Kelly's mind raced through possibilities she'd never allowed herself to consider before. It didn’t look like Cal had either, and he would be the father. Had they both deliberately closed their eyes to this?
"The autopsy report," Kelly said suddenly, reaching for the folder and pulling out the paper. "It would have shown if she were pregnant. There would have been evidence. So you’re wrong. Lori couldn’t have been pregnant.”
"You told me yourself that the coroner was friends with Lori's father," Ben reminded her. "You said the whole town wanted to sanitize what happened to her, and that they’d lie to protest the Powell family. What's more sanitizing than erasing evidence that the town's golden girl was pregnant out of wedlock?"
Kelly stared at the autopsy report in her hands, seeing it with new eyes. The sterile language, the scant details.
"Mason Whitfield was the coroner," she said quietly. "He'd been friends with Robert Powell since elementary school. They played golf every Sunday."
"And a friend like that might do anything to protect the Powell family from further pain," Ben observed. "Even omitting certain findings from an official report. But we need to find out for sure. If she were pregnant, it would change everything about this case.”
Kelly sighed heavily, setting the autopsy report back on the coffee table. It was one thing to suspect corruption in an abstract way. It was another to stake their entire investigation on it.
The coroner, Mason Whitfield, wasn't just Robert Powell's golf buddy. He was a man with a history, a troubling one that Bergen's selective memory conveniently overlooked.
"Mason Whitfield wasn't exactly the town's most stable citizen," Kelly said, taking another fortifying sip of her wine. She had to be careful that she didn’t drink too much tonight in an effort to stop all the intrusive thoughts running through her mind. "Even before he became coroner."
"How so?"
"When I was about twelve, there was an incident at the hospital. I only heard about it because I was getting a haircut atthe local beauty shop, and I overheard a conversation between another hairdresser and a client. Whitfield was an ER doctor then. A pregnant woman came in with abdominal pain. She was afraid she was miscarrying."
"According to the nurse who witnessed it, the woman was hysterical, screaming at Whitfield that he wasn't doing enough to save her baby. He told her to calm down. She didn't. And then he punched her."
"He punched a pregnant patient?"
Ben sounded outraged, and she didn’t blame him. Years later, she still felt the same, but Whitfield was a man and a doctor, and Bergen wasn’t about to throw him under a bus.
"Right in the face. Broke her nose." Kelly nodded grimly. "He claimed she attacked him first, that he was defending himself. But three nurses saw it happen. No charges were filed, and the woman and her husband mysteriously dropped the complaint after a private meeting with the hospital administrator. But Whitfield lost his ER privileges. There were a few rumors about a financial settlement.”
"And somehow he ended up as the county coroner," Ben finished, understanding dawning in his eyes.
"The morgue was the perfect place for him. No living patients to interact with." Kelly's mouth twisted into a humorless smile. "It was basically a demotion disguised as a lateral move. All the adults in town knew it, but no one talked about it openly."
"Lovely, we're talking about a man with anger issues and a history of professional misconduct," Ben summarized. "Who also happened to be best friends with Lori's father."
"Yes."
"Do you think he'd take a bribe? Or cover something up as a favor?"
Kelly considered this question carefully before answering. The town had always operated on an intricate web of favors and obligations. Nothing was ever as simple as right or wrong.
"The Powells weren't just wealthy. They were influential, too," she replied. "If they asked for a favor, I don’t think many people would refuse them."
"We need to talk to Whitfield," Ben said decisively. "Find out what he knows, what he might have covered up. Is he still in Bergen?"
"I doubt it. He'd be in his seventies now, probably retired. I have no idea where he ended up."
"We can find him."
Ben was already reaching for his phone before he finished his sentence.
"How? I wouldn't even know where to start looking."
Ben smiled, fully confident that he could get the job done. She had the sudden image of him in a boardroom in New York City, wielding million-dollar deals. He was a man used to getting things done.
"I might know a few people who can help us," he said. "My dad was a sheriff, remember?"
"It would be great if you could. I could try finding him myself, of course, or I could hire a private investigator."
