The Reluctant Coroner Page 7

  She nodded. “He doesn’t listen to anyone.”

  “That’s why I was worried.”

  Fenway smiled. “Sheriff, if you think that simply seeing my father unexpectedly would throw me off my game, you didn’t do as much homework on me as I thought.”

  The doors to the council chamber opened, and McVie followed Fenway in. Fenway looked up at the dais. All five councilmembers were seated, looking down at her. She walked up to the front table. There was a plastic nameplate reading “Sheriff Craig McVie” in embossed block letters, and next to that, a paper nameplate that read “Fennway Stevenson” that looked fresh off an inkjet printer.

  Fenway saw a couple of the supervisors start a little bit. Perhaps, Fenway thought, they too assumed that Nathaniel Ferris’s daughter would be white. Fenway only vaguely remembered a couple of times from when she was little seeing the surprise on strangers’ faces when they realized she and her father had different colored skin. She hadn’t had to deal with that in twenty years, but just in the last few days, she saw that reaction from Stotsky, then Dez, and now from a couple of the county supervisors; it wasn’t something she wanted to get used to.

  She smiled at the supervisors. “Wow, aren’t there Red Sox fans here? Fenway only has one N.” She chuckled lightly to show she was joking. The mayor, Alice Jenkins, gave her a wan smile. The thin man behind the “Dr. Barry Klein” nameplate narrowed his eyes at her and frowned.

  The mayor called the special session to order. She thanked everyone for attending and gave the floor to the sheriff, who announced his intent to appoint Fenway Stevenson in the position of coroner until the November election. The mayor then announced a question and answer session for Miss Stevenson.

  She started with asking Fenway her education and experience. Fenway detailed her undergraduate work in nursing, from earning her associates degree at Cascades, to her BSN at Western Washington, the three years she spent in the emergency room, two years in the clinic, and the master’s program she was currently in—studying forensics at Seattle University. After taking questions on finishing her degree—one class left, which she could take online starting mid-May—Dr. Barry Klein took the floor.

  “Good morning.”

  “Good morning, Dr. Klein.”

  He paused for a moment and pushed his glasses up. “You have an interesting resume.”

  Fenway couldn’t read Dr. Klein’s tone.

  “You said you went to junior college for two years,” he continued.

  “Yes, that’s correct.”

  “Were your grades not sufficient to get into a four-year university out of high school?”

  “Here we go,” McVie muttered next to Fenway.

  “Actually, it was the money in my bank account that wasn’t sufficient,” Fenway replied. “I was able to save over twenty thousand dollars by going to Cascades for the first two years.”

  “I see,” Dr. Klein said. He turned the papers over. There was no other sound in the large room. “You’ll have to forgive me,” he finally said. “I confess I’m not familiar with Western Washington.”

  “It has a top-fifty BSN program,” Fenway said. “Go Vikings.”

  He looked up. “I’m sorry?”

  Fenway cleared her throat. “I said, ‘Go Vikings.’ The Western mascot.”

  “Ah,” he said. “How did you do while you were there?”

  “At Western? I was top in my class.”

  “Hm.” Dr. Klein flipped two pages. “Impressive.” Fenway didn’t think his voice sounded like he was impressed, though.

  “And now you’re at Seattle University.”

  “Yes. Completing my master’s degree in forensics.”

  “So you haven’t finished the program.”

  “One more class. I start next week.”

  “Isn’t your class in Seattle?”

  “They have an online option for this class,” Fenway said. She had been unsure about Dr. Klein’s tone at first, but now she sensed that he was fishing for something negative.

  “To be honest, Miss Stevenson, I’m a bit concerned that you haven’t completed your degree yet. And I don’t have a lot of confidence in online universities.”

  “Seattle University is a regular university, Barry,” Alice Jenkins said. “Miss Stevenson said she’s taking a single class online. There’s a big difference.”

  “Perhaps, Alice,” Klein said. “But I don’t see the difference—if they offer classes on the web, they’re an online university in my book.”

