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

by John W. Mefford

  “So you just walked here?”

  She nodded, her frightened eyes boring into me. “It was chaos, Ozzie. The screams, people running everywhere. I had to get away from it all. I was so…so frightened. I didn’t even know where Earl was. I felt like I was suffocating, and…well, I just started walking. When I looked up, I saw the sign to Peretti’s and remembered our appointment. I prayed that you would be here.”

  “You haven’t spoken to the police?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “Is that bad?”

  Fleeing the scene of a murder was not good. In fact, it could lead some detectives to jump to the conclusion that she might be involved in some way. “I know a detective on the force. And she—”

  “You mean that redhead I saw you having drinks with a few weeks back?” Poppy asked.

  I closed my eyes for a moment, willing myself to have patience. “Yes. Her name is Brook, Detective Brook Pressler. She’ll help us navigate this process.” I sounded more certain than I really was.

  A rapid knocking on the door. I turned to Poppy, and she said, “Probably one of my girls looking for some help behind the bar.” She opened the door.

  “Brook?” I exclaimed.

  Her red mane of hair was unmistakable. She gave me a quick nod and then immediately turned to Rosie. “Mrs. Alvarado?”

  Rosie threw her hands in the air. “I know, I know. I shouldn’t have walked off.”

  “I’m sorry, but you are under arrest, Rosie Alvarado. Please stand up and put your hands behind your back.”

  I lifted up so quickly that my metal chair tipped over, clanging off the concrete. “On what charge?” My voice sounded like my former self—the attorney.

  “Fleeing the scene of a felony. And, given what has taken place, we’ll be investigating the possibility of accessory-to-murder charges.”

  Rosie looked up at me, her eyes suddenly hollow. She appeared to have no fight left in her. I put a hand on Brook’s shoulder. “Please, before you move forward with this, give me one minute to offer some explanations, on behalf of Mrs. Alvarado, my client.”

  I was taken aback by Brook’s brazen entry. Then again, it was her job.

  I tried to reel in the tension. “I’ll make it quick, Brook. Just hear me out. What I know.”

  Brook looked at her watch and tapped her boot against the floor. “I’m waiting.”

  7

  Trust in any relationship is important. When a cop wants to arrest your client—a woman who was about to tear apart at the seams—for a felony, where she was actually a secondary victim, then that trust is put to the ultimate test.

  I ran down the series of events in about thirty seconds; then I waited another thirty seconds for Brook’s response.

  “My captain…” Brook said, raking her fingers through her thick hair. “He’s a bulldog, Oz.”

  “So you’re saying you’re feeling pressure to grab anyone, even just a witness, and treat them like a common criminal? She was covered in blood when she walked in here. Still is, if you’ll take a minute and see her as a woman, not a notch in your belt.”

  “Low blow, Ozzie.”

  She had a point. “Sorry, it’s just that Rosie has been put through holy hell all through her life.”

  She looked around the room. “How do you know any of it’s even true? You’ve got to be kidding me. You just met her today, according to you. I doubt you’ve had time to do any research at all. And how did she end up here, finding you?”

  I hadn’t gotten to the part where I’d told Rosie to meet me here to further discuss the case. Still, Brook was making sense. I knew nothing about Rosie, other than what she’d told me. I hadn’t had a moment to research anything—not one damn thing. My shoulders dropped. But only for a second. I lifted my chin and countered with, “How did you know she was here?” I crossed my arms, defiant. An immature stance, but it was all I had at the moment.

  “Okay, I’ll humor you. I kept asking if anyone had seen an attractive, dark-haired woman in a black-and-white dress. Your turn.”

  “As I started to tell you, she’s a client. Well, almost. We talked this morning, and we were supposed to meet here at eight to nail down the nature of my services.”

