She barged her way through the door, and then stopped abruptly when she saw Cathy.
“You!” A snarl, like a dog preparing to attack.
First question, how did she get in, and where was security.
The second question, “Do you know her?”
The woman in red was on her feet, ready for battle.
“Yes. Angela Morrison. She came to me with some trumped up story about how she was Al’s daughter’s friend and she knew the truth about how she died and wanted money to keep quiet.”
A new twist Harry thought, another piece of the unsolvable puzzle.
New question. “Did you kill Al?”
She swung around and glared at him. “What?”
“It’s a simple yes or no question, did you kill Al?”
A momentary change in expression, to one of incredulity. “No.”
“Where were you between 6:00 am and 2:00 am. This morning?”
“In a bar trying to get drunk. Then some idiot cop called Sykes had me picked up and taken to the station for questioning I didn’t do it.”
“You were having an affair?”
“No. I was Al’s friend, the only person he could talk to. I’m as much ion the dark as you as to his whereabouts, but one thing I do know, he’s not dead no matter what you saw, or you think you saw.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I was going to employ you to find Al, or his murderer if you discovered he was dead. Looks like I don't have to now. The murderer is standing in front of you.”
© Charles Heath 2016-2019
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