The Upstaged Coroner Page 17

  “Dammit, Fenway!” Ferris stood up and shouted. “You know I didn’t mean it like that, and you know I don’t think like that. I’m not perfect, I know that, but give me the benefit of the doubt!”

  Fenway looked away from him. The guard on the other side of the window had cocked his head slightly at the yelling but hadn’t otherwise moved. “No, you’re right, Dad. You don’t think we have a black handshake. You think because I’m a pretty girl and big bad Detective Ridley is a mouth-breathing Neanderthal who thinks with his dick, I can get him to give me information he wouldn’t ordinarily give out.”

  Ferris shifted uncomfortably. “I definitely didn’t say that.”

  “No,” Fenway said, “you didn’t say that. Because that would be uncomfortably close to pimping your daughter out.”

  “NO!” her father roared. “You’re reading things into—"

  “I shouldn’t have come,” Fenway snapped. “I’m still pissed off at you, and this conversation hasn’t helped.” She walked toward the window and knocked.

  “I implied no such thing, Fenway.”

  The guard turned around, and Fenway motioned for him to come in. “Last time I left,” she said, “I didn’t leave on a good note. So I’ll say this: I love you, and I’ll do what I can to make sure justice is done. If that means I get you out of this mess, then that’s what I’ll do.”

  “I promise you, Fenway, I didn’t mean it like you took it. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry, Dad. You’re always sorry for everything. You always want to throw money at every problem that comes up.” Fenway gritted her teeth as the guard came in. “I just wanted you to be there for me. You know how much it bothers me that you missed pretty much every milestone in my life, and now that we live ten miles away from each other, you’re still missing out.” She folded her arms. “And if you get put away for this, we won’t have any time together at all.”

  “Fenway, I didn’t do—”

  She held up her hand. “I really don’t want to hear it, Dad.” Clearing her throat, she looked in his eyes. “I don’t want to say anything I’ll regret. So.”

  Ferris looked bewildered. “Oh—okay. I love you, too.”

  Fenway nodded and left the room.

  Fenway found herself breathing heavily as she walked out of the jail into the dark and misty November evening. She hated what he implied she could do with Detective Ridley to help him out. Sure, she wanted to know the details of the case, but there wasn’t any way she’d flirt with Ridley to get it.

  She turned everything over in her mind as she walked to her building. She wanted to see what Piper had uncovered about her father’s finances before she made her next move.

  Her stomach rumbled. She had just had tacos from Dos Milagros a few hours before, but the thought of the slight char on the lengua, the tang of the cilantro, the sting of the onions—it started to make her salivate, even as she had a bad taste in her mouth from visiting her father.

  What the hell did he expect from her, anyway? To invite Detective Ridley to dinner? She pursed her lips. There’s no way he’d give her the information, if she kept it professional. The interaction played out in her mind, but the skeptical look never vanished from Ridley’s face.

  Of course her father would think she should seduce him to get him to talk—it was so typical of his mindset. Despite her hunger, Fenway felt nauseated. Maybe Ridley would talk if he were seduced, but Fenway couldn’t—wouldn’t—do it. The very thought of seducing the investigator of her rapist’s murder repulsed her. It was a bad strategy, not just because of her knee-jerk reaction, either, but because Ridley would see through it right away.

  She’d have to think of something else.

  She pulled out her phone and called Dez, who answered on the first ring.

  “Hey, rookie. You went home?”

  “No, I’m coming back to the office. I just went to visit my father in jail.”

  “Oh.” Dez paused. “I’m glad you’re taking care of personal stuff. You okay?”

  Fenway gritted her teeth. “Not really. My father had the nerve to suggest that I should seduce that detective from Bellingham mcu to see what evidence they have against him.”

  “He did what?”

  “Yeah. He wants information before his lawyers go through discovery, I guess, and he’s not afraid to make his only daughter do his dirty work.”

  “He didn’t actually say you should seduce him, did he?”