  A smile played at the edge of her lips. “Seriously?” She threw her hands on her hips and huffed out a breath. Poppy was holding a glass of water to Rosie’s lips, both of them acting like we weren’t even in the room. Brook relented, a little bit. “Okay, let me talk to her. If I feel like she’s being straight with me, I’ll call the captain and try to convince him that she’s only a witness who, as you suggested, had a mental breakdown of some kind. Then we’ll see where we take it from there.”

  We both turned at the exact same time and bumped shoulders. “Alone,” she said, holding up a finger.

  “I want to be here when you talk to her.”

  “Why do you have to be so stubborn?”

  “Same could be said of you.”

  “But you don’t even like this ‘lawyer’ thing.”

  “Temporary insanity.”

  Her green eyes rolled into the back of her head. She approached Rosie and began the questioning. Poppy went back out to the bar area. Meanwhile, I texted Tito and asked if he’d let Mackenzie hang out at his place for a while until I was done. He responded midway through Brook’s first question:

  Your daughter has more personality than the rest of my class combined. She’s a real joy, Oz. Just drop by when you get done. I’m sure she’ll still be asking me a million questions.

  I couldn’t help but smile. That little moment of sunshine was obliterated when I saw Brook scowling at me.

  “Did I miss something?” I asked.

  “Well, Rosie just said that she thinks her husband murdered his rival, Stuart Benson.”

  I looked at Rosie and felt my jaw drop. “You didn’t tell me that.”

  “We never got that far. But I’m almost sure of it, Ozzie.”

  There was a longer story there. I knew we were headed for the police station.

  8

  Two hours later, Brook, whose face was so red that it almost matched her hair, pulled me aside just before Rosie and I reached the exit at the police station.

  “Give me a quick second,” I said to Rosie, who nodded and pushed open the glass door to walk outside.

  Brook waited for the door to completely shut, and then she turned and moved so close to me that I thought she was going to kiss me. Well, not really. Considering what we’d both witnessed, it was more likely that she was going to jab the pen she was holding into my eye.

  “What the fuck was all of that?” she asked.

  I wanted a little space—she was way too close for comfort. But I understood her intensity. Truth be told, I was as perplexed as she was, although her confusion had slipped into the mad-as-hell category.

  After seemingly teasing us with the shocking statement that her husband had murdered Stuart Benson, Rosie had clammed up the minute she’d sat her butt in the chair in the interview room. She refused to say a word.

  After countless minutes of prodding by Brook, Rosie started talking. Yet, it only got worse. Rosie proceeded to change her story, acting as if the trauma of the murder had made her think and say things that just weren’t reality. She’d then apologized profusely for making it seem as if her husband had done anything wrong.

  “I was a little surprised,” I said, downplaying the scene from the interview room.

  “A little surprised?”

  “Okay, maybe I’m understating it a bit.”

  Her jaw jutted out as she slammed her hands on her waist. “Do you realize that I told Captain Porter, when I’d stepped out earlier, that Rosie might very well have significant evidence as to who was behind the murder? I said that.” She poked herself in the sternum on each of the last three words.

  I took in a deep breath. “I’m sorry if this makes you look bad, Brook. That wasn’t my intention. I hope you know that.”

  “She’s your client, right
?”

  I deserved that dig. “More or less, yes.”

  “But that doesn’t matter, because I know something is there, Ozzie. I could see it. She was traumatized, yes. But that only made her more transparent in what she was saying. I’ve done this too long not to see it.”

  “Sounds like you’ve done a complete psychological profile on her. Didn’t take you long either.”

  She narrowed her eyes.

  “I didn’t mean to push your button,” I said. “I’m just saying that everyone responds to traumatic situations differently.”

  “By lying?” Her eyes got so wide that she looked like one of the infamous Mexican bats found around Austin.

  I ran my hand across the back of my neck. It had been a long night. Hell, a long day. And I still had to pick up Mackenzie from Tito’s place.

  “What reason would she have for lying?”

  Here was where some guilt kicked in. Rosie had confided in me that she felt like her husband was cheating on her, though I knew few details. Therefore, I had never mentioned this tidbit to Brook.

