Beneath a Buried House (Detective Elliot Mystery Book 2)

by Bob Avey

  The elegant lady unlocked the case and pulled out a tray of rings, which she had undoubtedly decided had Elliot’s attention. Placing the tray on the glass countertop, she said, “Perhaps if you could tell me what caused your sudden interest in diamonds, I could be in a better position to offer my advice.”

  Elliot nodded, appreciating her grasp of the situation. “The possibility of engagement. I’m actually contemplating marriage.”

  The lady smiled. “Who’s the lucky girl?”

  “Her name’s Cyndi. Could I see some others?”

  The lady removed the tray she’d placed on the counter and quickly replaced it with another. “Do you know her style preferences?”

  Elliot felt a blank look slide over his face as if the thought had just occurred to him, though he knew that wasn’t true. He was well aware he knew very little about Cyndi. “No. I’m afraid I don’t.”

  The lady winked. “One of those grab-the-moment decisions?”

  “Something like that.”

  Selecting one of the rings, the lady handed it to Elliot, then held her hand, fingers splayed open, beneath his chin. She wiggled her fingers. “Go ahead, hon. You’re going to need the practice.”

  Elliot slid the ring onto her finger.

  Afterward, the lady placed her hand on her cheek and turned her head slightly to one side. “What do you think?”

  Elliot nodded. This was going to be more difficult than he’d thought. “Nice,” he said, and pointed at the next ring. “Could I see that one?”

  She tilted her hand under the light, displaying the fiery sparkle of the stone. “Sure thing.”

  Many demonstrations later, Elliot walked out of the store with a velvet-covered box in his hand.

  The aroma of fine food greeted Elliot when he stepped inside Polo’s, and as his eyes adjusted to the judicious use of light, a hostess appeared before him.

  “Will you be dining alone today?”

  Elliot shook his head. “My fiancée will be joining me shortly.” Each use of the word gave a delicious thrill.

  The hostess led Elliot to a secluded high-backed booth, then put place settings for two on the small rounded table. Elliot had wanted a nice setting for the occasion, and one that would make it easy for Cyndi. He’d chosen the Polo Grill in Utica Square. She wouldn’t even have to drive.

  Elliot slid into the booth, positioning himself where he could see Cyndi when she came in, and leaned back against the gray and burgundy cushion. A few minutes later, a conservatively dressed waiter stopped by the table. “Would you like to order now, sir, or do you prefer to take a little more time?”

  “Give me a few minutes,” Elliot said. “Someone’s joining me.”

  The waiter performed a practiced half bow, then disappeared.

  Elliot sank back into the cushion again, and let his mind wander through the events of the past few days. His list of suspects kept growing, and yet it seemed that he was no closer to solving the case than he’d been in the beginning. The case itself kept growing. He hoped it would not become unmanageable.

  Some time later, after Elliot had checked his watch a few times, the waiter appeared beside the table again. Cyndi had asked for an hour, and Elliot had spent more than that at the jewelry store. It’d been nearly two since they’d talked on the phone, agreeing on Polo’s as the destination. “A few more minutes,” Elliot said.

  As soon as the waiter left the area, Elliot grabbed his phone and dialed Cyndi’s number. She didn’t answer. Once again, unwarranted but bothersome thoughts began to run through Elliot’s mind, scenarios of what-if, all of them crawling along the edges of fear, leveraged by a large amount of self-doubt. Who was he trying to fool? Cyndi was out of his league. He’d known that from the start. He opened the ring box and studied the diamonds, wondering as the cut of the stones expertly caught the available light, if he’d made a mistake. He closed his hand around the box, sliding it back into the inside pocket of his jacket as it snapped shut, then signaled for the waiter.

  “I guess I won’t be ordering after all,” Elliot said.

  The waiter shook his head. “Not a problem, sir. And don’t let this get you down. It happens to the best of us.”