  “Well, no.” Fenway scoffed. “Strongly implied, maybe.”

  “What exactly did your daddy say, Fenway?’

  “He said—” Fenway stopped and thought. What had her father said? He talked about some sort of magic communication system with Ridley. And…

  She realized that he hadn’t said she should seduce Ridley. He had said he thought that Fenway and Ridley had a rapport.

  A rapport.

  Holy shit. Had she—had she made all of that up in her head?

  “You still there, Fenway?”

  “Uh,” Fenway said. “Uh, yeah. I’m still here.”

  “What did your daddy say?”

  “He—I guess he said I had a rapport with Detective Ridley. That maybe I could use that rapport to talk to him.”

  Dez didn’t say anything.

  “Dammit, Dez. He didn’t say what I thought he said, did he?”

  “Well, now, it doesn’t sound like it, but I wasn’t there. Sometimes a person’s tone of voice can mean more than their words.”

  Fenway squeezed her eyes shut. “I have to go apologize to him.”

  Dez took a quick breath, and her tone was gentle when she spoke again. “Why did you think your daddy was suggesting you seduce Detective Ridley?”

  “Because—” Fenway stopped. She knew she was angry. She knew her father had never been there for her. She also knew everyone said she had to support him in his hour of need. Well, what about her hour of need? What about when she and her mother were on food stamps in Seattle? What about when the free lunch she got at school was the only thing she had to eat for a couple of weeks when her mother was between jobs? What about when her mother’s car died on the side of the road in Tacoma and it took them four hours to get home?

  And now she was supposed to drop everything—drop her murder investigations—just because her father wanted to play hero, kill her rapist, and get off scot-free? No. She wouldn’t stop feeling angry about that.

  “Because of everything, Dez,” Fenway said. “Because I’m supposed to be the dutiful daughter now, and all he thinks about is himself.”

  The silence on the other end of the phone was long and heavy. Finally Dez spoke. “I think you might have some things to work through with your dad.”

  “Yeah, well, my shrink got himself murdered, so that’s not really an option.”

  “Don’t you snap at me, Fenway. I get that you’re upset, but you are not giving me attitude just because I’m on the other end of the phone.”

  Fenway could feel hot tears just behind her eyelids and she blinked them back. “Sorry, sorry.”

  “It happens to the best of us, rookie, just don’t do it to me.”

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay, Fenway,” Dez said. Fenway heard a beep in the background. “Oh—that’s the m.e.’s office in San Miguelito. I’ve got to take this.”

  “All right. See you soon.”

  Fenway ended the call and took a few deep breaths. The entrance to her building was right in front of her, but she had to calm down first.

  She stopped and looked around. Walking downtown didn’t have the idyllic peacefulness of the path through the butterfly grove to the ocean at the end of her street, but it was better than going inside for the moment. Fenway looked up at the dark, cloudy sky, and she wasn’t sure she’d beat the rain before she returned, but she decided to risk it anyway.

  She walked down the street, past Java Jim’s, then turned away from the parking garage. How had she jumped to such a wrong conclusion with her father, a
nd so quickly?

  Was he guilty? The payment to Peter Grayheath had definitely been made, but her father insisted that he hadn’t made it.

  Something else didn’t seem right to Fenway, either.

  Grayheath was walking around Estancia a free man.

  If the police had built their case on the payment of a murder for hire and arrested her father, wouldn’t Grayheath be behind bars, too? But putting Nathaniel Ferris behind bars while the supposed hit man went free didn’t make sense. Even a lenient plea bargain would have resulted in some jail time.

  The other explanation was that someone was framing her father for the murder of Fenway’s former professor. In that scenario, someone would have opened an account in Nathaniel Ferris’s name and sent Grayheath the money. But that didn’t make sense either—what was the money for, if not for a hit? What possible reason would Grayheath have for killing Professor Delacroix if her father hadn’t hired him? And who had fifty grand to throw around like that?

