The Reluctant Coroner by Paul Austin Ardoin (best ebook reader ubuntu txt) 📕
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Fenway looked down at the table. “McVie told me he wanted me to collect evidence from Walker’s office. I didn’t realize I was the only one who could do it.”
Dez shrugged. “Congratulations?”
“All right, fine. Show me where we keep the gloves, the fingerprint kit, the evidence bags, and the cameras. I’ll get started.”
“Now?”
“It’s only two o’clock. I’m not sitting around for a couple of hours waiting for McVie to drive me home.”
“Oh man,” Dez said. “Walker was a lazy, micromanaging sonofabitch. Now we’ve got an idealist on our hands.” She shook her head. “Were you in the Young Republicans in college?”
Fenway scoffed.
“Oh, come on, I was joking. I don’t know if you noticed, but I have quite the sense of humor.”
Fenway chuckled.
“You’re talking to the woman who wanted to get your dad a Yankees jersey to thank him for a donation to the sheriff’s fund.” Dez guffawed. “No one had the guts to do it, but man, I bet the look on your daddy’s face would’ve been priceless.” She leaned against the doorframe. “The key for Walker’s office is across the street in the Sheriff’s evidence room. There’s a bunch of fingerprint kits and gloves over there, too. I’ll be back in ten minutes.”
“Thanks, Dez.”
She grinned. “Don’t mention it, rookie. I haven’t had this much fun at work in a long time.”
Fenway sat for a moment, then opened her laptop and searched for the number for Barry Klein’s office. She picked up her cell phone and dialed.
“Klein Optometry.”
“Fenway Stevenson for Dr. Klein.” She was put on hold, but not for long.
Dr. Klein picked up. “Now listen, Miss Stevenson. You cannot call my place of work to harass me. Those were perfectly legitimate questions—”
“I’m calling to tell you I’m collecting evidence from Mr. Walker’s office.”
“What?”
“Transparency, Dr. Klein. You don’t trust my father, so I’m offering an olive branch. I’ll be starting my evidence collection in about thirty minutes. Send an observer if you wish. Come over yourself if you want.”
“It figures they’d put you in charge.” Klein’s voice was low and guttural. “Your father’s company is represented in many of the files in Walker’s office, I’m sure. No one will notice if one or two of those files disappear, right?”
“You probably have a few Ferris employees for clients yourself.” Fenway took a deep breath. “So come over and observe. Make sure everything is on the up-and-up.”
“How do I know you haven’t already hidden whatever evidence you have in there, and this isn’t all a put-on?”
She paused. “The door is locked. The key is being held in a separate office. There are cameras in the building.”
“All of which is no guarantee against tampering.”
“You obviously don’t trust me. I might not either if I were in your shoes. Do you have another suggestion?”
There was silence on the other end of the line. She could almost hear the gears turning in Dr. Klein’s head. Finally, he spoke. “I have patients to see, Miss Stevenson. Quit wasting my time.” He hung up.
Fenway smiled, shaking her head, and set the phone down.
“What the hell were you just doing?”
Fenway’s head snapped up. Dez was in the doorway, scowling.
Fenway hadn’t seen Dez scowl before. “I was just on the phone with Barry Klein. He didn’t trust me, so I offered—”
“Wow, you really haven’t investigated any crimes before.” Dez shook her head. “Did you pay attention to anything we’ve said? Everyone’s a suspect. McVie, me, Mark, Rachel—everyone. And that includes Barry Klein.”
“Really? But he—”
“I know you haven’t interviewed him to hear where he was on Sunday night. And you have no idea if he had some sort of business or personal issue with Walker.” Dez folded her arms. “Why in the world would you invite a suspect to oversee your evidence collection?”
“Well—he doesn’t trust me. I thought I was being proactive.”
Dez scoffed. “Look, I like you, Fenway, but you better not give a shit if Barry Klein does. That’s irrelevant to you finding Walker’s killer.” She sighed. “I don’t think McVie expected you to be done so soon. He hasn’t had time to brief you on process—and it’s not like you went to the academy. Hang on. I’ll be right back.”
Dez turned and walked away.
Fenway waited a moment, then logged into the Seattle University website and read over a few of the pages on fingerprint collection. She had a decent handle on the basics. Hopefully, the basics would serve her well enough.
Dez walked in with three boxes of blue nitrile gloves, evidence bags, ID tents, and some other equipment, as well as a manila folder.
“Is that for me?”
“Yep. But first, more paperwork.” Dez pulled a sheet of paper from the folder and put it in front of Fenway. homicide investigation checklist.
Fenway chewed on her bottom lip.
“I like that you want to get started, but we’ve got a right way to do this. The wrong way might get the case thrown out or get us sued.” Dez glared at Fenway. “I’m too close to retirement to get sued, all right?”
“All right,” Fenway muttered. She looked down at the paper and the plain numbered list.
“This is all about how to process a crime scene,” Fenway said.
“You don’t think you need to learn how to do that?”
Fenway shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Not for this investigation. The scene has already been processed.”
“Fine,” Dez said, pulling out another sheet. “Page two.”
Fenway took the page from her and started reading. “Did we notify the next of kin? Oh! The wife’s always a suspect! Rachel said he was married—”
“Mark got ahold of her Monday morning,” Dez said. “She was in Denver visiting her sister. They didn’t have children.”
Fenway nodded and kept reading. Establish movements of deceased prior to death. This was all the boring stuff the cop shows glossed over.
“I think a lot of this has already been done.”
“I hope so,” said Dez. “The Park Police sent everything to the lab.”
“His wallet and ID too?”
“I didn’t see an inventory list, but if he had those on him, then yes.”
Fenway nodded. “Do you know what he was doing on the side of that dark road that late at night?”
Dez shook her head. “Harrison Walker and I weren’t exactly tight.” She took a few more pages out of the folder. “The checklist is pretty long.”
“Okay.”
“It’s detailed, but you don’t know how to conduct a murder investigation yet. This’ll be a crash course for you.” Dez placed the papers above the one Fenway was reading. “And as long as this document is, do you know what’s not on here?”
Fenway nodded. “Letting Barry Klein oversee your evidence collection.”
Dez smirked. “You did say you were a fast learner.” She slid the boxes of gloves toward Fenway. “Read up on grid search. If you’re going to be gathering evidence from Walker’s office, that’s what you’ll have to do.”
Fenway exhaled. “I learned grid search in my evidence class.”
“Tell your instructor to have a unit on not being stupid around suspects. Now glove up and come on.”
Fenway grabbed two blue nitrile gloves, put them on, and stood up.
“I’ve got someone with me,” Dez said. Fenway followed her out of the conference room, taking the evidence baggies and envelopes—then hurried back for her phone, too. At the counter was a tall young white male deputy, wearing the sheriff department’s black uniform, his skin pink from what looked like a mild sunburn, and a military-style short haircut. Fenway nodded to him and felt the heat in her cheeks. She wondered how much of the conversation with Dez the deputy had heard.
He took three giant steps toward Walker’s office, took the key out, and unlocked the door before turning to Fenway. “Okay, ma’am, there you go.”
“Thanks.” Fenway ducked under the police tape. Twenty-eight years old and I got ‘ma’amed.’
He stood there.
“You waiting for a tip?” Dez said.
“No, ma’am.”
“Well, go on then.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he responded in an even
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