Pipsqueak by Brian M. Wiprud

Author:Brian M. Wiprud [Wiprud, Brian M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, Suspense, (¯`'•.¸//(*_*)\\¸.•'´¯)
ISBN: 9780440334972
Google: cvOl-XIM7ZwC
Amazon: B000FC1PZW
Barnesnoble: B000FC1PZW
Goodreads: 8262011
Publisher: Dell
Published: 2001-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

And so it was that we called upon our lawyer, Roger Elk. We found him dressed pretty much as I’d seen him last: suede cowboy boots, bolo tie, white western-cut shirt, corduroy jacket. His office was on the eighth floor of a narrow, dingy, industrial building, three floors of which still housed an artificial Christmas-tree factory. The elevator was more along the lines of a dumbwaiter, the unautomated kind that requires the elevator operator to physically heave on a cable to set the counterweight in motion. On the eighth floor, however, we discovered a neatly painted hallway lined with pebbled-glass doors, and we located the one stenciled Roger Elk, Atty. His two-room office had dark paneling, ceiling fans, and dusky wood furniture. Everything was old and worn but very tidy. A law degree from Northwestern, various Chicago civic awards, and a testimonial of some kind from the Aurora Corporation adorned his stately walls.

Angie, Otto, and I sat in an array of cushioned straight-backed chairs, the kind upholstered in old red leather and decorative bronze nails. Roger Elk sat calmly in his oak four-caster desk chair, hands folded over his potbelly and concentration wrinkling his brow. As he had instructed, I related the story from top to bottom, ending with: “And so here we are.”

“Interesting story, and it’s good you came to me first.” There was something utterly reassuring in his manner, the propounder of conservative advice.

“My advice”—he loosed a broad, wise smile—“is not to go to the police.”

I was confused. “But I don’t get it, what about—”

“If they come to you, call me and we’ll arrange to talk to them together.”

“But—”

“What would you tell them, Garth? What you know? In point of fact, you don’t know anything. You suspect many things. But the police have no interest in what you suspect. You don’t know firsthand that the dead woman on your stoop was Marti Folsom, and even if you did, that doesn’t have any direct connection to these retrophiles. You’ve not seen the ‘Cola Woman’ in their company and you have nothing to indicate that the retrophiles have anything to do with that puppet. You don’t even know whether the puppet was the impetus for the Tiny Timeless Treasures murder. The anonymous threat on your phone machine will hardly impress them.”

“What should we do?” Angie threw up her hands.

“My advice, Angie, is to steer clear of both the retrophiles and the police. Go near the jive crowd again and they may harm you. Go to the police with your suspicions about a puppet? Preposterous, and if the police discover that you are, however obliquely, attached to two murders, they will become suspicious. Forget about this whole episode, stop looking for the puppet, and go back to your normal lives. If you were being threatened, I can’t see why those responsible would object and bring any physical harm on you.”

“You think we can just do that and it’ll be all over?” I laughed, slightly giddy at the prospect.

Roger Elk crossed his weathered brown hands on his blotter and leaned forward.

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