  Of course, maybe someone else paid Grayheath to kill Fenway’s former professor, but that seemed unlikely, given the connection to her father. Fenway briefly toyed with the idea that Professor Delacroix was in on the money laundering scheme, but Piper would have found a connection by now.

  And if her father was being framed for hiring Grayheath to kill Professor Delacroix, the same question bothered her: why was Grayheath not in prison?

  Fenway looked up. She had walked in a circle and found herself back in front of her office building. She straightened up and went through the entrance.

  She walked past the coroner’s suite and down the hallway to the it area, where Piper had commandeered two other monitors and stared at several spreadsheets on the screen.

  “You look like you’re hard at work,” Fenway said.

  “My last twenty-four hours at a job I love,” Piper said, a rough edge to her voice. “I’ll miss being here.”

  “Not as much as I’ll miss you, Piper. This sucks.”

  Piper nodded, and they were silent for a moment. Fenway looked at two stacks of papers on the desk. She picked up the top sheet from the short stack.

  “You found the payments from my father to Peter Grayheath.”

  Piper nodded. “I did.”

  “Not random payments from some weird account in the Caymans?”

  “No. Which is kind of strange, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t know. Sometimes I think my father is arrogant enough to pay a hit man with a personal check and think he can get away with it.”

  “Yeah, but that’s because you don’t like him very much.”

  Fenway grimaced. “I guess.”

  “He’s way too savvy for that. We’re talking about a man who performs multimillion-dollar transactions on a regular basis and does it so that his tax liability in minimized.”

  “You mean hidden.”

  “I do. Which is why he’d never pay a hit man from a u.s.-based bank with a transaction record that’s so out in the open.”

  “He thinks someone is framing him. What do you think?”

  Piper was quiet.

  “You don’t have any proof,” Fenway said, “do you?”

  “Not yet,” Piper admitted. “But I’m still working on it.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  When Fenway got back to her office, Dez and Mark were both heading out the door.

  “What’d I miss?” Fenway said.

  “We’re headed to San Miguelito,” Dez said. “They’re doing the autopsy on Jessica in about an hour, and Mark’s taking the phone over to the lab.”

  “Six o’clock? That’s pretty late for an autopsy.”

  Dez tilted her head. “Yeah, I thought so, too, but Michi said it needs to be done.”

  Mark raised his eyebrows. “I told you it was weird.”

  “You sure you don’t want me to go instead?” Fenway asked.

  “Well—” Dez started.

  Mark interrupted. “Dr. Yasuda said that since Dez was the one to collect most of the evidence from the body, she should be at the autopsy to answer questions, and she’s staying late. Combining the personal and professional, if you ask me.”

  Fenway shot Dez a look—Dez had been avoiding Dr. Yasuda for months. “I can go instead,” Fenway said in a low voice.

  “Stop whispering,” Dez said. “Both of you know Michi is my ex, so stop walking on eggshells. Yes, I’ve been avoiding her, but damn, it’s time for me to put on my big girl panties and talk to her like an adult. So that’s what I’ll do.”

  “Call me if you need to talk later,” Fenway said.

  “Thanks, rook—boss,” Dez said quietly. “I’ll be fine, but if I’m not, I might take you up on that offer.”

  “Heard anything from Pruitt yet? Am I still interviewing the students and the professor after dress rehearsal tonight?”

  “No news is good news, but that place is like talking to a brick wall. Good luck trying to pin down the professor.”

  “I’ll need it.”

  Dez and Mark left, and Fenway walked into her office, sitting heavily in the chair behind the desk. She checked her email, scanning her inbox for lab results or perhaps an update on her car. No luck.

  She pulled out her phone and texted McVie.

  Rehearsal ends in 2 hours if you want to head to Nidever with me

  Three little dots appeared—and then vanished. She bit her lip and sent another text.

  I have some ideas on how we can kill 2 hours if you’re up for it

  She sent the text, and the three dots started up again and disappeared once more. Finally, a quick series of three responses arrived.

