Powers of Arrest (Will Borders: Cincinnati Casebook 2)

“When he told me he was going to marry that little bitch, I couldn’t believe it.”

“Ms. Foust…”

“We had been together for so many years! That he would do that. Marry that girl! She didn’t understand his gifts. She barely listened to real music. She saw him as a ticket to wear Prada. I tried to talk him out of it. We argued over and over.”

“Ms. Foust…”

“Then when I saw that man had been arrested, I couldn’t let him go to jail.” She pulled on his sleeve. “I didn’t mean to…”

“I know,” he said. “Now I want you to stop talking. You have the right to remain silent.”

“I know that!” For a second, the imperiousness of matchless talent handed out by God surfaced, then she started crying. He Mirandized her.

“Take the elevator upstairs,” he said. “Ask for Detective Dodds.”

He watched the elevator doors make her disappear and then walked out to the street, his cane steady, his right quads arguing with his brain. He thought about Cheryl Beth, a short drive and a bottle of wine away, and allowed himself a smile.

***

John ran down Observatory Avenue past the fine houses. The lights were on and the drapes open. The people inside seemed so happy in the cheerful light and the company of others. Even in a T-shirt and shorts, he was dripping sweat and sucking in the humid air in search of oxygen. Maybe if he lost weight running, he might be welcome in one of those rooms someday, and not because of his mom’s money and connections.

He thought about his stepdad. Will seemed happier than he had ever seen him. It was the girlfriend, of course. John had told him a week ago that he had decided to stay in Ohio and enroll in Miami, like Will. His grades from prep school were certainly good enough. Will was supportive. He seemed cooler when John said he wanted to be a Cincinnati police officer, like Will. But John knew if he got in shape and got a degree, the service of his grandfather and, yes, his father, would help him onto the force.

Will was the closest thing he had to a real father. He would come around.

John never got back his knife. He bought a new one and it seemed to weigh ten pounds as he jogged through the muggy night. He always had it with him. You couldn’t be too careful.

Paying My Debts

I’m grateful once again to Ellie Strang, R.N., who was generous with her time and indulgent of my questions about Cheryl Beth’s professional world. In my professional world, the best luck was getting to work with Barbara Peters, the finest editor a writer could imagine. The crew at the Poisoned Pen Press, especially Robert Rosenwald, Jessica Tribble, Annette Rogers and Nan Beams, continue to impress me by their commitment to excellence. I made use of some rightly beloved Cincinnati institutions in this book. It is, of course, a work of fiction. I also fiddled a bit with the city’s recent timeline. Blame me for any errors, deliberate changes, or inconsistencies. Winston Churchill said Cincinnati was America’s most beautiful inland city. It’s still true, so visit if you haven’t. Bring your heart and soul. It’s certainly a gift to a writer.