recliner with pockets on the sides for TV guides, and remote controls. If there were any of those things in that chair’s pockets, they were flat and well hidden. Like the apartment, the chair looked brand new.
A tall bar separated the living room from the kitchen, but there were no bar stools. Elliot placed his elbow on the countertop and leaned against it. “I’ll get right to the point,” he said. “I want to know who you are and what you know about the body we found in apartment 3 at Windhall and before you say you don’t have any idea of what I’m talking about, let me remind you that I saw you coming out of the front door when I arrived there yesterday. You saw me as well.”
A look of fear shot across the man’s face. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Let’s start with your name.”
“Douglass Wistrom. And I was just walking past the place, that’s all.”
“Go on.”
“It was cold, and I’d left without a coat. I have a friend, someone I hadn’t seen in a while, who lives there. I decided to stop in and say hello, warm up a bit. But when I saw all the commotion, with the police and all, I just turned around and walked away.”
Elliot pulled out his pad and made a note. The man looked and dressed like a transient, but he certainly didn’t speak like one. “Does your friend still live there?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t go in. I just walked away.”
“You didn’t call your friend later to see what was going on, see if he was okay?”
Wistrom shook his head. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen him. He may not even remember me.”
“I’ll need your friend’s name for my report.”
“Report? I thought you said this was unofficial.”
“I never said that. I said you weren’t under arrest. This is an investigation, Mr. Wistrom, and it is official.”
Wistrom was silent for a moment, as if he was trying to drag something out of his memory. “His name is Morris, Morris Reed.”
Elliot straightened from his position and walked around the room. “Do you know anything about the body we found in apartment 3?”
Wistrom shook his head. “I figured something was going on, but I didn’t know what, until last night. I was flipping channels when I saw you. Like you were saying, I’d seen you earlier that day, and I recognized you, so I watched the interview. I have to tell you, I nearly got sick, a real burning in my stomach when I saw what had happened. And to think I was there, not more than fifty feet away from a murder victim.”
“Interesting you should put it that way, being as we haven’t determined whether or not it is a homicide.”
Wistrom didn’t reply.
“Do you suppose your friend, Morris Reed, might know anything?”
“He might. If he’s still there.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
Wistrom wrinkled his forehead. “I think it was about six months ago.”
“That’s a long time, not to speak to a friend.”
“We weren’t that close, just casual acquaintances.”
Elliot looked around the sparsely furnished room. “How long have you lived here, Mr. Wistrom?”
“Several years,” he said. After a pause he added, “I’m a simple person, Detective, with simple needs. Life tends to get complicated, even messy. I can’t control the world, but I can keep my place clean and uncluttered.”
Wistrom came across as guarded, evasive, and yet Elliot got the impression he was telling the truth, about the John Doe anyway. “What do you do for a living, Mr. Wistrom?”
Wistrom’s face went blank, as if he’d been asked a question he hadn’t studied for. Finally he said, “I work with computer applications.”
It sounded like he had read his answer from a cheat sheet hidden in the palm of his hand. “With what company?”
“Business Solutions.”
“Why are you home today? Did you take the day off?”
Again his answer was slow in coming, his actions mechanical. “Yes, that’s exactly what I did.”
Elliot stepped closer
A tall bar separated the living room from the kitchen, but there were no bar stools. Elliot placed his elbow on the countertop and leaned against it. “I’ll get right to the point,” he said. “I want to know who you are and what you know about the body we found in apartment 3 at Windhall and before you say you don’t have any idea of what I’m talking about, let me remind you that I saw you coming out of the front door when I arrived there yesterday. You saw me as well.”
A look of fear shot across the man’s face. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Let’s start with your name.”
“Douglass Wistrom. And I was just walking past the place, that’s all.”
“Go on.”
“It was cold, and I’d left without a coat. I have a friend, someone I hadn’t seen in a while, who lives there. I decided to stop in and say hello, warm up a bit. But when I saw all the commotion, with the police and all, I just turned around and walked away.”
Elliot pulled out his pad and made a note. The man looked and dressed like a transient, but he certainly didn’t speak like one. “Does your friend still live there?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t go in. I just walked away.”
“You didn’t call your friend later to see what was going on, see if he was okay?”
Wistrom shook his head. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen him. He may not even remember me.”
“I’ll need your friend’s name for my report.”
“Report? I thought you said this was unofficial.”
“I never said that. I said you weren’t under arrest. This is an investigation, Mr. Wistrom, and it is official.”
Wistrom was silent for a moment, as if he was trying to drag something out of his memory. “His name is Morris, Morris Reed.”
Elliot straightened from his position and walked around the room. “Do you know anything about the body we found in apartment 3?”
Wistrom shook his head. “I figured something was going on, but I didn’t know what, until last night. I was flipping channels when I saw you. Like you were saying, I’d seen you earlier that day, and I recognized you, so I watched the interview. I have to tell you, I nearly got sick, a real burning in my stomach when I saw what had happened. And to think I was there, not more than fifty feet away from a murder victim.”
“Interesting you should put it that way, being as we haven’t determined whether or not it is a homicide.”
Wistrom didn’t reply.
“Do you suppose your friend, Morris Reed, might know anything?”
“He might. If he’s still there.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
Wistrom wrinkled his forehead. “I think it was about six months ago.”
“That’s a long time, not to speak to a friend.”
“We weren’t that close, just casual acquaintances.”
Elliot looked around the sparsely furnished room. “How long have you lived here, Mr. Wistrom?”
“Several years,” he said. After a pause he added, “I’m a simple person, Detective, with simple needs. Life tends to get complicated, even messy. I can’t control the world, but I can keep my place clean and uncluttered.”
Wistrom came across as guarded, evasive, and yet Elliot got the impression he was telling the truth, about the John Doe anyway. “What do you do for a living, Mr. Wistrom?”
Wistrom’s face went blank, as if he’d been asked a question he hadn’t studied for. Finally he said, “I work with computer applications.”
It sounded like he had read his answer from a cheat sheet hidden in the palm of his hand. “With what company?”
“Business Solutions.”
“Why are you home today? Did you take the day off?”
Again his answer was slow in coming, his actions mechanical. “Yes, that’s exactly what I did.”
Elliot stepped closer
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