But how can you get older and go through shit, Ozzie, without changing? Did you expect your relationship to always have that white-hot passion that you found in college? Wake up, grow up, will you?
I loved the bluntness of my inner voice. Or not. Strangely, though, I felt more yearning for her now than I had back when she’d initially gone off the rails. Maybe her absence from my life, from Austin in general, had made my heart grow fonder. Maybe my angst had more to do with how to move forward, all the unknowns involved with how we would define Nicole and Ozzie 2.0.
2.0. I chuckled at myself.
“What’s so funny?” Ivy slipped her phone into her purse.
“Just thinking.”
“About your wife?”
I glanced at her. “So, you and Saul seem to be rather cozy.”
“It’s obvious you are… were a lawyer. You just completely avoided my question.”
“Okay, I admit it. I was thinking about Nicole.”
“And you laughed. That’s a good sign.”
I wasn’t going to share my deepest thoughts, especially when I couldn’t predict what would happen in the next few weeks. “I think you’re smitten by Saul.” I shot a glance at her and smiled.
“Don’t look at me—look at the road,” she said, grinning and tugging at her ponytail.
“You’re smitten. You know that, right?”
“Saul’s a good person.”
I nodded once, slowly.
“What?”
“Have you guys talked about marriage?”
“What? That’s crazy.”
“How old are you?”
“You’re not supposed to ask a lady that question.”
“Well, I’m guessing you’re legal, so it’s a fair question. Plus, you’re smitten.”
“Smitten.” Her brow furrowed, as if she had never applied that word to their relationship.
“Give me Saul’s number. I’ll talk to him and find out what he’s planning.” I made like I was going to grab her phone. She smacked my hand. “That isn’t going to happen. Besides, marriage really isn’t my thing.”
I pulled to a stop in front of a dilapidated apartment building. A barbed-wire fence surrounded it. I grasped my door handle and said one more thing. “My guess is you’ll have a ring on that finger within six months. Maybe less.”
“You’re a psycho.”
We both looked at each other with straight faces. And then we busted out in laughter.
10
The barbed-wire fence had more openings in it than a mall. We slipped through the nearest one without cutting ourselves on the metal and paused to look at the building. Lots of boarded-up windows and graffiti everywhere. “Home, sweet home,” I said.
The clouds darkened as we walked up a sidewalk that appeared to have been run over by a tank.
Ivy reached for my arm.
“What is it?”
“Just some thunder. I’m not fond of storms. Damn, you really can’t hear, huh?”
I shrugged and kept walking until we reached the door. The metal-framed door scraped the concrete when I pulled it open.
“Reminds me of the ECHO office,” she said.
“I’m assuming your office isn’t a crack house.”
She smirked. “Hardly. It’s actually quite nice. By the way, have you noticed that your office is in a car-repair shop?”
I told her she should have seen it before Mackenzie and I had cleaned out multiple five-foot stacks of magazines, newspapers, and folders. “I only remember her framed pictures on the wall. She’s quite talented, Ozzie. You might have a prodigy on your hands.”
I took an extra second to think that over as she entered first. Almost instantly, she crouched down to her knees. She touched some spots on the floor and then looked up at me.
“I think it’s blood.”
“Not a huge surprise in a place like this.” I scanned the area. Two escalators had signs on them saying they were out of commission. There were four open doors, a long hallway, and a flight of stairs that went up as far as the eye could see. But again, no people.
“This could take a while,” Ivy said.
I flipped around, looked out the front door. “We need to be careful, keep our heads on a swivel. We don’t know who’s in here or who might be showing up while we’re searching the place for Cobb.”
She twisted her lips. “You’re not carrying, are you?”
I’d bought a gun when I was in West Virginia during my cross-country hunt for Mackenzie, but I’d left it behind—had to board a plane and didn’t want to deal with it. “Haven’t taken that step yet. I’ve been too busy with casework…and whatever this is.”
I approached the first open door and peeked inside. It was too dark to really see anything—just shadows. Pulling up right behind me, Ivy said, “Oh, did I tell you?”
“Tell me what?” I reached for my phone.
“I spoke to the Gibsons this morning while you were in the shower.”
“The Gibsons?”
“Chantel’s parents.”
“Yeah, right. And?”
“I told them about you and your knowledge of Austin, how you’d offered to help. And they said they would pay you the same rate they’re paying me.”
“That’s cool. I just hope I can offer value.”
I turned on my phone’s flashlight and found a room with a couch minus the cushions, an oval table with no chairs around it, and curtains and a curtain rod on the floor. Dust floated in the air. I took a couple of steps in and flapped a hand in front of my face. I turned to see if Ivy was following me, but before I made it all the way around, the door smacked me in the head. I stumbled and, as I tried to get my balance, ended up falling on my back.
A man screamed and tore out from behind the door. I quickly stuck out a leg, and the man tripped over it, tumbling into Ivy. They were both on the floor. He was trying to push her away, but she was pulling on the arm of his dark sweatshirt. Just as I was able to get my feet under me, he did the same and then kicked at Ivy. She yelled and rolled to her side as I jumped over her and lunged for the man.