  Brook had interrogated Rosie about this very subject: were Rosie and Earl on good terms? Rosie’s response had almost sent my legs flying out from underneath me. “Why wouldn’t we be? He’s a perfect gentleman. He’s got a kind heart toward everyone, especially the number-one woman in his life. Me.”

  Shoving aside my guilt—because I wasn’t sure if it was legitimate or just pitiful—I glared at Brook and pointedly repeated my question. “What reason would she have for lying?”

  Brook crossed her arms and began the toe-tapping. She was fuming. “Oh, I don’t know…about ten million reasons. Or is that a little low? Maybe Big Earl is worth closer to twenty million dollars.”

  “So you’re saying she blurted out that her husband was behind the murder of a business associate—”

  “A rival. Remember that. They were competitors in the ultimate playing field,” she said, pointing her pen at me.

  “Whatever. She said what she said, then changed her tune because he’s loaded. That’s what you’re saying?”

  She nodded. “I’m guessing that she had a change of heart. She thought to herself, ‘Well, maybe I don’t want that gravy train to end. Maybe I can just keep my mouth shut, and it will all go away, and I can go back to my weekend jaunts to New York City to see the musical Hamilton.’ You think I’m pretty close? I do.”

  Actually, the same theory had crossed my mind. I just couldn’t say anything. Not in front of Brook. Not until I had more information to swing my opinion one way or the other, though Rosie had left me in a cloud of dust.

  I glanced outside, where Rosie was puffing on a cigarette, her eyes focused on the ground, as she paced up and down the front steps.

  “Has anyone else come forward to say they saw the killer?” I asked.

  “What?” Brook barked at me. “No. Nothing I’m aware of so far. People heard a pop, and then panic broke out. That’s all we have. That’s it. But the team will check camera footage in the area, rest assured. We’ll also go back and interview everyone again over the next few days.”

  Brook put her hands on her knees and took in some deep breaths, slowly releasing them. I welcomed the break in the emotional exchange. I just wasn’t sure how to end this on amicable terms. It seemed like whatever professional alliance had been formed in the past now was demolished. Then Brook threw me a bone.

  “How’s Mackenzie doing in school?”

  Normal Brook at a normal decibel level. I liked this Brook. “She had a rough day. Mean girls and all that.”

  “Fourth grade. Yep, that’s when it starts. But she’s strong. She won’t let those little witches get to her.”

  “I hope not. She’s new to the school. Easy prey for those, uh…little witches.”

  “Well, let me know if you need some additional support, from a feminine perspective.”

  A moment later, two cops walked by, or, more accurately, walked right into each other, spilling papers and folders on the floor. I hopped over and assisted in gathering up the mess.

  “You still haven’t had that hip checked out yet?” Brook asked as the other officers thanked me and marched on.

  “What? No. It just needs a little time, and I’ll be back to a hundred percent.” I figured if I told myself that enough times, then it would become true. Deep down, though, I knew this injury was different. I’d hurt it while Mackenzie and I had escaped from some crazy cult members who wanted to drink my blood and then burn us alive. The whole ritual wasn’t even the creepiest part. It was that they’d claimed I was the son of Malachi, the man who, a year earlier, had given Jim Jones a run for his money.

  “How are you doing with everything…you know, after what happened up north?”

  I shrugged as if it were no big deal. I was “in control.” “Mackenzie is safe and here with me now, so it all turned out okay.”

  “But what about you, Ozzie?”

  Ever the cop, Brook just wouldn’t accept my surface-level response. I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

  “It can’t be easy finding out about your past…I mean, especially this kind of stuff. It’s okay to be human. Who wouldn’t be a little shaken up about that? You shouldn’t hold it in.”

  I nodded, but still nothing verbal.

  “Have you wondered about your real mom?”

  “Not until you just said something.”

  She brought a hand to her mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” Her voice faded away.

