Rip Tide (A Ripple Effect Cozy Mystery, Book 2) Page 6

  With perfect timing, Milo walked into the room and took a seat in a recliner. He looked exhausted, as if he hadn't slept at all the previous night. His discomfort was also apparent. His eyes darted around the room, never settling on any one spot for more than a few seconds or making contact with anyone else's in the room. Finally, after taking a deep breath, Milo spoke. "You've probably heard the Coast Guard located Coop's boat this morning and towed it in to the marina for processing."

  Rip nodded, but made no comment.

  "Um, well, uh, I want..." Milo seemed unable to form a full sentence. He looked around the room.

  Impatient, Rip asked, "What is it, son? What do you want?"

  Is Rip thinking the same thing I am? I wondered, my entire body tensing. Could Milo be preparing to turn himself in to the authorities for murdering his best friend? He'd appeared sincere in his grief yesterday. Could he be a better actor than we gave him credit for? I watched as he tried to speak coherently.

  "Um, well, you see. I, um, wanted to thank you for coming over this afternoon. I honestly know nothing about what happened to Coop and need to ask a favor of you, Rip," Milo said.

  Phew! I let out an audible sigh of relief at his remark. I'd been dreading a confession of guilt.

  "Anything," Rip answered. I felt a shiver run up my back. That one-word response had come back to bite us in the keister more times than I could count.

  "Well, you were the former sheriff of the police department here."

  "Yes, I was aware of that," Rip replied dryly.

  Without skipping a beat, Milo continued, "For what? About fifteen years?"

  "Ten. But I was in law enforcement here in Aransas County for thirty-seven."

  "I'm assuming you still know a lot of the detectives here."

  "Yes, of course I do."

  "And you're probably familiar with at least a few of them who'll be working on this case."

  "Yes, I am."

  "And I imagine you still have a lot of pull with the—"

  "Not necessarily," Rip interrupted. And with an impatient, drawn-out sigh, he added, "Cut to the chase, son. What do you want from me?"

  "Well, I just, um, just want, you know, to maybe get a copy of the autopsy report when it's available. After all, I was not only his best friend and business partner, but I'm also the person who discovered his body. Or... you, Rapella, and I found it, I should say."

  "This is a homicide case we're talking about here. The authorities don't just pass out copies of the autopsy report to any Tom, Dick, or Larry who walks in the—"

  "Harry," I corrected.

  With an expression of annoyance, Rip turned to me and asked, "What? Harry? Who's that?"

  "You just used the phrase Tom, Dick, or Larry, and it's—"

  "Whatever," Rip replied before dismissing me with an exasperated wave of his hand. As soon as the words had left my mouth, I sensed Rip wouldn't appreciate being corrected, even though he was the one who often accused me of using every cliché in the book. At least I use them correctly, I thought with a huff.

  Rip turned back to Milo and continued. "It's already available; the medical examiner completed the autopsy early this morning. But I have no way to access a copy of the report. Nor do you. Particularly since you are probably high on their list of possible suspects."

  "What?" Milo and Reggie exclaimed in stereo. Milo looked as if he'd just been informed he had an inoperable ovarian cyst. "How do you know that?"

  "I stopped by the station on the way here and spoke with Branson Reeves, the lead detective on the case. He's an old buddy of mine. He's been on the force almost as long as I was. Branson told me the medical examiner determined Cooper's death most likely took place somewhere between four and six on Saturday afternoon. He'd noted that the postmortem rigidity was already beginning to dissipate and the body was regaining flexibility by the time it arrived at the morgue last night. That led him to believe Cooper's death had occurred at least twenty-four hours before the three of us located his body. As we were already aware, he told Branson that along with the fatal wound caused by the spear-gun, there were abrasions on the victim's hands and face and a gash on the back of his head. Both of the latter injuries were prior to the mortal spear wound, as we already knew."

  Milo paused for a moment to wipe away a tear before he said, "That's awful, but why would they suspect me of killing him? Coop was my best friend, from way back in high school, not to mention my business partner."

