Powers of Arrest (15 page)

Friday

Chapter Twenty-four

Will looked very debonair—yes, that was exactly the right word—sitting across from her. His charcoal pinstripe suit looked new, and his crisp white shirt was set off with a purple tie that had a subtle pattern. She was feeling the shortness of the black dress she was wearing, her legs encased in sheer black stockings, but he definitely noticed and complimented her twice about how good she looked. “Smashing,” was one tribute; rather like “debonair.”

It was wonderful to be out with him, and especially in one of her favorite places, the Palm Court at the Netherland Plaza Hotel downtown. She gloried in its long, spacious, art deco expanse. She always expected to see Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers at another table. The rich, dark wood of the walls alternated with elaborate golden sconces and frescoes running up into the roof. The first time she ever saw the place, it looked like a combination of an ancient pagan temple and a glamorous setting from an old movie. The bar in the center of the room was right out of the 1930s and a pianist was playing jazz on a grand piano. They both appropriately ordered gin martinis.

It seemed like the right nightcap to the classical evening. Cheryl Beth also adored Music Hall, even though she hadn’t been to the symphony in two years. To live in Cincinnati was to be immersed in music, from the symphony and chamber orchestra, to the Pops and the May Festival’s choral extravaganza, which was coming right up. And Will had not disappointed. He had great seats in the orchestra section with as perfect sound quality as she had heard there.

As always, the stately old building seemed to levitate with an exciting glitter on a concert night. She didn’t really know much about classical music. She knew what she liked, what transported her. But from the day she had arrived in Cincinnati, the symphony had been part of her self-improvement program, to lift herself out of the small-town South.

Will, surprisingly, did know classical music. Now he talked in that calm, sexy voice about the night’s program, about the history of Beethoven’s
King Stephen Overture
and the
Second Piano Concerto.
But he wore his knowledge easily. His face was relaxed and happy.

“Beethoven turned the piano into the monarch of romantic instruments,” he said.

“You play, don’t you?”

He gave a dismissive shrug. “I wouldn’t call it that, now. It’s hard to sit properly at the keyboard after my surgery and impossible to use the pedals… And I’m lazy and now I’m a little afraid of the thing. But I would much rather have been a pianist than a cop.”

“Really?” This surprised her.

He smiled. “Who knows?”

“You wouldn’t have to carry that.” She indicated the small walkie-talkie radio sitting on the table next to his drink. “Maybe you’ll play for me sometime. I’ll sit next to you and stabilize you.”

“Maybe I will.”

“I thought the tribute to the cellist was very moving,” Cheryl Beth said. “So much has happened this week that I had forgotten about that.” She shivered slightly, and not only from the cool air on her legs. So much violence had been visited in a few days.

Tonight’s program had been modified to include a piece dedicated to the murdered musician, with the cello solo played by a tall, willowy blonde. Although the program’s listing of her accomplishments made it clear she was at least fifty, she looked much younger, with Nordic features and flawless fair skin.

“That was Stephanie Foust,” Will said. “She was Jeremy Snowden’s teacher and mentor.”

“She said he could have gone to Julliard, but chose to stay in Cincinnati and study at CCM. If he hadn’t stayed, he might not be dead. It’s so sad. She seemed really on the edge of losing it. But she did a beautiful job.”

Will nodded. “Rachmaninoff’s
Vocalise
arranged for cello and orchestra. It’s such a hauntingly beautiful melody. She chose well.”

“It almost made me cry,” Cheryl Beth said.

“I think it did the same to her. Remember the final statement of the theme, which actually occurs in the orchestra. Stephanie was playing a counter-melody. It closes the work in the upper stratosphere.”

“I remember. It was magical.”

“But if you listened closely, she was so spent, so devastated, that she missed her entrance to the final repetition of the melody.”

Cheryl Beth hadn’t noticed.

He said, “She recovered in time… Most people wouldn’t even hear it. Sorry, I sound pompous.”