  Chapter Thirty

  The case, difficult as it was proving to solve, was still progressing better than Elliot’s aborted attempt to ask for Cyndi’s hand in marriage. With his pride left on the table at Polo’s, he joined Jed Washington in Donegal.

  Elliot knew Washington had neglected to inform Reverend Marshall Coronet that Elliot would be at the meeting the Donegal police chief had arranged. It made for an awkward situation, but it was the only way they’d get in without resorting to legal tactics. And Elliot needed to question the good reverend about his association with the Stone family.

  They were not alone in the office. Elliot counted ten men who stood silently around the perimeter of the room, all of them dressed in khaki pants with matching shirts. He forced himself not to rub the back of his head.

  Reverend Marshall Coronet strolled into the room with a grin stuck to his face, a devious curvature of the lips brought on by his imagined superiority. “Chief Washington,” he said, “how good of you to stop by. Let me take your coat, all right.”

  The look on the reverend’s face soured when he saw Elliot, and he turned his attention to Washington.

  Elliot removed his own coat and folded it across his arm while Chief Washington and Reverend Coronet shook hands. Elliot didn’t offer his. He had no desire to feign friendliness with this creep.

  Coronet’s office, a large rectangular room with polished oak floors, had no furniture other than Coronet’s desk and chair, and it was quiet except for the haunting sound of an old song that played in the background, the hollow and tinny quality of the broadcast perhaps coming from a radio set that had transcended time, connecting to some 1940s DJ as he faithfully spun another song across the airways.

  “Sorry,” Coronet said, pushing a button or something inside his desk, which caused the music to stop. “I love old records, all right. It’s a passion of mine.” He paused and looked at Elliot. “Who’s your friend?”

  Reverend Coronet was not what Elliot had expected. His stocky build and close-cropped hair rendered his appearance that of a drill sergeant masquerading in civilian clothes, and his habit of repeating all right, saying the phrase as if it were one word so it came out sounding like ahh-ight, only enhanced the effect.

  “This is Detective Elliot,” Washington said, “with the Tulsa Police Department.”

  “Tulsa?” The word rolled off Coronet’s tongue as if it were dirty. “What brings him to our little town?”

  “Murder,” Elliot said. He didn’t appreciate being talked about in the third person, as if he wasn’t in the room. “There seems to be an epidemic lately.”

  The reverend grinned and stuck out his hand. “Let me formally introduce myself, all right. Reverend Marshall Coronet, at your service.”

  “I know who you are,” Elliot said.

  “Do you now?”

  Elliot indicated the sentries. “I ran into your welcoming committee yesterday.”

  Reverend Coronet sat in his chair, taking pleasure, Elliot suspected, in their having to stand. “So that was you? Those old houses are on church property, Detective Elliot, part of the compound here, all right. Might I ask what you were doing out there?”

  “Looking for someone,” Elliot said, catching a glimpse of Washington as the chief glared at him.

  “And who might that be?”

  “He prefers to remain anonymous.”

  “Anonymous? I like that word. Did you happen to find this anonymous person?”

  “No. I had a little tussle with your boys in brown instead.”

  “Well, Detective Elliot, seeing as you’re a police officer, I’m sure you’re aware that kidnapping is against the law.”

  What about child molestation? Elliot thought, but said, “Kidnapping? What are you getting at?”

  “I’ll te
ll you what I’m getting at, all right, the whereabouts of Beverly Mandel.”

  “Who?”

  “Don’t act stupid, Detective. You talked with her at the diner. She sure had your attention then.”

  Elliot decided to go along with the innocent act. Coronet had no way of proving it. “I assume you’re referring to the waitress? I didn’t talk to anybody else.”

  “That’s right, the waitress. She seems to be missing. And since you were the only stranger in town, well I’m sure you can see how that must look to us.”

  “What’s this all about?” Chief Washington asked. “Didn’t I warn you not to go poking around Donegal behind my back?”

