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“Cheryl Beth. And no.”
“Why not? You’re a free man. Divorced. God, wish I were free of my ball-and-chain. Twenty-two years of ball-and-chain.”
Will badly wanted to change the subject. He said, “I’ll tell Karla that and let her kick your black ass up and down the street.”
“Cheryl Beth’s a cutie. I’d do her.
“You want to do everyone.”
“Why don’t you call her?”
“Because I’m a cripple.”
“You have a serious confidence problem, partner. Nobody’s going to notice that cane. I bet you could use it as a kick-ass police baton.”
Will didn’t answer. Instead, he leaned in the open car door, shifting his body to rely
even more on the cane. “Went right into his heart, right between the intercostal spaces.” The shirt showed little more than a trickle of blood. He had bled out inside his body. If the assailant had twisted and pulled out the blade, it would have released a torrent. Will went on, “That’s either major luck, or a lot more care than a random robber would take.”
“So here’s the statement you’re going to give the media. Quit doing my job.”
Will stood and faced Dodds. “That’s not a knife,” he said. “That’s a letter opener. Looks expensive. Maybe sterling silver. I think it’s Tiffany.”
Dodds almost pushed him aside to peer inside the car again. “God damn,” he said.
“Obviously a drug dealer of letters.”
“Whatever. He stole it. Makes a nice weapon, as you can see.”
“What’s that in the back seat.”
“You don’t give up.” Dodds shot him an annoyed glance, then bent into the car again. “Guitar case. So what? He looks like a hippie.
“There haven’t been any hippies for thirty years, Dodds.”
“This is Cincinnati, Borders.”
“Whatever. It’s not a guitar case. Too big. Cello.”
Dodds faced him. “Now how the hell… Oh, yeah, you were a music-fucking-minor in college, weren’t you? That was helpful in the career choice you made.”
“It helps me now.” Will wanted to sit down. His legs were aching and tired. All the muscles he was using to make the walking and standing look normal were stabbing at him. He pushed this aside. “It doesn’t take college to know a cello case.”
“You.” Dodds pointed to a uniform. “What’s your name?”
The young man gave it.
“Tim, I want you to go to the other side. Use these.” He handed the uni some latex gloves. “Open that back passenger door and pull out that case. And do it carefully.”
“Yes, sir,” the young cop squeaked. It was probably his first homicide.
When the cello case was out, Dodds had the uni place it on the trunk of the Lexus.
“You know what they call the color of this car? ‘Starfire Pearl.’ I want one.”
“Not on an honest cop’s salary,” Will said.
“There’s always overtime.” Dodds carefully undid the latches. The case was fiberglass, purple, and well worn. What was inside wasn’t.