  Fenway took a deep breath. “Can I ask, is an advanced forensics degree a requirement for the position? Have the previous two coroners had one?” Fenway knew from her research the night before that the answer was no—Harrison Walker had been a monitor transport technician at Cottage Hospital in Santa Barbara before running for coroner. The previous coroner had been a paramedic before running. Before that, the position had been combined with the sheriff’s office.

  Dr. Klein shifted uncomfortably. “We’re not talking about the previous two coroners. We’re talking about you.”

  “That’s true, Dr. Klein. I’d like to point out, though, that if you’re concerned that my advanced forensics degree hasn’t been completed, that doesn’t seem to have been a requirement for success before now.”

  “With all due respect, I don’t think that’s a judgment that’s up to you.”

  “Fair enough,” Fenway said.

  “I don’t mean to put you on the defensive,” Dr. Klein said, although Fenway thought his body language said otherwise. “I’m just trying to get an accurate picture of you. You see, if people have a lack of experience, it can sometimes be made up for in advanced education.”

  “I’ve worked in the medical profession directly with patients, many of them trauma and assault cases, for five years. Are you concerned with my length of service in the medical field?”

  “Yes.”

  There was a long pause. Fenway realized that Klein wasn’t going to elaborate.

  “Well, Dr. Klein, I believe my experience is sufficient. It’s a new role, but as my educational experience shows, I’m a fast learner, and I’m confident I can manage the coroner’s office until the next election.”

  “Ah, now, we’ve reached something else that concerns me, Miss Ferris.”

  Fenway paused. “I’m sorry?”

  “Barry,” Mayor Jenkins, said sharply.

  Klein looked up, right in Fenway’s eyes. “My apologies, Miss Stevenson. I misspoke because was I’m concerned with you being so close with some of the corporate interests in this town.”

  “I assume you’re referring to me being Nathaniel Ferris’ daughter.”

  Mayor Jenkins was frowning at Dr. Klein, but he was doing his best to ignore it. “You assume correctly, Miss Fer—excuse me, Miss Stevenson. I’m not alone in this concern.” Klein put his hands flat on the desk, palms down, getting agitated. “When a powerful person has access to the coroner’s office, there can be some procedures that get overlooked, or policies that get, shall we say, selectively enforced. There can be personal agendas that take precedence over the rule of law. And I have grave concerns about that.”

  Fenway could feel her blood pressure rise, and tried to keep her voice steady and calm. She looked at Mayor Jenkins, and addressed the whole board.

  “Nathaniel Ferris and I have barely spoken more than a couple of times a year for the last two decades,” she said. “You can check phone records, email records, whatever you want. In fact, I’m surprised that Dr. Klein hasn’t done so already. If he had, he’d know that I probably have had less exposure to the ‘Nathaniel Ferris agenda’ than any other person in Dominguez County. I didn’t even know, until yesterday, that he had a bestselling business book.” Fenway clasped her hands together. “It’s been made very clear to me that part of the reason I’m being offered this appointment is because no one wants to take it until the election. That being said, I’ll do the job to the best of my abilities, and I will do it for the next six months.” />
  “If we don’t have to worry about your father’s agenda,” Klein demanded, his voice rising, “will you promise, right now, right here, not to seek election to the position in November?”

  Mayor Jenkins rolled her eyes.

  Fenway closed her eyes and willed herself to speak calmly. “I’m not in the habit of making promises when I don’t have enough information, Dr. Klein. But I can tell you that this wasn’t part of my plan. I can tell you that my plan is to finish my master’s degree, get my California nursing license, and be working at a hospital or a clinic by January.”

  “That’s quite a roundabout answer, Miss Stevenson.” Klein turned to address his fellow councilmembers. “You’ve heard my concerns about Mr. Ferris being able to control the criminal investigations in this county. Frankly, Miss Stevenson has said nothing to reduce my fears.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Klein,” Alice Jenkins said firmly. “Miss Stevenson, thank you for your time, and for the candor you’ve displayed in your answers.” She hesitated. “Also, I’d like to apologize for misspelling your name. That was an oversight that we should have caught before the meeting, and it wasn’t very professional.”

