Jon Talton - Powers of Arrest

For perhaps the first time in his life, the kid hadn’t gotten what he wanted. He shut up and nodded, his eyes down, his mouth open, and struggling to refill his lungs.

“So why don’t you tell me what happened on the river last weekend.”

Zack started talking, gradually regaining his voice.

“I was out in my dad’s boat. We picked up some ladies. Your kid tagged along. We went up the Licking to party. No big deal.”

Will watched him. When the silence was starting to make him uncomfortable, Will said, “You want to try again?”

The young man jutted out his chin, then dropped his head. “We saw the boat, okay? Where the lady cop was killed.”

“When did you see it?”

“First when we went up-river.”

Will wanted the time: around three that afternoon. He started making notes.

“It didn’t look like anybody was aboard,” Zack Miller said. “It was tied up. I didn’t think anything about it. Then it was still there when we came back.”

“What time?”

“I have no idea. Way after midnight. We slowed down, thought maybe we could pull a prank. I ran the spotlight over the boat. We called over and nobody called back. So we pulled alongside, and I was going to check it out, make sure everybody was okay. But John went over. I guess he was trying to impress the girls. When he comes back, he said there was a dead woman in the cabin.”

Will suddenly had a headache. “John got onto that boat?”

“Yes, sir, he did.”

“How long was he there?”

Zack shrugged. “A few minutes. Then he came back and told us.”

“Why didn’t you call the police?”

“I wanted to, but John said not to do it. He made us get out of there and I let everybody off at the Serpentine Wall.”

Will wrote slowly, trying to maintain his composure. Even if John hadn’t killed Kristen Gruber, witnesses now placed him on the boat, and the hair and shoe-print were probably his, too. That must have been why John refused to let the others call the police. He would be in deep shit and there was nothing that Will could do to protect him. He had done too much already. But at least John had an alibi for the time when Gruber was murdered.

He faced Heather, wishing he were interrogating them separately. “Is that how it happened?”

She nodded. “Yes.” She immediately looked down and to the left.

Will didn’t trust the story. Zack didn’t seem like the kind of boater or human being that would check the welfare of anybody who couldn’t do him a favor. But he also knew he had to fight against his bias to believe John was innocent.

“So let me get this straight. You go upriver, see the boat, and there’s no activity on it. You party a few miles upstream. Then when you come back, you stop. Why?”

“There was blood on the portholes. It hadn’t been there the first time.”

Will asked him how he knew.

“I know boats. It was a Rinker Fiesta, in pretty good shape. The first time I was surprised that somebody would tie it up and leave it. But there were other boats and canoes on the river. When we came back toward downtown, it was the only boat left. This time I saw the blood, and it wasn’t there before, when we were going upriver.” The more he talked, the greater the confidence in his voice.

“So while you guys are partying, did you notice anything odd on the river?”

The smirk returned. “I was kind of occupied, but no.”

“Only five young people on your boat?”

He lifted one shoulder. “Yep. Unless somebody used the Zodiac while I was busy or sacked out.”

A muscle spasm kicked Will in his side, forcing him to fight to keep his expression neutral.

“What Zodiac?”

Will handled a call as PIO and talked on camera. The idea was to have him out there in public as much as possible, to try to lure the killer. After dark, he drove back to Hyde Park, his car in the fast flow of traffic gliding along above the river on Columbia Parkway, his mind forced into a trench of unthinking, if only for now. He didn’t look south, where the big river met its lethal tributary. He didn’t look up the bluff to the north, where Kristen Gruber’s condo perched.

In fifteen minutes, he was on the big-trees street in front of the sprawling Tudor, its blond bricks preening in the ornamental lighting. Every room inside was lit. It would have been a good account for Cincinnati Gas & Electric, if the company still existed, and hadn’t been lost in the endless takeovers that had shaken the city in recent years. Dodds was following him, but it would have to be. Will could make excuses later. He was still running an errand for his ex, more than she knew.

The phone inside rang six times before a man’s voice answered. Will watched him standing in the dining room, with a proprietary hand on his ex-wife’s shoulder.

“Brad, it’s your predecessor, Will Borders. Would you please put Cindy on the phone?”

“Will.” He hesitated. “We sat down to supper a moment ago and Cynthia has had a long day. Maybe I could ask her to call you later.”

“That won’t do. I’ll only take a minute.”

After some muffles and distant, indiscernible voices, she came on the line, her voice brittle with anger.

“You’re very rude.”

She said it after she walked out of the brightly lit dining room and disappeared into some other chamber of the huge manse.

“Is John there?”

“Yes, he’s going to join us for dinner.”

“I want to talk to him now.”

“You listen to…”

“Now, Cindy. I’m in the car right in front. This is police business. Send him out here.”

It took a long time. Then the big front door opened and John walked reluctantly to the curb and climbed in. He was neatly dressed and his hair was freshly cut, but he was everything that Zack Miller was not: a little pudgy, a dusting of acne, no athletic grace in his movements. Will felt sorry for the kid, and reminded himself that John wasn’t a kid anymore. But he also knew how much the surface, how much appearances mattered at John’s age.

He started the car and drove down the street lined with fine houses, turning left on Edwards, crossing Observatory and gliding into Hyde Park Square, where Erie Avenue split around a narrow park that held a statue, fountain, flower gardens, and trees. Each side was lined with expensive shops, galleries and cafés, although it looked slightly ragged from the recession. The night was pleasant and couples strolled under period lampposts. Will had thought about taking a longer drive, maybe all over the city. But he was too tired. And he needed to get back into “bait” mode. He was running out of time. He slid the car into one of the angled parking places a few doors down from the landmark two-story fire station.

“What’s up?”

Will stared straight ahead. He didn’t want to look at John, didn’t want to notice tells that he might be lying. He said, “Where were you on Saturday night?”

“I dunno. I’d have to think about it. Chillin’, I guess.”

He was lying already. Why was he lying? Will was afraid to speculate.

“I enjoyed having a beer with you the other night,” Will said, fighting to change the tone in his voice from accusation.

“Yeah, me, too.” John’s voice was wary.

“I got the sense you wanted to tell me something,” Will said. A young family went by on the sidewalk, two little children squealing in delight. What would they grow up to be? “John, if there’s something you want to tell me, it’s really important that you do it. Understand? It will really matter if you tell me on your own, if you make the decision to come to me and tell me what you wanted to say three nights ago.”

He wanted to say something like, you can trust me, I won’t judge you . And he wanted those things to be true, but he also had the badge and, had, as the young cop said to him, powers of arrest. The inside of the car was starting to warm up but he didn’t crack a window. A noiseless expanse of time did nothing to stop the spasms in his legs. The next sound he heard was John crying. It was an ugly suppressed sobbing. The more he tried to hold it in, the worse it burst out after a few seconds. Will held back the instinct to put a hand on the boy’s shoulder.