Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
I found my courage and picked up a brass tiger-shaped paper weight from the desk. My hand shook, and I forced myself to calm down. This kind of situation called for a clear head. We might have to move quickly. Henry held his baton at the ready and stealthily made his way around the door.
“Police,” he shouted.
There was a scream and a thunk.
I peeked around Henry’s shoulder. A woman with red hair stood near the desk in the front office with a deer-in-the-headlights expression in her eyes.
All around her were items that had been on the desk.
She was dressed in white twill shorts and a pink T-shirt that appeared to be a couple of sizes too small.
Or maybe that’s the way she liked to wear them.
“What are you doing in here?” she shrieked. “I’m calling the police.”
“As I mentioned, I’m with the police,” Henry said patiently. He was always the calm in any storm. “Can I get your name please?”
“Catherine Allan, I’m the executive assistant for the owners, Mr. Jacks and Mr. Burns. How did you get in here?”
“The building manager let me in,” he said. Then he held up a piece of paper. “I spoke to you on the phone yesterday, and again this morning. I advised you that I have a warrant to search the business and home of Mr. Donald Jacks.”
She frowned. “Right. You’re the one who told me he died. I just didn’t expect anyone to be here today. Besides, why would you need to look through his things? What has he done now?”
“Has he had trouble with the police before?” I asked before Henry could say anything. I glanced at him and made my “I’m sorry” face. I hadn’t meant to butt in, but my curiosity often got the best of me.
She glanced at me and appeared surprised that someone else was in the room. She frowned. “We’ve been under investigation with Revenue Scotland because of him.” She shook her head. “Not that he’s done anything wrong, mind you.” She swallowed hard and stared down at her feet.
It appeared she said that last bit to cover herself. Why was that?
“Shouldn’t you have waited for my boss to be here?”
Henry opened his mouth, no doubt to explain, but I put a hand on his arm and stopped him.
“As the officer said, we do not need anyone’s permission. Do you usually work on Saturday?”
She sighed. “No. I realized I forgot to email one of Mr. Burn’s clients that he is out next week. He is at a seminar and had to change his flight.”
“Oh, why is that?” I asked.
She stared at me curiously. “Are you with the police as well?”
“I am the coroner.”
Her eyes went wide. “Coroner? Was his death suspicious?”
“Perhaps, you’d like to take a seat,” Henry said. He motioned toward her desk.
She frowned. “I need to know what’s going on. Why is there a coroner here?”
“We will get to that,” Henry said. “When was the last time you saw Mr. Jacks?”
She shrugged. “He left early yesterday. He was attending some event on the new train in town, I think. I don’t know if you are aware, but he was a freak about trains. He talked about them constantly. I often tuned him out.
As if she’d realized what she said, her hand flew to her mouth and her eyes went wide. “Anyway, he said he was doing a performance. He asked if I wanted to go, but it sounded like something stuffy, and I had a hen party to go to last night.”
“And what time was that?”
“The hen do?” She rubbed her head as if she were still feeling the effects of her night out.
“No, when you saw the vic—Mr. Jacks.”
“Around three in the afternoon. Is everything OK? I don’t understand why there are so many questions. Didn’t he die of a heart attack or something? He never took very good care of himself.”
She appeared genuinely worried. But we’d been tricked by sincerity more than once. Until they were proven innocent, everyone who knew the deceased was a suspect.
Part of my skepticism came from working in the ER in Seattle for way too long. People always wanted to make themselves look better than they truly were. They often lied about their health or the meds they took. Many of them didn’t mean to lie, it was just human nature.
Then there was the other end of the spectrum of people who lied about pain to get drugs to feed a habit.
I had my reasons for being suspicious, though I tried my best to see the good in people.
“Where was your hen party, and how long were you there?” Henry asked.
Her eyes went wide again. “You are asking me for an alibi, aren’t you?”
“Please, answer the question,” Ewan said as he came into the office. He flashed his ACC’s badge.
“I—uh.” She looked between the three of us. “Do I need a solicitor?”
“Did you do something wrong?” Ewan asked.
I hid my smile behind a cough. He had a way of taking control of situations and making people nervous.
“No. I’ve never been questioned by the police. I dinnae know how these things work.”
“Right,” Ewan said. “You are not under arrest. These are only preliminary questions to help set our scene for the death of Mr. Jacks. We’re trying to ascertain your whereabouts last evening to see if you had any contact with him.