“You don’t!” Cheryl Beth said. She was rapt listening to him. “I love to learn about this from you.”

“I’ve heard the piece many times. It’s one of my favorites.”

“Well, thank goodness the police got the guy.”

Will’s face was thoughtful. “They think they did.”

“What?”

“I don’t know.” Will gave a smile short of sly. “Only a feeling I have.”

She reached over and took his hand. The abrasions from his fall were healing, but she wasn’t examining him, only wanting the closeness.

“There’s so much to you, Will Borders.”

He gave a self-deprecating shrug.

“The symphony president thought so. She specifically came up to you at intermission to thank you for your help. All those important people were watching her and wondering who we were. A cop and a nurse.”

Will chuckled. “Notice how she avoided Dodds, even though he was no more than twenty feet away? He wasn’t deferential enough to the symphony, which is a high crime in Cincinnati, so I had to go over and smooth ruffled feathers.” His eyes brightened. “Here’s a secret.” He leaned in closer, still holding her hand.

“Her husband was one of Kristen Gruber’s lovers.”

Cheryl Beth felt her eyes widen.

“Yep. He berths his boat right next to hers at the marina. And he’s a middle-aged bald man.”

“Oh, my god…” She felt the big room closing in to envelope the two of them.

“He’s a very high-powered lawyer. I met with him. He was belligerent. Of course, he doesn’t want his wife to know he was with Kristen. He said he had an alibi, that he was with his wife last Saturday night.”

“Too bad,” she said.

Will leaned in closer. “It may be too bad for him. Remember when Mrs. Buchanan spoke to the audience before the Rachmaninoff tribute to Jeremy Snowden? How she said that it was only last Saturday night when she had heard him play there, and then she had gone to a party with him and other musicians after the concert. Her husband said they were alone at home Saturday night.”

“The bald man who stalked Lauren…”

“If only I can sell it to the bosses.”

***

Afterward, they walked across the street to Fountain Square. Will walked best when he could swing his left arm, but he took Cheryl Beth’s hand and moved even slower. She didn’t seem to mind. The most famous public space in the city was deserted except for the lights on the Tyler Davidson Fountain, illuminating the water falling out of the hands of the bronze woman who kept watch from her granite perch. Even many natives didn’t know the fountain was actually called the Genius of Water. They sat on the lip and felt the spray in the cool night.

He couldn’t keep his eyes off Cheryl Beth: she had never looked more beautiful.

“Are your friends watching us?” she asked.

He nodded. “See that Ford that’s illegally parked?”

“So I guess we can’t get naked in the fountain. Why are you doing this, Will? Making yourself a target.”

Things had happened so quickly he didn’t have an easy answer. It seemed to come naturally with the job. And with Dodds taking over as lead, he felt more insecure about even keeping the PIO position.

“Don’t try to be macho,” she said. “That’s not you.”

“No. I don’t want this guy to get away, and this way is our best shot at luring him back. I’m careful. If you’re worried about the cane and all…”

She touched his face. “I’m not worried about that. I want you to be safe. So I’m glad they’re watching.”

She asked him about his day and he told her. It started with a call from Diane Henderson in Covington; she wanted to meet across the bridge. There she told him that his stepson had come to her and said he had boarded Kristen Gruber’s boat early Sunday morning. He acted surprised but told Cheryl Beth about forcing John to go to the police. Then he received a mega-ass-chewing from Fassbinder over the news, full of threats and menace. Fassbinder was a political commander and had forced better officers than Will out of the unit, even off the force. John hadn’t been taken into custody—that was good. But Henderson said she considered him a person of interest—that was bad. Of course there was the mandatory call from Cindy, in hysterics over the developments with John, which were somehow his fault.

“He’s fortunate to have you,” Cheryl Beth said.

“I’m not sure he sees it that way.”

“Why didn’t you and Cindy ever have children of your own?”

