CHAPTER EIGHT
After two frustrating days of searching, Lamont and Margot were no closer to locating the killer. All of the visits based on the Sanitarium list had resulted in suspects that were mild mannered, depressed, morose, medicated, and wealthy. Many had interests in the occult, mysticism, or other subjects, but usually as talismans to ward off their personal demons, not as serious students.
"We're missing something, Margot," Lamont said after they had returned to Cranston Manor after yet another dissapointing interview.
"Where else can we look, Lamont?" she replied.
Lamont sat and thought for a long moment, his brows knitted together in deep concentration.
"Perhaps Abraham can help us come up with other book owners." He stood, walking to the door to get his coat.
Margot followed, asking:
"Didn't we rule out the importance of the books after we examined the University President's murder?"
Lamont turned to her.
"Weston did, Margot, not us."
They arrived at Abraham's aging book shop to find Weston himself already there, along with a crowd of police. Margot looked to Lamont in shock.
"Oh no, boss, the creep didn't hit old Bram did he?" Schrevy asked.
"I hope not, Schrevy," Lamont replied. "Please wait here for us."
They found Weston inside the shop, directing his officers in searching the scene. Bram's wheelchair was lying in the center of the room, crushed as if it had been stepped on by a giant foot.
"Commissioner, is Abraham injured?" Lamont asked as soon as they entered the room.
Weston turned to him grumpily.
"Don't know, Cranston. All we found was this chair and a blood trail. But it sure looks like someone got pretty rough with him."
Margot gasped and clutched Lamont's arm.
Then it happened.
Cranston stiffened and Margot realized that she heard it, too. An unearthly ghostly whistle was floating through the air. It meandered tunelessly with no sense of key or melody, like the source was unaware of it. Margot was reminded of her father waiting for a train, humming old opera arias almost inaudibly.
She was about to ask Lamont where the sound was coming from when he turned to give her a silencing look. It was then she realized that Weston and the other officers couldn't here the eery sound...
because the whistling was in her mind.
"We're missing something, Margot," Lamont said after they had returned to Cranston Manor after yet another dissapointing interview.
"Where else can we look, Lamont?" she replied.
Lamont sat and thought for a long moment, his brows knitted together in deep concentration.
"Perhaps Abraham can help us come up with other book owners." He stood, walking to the door to get his coat.
Margot followed, asking:
"Didn't we rule out the importance of the books after we examined the University President's murder?"
Lamont turned to her.
"Weston did, Margot, not us."
They arrived at Abraham's aging book shop to find Weston himself already there, along with a crowd of police. Margot looked to Lamont in shock.
"Oh no, boss, the creep didn't hit old Bram did he?" Schrevy asked.
"I hope not, Schrevy," Lamont replied. "Please wait here for us."
They found Weston inside the shop, directing his officers in searching the scene. Bram's wheelchair was lying in the center of the room, crushed as if it had been stepped on by a giant foot.
"Commissioner, is Abraham injured?" Lamont asked as soon as they entered the room.
Weston turned to him grumpily.
"Don't know, Cranston. All we found was this chair and a blood trail. But it sure looks like someone got pretty rough with him."
Margot gasped and clutched Lamont's arm.
Then it happened.
Cranston stiffened and Margot realized that she heard it, too. An unearthly ghostly whistle was floating through the air. It meandered tunelessly with no sense of key or melody, like the source was unaware of it. Margot was reminded of her father waiting for a train, humming old opera arias almost inaudibly.
She was about to ask Lamont where the sound was coming from when he turned to give her a silencing look. It was then she realized that Weston and the other officers couldn't here the eery sound...
because the whistling was in her mind.