  "Exactly! You just explained why you're a suspect, son," Rip explained. "It's because you were Cooper Claypool's best friend and business partner. That automatically makes you a suspect, just like a murder victim's spouse or significant other is always evaluated for motives and alibis. The vast majority of homicides involve people who are closely associated. Seldom is a murder committed by a random stranger. And, of those who knew their assailant, something like thirty percent were family members. You'd fall into the other seventy percent of that category, which are murders perpetrated by acquaintances. Incidentally, men are responsible for over ninety percent of the murders committed in the United States."

  I could see that Rip was veering off into a litany of statistics about victims and killers, and I wanted to redirect him back to the subject at hand. "Speaking of cutting to the chase, dear, could you please practice what you preach?"

  "Oh, yeah, sorry," Rip replied. "As I was saying, Branson spoke to Cooper's live-in girlfriend this morning and—"

  "Avery Curry?" Milo asked. "Tall, willowy blonde?"

  "Did Cooper have more than one live-in girlfriend?" Rip asked pointedly. Milo looked down as if he'd been chastised.

  "My point is, there's no way you could not have landed a spot on the suspect list," Rip continued. "Especially given the fact there were witnesses who put you at Crabby Joe's Saloon on Saturday afternoon. That list of witnesses includes over a dozen saloon customers, as well as Avery Curry, who claims to have accompanied Cooper to the bar and grill on Saturday, and was present when you entered the establishment."

  Milo's entire body went rigid, his face drained of color. Reggie stepped in to defend her husband. "Milo had been working hard all morning and went to grab lunch at one of his and Cooper's favorite hangouts. Not surprising that they ran into each other, is it? What does that prove?" Reggie was indignant. "How can having lunch with a guy make you a prime suspect for his death later on in the day?"

  Rip turned toward Milo and asked, "Would you like to tell her, or should I?"

  By the tone of the seasoned law officer's voice, it was clear the latter choice would not bode well for the younger man. Milo looked down at his lap and said, "It's not quite that simple, Regina. I didn't exactly 'have lunch' with Cooper on Saturday. And you see, babe, unfortunately it might prove difficult to come up with an alibi for that afternoon."

  Reggie was gawking at her husband of less than six months like he had morphed into the Pillsbury dough boy. I could tell she was in utter shock. She shook her head and directed her comments to Milo, whose face flushed as he squirmed around in his seat. "What? That's impossible! You were at the house on Cactus Street in Fulton working with the electrician and flooring crew from eight in the morning until six or so that evening. I remember you saying you couldn't believe you got them all to work on a Saturday. Surely you can account for every hour that day, and the subcontractors can vouch for your whereabouts, too, if necessary."

  "Um, well. Um, you see, dear, I, I, um..." Milo stammered, looking flustered as he tried to come up with the best way to explain his whereabouts on the day in question.

  "Yes?" Reggie was on the edge of her seat, staring at Milo intensely. Truthfully, I was on the edge of the couch also, anxious to hear his response.

  "Okay, here's what happened. I'm sorry, Reg. I guess I just forgot to tell you. I went to the job site in the morning and got all the subcontractors lined out for the day. At around eleven, I decided to go to Crabby Joe's to grab a bite to eat and ran into Cooper. A couple days earlier he'd told
me he couldn't supervise the remodeling project at the Church Street four-plex on Saturday because he'd be visiting a sick uncle in San Antonio all weekend. I'd met his Uncle Charlie and knew he was fighting pancreatic cancer, so I completely understood Coop's desire to spend some time with him. I'd been planning to cover for him by stopping by that job site after lunch. It was no big deal that Coop didn't actually go to San Antonio, but it irritated me that he lied about it." Milo stopped talking, his gaze fixed on his folded hands resting on his lap. "Gosh, if he'd only just been upfront with me—"

  "Okay. So, I don't understand, Dad. Why would it matter that witnesses put him at the bar and grill Saturday?" Reggie asked, after placing her right hand on her distraught husband's knee. "He should have workers at both work sites and at Crabby's who could vouch for his whereabouts the entire day."

