I studied it carefully. The coroner’s name was printed neatly, but the signature above it didn’t match the signature archived on the public record.
I looked up. “Who verifies these?”
The clerk hesitated.
“The funeral home submits documentation. The attending physician signs. After that, it’s processed.”
“Processed without checking the body?”
Her expression changed. “Ma’am, I don’t handle that.”
“Who verifies these?”
**
At the funeral home, the manager met me in his office.
“That case had special authorization,” he admitted when I pressed him. “The family requested no viewing. The paperwork was signed.”
“By who?”
He hesitated.
“The deceased’s aunt. A woman named Marlene.”
He hesitated.
“Did anyone confirm identity?”
“There was an accident report,” he said.
“But was there a body?” I asked plainly.
He went silent.
That was answer enough.
**
He went silent.
That evening, I drove to Marlene’s house. She opened the door and attempted a smile.
“Katie.”
“You forged documents,” I said. “You signed off on a closed casket without verification. You submitted paperwork to the county.”
Her composure slipped immediately. “We were protecting him.”
“You falsified a death, Marlene. Don’t you see the problem with that?”
“We were protecting him.”
“He would have gone to prison,” she snapped.
“And now?” I asked. “Now he will. And so will you.”
Her front door creaked behind her. A woman from across the street, church hair, Sunday cardigan, paused on her porch and stared.
Marlene’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Katie, please. Katie, you wouldn’t.”
“And now?”
“I already spoke to the county clerk,” I replied, “and the funeral director. This is insurance fraud, identity fraud, and filing false documents with the state.”
Her face drained of color.
“You involved me in a crime without my knowledge,” I continued. “Collectors came after me because legally, I was his widow. I lost my home, and you left me to clean up the financial wreckage while he started over.”
