Free Beneath a Buried House (Detective Elliot Mystery Book 2) by Bob Avey Page B

“It’s good to see her happy again. And, hey, Jeremy made the team this year, even got a little playing time. Went to his head, though. You know, big time Union football player. He’s all right, though. He’s a good kid.”
    This time Arnold changed the direction, shifted it back. “I did get something for you. It’s the tattoo. Hamilton remembered seeing a girl like that. Couldn’t remember exactly where, but he thought it was downtown somewhere. Said he figured her for a hooker, the way she was dressed and all, but she didn’t seem to be hustling, so he left her alone.” He shook his head. “It’s weak but it’s all I got.”
    Elliot pulled a twenty and laid it on the table. “I appreciate it, Robert. Let me get the tab. I have another question. Have you ever run across a john named Douglass Wistrom?”
    “Wistrom,” he said, more to himself than anyone else. He stared through the window for a moment, then turned back. “Maybe. I’ll check it out and get back with you.”
     

Chapter Twelve
    Elliot left Robert Arnold at the restaurant and went to the office. Once there, he  called Patricia Orwell with Business Solutions.
    “Detective Elliot. Have you heard from Wistrom?”
    She hesitated, then said, “He called right after you left, saying he wouldn’t be in for a few days.”
    “Do you know where he is?”
    “At home, I expect. He didn’t really say.”
    Elliot hung up the phone. He’d figured Wistrom for a lowlife, albeit one intelligent enough to be a good freelance writer, but the role of murderer still didn’t fit, though his running had definitely tipped the scales in that direction.
    Elliot heard someone tapping on the filing cabinet near the entrance to his cube and turned to see Detective Dombrowski.
    “Got a few minutes?”
    Elliot sat forward. “Sure. What’s up?”
    It took Dombrowski a while to answer, his eyes studying Elliot during the silence. “Looks like you were right about Enrique Savage. We found the murder weapon from the Susan Lancaster case, just like you thought we would, down by the river, in the bushes close to the jogging trail. A hunting knife. Had his fingerprints all over it.” He paused and shook his head. “How did you know?”
    “I didn’t. Like I said, there’s just something about Savage that bothers me.”
    “What about the weapon?”
    “A lucky guess, based on where the body was found.”
    “You’re a regular Sherlock Holmes,” Dombrowski said. Then he laughed. “Just kidding.”
    As Dombrowski was leaving, an idea occurred to Elliot. “Do you think Savage would be willing to talk with me?”
    Dombrowski raised his eyebrows. “Why?”
    “I want to ask him about Brighid McAlister.”
    “What, you think he had something to do with it?”
    “No. But he has occult connections. I thought he might be able to give me some information regarding some things I saw in her apartment.”
    “What kind of things?”
    Elliot showed Dombrowski the photos he’d taken in Brighid’s bedroom.
    He looked them over. “I don’t know. I doubt he’d do it willingly. You saw how he was earlier.”
    “You’re right. It’s a bad idea. He’d probably just lie to me anyway.”
    Dombrowski nodded. “You’ll get to the bottom of it. A little advice, though.” He handed the photos back to Elliot. “Be careful you don’t read too much into things like that. It’ll bog you down.”
    After Dombrowski was gone, Elliot studied Enrique Savage’s case file, looking for a connection or a similarity, anything. After an hour or so without any luck, he closed the file and left the office.
    In the parking garage, Sergeant Conley came over. “Hey, Elliot, how’s the McAlister case going?”
    “Could be better.”
    “Anything I can do?”
    “That depends. Do you know anything about religious symbolism?”
    Conley shook his head. “I can’t help you there, kid.”
    Elliot was climbing into his car when Conley added, “But I know someone who could.”
    He fished a