Page 23 of Death on a Scottish Train

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. Heasked 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.”