He sighed. It was a question he had asked himself many times, and the straightforward answer was that Cindy didn’t want more children. She became more and more invested in her career. He wanted to be supportive of that. And they had John, who for so many years seemed like his own son.

“Now I’m afraid for him.” He watched the sparse traffic on Fifth Street and Vine.

“Of course, you would be,” she said. After a pause, “Are you afraid of him?”

“Maybe.” He paused. “Whoever wrote the note pinned to Noah Smith knew I was investigating the death of Kristen Gruber. Hardly anyone knew that, and almost nobody in the public. But I remember now that John stopped by my place a few days ago and I told him.”

“Oh…”

For a long time they listened to the mesmerizing voice of the intricate Victorian fountain. Around them were flavorless modern box skyscrapers, except for the 1930 masterpiece of the Carew Tower, with its setbacks and soaring tawny walls, Cincinnati’s own miniature Rockefeller Center. Will remembered Pogue’s Department Store had anchored the arcade that was part of the tower and the Netherland Plaza. It was long gone, as was the big Shillito-Rikes over on Seventh. They had been so full of magic and big-city bustle, especially at Christmas. Now all that was left was the little Macy’s west of the square, a concession to Macy’s headquarters city and plenty of city subsidies. South of the Carew Tower, he could make out the lit whiteness of the 1913 PNC Tower, still the Central Trust Tower to natives, with its Greek temple at the top.

“Will, I’ve lied to you.”

She took her hand away from his and faced toward the glassy front of the Westin across Fifth.

“You’re married?” He tried to make light, but the change in her voice made him uneasy.

“Just hold me.”

That was easy. He wrapped his arms around her and she leaned into him. He could barely hear her when she started talking.

“When I said I didn’t have children, that was a lie. I’ve been telling that lie for so long that it comes naturally…”

She clutched him back tightly.

“I had a daughter. She died. She was born with a bad heart, and when she was three…I couldn’t stop it. Her name was Carla Beth and today is her birthday and she would have been eighteen years old…”

All this came tumbling out at a speed to match the cascade of the fountain. He held on and kissed the top of her head. Her hair was very soft.

“I can’t explain to you why I told this lie,” she said. “There’s no good reason. I loved that little girl so much. She was mine. And the grief was mine. Now I realize she didn’t belong to me. She belonged to God, and if she had lived she would have made her own decisions. But for so many years I couldn’t let go. I didn’t want to try to have another baby because I couldn’t stand another loss…couldn’t face it again…and I never found the right man. But I had my grief… It was easier to wear this disguise. I don’t want that with you.”

For the first time in so long, his mind wasn’t regretting the past or fearing the future. He was there in that space and moment, under the golden light of the fountain, feeling her heart beat wildly inside her chest.

She raised her head and looked at him straight on. Her eyes were wet but fierce. “Don’t make me regret that decision, Will Borders.”

He pulled her in and held her close, whispering, “Never…never going to hurt you…never going to let you down…” again and again. The splash and murmur of water, the song of this river city, under the statue’s outstretched arms, consecrated their moment.

Chapter Twenty-five

They walked back to his car in silence, still holding hands. Cheryl Beth felt strangely free and light after telling him. She felt safe with him knowing. It was as if a new world had opened at her feet. He started slowly up Vine Street, past Piatt Park where the murdered President James Garfield looked out on the city from his statue, past the public library and Scotti’s Italian restaurant with its red-and-green neon sign and red door. After Central Parkway and the monotonous Kroger tower, Vine would enter Over-the-Rhine and then climb into Clifton, back home.

“Let’s go to your place.” Her voice sounded normal again.

“Do you think that’s a good idea?”

She put her hand on his knee. “Yes. It’s a wonderful idea.”

“Me, too.”