  “Oh, please,” Dr. Klein muttered under his breath.

  “If the county supervisors have no objection, you are now excused. I think we’d like to chat with Sheriff McVie for a bit before we adjourn.”

  “Thank you for your time, everyone.” Fenway bent her head, halfway between a nod and a bow. She stood up and turned to McVie.

  McVie gave a little smile. “See you out there.”

  She walked out of the chamber.

  Chapter Six

  Fenway bought a latte at the coffee cart in the lobby and put a dollar and change into the tip jar. She walked around the ground floor of city hall, sipping her latte, killing time until the sheriff came out. She walked past the City Attorney’s office, the County Clerk and Recorder’s office, and read the sign in front of the stairs telling passersby that Public Works and Parks and Recreation were on the second floor. A man asked her where to get a form for a birth certificate because his daughter was born at home. He actually went on with his story for a while before Fenway interrupted him to tell him that she didn’t work at City Hall, but thought he’d probably be able to get the form at the Clerk’s office that he had just passed.

  She still had about a quarter of her latte left when Sheriff McVie appeared by her side.

  “Congratulations, Coroner Stevenson,” he said warmly. “You’ve been officially appointed.”

  Fenway grinned and pulled him into an excited hug. Fenway wondered if she held on for a beat too long before they broke apart.

  “When do you want to start?”

  “Now?”

  “Done. Let’s get you to your first day.”

  Fenway was surprised at how quickly it was all official. The sheriff walked her over to the coroner’s office and officially introduced her to the staff as the new coroner. There was just the matter of Harrison Walker’s office still wrapped in police tape.

  “No one’s gone through his office to look for evidence yet?” she said, quietly, to McVie.

  “No—like we talked about yesterday, you’re going to have to be responsible for evidence collection.”

  “All right. I’ll have to get started then.”

  “Hang on, cowgirl. You work for the government now. There’s a ton of paperwork to do first. You’ll be fine here for now. I have to run; I have other matters to attend to. Do you need a ride home later?”

  “That’d be great, thanks.”

  “OK. I’ll go tell HR you’re ready, and I’ll be back around five. And congratulations again.” He walked out.

  Dez pulled her aside. “What happens at happy hour stays at happy hour, okay?”

  Fenway smiled and nodded.

  A woman holding an obscene number of binders and file folders came into the office a few minutes later, while Mark was telling Fenway about Randy’s performance in the previous night’s musical.

  “Excuse me,” the woman said, tapping Fenway on the shoulder. Fenway thought she tapped a bit harder than was necessary, but she turned around anyway. A raven-haired white woman in her mid-forties stood in front of her. Her eyes were hard, and her mouth was a straight line. She had cat-eye glasses with black frames, black slacks, and a long-sleeve floral-print shirt that Fenway thought was too hot for a beautiful day like today.

  “Do you know where I can find Miss Ferris?”

  “You’re probably looking for me. I’m Fenway Stevenson.”

  “No.” She looked down over her glasses at Fenway. “I’m looking for Nathaniel Ferris’s daughter. It’s her first day as coroner. Do you know where I can find her?”

  Fenway steeled herself. “I assure you, I’m Nathaniel Ferris’s daughter, and my name is Fenway Stevenson. I have my mother’s last name, not his. And Sheriff McVie appointed me coroner this morning after the county board of supervisors’ session.”

  The woman looked around.

  Mark cleared his throat. “Yeah, Lana, that’s correct. Miss Stevenson is Ferris’s daughter. And the new coroner.”

  “I thought her name was Ferris,” she said, as if Fenway weren’t standing right in front of her.

  Mark shrugged. “Sorry.”

  “Well.” She turned back to Fenway. “I guess we can get started, Miss Ferris.”

  Fenway tilted her head, trying to figure out if Lana was playing some sort of power game. “You can call me Fenway.”

