The Courtroom Coroner by Paul Austin Ardoin

Author:Paul Austin Ardoin [Ardoin, Paul Austin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pax Ardsen

Chapter Thirteen

Fenway’s jaw dropped open. “Me?” she said. “But I couldn’t have shot from the back of the room. I was in the front row, right behind….” Fenway trailed off as Evans Dahl nodded.

“That’s right,” he said. “You were right there. It’s a much easier shot to take from three feet away than from across the room.”

“You would have seen me,” Fenway insisted. “Jennifer, you too. The gun would have been right next to you—you would have known it was coming from the front row.”

“Would we?” Evans Dahl said. “I know I was concentrating on everything Professor Cygnus was saying. I wasn’t paying attention to anything but whether or not I could minimize the professor’s jail time.”

“And I was focused on it too,” ada Kim said. “Sorry, Fenway, I know you’re a law enforcement representative, but Evans is right. You had the clearest, closest shot.”

“You looked at my fingerprints less than a half hour ago, Jennifer! You said there was no match.”

“I’m not great at fingerprint analysis,” Kim said, her face impassive.

“I came in with Xavier and Amanda!” Fenway protested. “How was I supposed to get the gun from its hiding place behind the speaker enclosure? They would have seen me!”

“Maybe you had it all along. Maybe you sweet-talked your way past the officer at the metal detector,” Bryce Heissner said.

“You are the county coroner,” Amanda Kohl said. “I mean, why did you even bring the fingerprint kit in here?”

“Maybe it was to hide the gun,” Heissner said.

“I refilled the fingerprint powder this morning, and I didn’t have time to go back to my desk before the arraignment started.”

“Every excuse you have is just a little too convenient,” Heissner said. “Is it a coincidence that you just happen to have your fingerprint kit on the day there’s a shooting in the courtroom?”

“Look—if I had shot from that close, there would be gunshot residue. And stippling. You can take a look for yourself. There’s no stippling.”

Evans Dahl scoffed. “Might as well tell a toddler to make Hollandaise sauce,” he said. “I wouldn’t know how to look for stippling if you paid me.”

“If I had my gsr pads, you’d see I don’t have gunpowder on my hands, either.”

“Something else that’s a little too convenient—losing the gsr pads when they’re the one thing that could prove your guilt.”

Fenway looked at ada Kim, who shook her head.

The blood pounded in Fenway’s veins, but she pursed her lips and counted slowly in her head, backward from twenty, to stay calm. “I don’t have issue with you taking my fingerprints, Mr. Dahl. Compare my prints to the partial print I found on the gun. You’ll see it’s not mine.”

Evans Dahl was quiet, but Fenway could see the wheels spinning in his head.

“Oh,” she said, as the realization dawned. “Are you thinking that somehow I planted the fingerprint there? That you can’t trust anything I say now that my father is being accused of murder?”

Evans Dahl held up his hands. “I’m not the one who said that.”

“Need

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