I tackled his legs and didn’t let go until he fell to the floor.
“You got him?” Ivy was on her feet, moving up next to me.
“Trying…” I grunted.
The man thrashed his legs, trying to break my hold.
Hopping over me, she walked up to the guy and kicked him in the face. He moaned and grabbed his nose, but he stopped trying to get away.
“An eye for an eye,” she said.
11
I flipped the man on his back and straddled his chest. In the light of Ivy’s flashlight, he didn’t look any more than twenty years old. The circles under his eyes were almost as dark as his black sweatshirt.
“Let me go. Don’t hurt me, please.” He wiped blood from his nose. I looked up at Ivy, who was rubbing her cheek. I could already see a bump forming.
“We only fought back because of what you did to us,” I said.
“Please, please don’t hurt me. I swear, I won’t tell anyone that I saw you here.”
“We don’t care about that,” Ivy said. “We just want to know if you know of a guy named Cobb. Goes by Psycho Cobb.”
He went still for a second. It was only a second, but that was long enough.
Ivy jumped on it. “Where is he? Somewhere in this building?”
“I don’t know anyone by that name.” His voice was trembling. I didn’t believe him.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
His sunken eyes met mine. “Why do you want to know? Who are you two?” he asked, shifting his eyes to Ivy for a second.
“We ask the questions,” Ivy said. “What’s your name?’
“Melvin. Why do you want to know?”
“I want to be able to tell the cops your name once we call them here and tell them—”
“What? I didn’t do it. No way, man. No way I could do that to another person.” His voice went up an octave.
Ivy and I traded a glance. We were both wondering if he could be talking about Chantel.
Melvin tried to snake his way out from under me. It was a futile effort.
“Melvin.”
He didn’t respond. He just kept trying to get away. But he had no strength and less skill.
“Melvin,” I yelled.
He turned his face to me. I saw tears welling in his eyes.
“Who are you talking about?”
“Please. I beg of you to let me go. I don’t want to get killed.”
“Killed? We’re not going to kill you.”
“But I’ve seen people come and go in this place.” He got still, his eyes drifting away from mine. “It might have been one of them. And if they find me, I’m a dead man.”
“Oh my God,” Ivy said, a hand to her mouth.
“Melvin. Where is this person you’re talking about? What happened?”
He shook his head. “I’m going to have nightmares. I found her on the second floor. I’ve never seen anything like it. And worst of all, her eyes are still open.”
I called Brook and asked her to meet us at the apartment complex. Then, with Ivy at my side, I dragged Melvin up the stairs to the second floor. His eyes went to a room on the right, where the door was partially open, and his body started shaking.
Still gripping Melvin’s arm, I pulled him with me to the threshold. The lighting wasn’t good. All I could see were pipes and large metal boxes. Had to be some type of maintenance room.
“Do you see her?” Ivy asked.
“Nothing yet.” I edged forward, but Melvin put the brakes on. “I’m not going in there.” His words barely made it past his lips. He was in complete panic mode, it seemed. Part of me felt badly for him, but now was not the time to let my guard down.
I said, “How do I know this isn’t some type of setup? You may have one of your friends in there, ready to jump us and take our money.”
He shook his head. “Dude, I’m not that smart. Are you kidding me? I’m a fucking junkie. That’s all I am. I’m desperate for my next fix. I don’t want to have anything to do with this…this killing.”
“Well, you’ll have to explain everything you saw and when you saw it when the cops get here. Which should be in about five minutes.”
I turned, pulled him in with me another couple of steps. Suddenly, he thrust his arms upward, catching me off-guard. He broke my hold and took off. I planted my foot, ready to chase after him—bad hip and all—but I slipped on something and dropped straight to the floor.
“Get him,” I yelled.
Ivy stuck out her foot, but he hopped over it with the nimbleness of an NFL running back and then scampered down the steps.
“Fuck!” Ivy said, starting to chase after him.
I got to my feet, ran to the top of the steps, and looked down to the first floor. He banged open the front door and was gone before Ivy’s feet touched the last step.
“Dammit!” she yelled, her voice echoing. “We lost our best lead.” She made her way back up to the second floor and blew out a frustrated breath. “I’m so fucking pissed at myself. I should have tackled his ass to the ground.”
“It’s okay. We got a good look at him. Plus, we know his name is Melvin. Well, if he was telling the truth. But I’m hoping we can look through some police mug shots and match him up.”
“What the hell did you slip on, anyway?” Ivy walked past me into the maintenance room. I was a step behind her.
“A pipe.” She reached down.
“Don’t touch it.” My eyes had found the victim sprawled out on the concrete floor across the room.
We cautiously approached the motionless girl. She was wearing a knee-length dress with a floral print. She had curly, blond hair, but her face was concealed by the shadow of a machine above her.
“Is it her? Is it Chantel?” I asked, without taking my eyes off the girl.
Ivy flipped on a light, pulled out her phone, and found a picture of Chantel. We both got to our knees and looked at the victim’s face. Like Melvin had said, her eyes were open. The girl almost didn’t look human. It was as though I was looking at a picture of someone with Elephant Man’s disease, although her skin color covered the entire spectrum—green, blue, red, purple. So many bruises. And a pool of blood on the floor that had found its way to a puddle of what looked like grease.
