Buchanan was somewhere north of fifty but looked at least ten years younger, with features as delicate and poised as her son’s were large and emphatic. Will guessed her suit and shoes cost as much as a month of his salary. Cindy dressed that way now. He pushed his ex-wife away and tried to sit at attention, properly representing the department. After his back could take it no longer, he sank back into the cushions, and admired the large portraits of famous CSO conductors on her wall: Leopold Stokowski, Thomas Schippers, and Paavo Jervi.
“Your chief tells me you have season tickets to the symphony,” she was saying. “That’s highly unusual for a police officer, if you’ll forgive me seeming to stereotype. But, hey, I’m extremely grateful. And you enjoy the symphony apparently, not only the Pops.”
“You can thank my mother. She started bringing me as a kid. She thought I was a piano prodigy. I wasn’t, and my dad was having none of that anyway. He was a cop and I was no prodigy. But I came away with a love of classical…”
“Men are a difficult demographic, even ones without a blue-collar background, no offense,” she interrupted, already unimpressed with him. “Their wives drag them along.” She had been here only two years, having come from Atlanta. He wasn’t sure she fully understood what classical music meant to Cincinnati, but she had absorbed the subtle Indian Hill snobbishness well. He had no doubt that she had also learned the aggressive defensiveness of all who loved the symphony.
She shrugged and leaned toward him. “Now, to this tragedy. Jeremy Snowden was one of our rising stars, as you probably know. He was pure Cincinnati. Born here. Studied at CCM with Stephanie Foust…” Will also knew Foust was the principal cellist for the orchestra, even knew she held the Linda and David Goodman Endowed Chair, because he read the programs. “…who studied at Julliard. As for Jeremy, the whole world was before him. I could list the prestigious competitions he had won, the orchestras trying to steal him away…oh!” She shook her head and seemed on the verge of tears before quickly composing herself.
“I’m counting on you to understand this, Detective Borders. You know the deep history of this orchestra and what it means to the community. The May Festival is coming right up. And these aren’t easy times for even an orchestra of our caliber.” She held her palms up as if everything should be perfectly obvious.
“How may I help, Ms. Buchanan?”
“That man Dodds. He’s very unpleasant.”
“You’re telling me. He was my partner for eight years.”