  “I’m the director of Human Resources here.” She produced a business card and handed it to her. The card read Lana Cassidy—the same woman who had refused to take Rachel’s complaint. “I understand it’s your first day, and we have a lot of paperwork for you to sign, and a lot of mandatory information to discuss.”

  “Okay then. Let’s go to the conference room in the back and get started.”

  Fenway’s bad feeling about Lana Cassidy didn’t go away after they sat down. She remembered back in Seattle when she was with her mom, and someone would say something to them that was a lot nastier than it sounded—sometimes they wouldn’t want a kid in their store; sometimes they didn’t want to do their jobs, and tried to make it sound like it was Fenway’s fault, or her mother’s fault; and sometimes, Fenway’s mother told her, maybe they just didn’t want black people around. It had felt awful at the time, but Fenway was glad her mom pointed it out to her. The first time this kind of thing happened—that Fenway remembered, anyway—she might have been ten years old, shopping for back to school outfits in a clothing store in downtown Seattle. While she didn’t recall what the store employee said, Fenway remembered her mother’s strange, thin-lipped smile, her hand placed gently on Fenway’s shoulder, and her setting down the four outfits they had picked out before steering them out of the store. Fenway complained—there had been a couple of outfits she really liked—and her mother said, “Baby, they just insulted us. I’m not giving them our money.”

  Fenway got the same feeling from Lana Cassidy as she did from the employees in that downtown clothing store. There was an enormous amount of paperwork, but Lana was not trying to make it easy. She rushed through the employee handbook, the travel policy, and signature rules, and if Fenway asked a question, Lana got an angry look on her face and painfully repeated the page step-by-step, as if Fenway were a toddler.

  There was one page on expense reports where Lana verbally contradicted what was written on the page.

  “Hang on, Lana,” Fenway interjected. “It says on the page that I can only authorize payments for ten thousand dollars, not twenty thousand.”

  Lana rolled her eyes. “I didn’t say twenty thousand.”

  “Okay, well, I thought you just said twenty thousand, and I wanted to make sure I knew—”

  “I didn’t say twenty thousand. Let’s move on.”

  Fenway and Lana were about halfway through the paperwork when Lana stopped and looked at her watch.

  “I see it’s one o’clock.
I suppose we’d better take a break for lunch.”

  “Okay, that’s fine. Are there lunch places around here?”

  “I already have plans,” Lana said coldly.

  Fenway looked sideways at Lana. “I didn’t—I mean, I’m new in town, and I don’t know what’s around here.”

  Lana gathered up her purse. “Be back in an hour.” She was out of the conference room, slamming the door behind her, a moment later.

  Fenway sighed. She wasn’t sure what Lana had against her, but it was obvious that it was something. The conference room door opened gently, and Rachel stuck her head in.

  “You two breaking for lunch?”

  Fenway nodded.

  “Where is she taking you?”

  “Oh, she didn’t offer to get lunch with me.”

  “Rude,” Rachel murmured under her breath. “Okay. Let’s go grab some tacos.”

  “Cool. I love tacos.”

  As soon as Rachel and Fenway stepped out of the building into the bright sunlight, Rachel looked behind them, and seeing no one, she spoke in a low voice. “I’m really sorry.”

  “About Lana? Don’t worry about it.”

  “No. About what a horrible burden it was to hear about something like what I told you last night.” She shook her head at herself. “And from someone who reports directly to you.”

  “Oh. Well, listen, Rachel,” Fenway said. “As your manager, I need to know that this has happened to you. It’s something that affects the workplace, and you were absolutely within your rights to tell me.” She adjusted her purse on her shoulder. “And it’s my job, as your manager now, to make sure that you get what you need, and to do everything I can to make sure you are never put in that position again.”

  Rachel was quiet.

  “But Mr. Walker is dead,” she whispered.

  “Yes. And we’re probably going to have to talk with you about some stuff when the investigation gets going.”

  “Do you need to know where I was that night?”

  “We’ll probably ask you that at some point, but not now.”