Page 29 of Death at a Scottish Halloween

Ewan followed me to the autopsy room. “If you’re going to help, why don’t you tell me what you know so far about our two Duncans?”

The more information I had, the faster we could solve these deaths.

Chapter Eight

While I cleaned up the body and changed the sheet and blanket we used to cover him, Ewan helped. We’d done this before, and we worked well together.

“My team is doing interviews today. We can’t talk to any of his workmates until next week. We have the corporate team coming from the rig tomorrow.”

“That sounds like lawyers are involved.”

“I’m certain there will be,” Ewan replied.

“But they have to be careful. I bet he was going to be a whistleblower. It sounds like he’s complained to his boss’s boss, at the very least. That could stir up trouble.”

“True. It’s a corporation, and they are only concerned with the bottom line,” he said it as if that explained it all, and it did.

His phone dinged. He looked at it. “That’s Henry. He has Flora with him.”

“What about the daughter?”

“I suggested she stay with Mrs. Beatty at the B&B.” He ran a hand through his hair, which meant he wasn’t lookingforward to this any more than I was. This was one of the hardest parts of the job.

We moved him into room one, and Abigail made a few adjustments to the sheet covering him. She also lowered the lights a bit. It made it a more calming atmosphere. Something she’d learned in her psychology classes.

I took a deep breath and then went to open the door for them.

Abigail came out of room one. “We’re ready,” she said softly.

Henry ushered Flora inside.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” I said.

She nodded. I handed her the box of tissues Abigail had provided. It was pretty much the same routine as before. We’d had to do this a few times, and our goal was always to make the grieving as comfortable as possible.

“If you’ll follow me.” I moved to open the door to the exam room.

“Let me know when you’re ready.” I stood next to her Duncan.

She swallowed hard. “I’m ready,” her voice was shaky.

I pulled the sheet back. Then I watched her closely.

Her face crumbled, as if she’d been holding out one last hope.

“Is this your husband?” Ewan asked her.

She bit her lip. “Yes.” The word squeaked out.

Without being told, Ewan and Henry guided her to the chair we had in the room.

“D-do you know what happened?” She stared up at me and then glanced at her husband. “He looks so peaceful.”

“We’re working on answers for you and the police,” I said. “I don’t have anything to tell you yet.”

“I don’t understand. Did he die of natural causes? Was he—drinking?”

“Like Dr. Em says, we don’t have answers yet.”