Paternoster by Kim Fleet

Paul’s movements from when she saw him on Monday.

    Janice scrunched up her tissue and reached for another. ‘I can’t believe it,’ she said, again. ‘I’m sorry, what must you think of me? It’s just, he was a lovely man to work for, you know?’
    ‘I know,’ Eden said. She handed Janice a fresh tissue. The older woman took it and gave a hearty blow, her hands trembling. She was in her usual elegant trouser suit, this time in a pale jersey that flowed about her stout frame. Her eyelashes were coated with navy mascara, now clumped with tears.
    They were in Paul Nelson’s office, side by side on the black leather sofa at the far end of the room, the door closed to prying, inquisitive eyes. A spare suit and shirt hung on the back of the office door. On Paul’s desk, all the pens were lined up beside the blotter and the computer was switched off. A model for a new development was set out on a table pushed against one wall.
    The best way to find out what a man’s life was really like, Eden thought, was to speak to the person who knew him best: his PA. A PA ran his diary, his life; was simultaneously confessor, confidante and guard dog. Janice had been Paul’s PA for over ten years. If she didn’t know every detail of his life, no one else did.
    ‘Janice,’ Eden started, ‘are you up to answering some questions about Paul?’
    Janice sniffed and drew back her shoulders. ‘Of course. Anything I can do to help.’
    ‘Take me through Monday. What he did, who he saw.’
    ‘Let me get his diary.’ Janice disappeared into her office and returned with a large diary. Post-it notes flapped from the pages. ‘Here we are. Monday. He met with the architect at ten, to go over the designs for a new development. There was a planning meeting about them that evening and I think he wanted to check he had all the facts at his fingertips. He was like that, meticulous.’
    ‘He came across that way,’ Eden said.
    ‘He had lunch at his desk, quite early, before twelve. He asked me to pop out and buy him a sandwich.’ She blinked a few times. ‘That was unusual; he wasn’t the sort of boss who gets his PA to pick up his dry cleaning and buy his wife a birthday present. I’ve known some who think you’re at their beck and call.’
    ‘But he asked you to get his lunch that day?’
    ‘Yes, he said he had to make some calls. He seemed a bit preoccupied, now I think about it.’ Janice consulted the diary again. ‘One o’clock, you saw him. Then he was at his desk until nearly five, when he left.’
    ‘Where did he go?’
    Janice folded her hands on top of the diary. ‘I think he went to see Chris Wilde. He made a comment when I took in his coffee at three. Something about Chris treating him like a fool and he’d see about that. A spur-of-the-moment decision.’
    ‘And after that?’
    ‘There was the planning meeting at seven. After that, I don’t know. He came in at the usual time yesterday, but he looked ill.’
    ‘What happened yesterday morning, Janice?’
    Janice sighed and another tear escaped and ran down her cheek. She brushed it away with her hand. ‘Paul came in at eight as normal, and said he wasn’t feeling too well. He looked poorly: his face was grey and he was sweating, but he said he had work to do.’
    She paused to blot her face. Eden smiled to encourage her to continue.
    ‘When I came in at ten with his coffee I could see he was very ill,’ Janice said. ‘I rang the doctor for him and he spoke to him over the phone. The doctor told Paul to go to casualty. I ran him down there, even though it’s not far, he was just too poorly to walk and I didn’t want him to go on his own. We got him checked in and I left him with the doctor.’ Janice reached for the tissue box. ‘I wish I’d stayed.’ She swallowed. ‘He rang me to let me know he’d been admitted. He sounded terrible, in awful pain. That’s the last time I spoke to him.’
    ‘What time was that?’
    ‘About two, I