Jon Talton - Powers of Arrest

A smaller bedroom held a desk, chair, and computer. Two pens sat neatly spaced next to the PC. Six inches away, a cordless phone sat charging in its dock. Beside the desk, a shelf contained half a dozen black boxes, the kind you bought at a home organization store. He sat down and began opening them. The first held office supplies. The next two were filled with letters, all neatly filed with tabs indicating months. He slid one out at random and began to read. It was addressed to her, care of CPD headquarters. A thirteen-year-old girl from San Diego watched Kristen on every episode of LadyCops and wanted to become a police officer “like you.” At the top, a neat hand had written in red, “replied 2/23.” Will was amazed a teenager would write a real letter, but then Kristen’s email address wasn’t easily available. He slid it back in its place and opened another. The Cleveland NAACP was complaining that the show only had African-American suspects.

“Fan mail.” He looked over his shoulder at Henderson standing in the doorway.

“Jeez, Borders, how many?”

“Hundreds. At least.”

“Do you know how many man hours that is? My captain will go berserk.”

“We haven’t even started on her email,” Will said.

“You guys can do that. You have more resources.”

“Yeah, yeah. My lieutenant would disagree with you.”

“This is more fun.” She dangled a pair of black panties. “Officer Gruber favored black lace.” Will followed her into the master bedroom and sat heavily in an upholstered chair facing a king-sized bed. Henderson held up more contents from Kristen’s underwear drawer.

She saw Will’s expression. “That’s called a merry widow, or a corset,” she said, replacing the garment. “She’s also got garters and stockings. Black and white, depending on the mood, I guess. In the closet, she’s got three little black dresses. Must be nice to have had the body to carry that off.”

“Any firearm?”

Henderson shook her head. “Not a damn one. No badge or ID. No cell phone. She’s got birth control pills in the bathroom. No other prescriptions. Nothing else out of the ordinary.”

Will pushed himself up and walked over to the bed that faced the wide window. On a side table, another telephone handset sat in the main charger, but it showed no messages. That seemed strange, but he made note of it in his mind.

A tall, modern wardrobe sat against an interior wall. Inside were uniforms, neatly hung on stainless steel hangers. All had been taken out of their dry-cleaning bags. Suddenly his left leg, which he had hyperextended back at the knee, shot forward, kicking the heavy piece of furniture.

“Sorry,” he said, regaining his footing. “It does that.”

Henderson bent down. “Good move. Check this out.”

Will had accidentally unhinged a hidden drawer beneath the wardrobe. Henderson pulled it out. The contents were arrayed with the same obsessive neatness as elsewhere in the condo, but they were two pairs of handcuffs, a blindfold, a ball gag, leather shackles, some other restraints he’d never seen before, and a couple of very large black dildos.

“No offense to a fallen sister officer,” Henderson said, “but our girl seems to have liked it rough.”

An uneasy feeling flooded Will’s body, something he had been dreading ever since he had been assigned to the case. The Ivory Soap girl was not who she seemed.

He sighed. “We’ll bag it all, I guess.”

“That’ll make me popular in the evidence room tonight.” She pulled out clear plastic evidence envelopes and a set of latex gloves.

Metal on metal.

An alert shot silently through Will’s head.

Someone was trying the front door.

They both walked quietly in that direction. The floors were solid and didn’t creak. But with the lights on, there was a chance whoever was outside might see their shadows under the door. The sound continued. Will heard Henderson unsnap her holster.

Someone was inserting a key in the door.

“How do you want to play it?” Henderson whispered.

“Let him come in.”

Henderson took up a position in the kitchen to the right of the front door. She now had her semi-automatic out, held down at her side. Will unholstered his own weapon and retreated into the hallway. He switched his cane to his left hand, held the gun in his right, but the adrenaline coursing through his system made him feel steady on his feet. He turned off the light in the hall, so he would have the advantage of darkness. There was nothing to be done about the lights already on in the living room.

Maybe Kristen had a roommate. The concierge hadn’t said anything about that. Still, they would have to be careful when the door opened. They would anyway. The key in the door was most likely the one missing from Kristen’s boat, and the hand holding it belonged to her killer.

The key was all the way in, but once again the lock resisted. Click-click, click-click. He didn’t know the trick the concierge had used to open the door. Click-click, click-click.

Then, silence. Henderson looked back at him.

“Go.” He mouthed it silently. She walked five feet to the door and looked through the fisheye.

She shook her head. By that time he was standing there, too.

“Open it.” He had his gun up now, aimed toward the door.

The sound was unmistakable: the key was sliding back out. It took a good ten seconds of pulling to get the warped door to unlatch. By the time she opened it, the threshold was empty. They moved quickly into an empty hall.

“This is bullshit,” she said. “I’ll take the fire stairs. You take the elevator to the lobby.”

Will strode as fast as he dared, his right quads screaming their silent protest. In less than two minutes he was back in the quiet lobby. He holstered the gun and approached the concierge.

“Somebody come through here in the past ten minutes?”

The man shook his head. “Only you and the woman.”

A sound indicated a door opening and Diane Henderson trotted up. Will told her what he knew.

“What about visitors tonight, earlier,” she said. “Maybe he hid in the fire stairs or on a different floor.”

“Only residents tonight, ma’am.”

Will knew they were both wondering if the killer was a resident.

He said, “Do you have a garage?”

“Yes, sir. It’s indicated on the elevator. P-1 and P-2. It’s secured by a door to the street. Residents have a card key that opens it.”

“So our guy could have Kristen’s card key,” Henderson said.

Will tried again. “Is the garage entrance on camera?”

“It is,” the concierge said. “But that camera’s been down for two months. The homeowners’ board hasn’t kicked loose the money to get it fixed.”

Will noticed the car parked in front of his townhouse when he turned onto Liberty Hill. Otherwise the street was deserted. He parked, heaved himself out, and came up behind the other vehicle. One male occupant. For a second, he thought about unsnapping the trigger guard on his holster before recognition let his heart rate go down.

He tapped on the car window and the driver jumped.

“John?”

The door opened and his stepson got out.

“Hey, Will.”

“Sorry if I startled you.”

“I wasn’t startled.”

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah, sure…”

“Well, come on in.”

The young man followed him as he unlocked the door and turned on some lights. They made small talk about the townhouse, which Will had bought from a Procter & Gamble employee who had completely redone it: 1870 on the outside, bright and new on the inside. All the furniture was familiar to John because it had been at home before Will moved out and Cindy decided she wanted to redecorate, and then remarry. John wore jeans and a black T-shirt with an elaborate drawing involving skulls. He seemed nervous and tired. His eyes were red.