  “I apologize for the infraction,” Elliot said, “but someone dropped me a note when I was in the diner, saying the fire at Gary Sullivan’s house was no accident. As you might imagine, that piqued my curiosity. But you’d already made it clear that you wouldn’t cooperate unless I had more proof. I thought this might be it. The waitress told me where the guy hangs out, some abandoned houses on the outside of town. I wanted to talk to the man. That’s the only reason I was there.”

  “What’s all of this about the waitress?”

  Elliot shook his head. He figured Washington knew he was talking about Franklin Taylor. “I don’t know. She seemed fine when I talked with her.”

  Elliot addressed his next answer to both Chief Washington and Reverend Coronet. “I’m a police officer, gentlemen. My only interest here is in solving the case. I did not kidnap anyone from your town.”

  Washington nodded, but Coronet’s expression remained skeptical. “Do I detect an element of deception in your answer, Detective?”

  “I imagine you’re quite the expert in that area.”

  “Well. I hate to sound like a schoolchild, but you know what they say: Takes one to know one.”

  “Come on, gentlemen,” Washington said, “let’s try to remain on a professional level.”

  Reverend Coronet leaned forward. “Enough with the small talk, all right. It’s time to address the nature of your visit. What brings you to my compound, Detective Elliot?”

  “Solomon Stone and his wife, Kathryn,” Elliot said. “Did you have anything to do with their murders?”

  Coronet drummed his fingers against the top of his desk. “News travels fast in a small town, Detective. I know you found some bodies in Abraham Saucier’s barn, but I don’t know who they are, or who put them there.”

  Elliot shook his head. “Do I detect an element of deception in your answer?”

  A hint of a frown flashed across the reverend’s face.

  “Isn’t it true,” Elliot continued, “that the Federal Bureau of Investigation was looking into your affairs, and your association with the Church of the Divine Revelation, and wasn’t this happening right around the time that the Stone family supposedly disappeared?”

  “I suspect you already know the answer to that question, otherwise you wouldn’t have asked it.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  “Take it however you want, all right. I didn’t kill Solomon Stone, and I didn’t kill his wife.”

  “What about the kids?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Kathryn and Solomon had two children, a boy and a girl. Do you know what happened to them?”

  “No, sir, I do not.”

  Elliot nodded, but he knew better. The Reverend was quite fond of children. “I gather from what I’ve seen, with the living quarters on the compound and all, that your congregation, your church, is a rather close-knit community?”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “Isn’t it true that Solomon, his wife Kathryn, and their children were all members of the church?”

  “Again, I think you know the answer to that.”

  “I also know that Solomon Stone was feeding information to the FBI,” Elliot said, pushing the envelope of truth. “He was trying to bring you down, Reverend, so he could take over your church. That’s a pretty strong motive for murder in my book.”

  “That may be, but I didn’t do it.”

  “Do you know who did?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Isn’t it true that Gary Sullivan was once a youth counselor in your church?”

  “You’ve done your homework, Detective. Yes, at one time he served in that capacity.”

  “He also kept a file on Solomon’s son, Justin, part of which he took with him when he left. Do you know where the rest of that file is, and why he kept it in the first place?”

  “No, to the first question. As for why he kept it, Justin Stone was a willful and unruly child. Sullivan was good with children. He was trying to help the boy.”

  “Why did Gary Sullivan, a longtime member, suddenly decide to leave the church?”

  “We had a difference of opinion. This is not a prison, Detective. People come and go as they please.”

  “Did it have something to do with the Stone family, Justin in particular?”

  Reverend Coronet pushed back from his desk and stood. “If you’re going to arrest me, Detective, then do it. Otherwise, I’d like to ask you and the good chief to leave my compound, immediately.”

  With that, the men dressed in brown who had lined the perimeter of the room stepped forward, surrounding Elliot and Chief Washington. “Of course,” Elliot said. His bluff had already worked better than he’d expected it to. “Just one more question. Does the name Jim Llewellyn mean anything to you?”

  Marshall Coronet didn’t answer, but Elliot saw that the name did indeed register with the reverend. Elliot unfolded his coat and pulled it on. “Thank you for your time, Reverend Coronet. You’ve been most helpful.”

