gratification superior to spiritual development. It is most likely due to this darker faction of paganism that the meaning of the symbol became confused as a representation of evil, and later, during the twentieth century, actually associated with Satanism.”
A feeling of sickness wafted through Elliot’s senses. “So you’re saying I might be dealing with Satan worshipers?”
“Not necessarily. But the official symbol of Satanism is the sigil of Baphomet, a double-circled pentacle superimposed with the head of a goat, like you have here. Taken together with the other pagan symbols, I’m not sure what to make of it.” Again, he checked his watch. “I do need to be going.”
Elliot extended his hand. “Thank you, Doctor Meadows. You’ve been more than helpful, and I appreciate your time.”
In the hallway outside the doctor’s office, Elliot rubbed the back of his neck in an attempt to ease the tension that had settled there. He needed to find Wistrom. If the man had pagan connections, that might explain a few things.
Chapter Fifteen
In the parking lot outside the Brookwood Methodist Church, standing next to his car, Elliot placed a phone call to Patricia Orwell, Douglass Wistrom’s supervisor, and asked her if she’d heard from Douglass. She had not, but he’d been lucky enough to catch her in her office, and she promised to contact him if she did. He asked her if she wouldn’t mind digging up information about Wistrom’s parents, then disconnected.
The temperature had warmed over the last couple of days and the snow was starting to melt, but a cold mist rode the wind, leaving a chill in the air. Elliot climbed inside the car and started the engine. A few minutes later, he answered the phone. It was Orwell. As she relayed the information he’d asked for, he jotted it down in his notes. Howard and Maud Wistrom lived in Montana. A phone call would have to do.
A man answered, and Elliot identified himself and indicated what he was after.
“A Tulsa Police Detective? Why are you calling me?”
“As I said, I need to talk to you about your son, Douglass.”
“What kind of trouble has he gotten himself into?”
“It may be nothing. We just need to ask him some questions. There was a murder. It happened close to his apartment. We’re questioning everyone who lives in the area.”
“I still don’t see why you’re calling me.”
“We can’t locate Douglass. His apartment’s empty. Do you have any idea where we might find him, where he might go if he got scared, perhaps back to Montana?”
“I don’t think he’d do that. We didn’t move up here until he was already out of the house.”
“Are there any brothers or sisters, any other relatives in the area?”
“No. I’ve got a brother in Texas, and Maud has an aunt in West Virginia, but neither of them knew Doug, never met him. And we never had any children.”
“I take it you’re not a close family.”
“Well, I guess you could say that, but mostly they just didn’t agree with our decision.”
“You said you never had children. I guess you meant any other children?”
“No. I meant what I said. Doug wasn’t ours. He was adopted.”
“That sounds a little cold.”
“We loved Doug, like he was our own. There’s no question about that. He just never returned it. He was the cold one. Maybe detached might be a better word.”
“How did Douglass end up in Tulsa?”
“That’s where the adoption occurred. We lived there until Doug got out of college. He stayed in Tulsa. It’s his home, I guess.”
Elliot heard a click, followed by a woman’s voice. Maud Wistrom, he presumed. “Do you know where our Douglass is, Detective?”
“No, Mrs. Wistrom. That’s why I’m calling, hoping to find out.”
“Is he all right? Do we need to come and help him?”
“Only if you know where he is. How about his natural parents? Do you know how I can get in touch with them?”
“We can’t help you there either.” It was
A feeling of sickness wafted through Elliot’s senses. “So you’re saying I might be dealing with Satan worshipers?”
“Not necessarily. But the official symbol of Satanism is the sigil of Baphomet, a double-circled pentacle superimposed with the head of a goat, like you have here. Taken together with the other pagan symbols, I’m not sure what to make of it.” Again, he checked his watch. “I do need to be going.”
Elliot extended his hand. “Thank you, Doctor Meadows. You’ve been more than helpful, and I appreciate your time.”
In the hallway outside the doctor’s office, Elliot rubbed the back of his neck in an attempt to ease the tension that had settled there. He needed to find Wistrom. If the man had pagan connections, that might explain a few things.
Chapter Fifteen
In the parking lot outside the Brookwood Methodist Church, standing next to his car, Elliot placed a phone call to Patricia Orwell, Douglass Wistrom’s supervisor, and asked her if she’d heard from Douglass. She had not, but he’d been lucky enough to catch her in her office, and she promised to contact him if she did. He asked her if she wouldn’t mind digging up information about Wistrom’s parents, then disconnected.
The temperature had warmed over the last couple of days and the snow was starting to melt, but a cold mist rode the wind, leaving a chill in the air. Elliot climbed inside the car and started the engine. A few minutes later, he answered the phone. It was Orwell. As she relayed the information he’d asked for, he jotted it down in his notes. Howard and Maud Wistrom lived in Montana. A phone call would have to do.
A man answered, and Elliot identified himself and indicated what he was after.
“A Tulsa Police Detective? Why are you calling me?”
“As I said, I need to talk to you about your son, Douglass.”
“What kind of trouble has he gotten himself into?”
“It may be nothing. We just need to ask him some questions. There was a murder. It happened close to his apartment. We’re questioning everyone who lives in the area.”
“I still don’t see why you’re calling me.”
“We can’t locate Douglass. His apartment’s empty. Do you have any idea where we might find him, where he might go if he got scared, perhaps back to Montana?”
“I don’t think he’d do that. We didn’t move up here until he was already out of the house.”
“Are there any brothers or sisters, any other relatives in the area?”
“No. I’ve got a brother in Texas, and Maud has an aunt in West Virginia, but neither of them knew Doug, never met him. And we never had any children.”
“I take it you’re not a close family.”
“Well, I guess you could say that, but mostly they just didn’t agree with our decision.”
“You said you never had children. I guess you meant any other children?”
“No. I meant what I said. Doug wasn’t ours. He was adopted.”
“That sounds a little cold.”
“We loved Doug, like he was our own. There’s no question about that. He just never returned it. He was the cold one. Maybe detached might be a better word.”
“How did Douglass end up in Tulsa?”
“That’s where the adoption occurred. We lived there until Doug got out of college. He stayed in Tulsa. It’s his home, I guess.”
Elliot heard a click, followed by a woman’s voice. Maud Wistrom, he presumed. “Do you know where our Douglass is, Detective?”
“No, Mrs. Wistrom. That’s why I’m calling, hoping to find out.”
“Is he all right? Do we need to come and help him?”
“Only if you know where he is. How about his natural parents? Do you know how I can get in touch with them?”
“We can’t help you there either.” It was
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