Will fought to control his emotions, without much success. “It’s not one of her boyfriends, unless it’s the lawyer, Buchanan. And he’ll sue us if we push too hard. You know how these things go.”
“That’s why I fought for you,” Dodds said. “I told them you were the best homicide investigator in the department…”
“But all they see is this goddamned cane.”
Dodds was silent as Will thought about his father’s full-dress funeral. That day it had rained.
His call sign came over the radio.
“Meet the officers, Spring Grove Cemetery.”
He told the dispatcher he was on special assignment. To Dodds, “Is this some PIO shit work for me?”
Dodds shrugged.
“Break away from that,” the female voice came back immediately. “Respond code three.”
“You coming?”
“Why not?” Dodds said. “Hey, isn’t that your boy?”
Sure enough, John was walking up Plum Street, wearing a dark suit. He didn’t see Will and walked quickly up the steps into the cathedral.
“It is.” Will was thankful that Dodds didn’t ask more. He started the car, made a U-turn, and rolled away from the curb, only hitting the siren when he was a block away.
Allison Schultz was the student Cheryl Beth worried about. Her bookwork was perfect and she was competent clinically. But she was so shy, so unsure of herself. It meant she had a difficult time communicating with patients. She wouldn’t have the confidence to push back on a doctor, question a dosage, or find a mistake. Now she was slowly walking toward Cheryl Beth.
“Do you mind if I talk to you?”
“Walk with me,” Cheryl Beth said, and they started out toward the street.
“Are you all right?” Allison asked.
“I’m tired.”
“They think Noah killed Lauren and Holly.”
“That’s right.”
“They’re not going to let him come back, are they?”
“I think it’s unlikely, Allison. I really can’t discuss this with you.”
“He’s got his whole life aimed at becoming an R.N.” She mustered more assertiveness than Cheryl Beth had ever seen her show. She started to say that class and his career were the least of his troubles, that Hank Brooks wanted him on death row. But she walked on.
“He saw things in the wars, you know,” Allison said. “He was deployed five times. He has nightmares. Sudden loud noises make him afraid. But he’s a good man. I don’t care what they think they know, there’s no way he could have done this.”
Cheryl Beth remembered the way Noah had reacted when the police were trying to run him down in the grass. It was a classic post-traumatic stress disorder response. But how did Allison know any of this?
“He was my boyfriend,” she said simply.
Cheryl Beth stopped and looked at the ordinary, slightly chubby, pale brunette with out-of-style eyeglasses and a ponytail standing beside her. Noah and Allison? Lauren and Holly were young thoroughbreds. Allison was like a doorknob next to their polished jewels.
“I’m sorry.” Cheryl Beth sighed heavily. “Have you told this to Detective Brooks?”
“I was afraid,” she said. “And I was angry. That he would be with Lauren and Holly. They could have their pick of any guy, why take mine? I called him Saturday night and he never called me back. But, then, he was with them, wasn’t he? He did this to me, cheated. I was sick about it, and I was so mad at him. He betrayed me! I thought he could rot in jail and think about the damage he did. But then I calmed down. I knew he was innocent of murder…”
“So maybe you didn’t know him as well as you thought. Maybe he could also be a killer. There are PTSD incidents like that all the time. Soldiers come home and kill their families.”
“No.” Allison spoke softly but with finality. Then she started sobbing and wrapped her arms around herself awkwardly until Cheryl Beth hugged her. She said, “I don’t believe he did it. I’ve seen how Noah reacted to things, loud noises, things like that, and he was never violent. He was scared.”
“He was Special Forces?”
“No, he was a combat medic. He was assigned to a Special Forces base once. But he was there to help people. He watched his friends get blown up by I.E.D.s. He saw a lot. Too much.”
“Why didn’t he call you from the jail?”
Another sob, and then: “Would you call your lover after getting caught like that?”
“I guess not.”
The men and women who built Cincinnati were under the sod of Spring Grove Cemetery. Like so much else in town, it was a National Historic Landmark. Amid the trees, flowers, ponds, and chapels were the monuments and mausoleums carved with names such as Kroger, Procter, Gamble, Chase, Lytle, Fleischmann, and Taft. This morning, beyond the oxidizing statue of a Civil War soldier with a bayonet attached to his rifle, there were also five CPD patrol cars. Will parked behind the last one and they walked up the sloping drive.
Dodds, who had a solid sense of dignity, straightened his dress uniform and precisely placed his cap. He uncharacteristically slowed his pace to match Will’s.
“Detectives.” A female sergeant met them. “Thanks for getting out here. There’s something you should see. Over here.”
A body was sitting against a large marker overseen by a statue of a weeping angel. It was a male in his twenties, completely nude, with bloody wounds between his legs, his clothes neatly folded in the grass, and more gore around his mouth. The sudden knowledge about what was in his mouth made another observation secondary. A piece of paper was attached to his chest.
“Fuck me…” Dodds whispered.
The newly dead was leaned precisely against the monument, so it appeared as if the angel, its head down and wings drooped in grief, had discovered him that moment.
His penis had been cut off and stuffed in his mouth.
His hands were cuffed behind him.
A sheet of white paper was attached to his chest by the large safety pin run through his right nipple. It was encased in a clear plastic sheet and looked like ordinary printer paper, with large typed letters in a single paragraph.
Both Will and Dodds were slipping on latex gloves.
Dodds bent forward and read aloud:
“Detective Borders, meet Noah Smith. I had planned to kill him along with the women, but things didn’t work out. It spoiled what would have been a masterpiece. I couldn’t let the police give him credit for my art, now could I? Kristen was easier, but the result was beautiful. I cut them where they get their pleasure and I watched them die. Don’t think I’m bragging. I have a lot to learn. But you probably won’t hear from me again. Serial killers don’t know when to stop. My deathscapes are rare and executed with discipline, like all great art. I wish we could have spent time together, detective. On my terms, of course. I’ve seen how you struggle to walk, how your affliction keeps you up all night. But I know you would fight and it would be beautiful. I think about this temptation…”
Dodds turned back and faced Will. “Looks like you’re still on the case.”
Chapter Eighteen
“Okay, Devil, advocate.”
It was one of their procedures when they were partners and Will happily took the cue.
“He’s a copycat claiming credit for all the other murders.”
“Nope,” Dodds said. “He said he ‘cut them where they get their pleasure.’ The genital mutilation is information we held back and they also held back in Butler County.”
“Maybe the killer is law enforcement.”
“That can’t be ruled out.”
“These are still separate murders. The same subject who did the two nursing students killed Noah Smith. But Gruber is separate, another murderer. This killer is claiming credit for her.”