She had never even seen the little street that held Will’s townhouse. It was a block from the mishmash of wide Liberty Street, but it was quiet and secluded. The townhouse itself must have been more than a hundred years old and yet it looked to be in good shape. The interior was completely restored and modernized, even if the granite kitchen countertops weren’t quite to her taste.

“Is this your son?” She held up a photo of a tall, dark-haired young man. He smiled awkwardly at the camera.

“Stepson,” Will said. “His biological father showed back up, rich in Boston, and now my ex has remarried. The kid doesn’t want for fathers.”

She liked it that he had an old Baldwin upright piano, a bookshelf with titles that looked as if they had actually been read, and on the wall was a framed movie poster from
The Violators
. Will explained how he had bought the townhouse from a P&G guy who had done the rehab as he showed her though the downstairs.

“Play something for me.”

“I can’t really,” he said, embarrassment clouding him. “I tilt now.”

“I’ll sit next to you.”

So they did. His fingers tentatively began
The Blue Danube
, gathering confidence as he went. It was all wrong: he couldn’t use the pedals. “I played this by ear when I was six. It made my mother think I was some kind of musical genius. Hardly.”

“I love it,” Cheryl Beth said.

Then he tried “Isn’t It Romantic” from memory. She leaned into him. It felt like magic.

He left on a low lamp as they walked back into the living room. She mock-pushed him onto the sofa and straddled him. Now the dress was much shorter and she didn’t mind. She felt his hands on each side of her face as he pulled her in close for a kiss. It was easy to respond to his lips and she kissed back, using her tongue, too. He was a good kisser. Then his hands were on her hips, pulling her closer. But his eyes held a wariness.

“Don’t be afraid,” she whispered and kissed him deeply.

“I worry…”

“I have worries,” she said. This confession didn’t keep him from nibbling on her neck, which set many nodes of her nerves into a delighted alert status.

He whispered, “What?” His mouth again met hers again and their tongues danced around together.

“I worry you won’t be a legs-and-butt man and you’ll want a 44-D woman.”

His face gave up a broad smile. “I am a legs-and-butt man, all the way, lifelong. You couldn’t be more attractive to me, Cheryl Beth.” His hands were moving up her legs inside her skirt. It had been a very long time since she had felt this, and he had a light, teasing touch.

She leaned back and touched his nose. “Then don’t worry. Remember what I told you after your surgery when you were still in the hospital?”

“You told me to stick out my tongue and wiggle it. I did. And you said, ‘You have all that any man needs to satisfy a woman.’ ”

He lightly licked her wrist, ran circles around it with his tongue, and kissed the inside of her forearm. She sighed happily. “Oh, you do remember that. I had said that to so many patients, but with you I was very…”

“You turned red.”

“Yes, I did, because I was attracted to you, Detective.”

“And I was to you, pain nurse.” Will pulled her in for more kissing. It had been so long since he had been with a woman. And this woman had been on his mind for so long. Part of him could barely believe it was happening, that he could be doing this after his surgery and with the day-to-day of his disability. But all of him was enjoying it, with every kiss, touch, and pressure of body on body sweeping away his apprehensions.

As she rocked against his pelvis, she let out a moan.

Still, he felt an obligation, almost like the need to give her a Miranda warning. “What if I get another tumor and end up in a motorized wheelchair or dead?”

She felt heat spreading down to her feet. “What if I get hit by a bus tomorrow?” she whispered.

Then she was taking off his tie, unbuttoning his shirt. “So stop worrying. Anyway…” Her hand was playing with the fly of his slacks. “Something’s happening down here.”

“Mmmmm?”

“Now relax, sir, I’m a nurse.”

***

They lay together in his bed upstairs, the room dark except for pale blue light filtering in from the street. Cheryl Beth looked forward to taking in the view Will’s balcony displayed, but they had other things to do when they first came up to the room. His suit and her black pantyhose were downstairs. She felt spent and completely content. His face looked almost boyish, his hair curled up on the pillow, and his sleepy eyes barely open.

He stuck out his tongue.