  Several of the men escorted Elliot and Chief Washington to Washington’s car. As they drove out of the compound, Chief Washington whistled. “That was pretty impressive, Elliot. You really grilled the guy. I was taking notes.”

  The church buildings and the rows of small houses where the members lived were all painted a stark white, giving the impression the men were passing through a military base. “Thanks,” Elliot said.

  “You’re a natural. Do you think Coronet did it?”

  “Reverend Coronet’s not the type to do his own dirty work, but I’d bet a year’s salary that he had a hand in it. The trick is in proving it.” As Elliot said the words, a morbid thought occurred to him. “Tell me something, Chief. Did you find any more graves out at Saucier’s place?”

  “Nope. We’re still looking, though.”

  As the unsettling line of reasoning that’d struck Elliot began to evolve, a sick feeling ran through him, and he began to suspect that if Washington’s crew did find another grave, it would be a child-sized one.

  Jed Washington grinned. “But I do have something for you. We managed to lift some prints from Saucier’s barn. The only ones we found that weren’t Saucier’s, belonged to a Tulsa man. Does the name Douglass Wistrom mean anything to you?”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  At the office once more, Elliot swallowed the rest of his coffee then crushed the cup and tossed it. The Llewellyn case file sat on his desk, an unorganized mess, from which he needed to make some sense, highlight the major points, and create a workable summary. Captain Lundsford wouldn’t stand for anything else. Lundsford wasn’t your garden-variety captain, but he wasn’t a bad guy really. Elliot logged on to his computer and saw the e-mail icon flashing. He loaded the program, his pulse quickening.

  I guess you didn’t believe me. I told you to drop the case, but you didn’t listen. Now you’ve gone too far.

  Elliot thought of Cyndi. She hadn’t answered her phone since they’d talked before lunch. He grabbed the phone and tried again. Still nothing, not even an answering machine. His stomach churned as he grabbed his coat and headed for the door.

  Before he reached the exit, Captain Lundsford appeared in front of him. “Are you all right, son?”

  Elliot had to concentrate. “Something’s come up.”

  �
��It can wait.”

  Before Elliot could respond, Lundsford had his arm around him and suddenly they were in his office. Elliot took a seat without being asked. He didn’t know if his legs would continue to hold him.

  “I’ve got a case for you,” the captain said. “A south-side couple, just built a two-million-dollar house on one of those lots off Sheridan.”

  Lundsford’s eyes began to narrow, closing a little more with each word. “Three days after they moved in, the wife finds the husband floating facedown in the pool. High profile. Should be good for you.”

  “What about the case I’m working?”

  “Put it on hold.”

  “I’m close. I can wrap it up in a few days.”

  “Really? Sounds to me like you solved a fifteen-year-old murder in Donegal, but not the one you were supposed to be working on.”

  “But it’s connected. The notes in Llewellyn’s file prove that.”

  “That’s a pretty weak connection. He was working a story there, but the hooker probably gave him the drugs. Maybe she didn’t mean to kill him, but I think she did.”

  Elliot started to tell Lundsford about the prostitute not really being the prostitute, but he didn’t. How could he explain something like that? The captain would dismiss it as another of his gut feelings. “There have been some new developments.”

  “Yeah? What have you got since we last talked?”

  Elliot gave the captain a complete rundown, including the disturbing e-mail he’d just received.

  Captain Lundsford listened intently, jotting down notes now and then, and when Elliot had finished he nodded and said, “Do you have any idea where Wistrom could be?”

  “No, sir. Not at this time.”

  Lundsford stared blankly at the wall momentarily then said, “We’ll put out an APB.”

  He picked up the new case file from his desk and handed it to Elliot. “In the meantime, get started on this.”

  Elliot considered pressing the issue, but he knew Lundsford was right. And since he needed to check on Cyndi, the quickest way out of Lundsford’s office would be to agree. “Yes, sir. I’ll get right on it.”