ON The Rocks (An Ozzie Novak Thriller, Book 3) (Redemption Thriller Series 15)

by John W. Mefford

  She was steaming. I didn’t blame her. It had become a complete train wreck. For all of us.

  I saw that we were headed toward an older neighborhood near the UT campus. “Hey, you never told me who I supposedly killed. Or, for that matter, who the hell accused me of killing this person.”

  Brook turned right, and suddenly, the area looked all too familiar. Eerily so. I opened my jaw, at least a bit, but no words came out.

  “Dr. Garret Copeland. I believe he taught you English during your sophomore year.”

  “Yeah, so, what about that?” Light bulbs in my head flickered. Then I got it. “You’re saying he’s been murdered?”

  “Yep. And from what I’ve heard from the officers first on scene, it was the most gruesome killing they’ve ever witnessed.”

  I explained how I’d run into him at Peretti’s the day before.

  “I understand your discussion was heated.”

  “He needed to be confronted about what he did to Rosie, dammit.”

  “Again, you had to be her knight in shining armor.”

  I watched the flashing lights in front of the professor’s house up ahead and tried not to snap back at Brook. What she’d said wasn’t wrong.

  “Sorry, Oz. I shouldn’t have said that.” She reached over, tapped my arm.

  “It was warranted. But, honestly, I had to confront him. I had to know if he’d really raped her.”

  “You doubted her?”

  I shrugged. “I wondered if she was embellishing a bit. Maybe a ‘he said-she said’ thing where maybe it was at least a little gray. But there was nothing gray about it. He did it. He and his two punk TAs gang-raped her. He basically admitted it. Statute of limitations way in the past. Couldn’t care less.”

  The brakes squeaked until the car came to a rocking stop.

  “So, who put me here at the crime scene?” I said, nodding to the front of his house.

  “Poppy.”

  “Poppy?” I almost had to push my eyeballs back in.

  “Let me clarify. She never put you at the scene. She never thought you had anything to do with the murder, but according to the detective who interviewed her, she simply said that you and Dr. Copeland were in a heated argument. And you were the last known person to see him.”

  “Great. The piece of shit will haunt me even after he’s dead.”

  “Look, you have nothing to worry about. We’re going to nail down the time of death—the ME is already here—and then we’ll get your alibi. We’ll check that box and move on.”

  I got out of the car and followed her to the porch. I put a foot on the first step. The blue paint was chipped and faded. The façade of the house looked equally worn. The roof over the porch sagged, and I spotted at least a dozen pockmarks on the front door.

  “Do you want to stay out here? The body has been covered, but I’m told there’s a ton of blood,” Brook said.

  I knew it would be better to come to peace with this entire chapter of my life right here and now. “I’m going in.”

  32

  Brook had me stay on the front porch while she first went to talk to the ME. I watched officers and crime-scene investigators walk in and out of the old place. I began to relive the night of our break-and-shake. My two buds and I were so caught up in what we thought was the most epic prank ever that we never stopped to think about how it would be received. We only knew one thing: Dr. Copeland treated most of his students, his male students in particular, with absolute contempt. He had no respect for us, and it had nothing to do with how we addressed him or how well we backed up our opinions with facts. He was out to make us pay. To us, he was just a mean, spiteful man. And, rightly or wrongly, we believed that we were doing the world a service, at least in a prankster kind of way.

  But murder was no prank. While yesterday I could have smacked his smug face more than once, killing him wasn’t something I could ever follow through with. I knew I’d been carrying the torch for Rosie, protecting her honor, so to speak, even if she had shown a side of herself that was downright mean. I’d just felt like he should be called out, do penance, whatever you want to call it. She had been his victim.

  Victim. My mind segued into what I’d learned just before Brook had called, starting with the verification from Heather that Rosie had indeed visited the Dixons after the birth of their son. I had to say it twice in my head just to believe it. Billy had told me the truth, at least about that part. What else had he said that was true?

