“Don’t answer that,” Christine cut in quickly.
Jimmy couldn’t concentrate, looking up to glare at Champignon.
“Wasn’t there an incident down at your husband’s club last year where a man was killed? A man who shot you and who was it, a Mr. Dario Romero, I believe?” Champignon smiled. “Strange how all these innocent people seem to die around you.”
“Keep it up and I’ll have a civil suit for harassment in front of Judge Del Rio before you take your lunch break,” Christine warned, her icy gaze stabbing into Champignon. “Mr. Poe is here to sign this statement, nothing more.”
“Just making friendly conversation.” Champignon held up his hands defensively. “Seeing as how Mr. Poe is already here, why don’t we have a little chat? Hmm?”
“I have nothing to say to you,” Jimmy said firmly.
“I’m really curious about something in your statement,” Champignon went on. “You claim that Mr. Waugh said, and I quote, ‘I can’t do this. He’s gonna kill me.’ Huh, now who do you think he was talking about?”
“I don’t know,” Jimmy said through gritted teeth.
“This is not an interrogation,” Christine warned again.
“Was it your husband?” Champignon pressed. “Maybe he thought it was the police?” He suddenly had a knowing smile. “Or perhaps it was aliens from outer space?”
“What?” Jimmy stared stupidly. Aliens from outer space; that was what he had said to Christine last night on the phone. That had to be a coincidence, but the smug way Champignon was staring at him led him to believe otherwise.
Could Cold’s phone have been tapped? Had someone been listening in on their conversation?
No one else had been in the house. Well, except for Jerry. Jules and some of the guards might have been hanging around somewhere and...
Charlie.
“We’re done here,” Christine said sweetly. “Jimmy? Sign and let’s go.”
Jimmy hastily scribbled his name and pushed the papers back toward Davis.
“If you ever want to talk, you know where to find me, Mr. Poe,” Champignon said cheerfully. “I’m sure we would have loads to talk about.”
Jimmy felt sick as all of his earlier confidence drained away. He left the interrogation room with his head hanging low, staying close to Christine. He ignored all the prying eyes and reached out to open the door for her.
There, just for a moment, he caught a whiff of cloves.
Jimmy turned his head quickly, scanning over the precinct. He caught a glimpse of a petite blond man walking into the back with Detective Davis. Jimmy couldn’t be sure, but...
Charlie was blond. He also smoked clove cigarettes.
Jimmy’s suspicions were on high alert now, and it was a struggle to talk himself down from the wild accusations popping up in his head.
The smell of cloves meant nothing. Charlie wasn’t the only person in the world who smoked them. Besides, it made sense for him to be at the police station because he had also witnessed Mr. Waugh’s suicide. He was probably here giving his statement.
Champignon was just messing with him and leading his brain to these wild ideas.
“You did well,” Christine said once they were outside. “Just leave that prick Champignon to me.”
“Thanks,” Jimmy said, his attention drawn to the limo when he heard raised voices.
Jules and Jerry were arguing again in a broken mix of French and English. Jerry did not sound very happy.
“What’s up?” Christine asked briskly. “Your face looks like a cat’s ass.”
“Sorry. Just something Champignon said in there is bugging me. Do you think... do you think he’s been listening in on our phone calls?”
“I’m sure he has a warrant for them,” Christine replied, “but I know Cold would never use a line he didn’t trust was completely safe.” She seemed to be holding something back, but Jimmy couldn’t be sure.
