Alex Harris 00 - Armed

Poupée.” I hit my forehead with the palm of my hand causing both of the men to jump. “Damn! The mailing is still in the trunk of my car.”
    “You can drop them off at the post office today. I won’t say anything,” Detective Van der Burg managed a smile, which I found quite dazzling.
    “What did you think of Mrs. Scott?”
    Back to reality. I picked up a pencil and tapped the end on my desk, faster and faster.
    “I didn’t know her well on a personal level. She could be gruff at times but also very efficient. She had high standards, but modern technology intimidated her.” I stopped the tapping and look sternly at Detective Van der Burg. “Detective, I don’t feel comfortable talking about someone who just died. I’m not trying to besmirch her good name. Mrs. Scott was a nice person. She had her idiosyncrasies just like anyone else.”
    “Fair enough. You said you heard the phone ring last night?”
    “Yes, I did. As I carried the boxes out to my car the lobby phone rang. And it rang once before earlier. I didn’t answer it. I just assumed they had a night service or answering machine.”
    “So you took the boxes out, your car is covered with snow. Did you see anyone? Hear anything? How about footprints?”
    “I didn’t see anyone. As for footprints, I’m not sure. I didn’t take much notice. I’m sorry. I just wanted to go home and it’s pretty dark out there even with the lights. I concentrated more on my car hoping it would start.”
    “Was the front door locked?”
    I thought about this for a moment. “No. I don’t think so. Is that significant? Is that how the murderer got in?”
    Detective Van der Burg looked directly at me, his serious grayish-blue eyes boring right through me. “It’s a mannequin factory. Says so right on the sign out front. It’s located quite a way from the main road. It’s not exactly the right weather for a leisurely stroll down the block. A block, by the way, that’s pretty much out in the middle of nowhere. So exactly why would someone choose to walk into the building last night, for no apparent reason and leave a dead body behind?”
    His blunt description took me aback. “I don’t know, Detective. It’s your job to find out.” Probably the wrong tone to take with the police.
    “You go back into the building after putting the boxes in your car and look for a shovel. Your search leads you out to the factory.”
    “Yes. That’s correct,” I answered sheepishly.
    “Is something wrong?” he asked, suddenly stopping his note taking, pen poised above his notepad.
    “It’s just that, well…” I began, irritated he picked up on my hesitation. “I’m afraid of mannequins. Well, dolls, actually. So I really didn’t want to go out there, but I didn’t see any other way.” A glimmer came into his eyes along with a slight upward turn at the corners of his mouth. Damn! I felt a blush coming on.
    “What else are you afraid of?” Detective Van der Burg asked, now looking directly into my eyes.
    “Well, I’m not too fond of clowns,” I said testily, arms folded across my chest, defiantness taking charge. “Nothing scarier,” I said, and this time added a wince for emphasis. “What does this have to do with Mrs. Scott’s murder?”
    “Nothing.” Now the detective looked sheepish. “So let me recap all this,” he said as he stood and starting pacing. “You got dragged out on a terrible day to do a job that most of the time you wouldn’t do. You only did it with the intention of meeting with a man who could help your business from going under, a meeting you never got. After working hard all day, you have to schlep boxes out to your car, in the dark, in the snow, and you get your expensive shoes and pants all wet.” Detective Van der Burg ran a hand through his thick hair and smiled again. “I noticed them last night. You must have been pretty cold. Probably by then you had had it up to here.” He ran a hand across his throat echoing what I felt like doing to him right about now. “You’re wet, tired, hungry, and angry that your plan didn’t go as expected. How am I doing so far?”
    I clasped my hands together and sat up straight wishing I could come up with a good Winston quote to throw him off his stride.
    “You’re making it sound worse than it was.”
    The smile now gone he looked at me with a cold stare. “How hard did you look for a shovel before you went out to the factory?”
    My stomach churned again. Before I could stop