  “Hey.” Brook waved a hand in front of my dazed eyes, and then she pulled me to the side of the porch. “ME puts time of death right between seven and ten last night.”

  “Okay. Well, I was home with Mackenzie all night. Ariel and Ervin—Mackenzie’s friend and Ariel’s father—had just left. Pretty cool guy.”

  She swiveled her phone between two fingers like it was a swing, but her eyes stayed on me. “Were you online, posting anything to Facebook that might give us a more absolute alibi during the window of time when Copeland was murdered?”

  I looked at her like she had a horn sticking out of her forehead.

  “I believe you! It’s just that your past is bound to come up during the investigation.”

  The past can’t be left behind because you can never escape the past. “Last night, for the first time in a while, I shut down my computer, turned off my phone, and focused on my daughter. It was the coolest night ever.”

  She grinned. “I’m sure you both needed it. Anyway, we’re probably good for now. You were home with your daughter.”

  “Look, there’s a new camera at the entrance of the apartment complex. Have one of your officers get access. You won’t find my car leaving all night long.”

  “That works.” She asked me to put on rubber gloves. “New department protocol. Too many defense lawyers were bringing arguments about tainted crime scenes.”

  I put on the gloves. “Sounds like something I might have argued.”

  “Glad you quit that job. We might be bitter enemies otherwise.” She arched an eyebrow as we walked inside and moved down a narrow hallway. When we reached the entrance to the living room, I stopped. I could see the doctor’s feet resting at awkward angles just beyond a leather chair. I closed my eyes and tilted my head toward the ceiling.

  “So,” Brook said, taking purposeful steps toward the body, “the doctor was shot close-range with a pistol.”

  “How many shots were fired?”

  “It’s not the number of shots that sticks out—it’s rather clear there was just one round fired. Here, size matters.”

  I kept a blank face. The last thing I wanted was a flirtatious trade of words with anyone, not with the Nicole explosion still throwing shrapnel into my gut. I lifted my chin, waiting for the answer.

  “Nine-millimeter-caliber bullet. That’s what we’re talking about.” She inched closer to the chair and the dead body. I followed but in slower motion.

  I squatted down and looked at the wound. “Holy shit. So, a major gun enthusiast here.”

  “Looks that way.”

  “Shot from close range?”

  She nodded.

  “So, maybe he knew the killer?”

  “I was wondering the same thing.”

  “Was he standing or sitting in the chair when he got shot?”

  “Standing about where I am right now, based upon where he landed.”

  I moved to my toes and started to lose my balance. Brook grabbed my hand and ushered me back a couple of steps.

  “Can’t touch the chair. Evidence all over the chair.”

  I scrunched my face, which sent a stabbing pain into my jaw.

  “His face, his brain matter…all scattered everywhere, almost like the top of a running blender had just been opened.”

  “Thanks for the visual.”

  An officer carrying a box walked up to Brook and spoke softly in her ear. I tried to look at his lips—my version of eavesdropping.

  “Sick bastard,” she said, after the cop walked off.r />
  “Who?”

  “Copeland, who else?”

  My expression didn’t change. Not sure if it was out of respect for the dead or because I was still taking in the whole scene while thinking back to the last time I was in the house.

  “They found dozens and dozens of homemade sex videos upstairs in his closet.”

  I pulled my head back. “Gross.”

  “The titles on the videos make it seem like it was not consensual.”

  I blew out a breath. “I wonder how many girls he destroyed.”

  She shrugged and looked over her shoulder. “You think one of them might have done this? The ultimate vendetta killing.”

  My eyes wandered for a moment. Next to the body, I found a book, The Catcher in the Rye. Then I shifted my sights back to Brook, who was watching me. “What?”

  She dipped her chin, kind of like a mother waiting to hear the whole story.

  “You’re wondering if Rosie could have done this,” I said. “I can’t see it, even though yesterday I saw a side of her I didn’t see coming.”

