The Man at the Funeral
Chapter 03 - The Man at the Funeral
Daniel Rourke insisted on speaking in a coffee shop with a clear view of the street. He chose a table near the back and kept his cap on indoors. Josie disliked him almost immediately for making her feel foolish. A person with a secret could force everyone nearby to behave as if the secret belonged to them too. She ordered black coffee and asked him to start at the beginning. He tore the cardboard sleeve from his cup into precise strips, one after another, until she told him to stop.
"North Coast was subcontracting equipment inspections at a warehouse conversion," he said. "The hotel group had invested in the development. Your husband, Paul, was the site electrician. I was a safety technician." "I know what you were." "Then you know I signed a statement after he died." She had kept a copy in a folder under her bed. Daniel's statement said Paul ignored a warning sign and opened the elevator access door without locking the power. "You lied," she said. "Yes." He held her gaze for the first time. "And I've lived with it. I don't expect you to be impressed."
He explained that the freight elevator's control system had been flagged for intermittent faults. Paul had filed two reports. Daniel saw one of them, but the originals disappeared from the site office before inspectors arrived. After the accident, Daniel was told his contract would be canceled and his pension contributions challenged unless he signed the version supplied by counsel. "I signed," he said. "It seemed like a choice then. It wasn't a good one." He slid a flash drive across the table. "Scans of the maintenance log. Some emails. They're not proof of every part of it, but they're real." Josie did not touch it. "Why didn't you give these to us five years ago?" "I didn't have them then. Somebody sent them to me last month."
When Josie asked who, Daniel said he didn't know. The sender had used an anonymous email account and included a note: *She is still working for them.* He had found Josie's name in a hotel staff directory, then panicked about approaching her directly. "Two anonymous letters were kinder?" she asked. "No," he admitted. "They were cowardly." That plain answer did more to steady her than an apology would have. She took the drive, but not his hand when he offered it. Outside, the black sedan was gone. Daniel watched her leave with the expression of a man who had finally done one necessary thing and understood how little it repaired.
At the hotel, Victor Hale was making the rounds of the lobby, greeting guests by name and praising the new orchids. He had spent two decades making himself indispensable. Emmett's father had trusted him, as had the board, and Victor had an excellent memory for birthdays. He had also cultivated a useful belief that every unpleasant detail of a luxury business should remain outside the sight of its owners. Emmett asked him to come into the small library off the lobby. "North Coast Facilities," he said. Victor looked mildly surprised. "A defunct contractor. What's this about?" "A fatal accident in 2021." "A tragedy. I remember. But we weren't the employer." "Who signed off on the elevator?" "I don't know."
Emmett watched him. His father had once said that Victor never answered a question until he knew how it could be used against him. At seventeen Emmett had admired that. At forty-one he found it tiring. "I'm bringing in independent counsel to examine any hotel records connected to North Coast," he said. "Don't contact the people who were involved." Victor's pleasant expression hardened. "You're confusing ownership with expertise." "Possibly. That's why I'm hiring expertise." Victor stood. "Your father would not have handled an employee's grievance by setting fire to the institution." Emmett answered, "My father isn't here."
That evening Josie met Elaine Brooks at a diner instead of in the hotel's offices. Elaine was fifty-six, wore reading glasses on a chain, and had brought a canvas bag full of personnel records. She explained that she had been the hotel's human-resources director only since spring. "Before that, everything went through Victor's executive office." Josie showed her the notes, the flash drive, and a photograph of Paul standing beside Ben at the lake. Elaine studied the last photograph longer than expected. "I knew his face," she said. "From a file. There was an internal report." "What report?" "A risk review tied to the warehouse project. I saw the reference in an old index, but the attachment was missing."
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Elaine opened Josie's personnel folder. There were attendance warnings Josie had never signed, and a completed form stating she had declined an offer of adaptive equipment. Josie pointed at the signature. "That's not mine." Elaine checked the date. It was the week Ben had pneumonia, when Josie had been sleeping on a plastic chair at the children's hospital. The words on the form were blunt: *Employee reports no functional limitation requiring assistance.* Elaine photographed it and sealed the folder. "We need an outside document examiner," she said. "And you need an attorney who represents you, not the hotel." Josie leaned back. "Why are you helping me?" Elaine hesitated. "Because someone asked me to make sure that form never surfaced."
She reached into her bag and laid another paper on the table. It was an unsigned memorandum addressed to Victor Hale, copied to the board's audit committee. The date was six months before Josie applied for the housekeeping job. Across the bottom was a handwritten note: *Mercer widow must not be placed on guest floors.* Underneath, in ink Josie knew from the Christmas cards sent to staff every December, were two initials. Not Victor's. **C.K.**
