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Will chuckled. “Notice how she avoided Dodds, even though he was no more than twenty feet away? He wasn’t deferential enough to the symphony, which is a high crime in Cincinnati, so I had to go over and smooth ruffled feathers.” His eyes brightened. “Here’s a secret.” He leaned in closer, still holding her hand.
“Her husband was one of Kristen Gruber’s lovers.”
Cheryl Beth felt her eyes widen.
“Yep. He berths his boat right next to hers at the marina. And he’s a middle-aged bald man.”
“Oh, my god…” She felt the big room closing in to envelope the two of them.
“He’s a very high-powered lawyer. I met with him. He was belligerent. Of course, he doesn’t want his wife to know he was with Kristen. He said he had an alibi, that he was with his wife last Saturday night.”
“Too bad,” she said.
Will leaned in closer. “It may be too bad for him. Remember when Mrs. Buchanan spoke to the audience before the Rachmaninoff tribute to Jeremy Snowden? How she said that it was only last Saturday night when she had heard him play there, and then she had gone to a party with him and other musicians after the concert. Her husband said they were alone at home Saturday night.”
“The bald man who stalked Lauren…”
“If only I can sell it to the bosses.”
***
Afterward, they walked across the street to Fountain Square. Will walked best when he could swing his left arm, but he took Cheryl Beth’s hand and moved even slower. She didn’t seem to mind. The most famous public space in the city was deserted except for the lights on the Tyler Davidson Fountain, illuminating the water falling out of the hands of the bronze woman who kept watch from her granite perch. Even many natives didn’t know the fountain was actually called the Genius of Water. They sat on the lip and felt the spray in the cool night.
He couldn’t keep his eyes off Cheryl Beth: she had never looked more beautiful.
“Are your friends watching us?” she asked.
He nodded. “See that Ford that’s illegally parked?”
“So I guess we can’t get naked in the fountain. Why are you doing this, Will? Making yourself a target.”
Things had happened so quickly he didn’t have an easy answer. It seemed to come naturally with the job. And with Dodds taking over as lead, he felt more insecure about even keeping the PIO position.
“Don’t try to be macho,” she said. “That’s not you.”
“No. I don’t want this guy to get away, and this way is our best shot at luring him back. I’m careful. If you’re worried about the cane and all…”
She touched his face. “I’m not worried about that. I want you to be safe. So I’m glad they’re watching.”
She asked him about his day and he told her. It started with a call from Diane Henderson in Covington; she wanted to meet across the bridge. There she told him that his stepson had come to her and said he had boarded Kristen Gruber’s boat early Sunday morning. He acted surprised but told Cheryl Beth about forcing John to go to the police. Then he received a mega-ass-chewing from Fassbinder over the news, full of threats and menace. Fassbinder was a political commander and had forced better officers than Will out of the unit, even off the force. John hadn’t been taken into custody—that was good. But Henderson said she considered him a person of interest—that was bad. Of course there was the mandatory call from Cindy, in hysterics over the developments with John, which were somehow his fault.
“He’s fortunate to have you,” Cheryl Beth said.
“I’m not sure he sees it that way.”
“Why didn’t you and Cindy ever have children of your own?”
He sighed. It was a question he had asked himself many times, and the straightforward answer was that Cindy didn’t want more children. She became more and more invested in her career. He wanted to be supportive of that. And they had John, who for so many years seemed like his own son.
“Now I’m afraid for him.” He watched the sparse traffic on Fifth Street and Vine.
“Of course, you would be,” she said. After a pause, “Are you afraid of him?”
“Maybe.” He paused. “Whoever wrote the note pinned to Noah Smith knew I was investigating the death of Kristen Gruber. Hardly anyone knew that, and almost nobody in the public. But I remember now that John stopped by my place a few days ago and I told him.”
“Oh…”
For a long time they listened to the mesmerizing voice of the intricate Victorian fountain. Around them were flavorless modern box skyscrapers, except for the 1930 masterpiece of the Carew Tower, with its setbacks and soaring tawny walls, Cincinnati’s own miniature Rockefeller Center. Will remembered Pogue’s Department Store had anchored the arcade that was part of the tower and the Netherland Plaza. It was long gone, as was the big
