Jon Talton - Powers of Arrest

“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.”

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.