Powers of Arrest

by Jon Talton

  For someone who had been Kristen’s lover, who had been intimate with her so many times, he was strangely calm, actually cold, about her death and the way it came about. It was very close to being “no affect,” as the cops and shrinks put it.

  “Did she like rough sex?”

  He turned his head slightly and his mouth created small dimples. “Yes.”

  “Nice memory, huh?”

  The dimples went away and he readjusted back into the seat, facing forward.

  After a while, he spoke: “I’m not really into that kind of kink, understand. But she liked it.”

  “Liked what?”

  He cleared his throat. “She enjoyed being handcuffed and, well, taken. She got off on a rape fantasy. The rougher the better. This was what she wanted, understand? Sometimes she wanted to be blindfolded. Sometimes she wanted… Why the hell am I telling you all this?”

  “So you don’t have to explain it to your wife,” Will said.

  “She wanted me to call her a little slut who deserved it. A cunt. Those were her words, not mine. She wanted to be choked, but I wouldn’t do it.”

  “Did you ever role-play with her using a knife?”

  “God, no!” His reaction seemed genuine.

  Will asked if he owned a knife.

  “A knife? Like kitchen knives?”

  “A combat knife. A pocket knife?”

  “No, detective. I haven’t had a pocket knife since I was a Boy Scout.”

  “She had other lovers, you say. Did this make you angry.”

  “Sure,” he said without hesitation. “Wouldn’t you be angry?”

  “Did you fight over it?”

  “Some.” He ran a hand over hair that no longer existed. “But, hell, I was very attracted to her. We kept on until I broke it off. I didn’t want to run the risk of taking some S.T.D. home. Anyway, other men made things…complicated. I needed her discretion.”

  “So it made you angry, her playing around.”

  “Yes, it did,” he said, without irony.

  “When you fought, did you call her a little slut who was deserved it and a cunt? Did you ever hit her?”

  His face struggled to maintain its composure. “No. She was promiscuous. She liked sex. She was a television star with lots of opportunities.”

  “Any idea who these other men were?”

  He shook his head.

  Will had a few more routine questions. When was the last time he had been intimate with her? In March. But they had talked since then; he had admitted as much. He said she had called him at his office several weeks ago, he couldn’t be precise, asking if he wanted to come by. He had declined.

  “And why were you calling her Saturday?” Will asked.

  “I missed her,” he said. “She was a very passionate woman. And remember, we’re talking off the record. I’m nothing more than a cooperating citizen, trying to be helpful to the police. You haven’t even read me my rights.”

  Will paused. “I’ll only do that if you’re a suspect.”

  “Then I’ll ruin your life, detective.” He said it calmly, at the end of a pointed finger, his face set, but the tendons in his neck visible with tension. “I’ll sue your department for harassment. I’ll have your badge. I’ll get a settlement that will drive this city into bankruptcy. I’ll fuck you over, Borders.” He opened the door and stood.

  “Oh, Mr. Buchanan…”

  He stuck his head back in, the same look of barely suppressed rage on his face.

  “What?”

  “Seems like you have an anger-management issue, sir. That makes you seem less like a cooperating citizen and more like a suspect. And even if I can’t place you on that boat Sunday morning, I’ll check your alibi. Very indiscreetly, if you get me. Then I have a lot of ways to let your partners know about your little hidden life. And what you think about Elder and Moeller. They won’t like any of it, especially that last part. So be careful I don’t fuck you over. How does that make you feel, counselor?”

  Will stuffed down his own anger as the door slammed hard and Kenneth Buchanan stalked over to a new Mercedes Benz. It was amazing, watching this man walk fast with no effort, no thought to it at all.

  He started the car and his phone rang. It was Diane Henderson.

  “How’s the lawyer?”

  “Pissed and full of threats.” Will gave her the rundown.

  “Do you like him for this?”

  “I don’t dislike him,” Will said. “He claims he’s got an alibi, but my gut says he’s hiding something.”