I looked at Ivy, her face expressionless. But she couldn’t take her eyes off the victim.
“Ivy, is it Chantel?”
She released a shaky breath and brought the phone up to eye level. “It’s impossible to tell. Kind of looks like her.”
I leaned toward her phone, ensuring I didn’t touch the body. “Is this her real eye color here in the picture?”
“Yeah, her parents said she has green eyes, like a cat. Her friends often teased her about having cat eyes.”
We both turned our sights to the victim. Her eyes were brown.
Ivy pinched the bridge of her nose, lifting to a standing position. I did the same but not with the same spry movement—I felt that familiar hitch in my hip. I sucked air between my teeth.
“Damn, I feel so horrible for wishing it wasn’t Chantel. This poor girl…” Her voice trailed off.
She looked up at me with a pitiful expression, and I walked over and gave her a hug. She didn’t say much for a few seconds. She sniffled and rubbed her head against my T-shirt. Unlike the situation with Rosie a week earlier, I wasn’t drawn to Ivy in a sexual way. And, most importantly, I didn’t feel like I had to rescue her. But a hug…hell, everyone needed a hug now and then.
She pulled back a couple of feet. Her nose was pink, and more frizzies had escaped from her tied-back hair. “I’m sorry for getting emotional.”
I looked back down at the victim. “She’s someone’s child. Maybe she has a brother or sister, grandparents, cousins.”
An idea came into my head at the same time Ivy put her hand on my arm and yelled, “Brook, we’re up here. Second floor, first door on the right.”
I hadn’t heard the distant voice.
Brook entered the room and saw us standing by the girl. “Is it Chantel?”
I shook my head. “But I think I know what was used as the murder weapon.”
12
Within an hour, the so-called “abandoned” apartment complex was anything but. Throngs of police, personnel from the Medical Examiner’s Office, and even a group of firemen showed up. The firemen were there to inspect the place and ensure that there was no leaking gas. I appreciated their attention to detail.
One other person showed up as well. She was young and surprisingly perky. Amber, we learned, was a graphic artist major at the University of Texas. She did part-time work for the APD as a sketch artist, using one of the new tablets.
“So, if I were to, like, make his eyes a little wider, would that help?” she asked, standing in between Ivy and me in the hallway just outside of the maintenance room.
“Maybe,” Ivy said. “Can you do that without messing up your whole sketch?”
Amber practically clicked her heels—clearly, she was really into her work. “No probs. This technology is amazing,” she said.
Probs? Amber was only a decade younger than I was, at the most. It felt more like two decades.
As the sketching process continued, I peeked back inside the room. Lots of pictures being taken. The pipe, believed to be the weapon, was in the same position I’d left it…after I’d tripped over the damn thing.
Brook walked out of the room. “Able to get any prints off the pipe yet?” I asked.
“Not yet. But the CSI team definitely sees the print of your shoe.”
“Sorry.” I rubbed a hand across my face and felt a sting on my forehead. Must have been when Melvin slammed the door into me. “That little pipsqueak—”
“Melvin?”
“If that’s his real name. But, anyway, I’m pissed he’s not here for you to question. I’m not sure he killed her, but he might know the
person who did.”
“Could Cobb have killed her? You were telling me earlier that you thought this Melvin guy might have given some indication that he knew him.”
“Oh, Melvin knew him. I’m almost certain of that.” Ivy had scooted over next to us. “I could see it in Melvin’s face when Ozzie said Cobb’s name.”
Brook nodded and then swung a finger between Ivy and I. “So, no one had any information on him in the alley or Hippie Hollow?”
“The alley was a waste of time,” I said. “But Ivy made a new friend at Hippie Hollow.”
Ivy’s face flushed, and she put a hand to her cheek—the bruised one. Wincing, she said, “Ozzie’s just being stupid. It was nothing, really.”
“Nothing? I think you called it a ‘diving board.’”
“Holy shit, Oz. Can’t you keep anything to yourself?”
Brook fanned herself. “I should have ditched Porter. Sounds like I could have done a swan dive?”
All of us released a muted laugh.
I clapped my hands. “Okay, enough smut talk. Back to business.”
Brook said they needed to step up the search on Cobb. She spoke to an officer, told him to put out an All-Points Bulletin for the guy. Then she turned back to us. “Of course, if he had an actual address, this might be a simpler exercise. But with every cop out there looking for him, our odds will quickly get better. How’s it coming with the sketch?”
Ivy popped back over to Amber’s side to have a look. I leaned in closer to Brook and said in a low voice, “The artist is, uh, kind of young. Any hopes of giving us someone with more experience?”
“Of all people.” She put two hands at her waist.
“What did I say that was wrong?”
She pulled me farther away and whispered—I could barely hear her, but I could read her lips just fine—“You think because she’s a college-aged girl and a little animated that she doesn’t have anything up here?” She pointed at her head.
Shame ON You Page 5
