Jon Talton - Powers of Arrest

Will despised the sound of bagpipes. He had barely slept the night before. It was even worse than usual. He sat in the chair at the foot of the bed, shaking his tense right leg until what he called “shift change” caused his left leg to start its own little hell. Then he would have to walk on it. His back hurt from the fall in front of Cindy’s house. His hands were raw. He didn’t want to know about Drainmaker shoes. Tens of thousands must have been sold. But then there was that knife in John’s pocket, that damned knife. And his odd visit to Will’s townhouse. His instincts told him something was wrong.

Calling Cheryl Beth to thank her for a nice evening-that was the good thing on his mind. But he might seem to be coming on too strong. In any event, he had to watch carefully. He didn’t know exactly what he was looking for, but this was S.O.P. It didn’t surprise him that Kenneth Buchanan wasn’t there. Her lover the sergeant walked by in dress uniform. From another direction, several minutes later, the diving instructor mounted the steps and disappeared inside.

“You’re mighty inconspicuous.”

Dodds climbed in and sat, momentarily tilting the car. He slid Will’s cane out of the passenger seat.

Will said, “And now I’ve got a fat black man in his band uniform to complete the picture.”

“Anything happening?”

Will shook his head.

“I’m sorry, partner. I tried to fight for you.”

Will’s stomach turned sour. “What?”

“They didn’t tell you? Fuckers. Fassbinder’s made me the lead on Gruber. You know how he can get. You never feel the knife until it’s in your back.”

“The chief put me on this case.”

“I know. But it’s a done deal. The case is moving too slowly for command. They want somebody in custody. Hell, Kristen’s face is on the cover of People magazine, all over the blogs, and the Cincinnati Police can’t solve the murder.” He sighed. “I was able to keep you as the liaison detective with Covington.”

Will fought to control his emotions, without much success. “It’s not one of her boyfriends, unless it’s the lawyer, Buchanan. And he’ll sue us if we push too hard. You know how these things go.”

“That’s why I fought for you,” Dodds said. “I told them you were the best homicide investigator in the department…”

“But all they see is this goddamned cane.”

Dodds was silent as Will thought about his father’s full-dress funeral. That day it had rained.

His call sign came over the radio.

“Meet the officers, Spring Grove Cemetery.”

He told the dispatcher he was on special assignment. To Dodds, “Is this some PIO shit work for me?”

Dodds shrugged.

“Break away from that,” the female voice came back immediately. “Respond code three.”

“You coming?”

“Why not?” Dodds said. “Hey, isn’t that your boy?”

Sure enough, John was walking up Plum Street, wearing a dark suit. He didn’t see Will and walked quickly up the steps into the cathedral.

“It is.” Will was thankful that Dodds didn’t ask more. He started the car, made a U-turn, and rolled away from the curb, only hitting the siren when he was a block away.

Allison Schultz was the student Cheryl Beth worried about. Her bookwork was perfect and she was competent clinically. But she was so shy, so unsure of herself. It meant she had a difficult time communicating with patients. She wouldn’t have the confidence to push back on a doctor, question a dosage, or find a mistake. Now she was slowly walking toward Cheryl Beth.

“Do you mind if I talk to you?”

“Walk with me,” Cheryl Beth said, and they started out toward the street.

“Are you all right?” Allison asked.

“I’m tired.”

“They think Noah killed Lauren and Holly.”

“That’s right.”

“They’re not going to let him come back, are they?”

“I think it’s unlikely, Allison. I really can’t discuss this with you.”

“He’s got his whole life aimed at becoming an R.N.” She mustered more assertiveness than Cheryl Beth had ever seen her show. She started to say that class and his career were the least of his troubles, that Hank Brooks wanted him on death row. But she walked on.

“He saw things in the wars, you know,” Allison said. “He was deployed five times. He has nightmares. Sudden loud noises make him afraid. But he’s a good man. I don’t care what they think they know, there’s no way he could have done this.”

Cheryl Beth remembered the way Noah had reacted when the police were trying to run him down in the grass. It was a classic post-traumatic stress disorder response. But how did Allison know any of this?

“He was my boyfriend,” she said simply.

Cheryl Beth stopped and looked at the ordinary, slightly chubby, pale brunette with out-of-style eyeglasses and a ponytail standing beside her. Noah and Allison? Lauren and Holly were young thoroughbreds. Allison was like a doorknob next to their polished jewels.

“I’m sorry.” Cheryl Beth sighed heavily. “Have you told this to Detective Brooks?”

“I was afraid,” she said. “And I was angry. That he would be with Lauren and Holly. They could have their pick of any guy, why take mine? I called him Saturday night and he never called me back. But, then, he was with them, wasn’t he? He did this to me, cheated. I was sick about it, and I was so mad at him. He betrayed me! I thought he could rot in jail and think about the damage he did. But then I calmed down. I knew he was innocent of murder…”

“So maybe you didn’t know him as well as you thought. Maybe he could also be a killer. There are PTSD incidents like that all the time. Soldiers come home and kill their families.”

“No.” Allison spoke softly but with finality. Then she started sobbing and wrapped her arms around herself awkwardly until Cheryl Beth hugged her. She said, “I don’t believe he did it. I’ve seen how Noah reacted to things, loud noises, things like that, and he was never violent. He was scared.”

“He was Special Forces?”

“No, he was a combat medic. He was assigned to a Special Forces base once. But he was there to help people. He watched his friends get blown up by I.E.D.s. He saw a lot. Too much.”

“Why didn’t he call you from the jail?”

Another sob, and then: “Would you call your lover after getting caught like that?”

“I guess not.”

The men and women who built Cincinnati were under the sod of Spring Grove Cemetery. Like so much else in town, it was a National Historic Landmark. Amid the trees, flowers, ponds, and chapels were the monuments and mausoleums carved with names such as Kroger, Procter, Gamble, Chase, Lytle, Fleischmann, and Taft. This morning, beyond the oxidizing statue of a Civil War soldier with a bayonet attached to his rifle, there were also five CPD patrol cars. Will parked behind the last one and they walked up the sloping drive.

Dodds, who had a solid sense of dignity, straightened his dress uniform and precisely placed his cap. He uncharacteristically slowed his pace to match Will’s.

“Detectives.” A female sergeant met them. “Thanks for getting out here. There’s something you should see. Over here.”

A body was sitting against a large marker overseen by a statue of a weeping angel. It was a male in his twenties, completely nude, with bloody wounds between his legs, his clothes neatly folded in the grass, and more gore around his mouth. The sudden knowledge about what was in his mouth made another observation secondary. A piece of paper was attached to his chest.

“Fuck me…” Dodds whispered.

The newly dead was leaned precisely against the monument, so it appeared as if the angel, its head down and wings drooped in grief, had discovered him that moment.