  "There's more, Reggie. A security camera in their parking lot identified Milo's presence there at eleven-thirty," Rip responded. "The investigators accessed the video after speaking to Cooper's girlfriend this morning. It didn't paint a pretty picture. It's quite incriminating, in fact."

  At the exact same second Milo looked up in alarm, Regina spat out, "You... you... you did something horrid in the parking lot? Son-of-a—"

  Cutting her off, Rip turned to Milo and asked, "Once again, would you like to tell her, or should I?"

  For the second time, Milo considered his options for a few seconds and then faced his wife. "As you know, Regina, Coop and I have been buddies since we were sophomores in high school. We played on the football team together and even shared a locker our senior year. But when you become business partners, opinions, goals and work ethics often come into play. When your livelihood is at stake, like ours was, these issues can take a toll on a friendship. Disagreements happen on occasion. They just do. It's the nature of the beast when you're working together almost 24/7. I understand now why people always say you shouldn't do business with friends."

  "I've noticed you've been uptight recently about Cooper's business decisions. So, Milo, tell me the truth. What happened in the parking lot?" Reggie asked. She looked disoriented, as if someone had just whacked her upside the head with a Louisville Slugger. I wondered if she was doubting her husband's innocence in his friend's death, as I was. And Rip too, I'm sure.

  "Relax, Reg. It's not as bad as you're imagining," Milo replied.

  "It's not?" Rip asked. By the derisive tone in his voice, I was even more anxious to hear the accounting of what the security camera had recorded. I hadn't had time to discuss with Rip what he'd found out at the police station earlier in the day.

  Looking as if it just dawned on him he'd crapped in his own Easter basket, Milo took a deep breath, and began to explain. "When I ran into Coop at Crabby's on Saturday, I asked him why he wasn't at his Uncle Charlie's in San Antonio. Yes, I was angry. But who wouldn't be in my shoes?"

  Milo ceased talking. It was clear he'd hoped that was all the clarification required to justify what occurred afterward. At Rip's impatient gesture to continue, Milo sighed again and went on. "We got into a heated argument, which turned into a scuffle out in the parking lot. It was not a big deal. We've had dust-ups before, including a recent disagreement about some inaccuracies in our company's bank account. But we've always patched up our relationship within a couple of days, just as we would've done this time had he not been—"

  Milo choked up and was unable to finish the sentence. No one spoke for an uncomfortable period of time. To break the silence, I said, "I don't think you have anything to worry about. Scraps like that happen between male friends occasionally. Boys will be boys, you know. That doesn't mean you murdered him. After all, like Reggie said, you should be able to account for your whereabouts all day Saturday."

  "It was a bit more than a dust-up or scrap, wouldn't you say, Milo?" Rip asked. "Seems to me, when you break a beer bottle over a guy's head your intentions are to cause serious harm to the fellow. That bottle should have never left the bar to begin with. But it explains the head wound and abrasions on his left knuckles. Why didn't you tell me about this before, Milo?"

  Milo shook his head and remained silent. He appeared to have nothing to say. Unfortunately for him, however, Rip had plenty and was just getting started.

  "Is there anything else you aren't telling me? I find it quite telling that you chose to hide this incident from me. I can assure you it'd be in your best interest to tell me the absolute truth right this minute. I can't help you if I'm armed with only lies, evasive details, and innuendos. In fact, without the complete story—every stinking detail you can recall—I won't get involved in the case at all. You'll be entirely on your own to dig yourself out of whatever hole you've dug for yourself. Is that what you want, son?"

  "No," Milo said, eyes wide and beginning to water. Rip had become an intense interrogator. He had his "suspect" squirming nervously in his seat and sweating profusely. You could have wrung Milo out like a sopping rag mop.

  "So, where did you go when you left Crabby's? The security tape shows you getting in your truck and peeling out of the parking lot, leaving your best friend bleeding and struggling to get to his feet." Rip enunciated the word "best" in the most ironic manner possible.

  I realized Rip was in his element and didn't want to be interrupted, but I couldn't resist making a snide remark of my own. "Holy crapola, boy! If that's how you treat your closest friends, I'd hate to see what you'd do to an enemy."

