Alex Harris 00 - Armed

horror of my boyfriend at the time. So shaken by my brazen act of adventure he broke up with me shortly thereafter explaining he didn’t think the mother of his future children should be so reckless. I think deep down I did it on purpose knowing how he would react. It probably would have been simpler to just break up with him, but more often than not, it seems I take the path of more resistance.
    “What would Winnie say?” I looked at my reflection in the rearview mirror. Nothing appropriate came to mind and I wondered if the great man had had time to think about such things what with his saving the world and all.
    The solid brick building that housed the police department of Indian Cove, Connecticut, came into view. I pulled into the lot and found a parking space.
    “I’d like to speak with Detective Van der Burg,” I said to a young woman behind the counter.
    “I’ll see if he’s in.” She picked up a phone and started to dial a number.
    “Never mind. I see him over there.”
    “Miss, you can’t just…”
    “Ms. Harris,” Detective Van der Burg said, looking surprised. “What are you doing here?” The sandwich in his hands stopped midway to his mouth.
    I sat in a straight chair and gave him an incredulous look. “You’re eating lunch?”
    The detective looked up at the clock on the wall. “Well, it is lunch time. Almost.” He put the sandwich down and wiped a bit of mustard from his chin. “What’s this all about?”
    “The shovel. I didn’t see it. Honest to God.” I leaned forward. “I think I can prove it,” I gave him my most engaging smile, which seemed to have no affect at all.
    “Unless you’re going to tell me you’re legally blind, how can you do that?”
    He seemed to be paying a lot of attention to his sandwich.
    “Go ahead and eat. You can eat and listen at the same time, can’t you?”
    Detective Van der Burg picked up the sandwich and took a large bite. I wondered if he would share. My stomach had digested my meager breakfast quite nicely and wanted more.
    “I didn’t want to go out into the factory.”
    “The clown thing,” he said through a mouthful of sandwich.
    “Yes. The clown thing. I would have given anything not to have to go out there. But I did.”
    “And?”
    “And? Don’t you see? I had to go out there because I couldn’t find a shovel.”
    Detective Van der Burg put the last bit of his sandwich down. “How does this prove anything?”
    I sighed. Was the man a moron? “If I had seen the shovel in the mailroom there would have been no need for me to go into the factory, but I did. Hence, I didn’t see the shovel.” I leaned back totally awed by my brilliant deductive abilities. If my business didn’t pick up soon, maybe I could get a job here. They seemed to need the help.
    “That’s your proof?”
    “Yes.” I said, annoyed he didn’t seem sufficiently impressed with my explanation.
    “Ms. Harris, that’s not proof. We just have your word for it. We need a bit more.”
    “Why? Now you’re accusing me of lying. To the police?”
    “I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m just wondering why you went out into a factory you’ve admitted creeps you out, with a shovel in the mailroom right where you worked all day. The fact there just happened to be a dead body in the factory makes it all the more interesting to me. Now, if you don’t mind, I have some calls to make.” He tossed out the wrappings of his sandwich, which, by the way, came from my favorite deli, and brushed crumbs into the wastebasket.
    I would not be dismissed so easily. I stood up and leaned on his desk, fingers splayed. “You don’t know me, but let me tell you a few things. I pay my bills on time, I ride my bike all summer to do my bit for the ozone layer. I work hard, and if I say I didn’t see that shovel, then I didn’t see that shovel!” Others in the room looked our way. I stood up and straightened my shoulders. “That’s all I wanted to say.”
    “Well, thanks for letting me know.” That ridiculous smile tugged at the corners of this mouth. “As long as you’re here—” He pulled some papers from a folder on his desk. “Take a look at these. Do they mean anything to you?”
    I glanced at each sheet and then shook my head. “It seems to be a list of clients and things they’ve ordered from Poupée Mannequins. What is it exactly? Is it important?”
    “We don’t know. The original is at the lab but I made a few copies. I gave one to Mr. Poupée.