  “Trust your gut. They were lovers. They broke up. She was seeing other men. Jealousy is a great motive.”

  “He’s got powerful connections. He called the chief.”

  “And what did the chief tell you?”

  “Handle with care.”

  “I have some news,” she said. “Crime scene found some hairs that didn’t belong to Gruber. And they have a partial shoeprint.”

  After she hung up, he realized he was an hour late taking his Baclofen. He dry swallowed the white pill. Only the realization that he had missed the dose caused the right quads to get angry. He hadn’t felt any discomfort during his confrontation with Kenneth Buchanan.

  Such a strange thing, this mind-body connection.

  Wednesday

  Chapter Fifteen

  She left home and flew down Ravine Street, her favorite in the city. It inclined down the hill toward downtown at a steep angle, offering splendid views. Then she drove out Madison to the Joseph-Beth Bookstore in Rookwood Pavilion. It was this or spend the afternoon in her closet agonizing over what to wear tonight when she went out with Will Borders. A short skirt wouldn’t do, but neither would pants. Men liked her legs. But she didn’t want to come off wrong on a first date. It was a date, right? Cheryl Beth hadn’t been on a real date in a very long time. Maybe on the way home she would get a pedicure.

  She was turning the corner of the poetry section when she almost ran straight on into Noah Smith.

  “I’m sorry I gave you a start,” he said.

  It was true. Her heart rate was still over one-fifty when she asked him what he was doing there.

  “I was released this morning. Brooks sure didn’t like it.”

  Noah looked gaunt and pale, but still handsome in khakis and a blue long-sleeved shirt. His big smile that must have attracted the girls was gone. “The truth is, I followed you.”

  Pulse back up. “You what? You know where I live? How do you know where I live?”

  “You can find things on the Internet.”

  She took another step back. “Now you’re really creeping me out.”

  “You don’t…” He stepped closer and this time she held her ground. “You can’t think I had anything to do with Lauren and Holly getting killed.”

  “Keep your voice down.”

  “I want to come back to class,” he whispered.

  She told him all the ways that would be a bad idea, impossible even. She couldn’t imagine having him as student right now, and the university had suspended him pending the investigation.

  She looked around. The store was crowded even on a Wednesday afternoon. She was safe. Except for the fact that he knew where she lived.

  “I need to graduate. I need to get a job.”

  “I can’t fix that, Noah. You can’t take the NCLEX until you’re cleared of this, anyway.” The national licensing examinations.

  “Cheryl Beth, I need something to do. To keep my mind off this. Brooks is going to do everything he can to put me in prison for something I did not do.” His eyes were suddenly older, exhausted.

  “What happened out there that night, Noah?”

  “I keep trying to remember.” He carefully touched the back of his head. “They said I had a mild concussion, but I keep having headaches. It still burns where they used the Taser on me, and I don’t feel right. It’s hard to keep it all in my head.”

  “You screamed something like ‘hostiles! I have wounded!’ What were you t
hinking?”

  He leaned his hands against a shelve and stared at the floor. “I don’t remember. Sometimes, after my deployments, I have flashbacks…”

  He seemed sincere. But she pressed on: “Did you have a knife with you that night?”

  “No!”

  “But you were in the Army, right? You’re good with a knife.”

  “That doesn’t mean I would kill those girls. I was crazy about them.”

  “Nothing but an an innocent boy from Corbin, Kentucky,” she said.

  “You don’t believe me.” He roughly ran his hands down his face. “If you don’t believe me, I’m sunk.”

  “Do you know I’m from Corbin, Noah? Is that something you found on the Internet, too?”

  “You are? Good lord.”

  “It’s a small town. Tell me somebody I might know.”

  “I’m a lot younger than you,” he said. “No offense. You’re very attractive.” He shook his head. “Shit, I can’t say the right thing here.”

  “Corbin.” She heard the sternness in her voice.

  He stared beyond her. She was about to walk away when he spoke again.

  “When I was three years old, my father killed my mother, okay?”

