The Reluctant Coroner - Paul Austin Ardoin (most romantic novels txt) 📗
- Author: Paul Austin Ardoin
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Trevor nodded in Fenway’s direction. “Good morning, Miss Stevenson,” he said, before looking back to Dr. Yasuda. “I haven’t completed all the tests yet, but my initial assessments indicate this Smith & Wesson 4006 pistol was, in fact, the weapon that fired the bullet that killed Harrison Walker.”
He started in on his presentation. He pointed out rotation marks on each of the bullets, and had a map of the inside of the chamber which made some of the marks.
“Hold on a second.” Dr. Yasuda stopped Trevor at a photo where the gun sight was visible. “That’s an adjustable sight.”
“Yes, that’s correct,” said Trevor.
“Does this gun have a trigger play spring?” she said.
“Um.” Trevor checked his notes. “No, I don’t see anything like that.”
“All right, that should make it a little easier to narrow things down.” Dr. Yasuda turned to Fenway. “All of the model 4006 handguns came with a fixed sight and a trigger play spring—except for the ones issued to the California Highway Patrol for about 20 years. Those had an adjustable sight and no spring—like this one. The CHP changed to a newer model a couple of years ago, but this is a specific firearm.”
Fenway looked at the adjustable sight. “You’re saying this is a CHP officer’s gun?”
Dr. Yasuda nodded. “If it isn’t, it used to be. The CHP auctioned off their unwanted 4006s a few years ago, but there weren’t too many of them auctioned off, and the state has done a pretty good job of keeping track of the ones that were sold.”
“Not ‘too many’? What does that mean? Ten? Twelve?”
Dr. Yasuda laughed. “Hundreds—but not thousands. It’s a start. The database is pretty good. We’ll be able to see which guns have been stolen, or are missing, or have been handed in when some of those cities have done buy-backs. That might narrow the list down to ten or twenty. Of course, it won’t include guns that disappeared and didn’t get reported.”
Fenway tilted her head. “Really? Don’t cops lose their badges over stuff like that?”
Dr. Yasuda shook her head. “You’d be surprised at how many guns assigned to law enforcement go missing every year. And no one gets fired.”
“I can’t say that makes me feel any better.”
“There is something else here,” Trevor said. “The numbers were filed off, true, but the filing job isn’t the best. A few of the numbers are filed off pretty thoroughly, but some of them—it’s possible that we might be able to lift the number. We’ve got some new chemical treatments now.”
“That would be good,” Fenway responded. “What about any fingerprints?”
“Not yet. The gun looks like it was wiped clean.”
“Wiped clean?”
“Yes. Lots of abandoned guns are wiped clean. We’re working on the inside of the gun. Probably didn’t wipe off fingerprints there, although we often don’t get anything useable from the inside.”
“Hmm,” Fenway mused. “Why would Dylan wipe the gun clean of fingerprints if he was going to bury it in his own garden?”
“I don’t know,” Dr. Yasuda said, “but if I had a nickel for every weird thing every criminal did, I’d buy my own island.”
“Fair enough.”
Dr. Yasuda had a few follow-up questions for Trevor, more for procedural review than anything else. Fenway thought Trevor answered Dr. Yasuda’s questions with aplomb, although Dr. Yasuda didn’t seem happy with a couple of his answers. When she was finished, she turned back to Fenway.
“Anything else, Miss Stevenson?”
Fenway shrugged. “I guess not.”
Dr. Yasuda told her the official report wouldn’t be ready for a few hours. When Fenway went out to the waiting area, Dr. Yasuda had already had some autopsy notes printed up for her. She thanked the M.E. and left into the bright sunshine.
Fenway was lost in thought on the drive back to Estancia. She was almost on autopilot, with only the sound of the GPS voice.
She could feel the pieces starting to slip into place, even though there were twice as many murders to solve as the day before. It also looked increasingly likely she’d have to provide Sheriff McVie with an alibi that could wreck his marriage and career, and, Fenway feared, derail her plans in California before they even got off the ground.
