Alex Harris 00 - Armed

whore.” Monica said the words so calmly I thought for a moment maybe I hadn’t just heard what I thought.
    “You’ve been to her house.”
    “Yes, I’ve been watching her. Waiting.”
    “Waiting?” I asked. “For what?”
    “The right time.”
    The words sent a chill down my back. Even with my coat and gloves on, the cold spread through my body.
    “Do you know, do you have any idea the kind of hell I lived through with them?” Monica asked reaching for the picture of her grandparents. She stared at it for a moment and suddenly threw it across the room, making me jump back.
    “You gave Mrs. Scott the computer printout. She never asked for it.”
    “Yep, that’s right, I did. You’re good at this, Alex. I noticed something odd when I entered all the data into the new system. I didn’t know what it meant.” She shrugged. “But I had a hunch someone was up to no good. I’ve been inputting data for a long time. You get a feeling when the figures don’t add up.”
    “You suspected Emmanuelle?”
    Monica shook her head. “No. Not really. I figured it was that weasel, Sheridan, what with all his trips to Europe. But I knew Elvira didn’t like Emmanuelle. Everyone knew. Though the figures belonged to a client of Richard’s and that worked. I didn’t care who got blamed. The police could sort that out.”
    “So you put the printout in Mrs. Scott’s purse hoping to implicate Emmanuelle or Richard.”
    “No. I didn’t need to. Elvira had them in her purse. It took you long enough to figure out the figures weren’t right. I tried to think of some other way that the finger could be pointed at Emmanuelle or Richard. Or both. But then you put two and two together.”
    “How do you know that?”
    “I heard you talking with Oliver Absher. I saw him arrive so I just casually wandered into Elvira’s office and listened to you in Mr. Poupée’s office.”
    “Monica, why did you blame Mrs. Scott for your parent’s breakup? From what I know, your mother and father had many problems.” I let the explanation stop there. I didn’t wish to accuse the mother of being crazy when the daughter obviously inherited the same condition.
    “Well, I’ll tell you,” Monica’s eerie calmness belied the rage flashing in her eyes. She moved toward me and I reached back searching with my hands for something I could use in defense.
    Monica’s face came within inches of mine. I could smell the girl’s stale breath. She suddenly backed away.
    “My wonderful father left me for his tramp. Just walked out and left me. I never heard from him again.” She started pacing around the room, every now and again looking at me. Her dark copper hair hung in greasy strands around her face and she kept on pushing it over her ears. “He just packed up and left. Left me to them !” She spat the word out and kicked the picture on the floor sending pieces of glass flying.
    “What about your mother?”
    “My mother?” Monica’s voice lowered again and she spun to face me. “My mother slit her throat one day. I came home and found her lying in a sticky pool of her own blood. I was seven years old. My mother .” She made it sound like a four-letter word. “My poor, pathetic, sick mother . After my father left, she couldn’t take it any more. My grandparents took us in and kept telling me it would be all right.” Monica’s voice rose again and with it the pacing grew more frantic. “As if they could possibly know anything. They only cared about their precious fucking image! Finally, we left, my mother and I, and went to live in a tiny house my grandfather bought.”
    She walked around the small room, kicking things in her path. I wondered if I could make it out the front door before Monica could grab me. She circled the sofa and plopped herself onto the cushions. She put her head in her hands and I saw my chance.
    “Where are you going?” Monica jumped up and blocked the path to the door.
    “I’m sorry. I thought you wanted to be alone,” I said softly.
    “Alone. Alone! I’ve been alone my whole fucking life! That bitch, she came into my father’s life and just took him. My mother told me all about it. How she seduced my father and told him we were no good. He didn’t want to go, but she made him, she forced him!” Spittle flew from Monica’s mouth landing on my coat.
    I wondered if I could possibly reason with the girl. I didn’t see any other escape route so gave it a try. “Monica, I think your mother had a