  She stopped and watched him again. He seemed to age before her eyes.

  “My earliest memories are their fights. Both of them screaming as loud as they could. Him slapping her. He finally used a shotgun. I saw it happen. The whole thing. I saw her brains and blood against the wallpaper of the kitchen. I didn’t know that’s what they were, I remember the colors and textures and her head was…” He stopped speaking and the muscles in his neck tensed.

  He was breathing heavily, holding his hands tightly at his side. “Then he killed himself. I remember everything. Forget anything you’ve heard about little kids not remembering trauma.” He fought tears as he gave the date, his parents’ names and where they lived, a couple miles out of town. “You can look it up. After that, I was sent to live with my uncle and aunt in Lexington. When I was eighteen, I joined the Army.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. The year he gave was long after she had left Corbin. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Well, Hank Brooks thinks I have my daddy’s homicidal bloodline. That’s the way he put it.”

  When he had composed himself, he said, “On Monday, I keep remembering waking up in the grass, then seeing Lauren and Holly. They were maybe twenty feet away, but I could already see the blood. I got to my feet and went to them. I checked their pulses but they were both dead. Cold. Oh, god…”

  “What about before?”

  He stared at the carpet. “We were pretty drunk and feeling mellow. We were making out. They were making out with each other. Everybody was laughing. We stripped and had sex in the grass. Afterward, we all got dressed again and sat around talking…”

  “But they were found nude.”

  “I know. But that’s not the way they were when I was hit.”

  “And you didn’t see anyone. You didn’t hear anything at all?”

  He shook his head. She remembered all that Hank Brooks had told her and she didn’t know what to believe.

  “I’ve got to go, Noah. And please, don’t contact me again. I can’t help you.”

  “Fine,” he said. “I’ve always been on my own. Now it’s me, nobody’s got my back. Only Hank Brooks is following me.”

  “You’re being followed, or you’re being paranoid?”

  “I’m being followed.”

  She angrily tapped her hand on the side of her forehead. “Great, Noah. So Detective Brooks is watching us right now. Smart.” She wheeled and walked out.

  She was almost to the front doors when she felt a pull on her sleeve. He was right there again. Now she was on the edge of afraid. Half a dozen people were at the registers, checking out. Nothing could happen right here, could it? Her short, shallow breathing wasn’t so sure. She reached into her purse and took hold of her keys, placing one between her fingers and making a fist around it. If he came any closer, she would call for help. If he did more, she would use the key on his face.

  “Noah…”

  “Wait. I do remember.”

  “Take your hand off me.” She said it loud enough that an older man slowed as he passed and stared at Noah.

  His hand dropped but he spoke urgently. “What you said. You brought it back to my mind. When we were making out by the Formal Gardens, it was really dark. But Holly thought somebody was watching us. I remember it now! She said it out loud. She even made a show of standing up and taking off her blouse and bra, like a strip tease.”

  Cheryl Beth was dubious. “Somebody was watching? Did you notice anything?”

  “No.”

  “You were trained in the Army and you didn’t notice anything?”

  He shrugged. “I kind of had other things on my mind, if you know what I mean.”

  “So Holly says somebody’s there and you go ahead and have sex together, not thinking a thing about it?”

  “We thought it was hot if someone was watching us.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Will took Cheryl Beth to Zip’s Café for burgers and beers. The talk was easy and relaxing. It helped him forget the anxiety dreams of the night before, where he got his usual four hours of sleep. They knew much about each other already from the time in the hospital. She looked radiant. It was the first time he hadn’t seen her in scrubs. Now they could laugh about the terrible night when he, she, and Dodds had been trapped with the hospital killer. Dodds was knocked cold and Cheryl Beth beaten. That was when Will launched himself out of his wheelchair into the killer and nearly strangled him to death. He only stopped when Cheryl Beth pulled at him, telling him, “I need you.” He wondered if she remembered that?

  She told him that she was teaching nursing now. He filled her in on his public information job, with a bit about the case he had been assigned. It was nice not to have to explain his physical condition. She already knew it.

