The Reluctant Coroner by Paul Austin Ardoin (best ebook reader ubuntu txt) 📕

asleep, but the camera was on.” He was disconnecting all the cables going 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 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. “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 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 it’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.”

“A regular latte? No flavors, or soy foam macchiato, or magic beans?”

“Oh, but Dez, espresso beans are magic.”

She laughed. “Fine, 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 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 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 father, 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 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 you. Do you understand the rights I have 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 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 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.”