She made the trip back in a little under an hour. Fenway walked from the parking garage to the office in the sunlight, which, a month ago, in rainy Seattle, she would have welcomed. Now, rather than enjoy the weather, she was impatient to get inside and do more research to figure out how the pieces would fit together.
Dez looked up as she entered. “Hey, Fenway. Any news?”
“You first. Anything come back from the phone records between Dylan and Lana?”
“We went back a year on both of their cell phones. Lana’s home phone, too. Nothing between them, and nothing between their phones and any suspicious numbers. Lana called a lot of people after Carl was killed, but it was mostly extended family members, lawyers, the funeral home, florists, that kind of thing.”
Fenway deflated slightly. “That wasn’t what I was expecting.”
“I did find a ton of texts, phone calls, and private social media messages between Dylan and Amy McVie, though. Going back about six months. Dylan didn’t keep any of this stuff private. Since I was able to find out about Dylan and Amy so easily—I found all kinds of stuff in about ten minutes—then for sure I would have found something by now between Dylan and Lana.”
“So it doesn’t look like Dylan and Lana were sleeping together.”
“Early indications, anyway. But that’s not all. Since you said Carl uncovered Lana’s affair with someone—not necessarily Dylan—I paid attention to any calls or texts that were regularly sent. I didn’t see anything that looked like an affair to me—not from a younger man, not from an older man, not from a woman. Nothing. I also took a look at Lana’s social media accounts, and looked to see if she had an account with any of the dating or affair sites. That’ll take a little longer to get through, of course, but so far, no hits. It doesn’t look like Lana was cheating at all.”
“That’s crazy.” Then Fenway remembered who she got the information from. “Ah, crap. My father gave me bad information. Again.”
Dez shrugged.
“He told me Carl hired a private investigator to look into the affairs. It might be worth seeing if Carl had any outgoing money to any P.I. firms locally, but if my dad lied about Lana’s affair, I bet the P.I. doesn’t exist either.”
Dez nodded. “Okay. Now you.”
Fenway leaned against the desk and pulled the notes out of her purse. “Dylan Richards was murdered. The killer tried to make it look like a suicide by hanging.”
Dez pursed her lips and shook her head.
“And the gun they pulled out of Dylan’s garden was a weapon custom-made for the California Highway Patrol, and it was the weapon that killed Walker.”
“Ugh. Someone’s going way far out of their way to set Dylan up.”
“Let’s not jump to conclusions yet, Dez. Dylan had motive—the video of Walker and Rachel.”
“What?” Migs sprang up from his chair. “What video of Walker and Rachel?”
Fenway put her hand up. “Hold on, Migs,” she said. “Dylan had the weapon. The CHP stopped using that gun a few years ago. Dylan could have bought it at auction or something.”
Dez furrowed her brow. “Be careful about your conclusions, too, Fenway. Dylan didn’t have the weapon. Dylan’s garden had the weapon. Anyone could have jumped the fence and gotten in there. And the anonymous tip was awfully convenient.”
“But Dylan lied about his alibi,” Fenway pointed out.
“Yes,” said Dez, “but a neighbor saw his truck in front of the sheriff’s house.”
“In front of the sheriff’s house?” Migs exclaimed. “What was he doing at the sheriff’s house?”
Fenway continued, “The neighbor said he wasn’t sure it was Sunday night. Now pipe down, Migs. We’re trying to figure this out.”
“You guys don’t tell me anything.”
Dez pulled a sheet of paper out of a folder. “Plus, the report came back on Dylan’s cell phone. It pinged cell towers right in the area of the McVies’ house.”
“Doesn’t necessarily mean Dylan was there,” Fenway pointed out.
“Enough for reasonable doubt for most juries, though.”
Fenway looked at the floor and pinched the bridge of her nose, thinking. “We should interview Amy McVie.”
“You have a death wish.” Dez shook her head.
“That may be true, but we should still interview her. In fact, we should interview her before she finds out Dylan is dead. If we can do it so she convinces us he was with her, then I agree with you, Dez, someone is definitely trying to set Dylan up to take the fall.”
“I can’t believe you still doubt he’s being set up,” Dez said. “He was murdered, but someone staged it to look like a suicide. Come
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