coming,’ she informed Eden, as though she’d know automatically who Donna was.
Eden nodded and loitered in the lobby, reading the notices pinned to the wall until Donna arrived.
Donna was in her mid-forties, with chubby knees and an overdone hairstyle. Her black and red patterned skirt was too short and too tight and a red blouse gaped as it strained across her bust, betraying a snatch of red lacy bra. She flushed as she bustled up.
‘I’m Donna Small. You’ve got a question about a planning application?’ she asked.
‘I’ve got a query about Monday’s meeting.’
‘You’d better come to my office.’
Eden followed her across the offices into a small cubicle that held a computer, desk and chair. The edges of the monitor were tiled with post-it notes and the desk was cluttered with framed photos. A large black Mulberry bag occupied the only other chair in the cubicle. Donna hurried to move it so Eden could sit down.
‘Greg isn’t here at the moment,’ Donna started, ‘but I may be able to help you.’
‘Greg?’
‘Greg Barker, the head of planning. I’m his PA.’ Donna frowned. ‘You did say you’d got a query about a planning application?’
‘It’s more a question about Monday’s meeting,’ Eden said, leaning back in the chair and crossing her legs. ‘Can you tell me who was there?’
The pause button between Donna’s eyes deepened; the question evidently wasn’t what she was expecting. Her words tumbled over themselves as she answered. ‘The planning committee, as usual, and anyone who’d been asked to attend to discuss their application.’
‘Were you at the meeting?’
‘I take the minutes.’ A moment’s hesitation. ‘Are you a journalist?’
‘Is it possible to have a copy of the attendance list and the minutes?’
‘Not until they’ve been approved at the next meeting.’ Donna sounded affronted, as though it was the rudest question she’d ever been asked. ‘Look, what is it you want to know?’
Eden cut to the chase. ‘Was Paul Nelson at the meeting?’
‘Paul Nelson? Why?’
‘I just want to know if he was there, and how his planning application went.’ Donna raised her eyebrows. ‘You do know Paul Nelson?’
Donna’s eyes swivelled sideways. ‘Not really. I know who he is.’
Eden said nothing for a few seconds, watching Donna fiddling with her computer mouse, making a couple of clicks, her back half-turned to her, letting Eden know how important she was. Donna’s fingernails splayed out at the end, like shovels, and she wore them long. They clacked against the computer mouse. She had an expensive manicure, the sort that needs redoing every couple of weeks. She wore a sapphire ring on the middle finger of her right hand, and an emerald ring on the index finger of her left hand, but no wedding ring.
When Donna stopped fussing and turned back to her, Eden asked, ‘What time was the meeting?’
‘It always starts at seven,’ Donna said. ‘Look, what’s this about?’
‘Paul Nelson died this morning. I’m trying to find out what happened to him.’
Donna paled. ‘Paul?’ She blinked rapidly several times, then stared down at her hands for some time. When she spoke, it was a croak. ‘Dead?’
Eden nodded. ‘I’m afraid so,’ she said, gently.
Another croak. ‘How?’
Eden shrugged. ‘We’re not sure at the moment, that’s why I’m trying to trace his movements.’
Donna’s head shot up again. ‘Are you the police?’
‘I’m investigating Paul Nelson’s death.’ Eden leaned forward, her forearms resting on her knees. She looked Donna in the eyes and said, smoothly, ‘Tell me about the meeting.’
‘What do you want to know?’
‘Was Paul Nelson there?’
A nod of the head.
‘Did you speak to him?’
‘No, not really … that is, just normal things. You know?’
‘How did he seem?’
Donna shrugged. ‘Just as usual. Just … Paul.’
‘What about his planning application? He was there because he had an
Eden nodded and loitered in the lobby, reading the notices pinned to the wall until Donna arrived.
Donna was in her mid-forties, with chubby knees and an overdone hairstyle. Her black and red patterned skirt was too short and too tight and a red blouse gaped as it strained across her bust, betraying a snatch of red lacy bra. She flushed as she bustled up.
‘I’m Donna Small. You’ve got a question about a planning application?’ she asked.
‘I’ve got a query about Monday’s meeting.’
‘You’d better come to my office.’
Eden followed her across the offices into a small cubicle that held a computer, desk and chair. The edges of the monitor were tiled with post-it notes and the desk was cluttered with framed photos. A large black Mulberry bag occupied the only other chair in the cubicle. Donna hurried to move it so Eden could sit down.
‘Greg isn’t here at the moment,’ Donna started, ‘but I may be able to help you.’
‘Greg?’
‘Greg Barker, the head of planning. I’m his PA.’ Donna frowned. ‘You did say you’d got a query about a planning application?’
‘It’s more a question about Monday’s meeting,’ Eden said, leaning back in the chair and crossing her legs. ‘Can you tell me who was there?’
The pause button between Donna’s eyes deepened; the question evidently wasn’t what she was expecting. Her words tumbled over themselves as she answered. ‘The planning committee, as usual, and anyone who’d been asked to attend to discuss their application.’
‘Were you at the meeting?’
‘I take the minutes.’ A moment’s hesitation. ‘Are you a journalist?’
‘Is it possible to have a copy of the attendance list and the minutes?’
‘Not until they’ve been approved at the next meeting.’ Donna sounded affronted, as though it was the rudest question she’d ever been asked. ‘Look, what is it you want to know?’
Eden cut to the chase. ‘Was Paul Nelson at the meeting?’
‘Paul Nelson? Why?’
‘I just want to know if he was there, and how his planning application went.’ Donna raised her eyebrows. ‘You do know Paul Nelson?’
Donna’s eyes swivelled sideways. ‘Not really. I know who he is.’
Eden said nothing for a few seconds, watching Donna fiddling with her computer mouse, making a couple of clicks, her back half-turned to her, letting Eden know how important she was. Donna’s fingernails splayed out at the end, like shovels, and she wore them long. They clacked against the computer mouse. She had an expensive manicure, the sort that needs redoing every couple of weeks. She wore a sapphire ring on the middle finger of her right hand, and an emerald ring on the index finger of her left hand, but no wedding ring.
When Donna stopped fussing and turned back to her, Eden asked, ‘What time was the meeting?’
‘It always starts at seven,’ Donna said. ‘Look, what’s this about?’
‘Paul Nelson died this morning. I’m trying to find out what happened to him.’
Donna paled. ‘Paul?’ She blinked rapidly several times, then stared down at her hands for some time. When she spoke, it was a croak. ‘Dead?’
Eden nodded. ‘I’m afraid so,’ she said, gently.
Another croak. ‘How?’
Eden shrugged. ‘We’re not sure at the moment, that’s why I’m trying to trace his movements.’
Donna’s head shot up again. ‘Are you the police?’
‘I’m investigating Paul Nelson’s death.’ Eden leaned forward, her forearms resting on her knees. She looked Donna in the eyes and said, smoothly, ‘Tell me about the meeting.’
‘What do you want to know?’
‘Was Paul Nelson there?’
A nod of the head.
‘Did you speak to him?’
‘No, not really … that is, just normal things. You know?’
‘How did he seem?’
Donna shrugged. ‘Just as usual. Just … Paul.’
‘What about his planning application? He was there because he had an
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