The Reluctant Coroner, Paul Austin Ardoin [comprehension books TXT] 📗

“Finished?” Piper asked them.

Fenway nodded.

“Just about.” Dez read the screen for another five seconds. “Okay.”

“What do you think, Dez?” Fenway asked.

“You’re not going to like what I think.”

Fenway remembered her mother, years before, struggling with a painting. They still lived in the tiny apartment at the time. One evening, Fenway came home from the library, and her mother was tired, but happy—Fenway thought she had had a breakthrough. One look at the painting, though, and Fenway knew her mother was on the wrong track. The focal point was odd. The perspective was off. And it was in a way that didn’t look purposeful. Fenway remembered looking at her mother with trepidation. And her mother read her face. Fenway, tell me. Tell me even if you think I don’t want to hear it. Because I do want to hear it if it gets me closer to a great painting. Even if I have to start over.

“I don’t care if I don’t like what you think, Dez. I want to hear if it gets us closer to finding out the truth.”

Dez looked down. “I don’t like it much either.”

“Oh, you think it’s my father,” Fenway said.

She looked up. “We should go into the conference room again.”

“Sorry Migs, sorry Piper.” Fenway followed Dez, and they went in and closed the door. “So you do think it’s my father.”

Dez slowly shook her head. “I do not.”

“You don’t? I thought for sure you were going to say my father.”

“I think it’s Sheriff McVie.”

Fenway’s face fell. “Oh.”

“I said you wouldn’t like it.”

“Okay. All right, yes, there are a lot of things pointing to McVie. But walk me through it.”

Dez thought a moment. “It’s obvious Walker was offering to alter the contents of the files. Something where the original file threatened the killer.”

“Right. That’s pretty evident. But what would be in the file that threatened McVie?”

“McVie is the one who led the investigation at the refinery after the incident. And The Owner has been known to grease wheels before,” Dez continued. “Maybe there was evidence of negligence which McVie was paid to ignore. Maybe McVie screwed up some evidence collection. Maybe McVie looked the other way on some safety audit that was done before. It could be almost anything.”

“Okay.”

“It may not have even been real evidence. I mean, maybe the original file had real evidence that McVie was at fault for something, but I wouldn’t put it past Walker to manufacture evidence specifically for purposes of blackmail.”

“Yeah, I could see any of those scenarios being possible.” Fenway was trying not to be defensive about McVie, but she could feel her hackles getting up.

“And maybe McVie scrimped and saved, maybe sold some stuff or cashed out some savings to get the ten or fifteen thousand. But when Walker upped it to twenty-five, where does a county sheriff get that kind of money?”

“Okay.”

“All right. Now, McVie doesn’t usually work Sundays, but we know he picked up a patrol shift for Callahan this past Sunday. So, he’s driving around, doesn’t have to be in any particular place.”

“So,