Dodds was cursing him when the connection ended.
Chapter Fourteen
The setting sun painted the clouds pink as Will sat in the parking lot of the Montgomery Boathouse. It wasn’t a real boathouse but a popular restaurant selling ribs and overlooking the Ohio River. Will had been to a dozen police retirement parties here over the years. Now, he was waiting for someone. A someone who had instructed him to sit in a parking spot as far as possible from the front entrance. Will only accepted this instruction because this someone was a partner in one of the city’s most powerful law firms. His cell number had shown up on Kristen Gruber’s recent calls in the hours before she was killed.
It had been another long day, and while Will waited, he stood, sandwiching himself between the car and car door. His legs were not cooperating with this long day of too much sitting interspersed with too much walking. He needed the relief of simply standing for a few moments, stopping the thumping in his left leg and easing the mammoth tightness of his right quads. He said out loud: “Ahhh.” But he was so tired that he couldn’t stand for long. He was tellingly leaning on the car roof and door.
He had spent the day with the Covington police. Although Kristen’s cell phone was still missing, techs had found her cellular phone bill on her computer, and the phone company had provided records. The detectives ran through phone numbers. Much of it was dull and tedious: calls to the dry cleaner, the producer of LadyCops: Cincinnati, her parents in Myrtle Beach, and her sister in Phoenix. Finally, Will called the number that led him to this meeting.
A hand tapped brusquely on the passenger window. The door opened and a man got in. He was wearing a navy pinstripe suit far more expensive than anything in Will’s closet and he folded long legs into the well of the car and closed the door. With his executive build and tan, he looked pretty much as Will had expected for a senior partner at Briscoe, Hayne, and Douglas. Along with Baker Hostetler, Taft Stettinius & Hollister, and Keating, Muething, and Klekamp, it was one of the city’s most prestigious law firms.
What stood out most was his fine head, with a fringe of close-cropped iron-gray hair and creeping forehead, with two dramatic slashes of eyebrows amid uniformly strong features. He had barely a wrinkle even though he seemed at least Will’s age or older. In fact, he looked younger than the son who had nearly run down Will at Music Hall that morning.
The patrician head swiveled around, looking to see that no one was watching them. He didn’t offer his hand and neither did Will.
“I’ll see your identification, please.”
Will handed over his badge case.
“I called your chief.” He closely examined Will’s identification. “And I assume he called you.”
“He did.”
“How does that make you feel, Detective Border?”
“It’s Borders, and I don’t follow you.”
“How does it make you feel? Does it make you feel small? It should. I’ve only been in this city a short time. I didn’t go to Moeller or Elder or any of that provincial crap I hear all the time. Who gives a shit where you people went to high school? If I hadn’t had to move here with my wife, I wouldn’t even have flown through your airport. I don’t care about Cincinnati. I don’t speak Cincinnati. So don’t expect me to be impressed by you or your badge.”
“Fair enough,” Will said. “But I warn you, people move to Cincinnati and dislike it, but after two years you couldn’t pry them out. They fall in love with the city.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. What did your chief tell you, Borders?”
“He said to do what I felt needed to be done, counselor. So let’s cut the bullshit. I have a murdered police officer. I suspect they take that seriously even where you come from. It so happens that your cell phone called Kristen Gruber at 2:21 p.m. Saturday, a few hours before she was killed. Those are the facts, unless you want to tell me your phone wasn’t under your control during that time, and then we can have a different conversation.”
He handed back the badge case and sat in silence for a good five minutes. Will was happy to let him stew.
“I called Ms. Gruber,” he said. “She berths her boat next to mine. I wanted to ask her a question about the marina management. They can get pretty sloppy.”
Will watched him lie smoothly, not even a blink to his eyes. He said nothing, letting the silence do its work.
He finally couldn’t stand it. “Are we done, Detective?”
“No, we’re not done. We have records of you calling Kristen Gruber more than a hundred times in the past three months. You must really have issues with the marina management.”
He sighed. “Off the record?”
“For now.”
“Look. Do you have any idea who my wife is?”
“Actually, I do. I was talking with her this morning, Mr. Buchanan.”
He sat up straight and stared ahead at the trees and, beyond them, Riverside Drive.
“It was about another matter,” Will said.
“And you say these phone records showed a call from me Saturday?”