  Afterwards, they walked into Mount Lookout Square and watched the traffic go by as the bells from Our Lord Christ the King Church tolled the hour. The night was warm and dry, with a hint of a pleasant breeze and flower scents. Here he learned that the two girls who had been murdered at Miami were her students. So was the prime suspect.

  “For once, I’d like us to have some time when a murder wasn’t involved,” she said.

  He tried to change the subject, but she wanted to talk, particularly about her questions concerning Noah Smith and her unpleasant encounters with Hank Brooks. Will assumed as much about Brooks from their phone conversations: his gruff defensiveness came through.

  Brooks’ case against Smith seemed weak; it was no surprise the man was released. The case had tantalizing similarities to Gruber: use of handcuffs, genital mutilation. The killer had taken their panties as trophies. Now Cheryl Beth told him something that Brooks had omitted: that a bald man was stalking one of the Miami victims, a man who looked like Mister Clean. That description could easily fit Kenneth Buchanan.

  Still, he knew from experience not to move too fast to lock in on a hypothesis. Would Gruber’s killer have struck the next night, and be so bold as to take on three people, including a man? He would probably need to drive up to Oxford and also get the autopsy results on the murdered students. All this and keep fielding calls from the national media about Kristen Gruber, even though he was supposed to be getting backup as PIO.

  Later, they drove over to Aglamesis Brothers in Oakley Square for ice cream. There were two kinds of people in Cincinnati: those who liked ice cream from Graeter’s and the ones who preferred Aglamesis. It was like Gold Star vs. Skyline Chili. Will was definitely among the latter, and he was delighted that Cheryl Beth was, too. He brought the conversation back to light things, telling her about his days as a student at Miami. “Let’s say I’m not one of the really successful alumni they name buildings after,” he said.

  “Well, they should,” she said.

  He was
happy to be off the clock, had even turned off his cell phone. He had briefed the chief late that afternoon and felt safe in being gone awhile. The case was spooling out, if too slowly for the chief. Will wasn’t happy about it either and felt the pressure. But it was what it was. Some homicides went that way. Woe to the detectives when it was this high profile.

  Kristen Gruber’s phone records had turned up two more boyfriends. One was a thirty-five-year-old patrol sergeant in District 2 on the east side. The other was a diving instructor who lived in Butler County. Both were cooperative. Will was able to keep internal affairs away from his talk with the sergeant, so that smoothed things out. Both were tall, good-looking, and muscular; both single.

  Neither knew about the other, or about the attorney she was also seeing. Both said she liked rough sex, where she would be bound or handcuffed during the act. It didn’t go both ways, however. She didn’t handcuff the men. Both voluntarily gave DNA samples. The sergeant had been with her on Friday night. The diving instructor wanted to take her out on Saturday night, but she said she had plans: she was going to take her boat out.

  News stories were starting to say “the police are baffled” by Kristen’s murder. The chief and Lieutenant Fassbinder would love that. Will was not baffled. He was beginning to wonder if the killer was random, not someone she knew. That would complicate things.

  This far into an investigation, you knew some victims like they were brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers. Others were like Kristen, cloudy at best. She had grown up on the West Side, the daughter of a mail carrier and a teacher. She was a tomboy, a star athlete in volleyball, swimming, and lacrosse at Seton High School in Price Hill. It was the female equivalent of Elder High, right next door. Her grades were good. At Ohio State, she majored in sociology and came back to join the force. Her parents said she had always wanted to be a police officer, even being a police Explorer in high school.

  She always loved the water. Her father owned a boat when she was growing up, and she had bought the Rinker Fiesta 300 five years before.

  Her parents said she had married when she was twenty-six and had divorced two years later. They had not approved, being pious Catholics. It had caused a rift between them that had taken some years to heal. The ex-husband was remarried and living in Los Angeles. He, like all the potential suspects, had no criminal record. He told a detective that it had been five years since he had even spoken to Kristen.