  Megan’s got a volleyball game at 7

  Sorry I can’t come with you to Nidever tonight

  Or kill 2 hours with you

  Fenway bristled, and immediately she hated herself for it. McVie had chosen to spend the evening with his daughter over Fenway, but that was the right decision. She was angry with her own father because he always chose Charlotte and his business and his fun over spending time with his own daughter.

  So why did this feel like such a personal affront?

  Disgusted with herself, Fenway wondered if Amy McVie would be there too. Her heart started beating faster. No, Craig didn’t want to be with Amy. He tried to make it work and couldn’t. He’d moved on.

  Oh, but that nagging voice in the back of her head wouldn’t stop. Maybe Craig hadn’t moved on. Maybe Amy realized her mistake and would try to get McVie back with the promise of her lithe, lean body, and her perfect blue-eyed blondness, and the structure of the nuclear family that Fenway couldn’t give him.

  She told her brain to shut up.

  Folding her arms, Fenway leaned back and forced her thoughts onto the case. If she could talk to Professor Cygnus, she’d love to have Piper there to grill him on financials, although she didn’t know exactly what to dig for. But with Dez and Mark gone, and Piper forced to resign—and apparently working around the clock until she had to leave—Fenway would just have to go by herself.

  Her phone dinged again. This time it was a text from Charlotte. She was coming to pick Ferris up from the jail; his release was imminent, and Charlotte insisted on Fenway joining them for a family dinner at the mansion.

  Fenway read the texts through half-lidded eyes. She didn’t want to go, but with two hours before she could try to interview someone—anyone—at Nidever, she had no reason to say no.

  And this might finally get Charlotte off her back.

  Sure I’ll be there in 30 min

  Her phone dinged in her hand as she was putting it back in her purse, and she looked at the screen, expecting a response from Charlotte, but it was Rachel.

  Hey I’m off at a decent time tonight

  Margaritas? Happy hour?

  Fenway sighed. Of all the nights Rachel would be free, it had to be the one night her father was coming home.

  Sorry Dinner with my father

  Fenway shut her laptop down, turned the lights off, and locke
d up the office, walking across the street to the jail where she’d see Nathaniel Ferris and the love of his life reunite after a harrowing week.

  Even through Ferris grilled Fenway about standing up for herself and getting her car back, she accepted the ride to the mansion, trying to ignore all of her father’s admonishments. She couldn’t tell if her growing nausea was the result of the twists and turns in Las Manzanitas Drive, or from the display of affection Charlotte and her father were giving each other in the back seat of the Mercedes while Fenway rode shotgun next to Roderick, who was especially stoic in his driving duties.

  The scent of spices and cooking fruit hit Fenway’s nose as soon as they walked into the house. Ferris barked out a laugh. “Oh, Charlotte, that’s too much! I’m not even out of the clink for an hour and you’ve already got pheasant roasting in the oven.”

  “Well, it is your favorite,” Charlotte said, tracing her hand from Ferris’s collar all the way down his chest to his stomach. Fenway averted her eyes.

  Ferris was his old self again, regaling Fenway with stories of the days before the election. He offered Fenway wine three times, and Fenway refused as she wanted to be on her toes for any interview she might wrangle.

  Sandrita dished out the family dinner that Charlotte had insisted on, but the meal quickly devolved into Fenway eating her apple-and-fig-stuffed pheasant with, Fenway grudgingly admitted, a delicious bordelaise, while Charlotte and Ferris looked deeply into each other’s eyes, held each other’s hands, and acted as if Fenway weren’t there.

  She finished her last bite and then clapped her hands, startling Charlotte. “All right,” she said with finality. “I’ve got to get an Uber to take me to Nidever.” She called into the kitchen. “Thanks for dinner, Sandrita. Wonderful as always.” And then to Charlotte and her father, she said, “I appreciate the invitation, Charlotte. Good to have you home, Dad.”