Junior shouting at him from inside the prisoner compartment of the squad car.
“There’s been an incident in Kenton County.”
He waited.
“You need to go down there.”
His trouble meter was registering high. Kenton was Covington, right across the river from downtown, but another state, another county, another jurisdiction, and, thank God, another public information officer.
“What’s up, Amy? What aren’t you telling me?”
Her voice lowered to nearly a whisper. “It’s Kristen Gruber. She’s been found dead. Probable homicide.”
“What do you mean?” He blurted it in exactly the same way he had heard countless family and friends of dead people do, back when he was a homicide detective delivering bad news.
“Will, she’s been killed. Are you hearing me?”
“Yes.” He let himself exhale. “Was she on the job?”
“No. We don’t have a lot of details yet. She was found on a boat.”
“Who knows? Anybody in the media?”
“Nobody yet. But you’d better get down there. This will be national news.”
“What am I supposed to do? What’s the plan? Is a homicide team coming?”
“It’s only you,” she said. “Go down and find out what they have. Then the commanders will hold a press conference. This is direct from the chief, Will. He wants you to begin an investigation.”
Will hesitated. “Amy, I’m the PIO.”
“You’re a veteran homicide detective, Will. You’ll be the liaison officer between this department and the Kentucky cops. As far as the chief is concerned, you’re the lead detective on this for us.”
The lead.
She added, “Now be nice to them down there.”
“On my way.”
“So are you going to…” A tall young uni stood at the car door. Then he saw it was Borders. The one who walked with a cane.
“He was kicking the other guy,” Will said. “Clarence Kevon James Junior. Street name of Junior. He’s on probation. I’ll add to your incident report later.”
“Great,” the kid said sarcastically. “You have powers of arrest, detective.”
“Paperwork comes with the job, son. I’ve got to go.” Before the uni could protest further, Will slammed the car door, backed up, and raced toward the Ohio River.
***
Kristen Gruber. Officer Kristen Gruber. He could see her face as he raced past Piatt Park, the Netherland Plaza Hotel, and the dense cluster of buildings that lined both sides of Fourth Street. The intense blue eyes, easy smile, and the blond hair worn in a pixie cut. But she was no pixie. She was one of the most gung-ho cops he had known. He even remembered her badge number.
In a roundabout way, Kristen was responsible for him having this job. She had been the public information officer. With her girl-next-door good looks, athletic build, and perfect television presence, she was ideal for the department’s makeover after the riots. She had set up the Web site and the Twitter account that Will now had to feed like a machine. Transparency, the chief said. She could have remained the PIO forever if it hadn’t been for the show.
LadyCops: Cincinnati was a reality TV show featuring three female officers, but Kristen was the star. She always had the first segment. Of course, the show was heavily sanitized, the calls routine and low-priority, the department always appearing business-like and professional. It was great publicity. Virtually every suspect was black, but nobody involved mentioned this fact. They had to sign releases for their faces to be shown, and many did so happily—such was the power of television.
As a result, the PIO job came open at precisely the time Will was able-bodied enough to return to work, at least to a desk job. Years before, he had been one of her instructors at the academy and she recommended him as the new PIO.
Will had a cop’s dislike of the media. He didn’t trust reporters. They got in the way and their stories could send a case sideways. The exception had been an old hand with the Cincinnati Post who smoked
“There’s been an incident in Kenton County.”
He waited.
“You need to go down there.”
His trouble meter was registering high. Kenton was Covington, right across the river from downtown, but another state, another county, another jurisdiction, and, thank God, another public information officer.
“What’s up, Amy? What aren’t you telling me?”
Her voice lowered to nearly a whisper. “It’s Kristen Gruber. She’s been found dead. Probable homicide.”
“What do you mean?” He blurted it in exactly the same way he had heard countless family and friends of dead people do, back when he was a homicide detective delivering bad news.
“Will, she’s been killed. Are you hearing me?”
“Yes.” He let himself exhale. “Was she on the job?”
“No. We don’t have a lot of details yet. She was found on a boat.”
“Who knows? Anybody in the media?”
“Nobody yet. But you’d better get down there. This will be national news.”
“What am I supposed to do? What’s the plan? Is a homicide team coming?”
“It’s only you,” she said. “Go down and find out what they have. Then the commanders will hold a press conference. This is direct from the chief, Will. He wants you to begin an investigation.”
Will hesitated. “Amy, I’m the PIO.”
“You’re a veteran homicide detective, Will. You’ll be the liaison officer between this department and the Kentucky cops. As far as the chief is concerned, you’re the lead detective on this for us.”
The lead.
She added, “Now be nice to them down there.”
“On my way.”
“So are you going to…” A tall young uni stood at the car door. Then he saw it was Borders. The one who walked with a cane.
“He was kicking the other guy,” Will said. “Clarence Kevon James Junior. Street name of Junior. He’s on probation. I’ll add to your incident report later.”
“Great,” the kid said sarcastically. “You have powers of arrest, detective.”
“Paperwork comes with the job, son. I’ve got to go.” Before the uni could protest further, Will slammed the car door, backed up, and raced toward the Ohio River.
***
Kristen Gruber. Officer Kristen Gruber. He could see her face as he raced past Piatt Park, the Netherland Plaza Hotel, and the dense cluster of buildings that lined both sides of Fourth Street. The intense blue eyes, easy smile, and the blond hair worn in a pixie cut. But she was no pixie. She was one of the most gung-ho cops he had known. He even remembered her badge number.
In a roundabout way, Kristen was responsible for him having this job. She had been the public information officer. With her girl-next-door good looks, athletic build, and perfect television presence, she was ideal for the department’s makeover after the riots. She had set up the Web site and the Twitter account that Will now had to feed like a machine. Transparency, the chief said. She could have remained the PIO forever if it hadn’t been for the show.
LadyCops: Cincinnati was a reality TV show featuring three female officers, but Kristen was the star. She always had the first segment. Of course, the show was heavily sanitized, the calls routine and low-priority, the department always appearing business-like and professional. It was great publicity. Virtually every suspect was black, but nobody involved mentioned this fact. They had to sign releases for their faces to be shown, and many did so happily—such was the power of television.
As a result, the PIO job came open at precisely the time Will was able-bodied enough to return to work, at least to a desk job. Years before, he had been one of her instructors at the academy and she recommended him as the new PIO.
Will had a cop’s dislike of the media. He didn’t trust reporters. They got in the way and their stories could send a case sideways. The exception had been an old hand with the Cincinnati Post who smoked
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