFTER the pancake breakfast, all the candidates and their staffs went to Monday morning mass. The service was thankfully drama-free—no one burst in with warrants for anybody’s arrest, no one accused anyone of sleeping with anybody, no one set off a car bomb, nobody was spit on, and no one bashed anyone over the head with a blunt object. Fenway sighed. It was a pretty low bar, but one the events of the last few days hadn’t managed to clear.
She turned her phone back on when she exited the church, stepping out into the cold air of the early November day. At this time of year, the Santa Ana winds would often come from the south, warming Estancia up enough for shorts and tee shirts, but today the wind blew from the northwest, off the ocean, making Millicent shiver in her light windbreaker.
“Everything went smoothly,” Millicent said. “You crossed your arms when they offered the sacrament, which was good—respectful, but you look practiced doing it. Didn’t look like you’d never been to church before.”
“I’ve been to church before,” Fenway said irritably.
“You know what I mean. Now, I was able to reschedule the senior center thing for one o’clock. You can stay in those clothes—they’ll like the church outfit, I’m sure.”
“Okay. You have a speech prepared?”
Millicent handed Fenway two sheets of paper. The speech was in large type, difficult to miss, peppered with phrases like “fight for justice” and “no matter who the criminal is, or how well they’re connected.” Fenway fought for a moment over the singular/plural disagreement, letting her lit major background wash over her, but knew it would sound better than switching it to “he or she” so she let it go.
“Thanks,” Fenway said.
Her phone buzzed. She had missed three calls.
The first voicemail was from Dr. Michi Yasuda, the San Miguelito medical examiner. “Good morning, Miss Stevenson. I wanted to let you know
we didn’t get a hit on the fingerprints on either of those envelopes, or the papers inside. Whoever it is, he or she is not in the system.”
Fenway felt a rush of affection for Yasuda when she heard the he or she.
Dr. Yasuda took a breath and continued. “We also have some results from the autopsy of Jeremy Kapp. He had a significant amount of cocaine in his system. From the analysis of his nasal tissues, it looks like it was snorted.”
“At least he went out on a high,” Fenway murmured.
Yasuda paused on the voicemail. “On a personal note, Miss Stevenson, I’d like to wish you luck in your election. I’ve enjoyed working with you so far and I’d like it to continue.”
She clicked off.
The next message was from her father. “Fenway, I don’t know what you did or how you did it, but they’re releasing Charlotte this afternoon. They’re dismissing the charges. You’re a miracle worker, honey. You’re probably going crazy with all your campaign events today, but let me know if you have time for lunch or even coffee today with your old man.”
He, too, clicked off.
Fenway elbowed Millicent. “Charlotte’s getting released this afternoon.”
Millicent nodded. “Good. Excellent news.”
And the third voicemail was from an unknown number. “I’m disappointed you haven’t used the evidence I’ve given to you,” a voice whispered, crackling and distorted, probably with a voice-changing box. “There’s nothing innocent about Charlotte Ferris, I can tell you for sure, and she needs to be locked up.”
“Huh,” Fenway said.
“What?” Millicent asked.
“Listen.” Fenway put the phone up to Millicent’s ear. Millicent’s expression didn’t change. “What do you think?”
Millicent shrugged. “Doesn’t seem professional.”
“I know.”
“And who talks like that? It sounds like someone who’s watched too many cop shows.”
Fenway thought for a second. “Millicent, I’m sorry, but I need to call Dez. I’ve been meaning to talk to her since last night.”
Millicent looked at her watch. “Well, make it quick. We’ve only got a half hour, and you’ve disappointed those seniors enough for one election cycle.”
The Candidate Coroner Page 27