“So while you guys are partying, did you notice anything odd on the river?”
The smirk returned. “I was kind of occupied, but no.”
“Only five young people on your boat?”
He lifted one shoulder. “Yep. Unless somebody used the Zodiac while I was busy or sacked out.”
A muscle spasm kicked Will in his side, forcing him to fight to keep his expression neutral.
“What Zodiac?”
Will handled a call as PIO and talked on camera. The idea was to have him out there in public as much as possible, to try to lure the killer. After dark, he drove back to Hyde Park, his car in the fast flow of traffic gliding along above the river on Columbia Parkway, his mind forced into a trench of unthinking, if only for now. He didn’t look south, where the big river met its lethal tributary. He didn’t look up the bluff to the north, where Kristen Gruber’s condo perched.
In fifteen minutes, he was on the big-trees street in front of the sprawling Tudor, its blond bricks preening in the ornamental lighting. Every room inside was lit. It would have been a good account for Cincinnati Gas & Electric, if the company still existed, and hadn’t been lost in the endless takeovers that had shaken the city in recent years. Dodds was following him, but it would have to be. Will could make excuses later. He was still running an errand for his ex, more than she knew.
The phone inside rang six times before a man’s voice answered. Will watched him standing in the dining room, with a proprietary hand on his ex-wife’s shoulder.
“Brad, it’s your predecessor, Will Borders. Would you please put Cindy on the phone?”
“Will.” He hesitated. “We sat down to supper a moment ago and Cynthia has had a long day. Maybe I could ask her to call you later.”
“That won’t do. I’ll only take a minute.”
After some muffles and distant, indiscernible voices, she came on the line, her voice brittle with anger.
“You’re very rude.”
She said it after she walked out of the brightly lit dining room and disappeared into some other chamber of the huge manse.
“Is John there?”
“Yes, he’s going to join us for dinner.”
“I want to talk to him now.”
“You listen to…”
“Now, Cindy. I’m in the car right in front. This is police business. Send him out here.”
It took a long time. Then the big front door opened and John walked reluctantly to the curb and climbed in. He was neatly dressed and his hair was freshly cut, but he was everything that Zack Miller was not: a little pudgy, a dusting of acne, no athletic grace in his movements. Will felt sorry for the kid, and reminded himself that John wasn’t a kid anymore. But he also knew how much the surface, how much appearances mattered at John’s age.