  "I was pissed off, I'll admit. But I wouldn't have left the premises if I'd thought Coop was seriously injured. I'm not that cold-hearted, I swear. In fact, I tried to get in touch with him late Saturday evening to apologize but he didn't answer his phone. Sadly, now I know why." Milo glanced at Reggie, waiting for her to vouch for her husband. When she didn't, he slowly reverted his gaze back to Rip who, unfortunately for Milo, did have a response that was anything but supportive.

  "It appears to me, as well as to the homicide investigators, your actions Saturday afternoon were cold-hearted, to the nth-degree. You surely saw the mark that bottle left. Yet you didn't consider a three-inch gash caused by the blunt end of a beer bottle a serious wound?"

  "Well, okay. But he didn't act like he was all that injured. In fact, he hadn't even gotten in a punch or laid a hand on me, yet he wanted to go another round. That's why I left, by the way. Didn't want him to get seriously injured, you know."

  "It's called adrenalin. Ever heard of it?" When Rip began making cutting remarks, it was a sign he was approaching the end of his rope. "Was there blood gushing out of his head at that point, Milo?"

  "Um, well, yeah. I guess there was quite a lot of it pooling on the pavement."

  "And that wasn't a clue he was seriously injured? Was Cooper in the habit of having blood gush from his head? Was this an everyday occurrence with your buddy, or should I say 'your victim?'"

  "Well, no, of course not. But I didn't think he was going to bleed to death, if that's what you mean," Milo replied in obvious distress. I think Rip's deliberate use of the phrase 'your victim' had had the effect he'd intended. No wonder he'd been so respected as a law enforcer throughout his career, I thought. He's actually kind of hot when he's grilling someone this way. As long as that someone's not me, of course.

  Rip was downright impressive in this environment. Talk about bringing sexy back. The last time he'd had what few hormones I had left working overtime was when I caught him vacuuming the living room carpet in his boxers.

  Now he was leaning forward, arms on his thighs. The fingers on his right hand were tapping his kneecap impatiently.

  Milo swallowed hard before speaking. "I really didn't think I hit him hard enough to cause a concussion or anything."

  "The bottle was shattered, Milo. That takes a significant degree of blunt force. And, naturally, there were shards of glass on the ground where the assault occurred."

  "Assault?" Milo asked in alarm.

  "Yes. Assault. Assault with a deadly weapon, to be more exact. That makes it aggravated assault,
a felony offense. You'll be lucky to get the charge reduced to a Class A misdemeanor and only get a four-thousand dollar fine."

  "Damn, man!" Milo replied. "We don't have four grand right now."

  "Would you rather sit behind bars for a year? There's always that option if you'd prefer."

  "No, not at all! That sounds terrible!"

  "Duh," Rip said, echoing my own thoughts. "It is terrible! Worse than terrible, in fact! And not only that, in the homicide detectives' eyes, you had compelling motive!"

  "Will this make them think I might be the one who killed him?"

  Duh, I said to myself again. I thought Milo had asked a moronic question, and apparently his interrogator did too.

  "Seriously? What do you think?" Rip asked incredulously. "If you were a detective on the case, wouldn't you consider the possibility that this violent scene, captured on tape, no less, might have led to a more serious confrontation a few hours later?"

  Without replying, Milo put his head in his hands and began to sob. Is he crying about the loss of his dear friend, or at the notion of how Cooper's death might affect him personally? I wondered.

  Reggie sat as still as the hideous flamingo statue in the corner of the living room. Her mouth agape, she stared at her husband as if he'd just declared he enjoyed trying on her negligees when she wasn't around. She seemed to be debating whether to console him, fear him, or detest him. If I'd been in her shoes, I'd be calling a divorce attorney, getting a restraining order, calling a locksmith, tossing all my husband's clothes into a lawn and leaf Glad bag, and advising him not to let the door hit him in the rear end on his way out. In that precise order!

  What most concerned me just then was whether or not a marital spat might lead to a serious threat to Reggie's safety. Milo Moore had proven with the parking lot incident he could have a violent temper. Was that what Reggie was thinking? I was worried about her well-being and wondering if her father was too.