Jon Talton - Powers of Arrest

“The bar in Oxford?”

The woman nodded. “Lauren and I were best friends since high school. We both went to Miami. But I saw less of her after she started spending more time in Hamilton for the nursing classes. So we decided to catch up that day. We went riding, and then we changed and came into Oxford to have a few drinks.”

“When was this?”

“It was two weeks before…” She looked away at the casket, where only Lauren’s parents now stood wordlessly.

“Two Saturdays before she was killed?” Cheryl Beth asked.

“Exactly.”

Melissa said the bar was crowded and they were standing, drinking beers, when a man approached Lauren and started a conversation.

“He was very funny. He obviously knew how to talk to girls.”

“What did he look like?”

“I didn’t get a great look at him. At first, I was pretty much ignoring him. Then I got separated from Lauren and was talking with some friends at a table. He had a great body. It wasn’t that warm outside, but he wore tight jeans and a T-shirt. He was very well built. He had no hair. He was bald or shaved his head, and didn’t have a beard or anything.”

“Middle-aged?” Cheryl Beth said. “April told me that Lauren said it was a middle-aged man.”

“Lauren couldn’t tell age. This guy might have been a little older, but not like my father, you know? He was obviously more interested in Lauren than me. I was used to that. She was always the pretty one.” She stifled a sob. “She told me he said he was an artist and wanted her to model for him.”

The skin on the back of Cheryl Beth’s neck tingled. It was enough to make her look around to confirm that they were alone.

“And Lauren said no…”

“That was when he got mean. By that time I was watching them. He called her names, really nasty stuff. I swear to God he went from Mister Charisma to Mister Creep in a heartbeat. She wasn’t mean to him. But she had a boyfriend and wasn’t interested in whatever this guy wanted. The bartender told him to leave and I went back over to Lauren to make sure she was all right.”

“Was he a student, Melissa?”

“I’d never seen him before around campus, but there are fourteen thousand students. Something about him didn’t fit in…” She dug in her purse and produced a cigarette. “Do you mind?”

“No.” In the presence of so much else that could kill a person, Cheryl Beth wasn’t going to give a healthy living lecture. Melissa lit up and took a long, deep drag.

“This reminds me,” she said. “Sense memory. I’m a theater major. Lauren and I ducked outside a few minutes later to have a smoke. And he was there, maybe half a block away, watching us. He was under a streetlight. His look was really unnerving. We got a couple of guys to walk us to our cars that night.”

“Lauren told April she thought this man was stalking her.”

“She told me the same thing. We talked on the phone and texted, I didn’t see her again. But I know she saw him once at Hamilton and again on campus at Oxford. Both times, he started following her.”

“Oh, my god. Why didn’t she go to the police? That would have been the first thing I did.”

“She thought she was being paranoid. She thought if she ignored him he’d go away.” The reality set into her tear-reddened eyes. “Do you think he was the one who…?”

“Have you talked to the police?”

“I got back to town this morning,” Melissa said. “I’ve been in Chicago for a week. When I heard about Lauren, I went to pieces. I thought they had the killer in custody.”

“They had the wrong man.”

Cheryl Beth dug into her purse and handed her Will’s card. “I want you to call this man. He’s investigating this case. You need to tell him everything you told me.” She thought about it. “What are you doing this afternoon?”

“Well, I…”

“I want you to come back to Cincinnati with me, Melissa. This is life or death.”

She wore her tough nurse expression and the young woman didn’t argue. They walked toward their cars.

Cheryl Beth ran the new information through her head. Then, “So this guy picked Lauren out of a crowded bar?”

“I guess so,” Melissa said, blowing a plume of blue smoke away from them. “No. No, that’s not true. He said he’d seen us that day on the bike trail.”

“What bike trail?”

“On the Loveland bike trail.”

The bad thing about stakeouts in Indian Hill was that the wealthy enclave was built for privacy, with winding streets, cul-de-sacs and plenty of trees. The good thing about Kenneth Buchanan’s manse was its proximity to Indian Hill Middle School. Nobody could come or go from the dead-end street without passing the school. Will pulled into the parking lot and shut down the car, preparing himself for the dullest part of the job. In any event, he wasn’t going to sit and wait for the killer. He was going after him. Only Dodds knew he was here. Now, if only Buchanan was home, and if only nothing major happened that required the PIO. So far, the radio was quiet.

It was difficult to think of much beyond Cheryl Beth. He was worried about her going to Dayton for the dead girl’s funeral. Mostly, he kept reprising their night together. He had gotten and maintained an erection, no small accomplishment. That he had even kissed, much less made love with this woman seemed like an impossible fantasy. Yet it was real, and he had slept last night without dreaming. Now, he missed her intensely.

The dark Mercedes hurried past, going south, Buchanan’s distinctive head clearly visible.

“That didn’t take long.” He started the Crown Vic and sped out of the parking lot.

Buchanan turned onto Shawnee Run Road and Will gave him a quarter-mile distance as they passed more expensive real estate and made the green light at Miami Road. A car from St. Gertrude’s Church pulled between them. That was good, especially when the driver matched Buchanan’s speed. The three vehicles continued west to Camargo Road. Buchanan barely stopped and turned south again. Will did the same. Camargo cut through hills and thick trees. Traffic was light and Will gave him plenty of distance. A right on Madison and they were headed toward the city. Big cotton-ball clouds were floating in the sky.

“7140, check in.”

If it would have been anyone’s voice but Dodds’, his gut would have tightened.

“7140, all secure.”

Two clicks of the mic responded. Anybody listening thought Will was still at home.

By this time, they were crossing Red Bank Expressway and almost to the point where Madison juked southwest. Buchanan could have taken Red Bank north to hit the interstate. He didn’t. He was definitely headed into the city. Traffic was getting thicker and Will worked to close the gap, letting two cars stay between him and the Mercedes, but sticking close enough that he wouldn’t get caught at a light. As it was, they moved at a unit, making and stopping at the same intersections. As they passed through Oakley, Will thought of ice cream with Cheryl Beth. That hadn’t even been a week ago.

They stayed on Madison past the Rookwood shopping center, which was packed, past the edge of Hyde Park and the Cincinnati Country Club and the old mansions of Annwood Park and Scarborough Woods. The street changed as they approached the imposing St. Francis de Sales Catholic Church and touched East Walnut Hills. The traffic became thicker still, and Will had to gun it to make the light at Woodburn. Madison became Dr. Martin Luther King Drive and Buchanan turned south again on Gilbert, for the long dip into downtown past old factories that had been turned into offices. Buchanan was driving into his own downtown office on a Saturday. Oh, how Will wished he were going to the marina to get on his boat.