She smiled. “You’re a very good bad boy, Will Borders.”

Slipping on his dress shirt, his only piece of clothing that made it upstairs, she stepped out on the narrow balcony.

“This is beautiful,” she called back inside. To her left, she could see the back of Christ Hospital.

“Down below is Jackson Hill Park,” he said. “It’s where the old Mount Auburn incline ran. Most people don’t even know that park exists. I wish they wouldn’t have torn out all the old inclines.”

She stepped back inside, closed the door, and lay beside him again.

“By the way,” he said. “You have perfect breasts.”

She ran a hand down his chest. “I’m glad you like.” She had always thought they were too small.

“And legs and mind and face and…”

“What was that clicking on your radio after we turned off the light downstairs?” she asked. “It was like, click-click, then a pause and it happened again.”

“Oh, those jerks. They were only messing with me.”

“I hope they couldn’t hear us.” She giggled, not really concerned.

Will explained how a double-click of a mic button could signify “okay” or “affirmative.” After the second double-click, a dispatcher had come on to tell the units to keep the channel clear.

“You guys are as bad as nurses,” she said, nestling her head into his shoulder. The sheets smelled like Will, and now like both of them, and that made her happy. His heart was beating normal sinus rhythm. That made her happy, too.

His right leg suddenly thrust up in a crooked position.

“Did you do that deliberately?”

“No, it’s the spasticity. It usually kicks in an hour or so after I lie down. Then I have to sit up and shake my leg until it calms down, or I fall asleep in the chair and have bad dreams. Whine, whine, whine.”

“Poor baby.” She kissed his right thigh. It was remarkably muscled up compared with the left. “Here.” She pushed it down and it immediately pulled back up. “Going to be stubborn, eh?” She rose up from beside him and swung across his leg, sitting on the quads. The muscles fought her but gradually eased up.

“Better?”

“It feels great.”

Cheryl Beth felt a little sizzle from pressure of his quads between her legs, and managed, “Uh-huh.”

She was about to come again when the phone rang.

Late-night phone calls were never good. As a pain nurse, Cheryl Beth knew they meant something was wrong with a patient, that she would have to throw on clothes and rush back to the hospital. She felt Will’s body tense beside her but he made no attempt to answer. In a few seconds, a voice came on his machine. The voice sounded distorted, like a robot out of an old sci-fi movie.

“Detective Borders, are you fucking with me? ‘Cause of death unknown…may be suicide.’ Are you not taking me seriously? If your situation didn’t interest me, I would immediately release the truth about my deathscapes to the public. Let the police be shown for fools. Let the city live in fear. I know you’re there, detective. I know you can hear me. Don’t assume you or the pretty nurse are safe…”

Will grabbed for the handset, nearly sending Cheryl Beth tumbling off the bed.

“Gone,” he said and cursed. He spoke into his hand-held radio. “He called a minute ago. Did you get it on the land-line tap?”

“Affirmative, 7140. Too short for a trace. Sounded like the voice distortion machine you can buy in any spy shop.”

“He’s watching my house.”

“It’s all clear out here. He may have seen you at Fountain Square or the symphony.”

Will set the radio back on the bedside table and pulled her close to him. She laid her head on his big chest and listened to his heart slowly stop its race. She could feel her own, whacking away under her sternum.

“He knows I’m a nurse,” she whispered.

“Oh, baby, I’m so sorry I got you into this.”

“You didn’t.” She liked it that he called her “baby.” She said, “He killed three of my students. For all I know, I was in this before you were.”

He stroked her hair and thought about that. Then: “Do you know how to handle a pistol?”

“My daddy taught me.”

“Good. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

“I know.”

He started to speak again, but she held her hand against his cheek, “Now, hush,” gently, and they held each other, skin on skin from face to toes, the best feeling in the world, no matter what waited tomorrow, what waited outside the bricks of the wall. She felt a brave peace.