  She arched an eyebrow and told me to follow her. We ended up back out on the porch. I exhaled and then told her about me and Rosie in the office, how I lost control and then regained it at the last possible moment—but it wasn’t soon enough. There stood Nicole in my office door, dumbfounded. What I thought of as the final act of our relationship.

  “Jesus, Oz. I don’t know what to say.”

  “Whatever you’re thinking, I’ve beaten myself up more than anyone else could, including Nicole. But, you know, life goes on. It was easy to resent Nicole and not let it eat me up. But this guilt…it’s the worst.”

  “I’m really sorry. On many levels.”

  The porch vibrated from the heavy boots of two officers. I got my shit together and said, “Rosie, at least around me, has never even hinted at violence. Killing someone as some type of revenge…it would be a stretch for me to get there. She’s got a lot of anger inside of her. I figured it was all pain and sorrow.”

  “It’s possible, though, on sheer motive alone.”

  “Possible, yes. Likely, no.”

  “We need to check for gun registrations.”

  “For Rosie?” I almost laughed. “I get the feeling she’s never held a gun. Probably scared of them.”

  “We’ll check under her name and Earl’s. And we’ll look for the type of weapon that would carry this caliber of bullet.”

  I thought a moment. “Any reason why Earl himself wouldn’t be a suspect? I know he’s got no love for Rosie right now. But maybe he decided to finally get revenge on the person who had ruined her life.”

  “True. But if that’s the case, why hadn’t he gone after Billy Dixon?”

  “Oh crap. There’s something I need to share.”

  First, I told her about Heather validating that Rosie had visited the Dixon family after the birth of their child.

  Brook’s back went stiff. “How could you leave that out? Geez, Oz.” She spun around in a circle until she was facing me again, eyes blazing.

  “Billy was saying all sorts of crap when I talked to him. I just figured he was trying to make himself look good.”

  “But it was the truth.”

  “Apparently. And, by the way—I just confirmed this an hour or so ago—Heather and Tracy—”

  “Tracy Rowlett from the Statesman?”

  I nodded.

  “Oz, we need to look deeper into Rosie’s life. I know we have a good feel for parts of it.” She shifted her head toward the house. “But given what you just told me, that doesn’t mean she gets a pass.”

  “It also doesn’t discount the theory that Earl could have killed Copeland. Or, just look at all of those sex tapes and see how many girls had motive to want to kill the man.”

  “Duly noted.” Another officer waved at Brook. “Give me a minute, Oz.” She disappeared inside.

  I walked to the edge of the porch and gazed at a weeping willow in the neighbor’s yard. Roots ran across the top of the dormant grass. My dad—the one who’d actually raised me—had told me that weeping willows were the worst kind of trees if they were planted near homes. Their root systems could destroy the foundation and underground pipes. Damn, I missed the old guy, even if he’d been a thorn in my side more than a few times.

  Then I recalled what Ervin had told me. “Cherish the moments you have.” I vowed never to forget those words. Particularly in regard to Mackenzie. To Nicole, if it was meant for us to survive this hurricane. To whatever life handed me. I felt my phone buzz. I pulled it from my pocket and answered it in quick order.

  “Rosie. Where are you?”

  “I can’t get into it now, not on the phone. I’m being followed.”

  “You’re what?”

  “Earl, his people. They’re trying to find me. And if they catch me, they’ll kill me, I know it.

  “Get to a police station. Don’t stop. Just go there. I’ll let Brook—”

  “No, stop. That won’t work. He’ll still find me. If not today, then tomorrow. I have to leave and not stop until I’m far, far away.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say or what she wanted me to say. I tried, though: “I wish you’d listen to reason.”

  “I need to talk to you.” I heard a sniffle.

  “Rosie, where are you?”

  “Will you talk to me?”

  “I’m talking.”

  “No, in person.”

  I looked at the phone for a second. She was making no sense. “I thought you were on your way to far, far away?”