Perhaps you may have noticed something that might help us with our inquiries.
If you could give us the details, please. ”
She appeared confused, as if she were trying to understand Ewan’s doublespeak. Everything he’d said was true, but designed so that she wouldn’t be suspicious.
I didn’t blame him. Lawyers complicated things and came with their favorite phrase: no comment. That sort of thing never helped with our inquiries.
“I left right after Mr. Jacks, which is why I came back today. I wanted to get home so I had time to get ready last night, and I forgot to send the emails changing appointments for Mr. Burns,” she said.
“We were in Edinburgh at The Witchery. We all went in and rented one of the fancy suites and had the party catered so we dinnae have to worry about getting arrested for being drunk and disorderly like happened at Samantha’s do. ”
None of us had any idea who Samantha was, but it didn’t matter. I had heard about The Witchery, though. I’d looked it up online after hearing someone talk about it at the pub. It was a cool sort of gothic hotel, and the rooms were not cheap. The hotel was on my list of places to check out.
“I left around ten this morning when I realized what I’d forgotten to finish at work. Now, can you please tell me what happened?”
Even though her story sounded true, Henry or Ewan would be following up on her alibi. They never left a stone unturned.
“Mr. Jacks died last night at the train station,” Ewan said. “It is an ongoing investigation so that is all I can say at the moment.”
She fell back into her office chair. “I can’t believe he’s really dead. If you’re asking so many questions, then it wasn’t a heart attack? That’s what I assumed.” The surprise was evident in her voice.
“The coroner is still running tests,” Ewan said. “When did your boss Mr. Burns leave for his business trip?”
“He’s been in Edinburgh all week. He has an event. He left from his home. Should I call him?”
“I already have,” Ewan said.
“But he didn’t tell me. Why wouldn’t he call me?”
“I asked him not to.” Ewan wrote something in his notebook. “Is there anyone who was upset with Mr. Burns or Mr. Jacks?”
She leaned her elbows on her desk and put her head in her hands. “I do not know. This is … I drank a great deal last night. I cannot think.”
“I’ll ask again: were their clients happy?”
She sat back in her chair and shrugged. “When you are dealing with money, few people are happy.”
“I want to make certain that I understand the business,” I said.
Ewan just loved it when I interrupted.
“You do accounting for clients but also financial planning and investments, as well. I’m from America and those things are usually done by different professionals there.”
“We provide both services out of this office, which is why clients are not always happy with us. Though, according to Mr. Burns, Mr. Jacks had been off his game for some time. His investment strategies have landed our company in a bit of trouble.”
“That’s why you’re being investigated by Revenue Scotland?” I asked.
“Aye,” she said. “Though, I’m an assistant. I send out invoices and take calls. I’m not a financial expert like my bosses. I dinnae really understand what they do, or why they are under investigation. You’ll need to speak to my boss about that.”
I wasn’t so sure I believed her. I had a feeling she knew much more than she let on.
“I cannae believe he’s dead. We were only talking yesterday afternoon. Well, he was talking about his train ride. I only half listened. I was waiting for him to leave so I could get ready for the party. I feel so guilty for wishing he would just hurry up and go.”
“Do you remember if he was taking anyone with him to the event?” I asked.
“Like a date?” She laughed hard.
“Why is that funny?” Ewan asked.
Her eyes went wide, and the smile dropped off her face. “I—uh. He was into trains and acting. He did some community theater. But I’ve never seen him go on a date.
“He’s the opposite of Mr. Burns, who has a different woman on his arm every week—even though he’s married.” She gasped and once again put a hand to her mouth. “I mean. Uh. I cannae believe I said that out loud. He’s going to kill me.”
Well, that was good to know. I had a feeling Ewan would most definitely be following up with that line of questioning.
“What was Mr. Jacks like as a boss?” I asked.
“I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but he was a tough one. Nothing made him happy. What’s that word people use for grumpy men?”
“Curmudgeon?” I offered.
She nodded. “Never happy with anything and seldom had a kind word for me or Mr. Burns. He made fun of me every time I made a mistake. He wasn’t exactly a people person, if you understand what I mean. In my opinion, he had no business being someone who dealt with our clients.”
“That is strange,” I said. “Why did Mr. Burns allow him to work with the clients?”