  “I’m just messing with you. The thought crossed my mind, yes. Of course. But with Mackenzie in my life, there are too many positive things to focus on. I’ve gone a long time with not knowing all those details of my past. Why delve into them now? Don’t need the extra bullshit.”

  Brook’s shoulders dropped a good two inches. She even allowed herself to grin. “I know. You got this.”

  I let that soak in. Thought about Mackenzie, her mom Denise, my parents, my real mother and father, and Nicole. But only briefly. Because I really did want to move on.

  “Are you still with me?” She snapped her fingers in front of my face.

  “Just thinking.”

  She arched an eyebrow and then popped my shoulder. “I won’t ask what you were thinking.” She glanced outside, in the direction of Rosie. “I just know if I had a client like that, I’d watch my back.”

  I considered that good advice.

  9

  “What are you going to tell Earl?” Rosie and I were sitting in my Cadillac on top of Mount Bonnell, a heavenly spot overlooking the lake and several million-dollar homes that rimmed the shoreline, including the Alvarado residence. Four hours had elapsed since the shooting, and she had yet to share with her husband where she’d been.

  “I’ll use my best acting skills. I’ve had to be pretty good at that lately.” She picked at one of her nails as her eyes stared blankly down at the lake. I wondered if she even noticed the way the moonlight rippled across the water. Her mood was somber.

  I said, “You haven’t said much since we left the police station.”

  She kept picking that nail. “Ozzie, so many thoughts have gone through my mind today.” She shook her head, as if she were trying to rid her mind of all the memories, all the stress.

  I could relate to that, but I still couldn’t let the night end without asking her one more question.

  “Why did you lie to Brook when you got into the interview room at the police station?”

  She smirked. “I can’t fool you, huh?”

  “You can’t fool Brook, either. The change in your story has her really worked up.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut, pushed her messed-up hair to the side so she could rub her face. “I panicked. I didn’t mean to get Brook in trouble, but my mind started playing out what would happen, and…” Her voice faded as she looked out the window.

  “What is it, Rosie?”

  She whimpered and then turned to me. “Ozzie, I’m scared.”
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  “It’s okay to be scared. I know what you experienced was horrific. I can’t sit here and say those images will go away overnight. Maybe over time, or if you talk to someone…you know, like a good friend or therapist.” I reached over and put my hand on her arm to reassure her, and when I tried to pull my hand back, she grabbed it, squeezing tightly.

  “It’s Earl. I’m afraid of what he might do to me if I were to talk.”

  My pulse clocked faster. “So it’s true…what you said in the back room at Peretti’s?”

  “It just came out. I had no control over my emotions at that point.” Her breath was suddenly labored. “But on the way to the station, I regretted what I’d said. I should have kept my mouth shut. I know better. I know what Earl will do to me.”

  My mouth became dry. I glanced at the light bouncing off the river. It seemed to be speaking to me. Or something was. Maybe it was my alter-ego telling me this whole situation had somehow grown from a spousal finger-pointing exercise into a raging fire—in, what, a span of less than twenty-four hours? If I knew anyone else who was close to something like this, I wouldn’t mince my words. I’d say, “Remove yourself from the situation.”

  But me? I knew I could keep my distance just far enough to avoid even the slightest of burns.

  “Has he threatened you before?”

  “Not specifically.”

  That’s vague. “What do you mean?”

  “He has a tendency to drink. Like every night. Four, five, six drinks within an hour. He loves his gin.”

  I motioned with my free hand for her to continue.

  “He knew he wasn’t meeting my needs.” Her eyes met mine.

  Was she actually going there? Couldn’t be, right? Not when we’re talking about murder and threats.

  “I know you think I’m talking about our sex lives. I am—to a degree, I suppose. But I’m not that superficial. It was really more about his absence in our marriage. He never tried to be close to me. Seemed like he didn’t care about my needs…emotional, anything.”

  “You were saying he’s a heavy drinker.”