  “Will you talk to me?” she shouted. A few gasps. “Please, Ozzie. You’re the only one who really gets me.”

  I wondered about her state of mind. I also thought about Copeland and how he was killed. From close range, in the face. It was personal.

  “Rosie, this is nuts. I’ll talk to you, but will you please think about getting to a police station?”

  “I’m here.”

  “You’re here? Here…where?”

  “I’m here, at Dr. Copeland’s house.”

  I lowered my head so I could see the street under the tree line. A silver Honda Pilot pulled up on the other side of Brook’s car.

  “Is that you?”

  “Please, Oz. I need you. One final time. Then, it will all be over.” She burst into a fit of sobs.

  I walked out to the street and got into Rosie’s car.

  33

  Rosie punched the gas hard; I felt like I had just been launched in a rocket ship. She looked into the rearview, but her eyes were steady.

  I said, “Unless you want to get a ticket, you might want to slow down.”

  She took her foot off the gas, and we glided to the stop sign. She checked all directions and then turned right.

  “Are you going to tell me what this is all about?”

  “I lost him back on Mopac.”

  “Who’s him’?”

  “Snake, who else?”

  I started to turn my head to the back. She smacked my arm. “Look forward. We need to act like a regular couple.”

  “Right. So, what kind of car is Snake driving?” I glanced in the side mirror.

  “Old Chevy pickup. Blue with silver stripes.”

  Only a couple of cars were anywhere near us—no trucks.

  We went through two more lights.

  “Rosie, tell me how all of this went down.”

  “I was at the house, packing my bags, when Earl got back from the police station. He surprised me. We had a fight. I grabbed the keys and one of my bags. I got the hell out of there.”

  “He’ll be able to track this car, you know.”

  “This is a rental.”

  “But he’ll be able to see that you rented it through your credit card.”

  “Not this one. It’s under another name.” Using a free hand, she pulled a passport from the center console and tossed it on my lap. I opened it up.

  “Carly Turner.” The photo was of Rosie.

  �
�I told you I’ve been saving a little money here and there. This is one of my purchases.”

  I nodded. “So you’ve been planning this for a while.” Gears started cranking in my head.

  “I had to have a backup plan, yes. I couldn’t just rely on the courts to fix my life. I had to take my life into my own hands.”

  My eyes dodged around the interior of the SUV, thinking through everything she’d just said. I lifted my sights and watched her for a few seconds. She was stiff, her knuckles white from her firm grip on the steering wheel, and while she was still stunning, her face had hardened. Her seductive vibe had evaporated, replaced by a woman on a mission.

  “Rosie, I think our best bet is to turn around, go back, and talk to Brook. She’ll set everything in motion to protect you. Cops are swarming that place. You’ll be safe. I’ll even be there until they put you in protective custody.”

  She slammed a fist against the dashboard. “Are you fucking listening to me, Ozzie? That can’t happen. Won’t happen. I’ll be dead within hours. I need to get out of here!”

  She was on the edge, no doubt. I turned to look out the windshield. Two skateboarders were crossing the road. “Look out!” I slammed my foot into the floorboard. A second later, she hit the brake. The SUV jerked to a stop about three feet in front of the two wide-eyed boys. They started shouting, waving their arms.

  She started panting. “Fucking kids!” I thought she was going to start sobbing, but I saw more anger than anything else. She pulled around them and kept moving.

  “Rosie, what’s going on? Why do you want to talk to me?”

  She glanced at me for a second. I pointed straight ahead, hoping she’d keep her eyes on the road.

  “No one knows me like you do, Ozzie. We have a connection. You know it. I know it.”

  I wasn’t sure how to take that. I wanted…needed separation. “We” were never going to happen. I stayed silent.

  “I want you to come with me.”

  This was crazy, and it wasn’t going to happen. I opened my lips, but I wasn’t sure what to say. Given her emotional state, I didn’t know how to react.

  “Rosie…” I started.

  “Ozzie, dammit. That raw attraction is there.”