Paternoster by Kim Fleet Page A

think.’
    ‘Did Paul leave the office at any time between eight and when you ran him to the hospital just after ten?’
    ‘No, apart from to go to the bathroom.’
    ‘And did anyone come to see him, go into his office at all?’
    ‘Chris Wilde. He saw Paul for about five minutes not long after he got to work.’
    ‘Chris Wilde? Didn’t you say Paul saw him the evening before? Monday evening?’
    Janice turned to her. ‘He said he was going to see him, but I don’t know if he did. Maybe Chris was out.’
    ‘What did Chris come here for?’
    ‘I don’t know. There were raised voices, but I couldn’t hear what they were saying.’
    ‘And after Chris Wilde had gone, did Paul say what it was about?’
    Janice shook her head.
    ‘Did Paul have a lot on his mind?’ Eden asked. ‘Was he stressed or worried about anything in particular?’
    Janice gave a short, humourless laugh. ‘He runs this business, I should think that’s enough to give anyone sleepless nights.’ She caught the expression on Eden’s face and her voice dropped. ‘Why? What are you saying?’
    Eden chose her words carefully. ‘Just before he died, Paul told me that what was making him sick was deliberate.’
    Janice squeezed her hands together. ‘I don’t believe it. He wouldn’t kill himself, not Paul. Is that what he meant?’
    Eden didn’t answer, just left the silence to hang there, and waited for Janice to fill it.
    ‘Yes, but … the girls … he wouldn’t do that to them. Not even if he was desperately unhappy.’
    That’s what Eden suspected, too, which left her original interpretation, the only meaning she’d put on Paul’s words until she’d searched his flat and seen he was up to his eyeballs in debt.
    ‘Did Paul have any enemies?’ She threw out the question casually.
    ‘Paul?’ Janice turned round astonished eyes on her. ‘No! You know what he was like. His ex-wife, Zoe, she was always after more money. There were a few dozen solicitors’ letters flying back and forth, I can tell you. But enemies? Not Paul.’
    Another thought occurred to her. ‘Did Paul have a cleaner? For his flat?’
    Janice gave her a quizzical look. ‘I don’t see how that …’ She sighed. ‘Yes, he did. He asked me once if I thought he ought to buy her a birthday present. I told him it depended on whether she scrubbed behind the taps. He laughed at that.’
    ‘Do you happen to know which days she cleaned for him?’
    ‘Mondays.’
    ‘You’re sure?’
    Janice shrugged.
    ‘Did the cleaner have a key to let herself in?’
    A shake of the head. ‘No idea. Why? What’s that got to do with anything?’
    Eden changed tack. ‘When I was here, Paul showed me a photo. There was something in it that puzzled him. Do you mind if I borrow it?’
    She went to the filing cabinet and found the photo Paul had shown her, of a blond girl in the school hall, in front of a painting that had piqued Paul’s curiosity. Probably nothing, but worth checking out.
    ‘I don’t mind. Make sure you give it to his daughter when you’re finished, though,’ Janice said. She glanced up sharply. ‘You think someone killed him, don’t you?’
    This. Deliberate. Tried to kill me . Janice was too shrewd to be taken in by airy demurrals. ‘Yes, I do.’
    Janice stared her fiercely in the eyes. ‘Find who did it, Eden. For Paul.’

    The council offices were a line of elegant townhouses with white stonework and delicate ironwork overlooking the war memorial and the farmers’ market. Eden went up the stone steps into the building and asked for directions. A winding staircase led to the second floor, where a glass door was stencilled ‘Planning’.
    ‘Can I help you?’
    ‘I’d like to speak to someone about Monday’s planning meeting, please.’
    ‘What about it?’ The woman looked her up and down without obvious interest.
    ‘It’s about a planning application.’
    The woman pressed a button on her phone and summoned a colleague. ‘Donna’s