Alex Harris 00 - Armed

attention of several of the patrons at the bakery.
    “When Richard figured out we wanted to stick him with murder as well, he came clean on the diamonds. Much to the chagrin of his lawyer.” John raised his eyebrows in amusement. “Once Richard started talking, he wouldn’t shut up. I guess the thought of a murder charge scared him to death. So maybe with a bit more prodding, he’ll give up Joanne and Mitch. Or maybe they’re not involved at all, which is my guess at this point. Richard had no qualms about giving up Jerry, so I don’t see him being benevolent toward Mitch and Joanne. If they had anything to do with the diamonds, Richard would share the information.”
    “Emmanuelle still could have killed Mrs. Scott because she found out about Emmanuelle’s past and threatened to expose her. Or Joanne could have killed her because she wanted Mrs. Scott’s job.”
    “Sorry, but you’re wrong—at least where Emmanuelle is concerned. Richard may be a smuggler, but both Richard and Emmanuelle have airtight alibis for the time of the murder.”
    “How can you say that? Even I can see their alibis don’t hold water.”
    “Stop. Alex, we’ve checked it out.”
    I folded my arms and glared at him waiting for an explanation on how on earth the police managed to find the thousands of people at the mall on Tuesday night let alone question all of them. “Well? Do I have to drag it out of you?” I asked a bit peevishly.
    “They were together.”

CHAPTER FIFTY

    The sun had disappeared for the day and I turned on the heater in my car. Air blew from the vents warming me. The beautiful white powder that covered everything just a few days ago transforming even the dreariest of scenery into something almost magical, turned into slush and the snow piled up along the roads by the plows looked like a dirty, mushy mass.
    After stopping off at a friend’s to drop off a Christmas gift, I pulled onto the turnpike relieved to see light traffic. I lowered the setting on the heater thinking back to my discussion with John a few hours earlier.
    “What do you mean they were together?” I asked not getting the full impact of his words. It’s amazing how naïve I can be.
    “ Together .”
    I still didn’t understand.
    “At a motel down at the beach in Guilford.”
    “They’re having an affair?” I asked, not believing this latest turn events. Seeing them at the coffee shop, I never concluded it could be anything other than two colleagues eating lunch together. Then I remembered something Meme said the night I took her to bingo. Cherchez la femme . I should have seen it. Though I still couldn’t figure out how it all fit into the murder of Mrs. Scott. “Well, that’s just great! We’re no closer to solving this thing than before.”
    “If it’s any consolation, Brussels is happy we could help with their investigation.”
    I didn’t give a damn about the police goings-on three thousand miles and an ocean away. “There’s no mistake?” I asked holding onto one last bit of hope.
    “None. The clerk recognized their pictures from the new Poupée marketing literature. They went there many times. He says they checked in at five-fifteen. The place isn’t exactly the Ritz Carlton.”
    I exited the turnpike and drove through the quiet streets. More and more it looked like Jerry Gagliano murdered Mrs. Scott in a fit of jealous rage over Mr. Absher. She probably also figured out he had his hand in the diamond pot. John requested a search warrant for Jerry’s home.
    I pulled into my garage and closed the door before I got out of the car. With Richard and Emmanuelle cleared of the murder then the killer still walked the streets. A murderer roamed the city, and for the first time I felt tense and frightened. Reasoning Jerry would be arrested shortly for the murder, I tried to relax but still walked through my house turning on all the lights.
    An hour later, I still felt restless. I convinced myself if Jerry was guilty, he was probably engaged in more important things such as hiding evidence and arranging for a passport and an airline ticket to Tahiti than lingering by my mailbox, so I went to check the day’s offerings—another batch of cards mixed in with flyers announcing after-Christmas sales. I dumped everything in my recyclable bin and took the cards inside.
    Still, I felt edgy. I pulled the drapes across the windows, peeking out into the black night and shuddering involuntarily. I don’t know why all of a sudden