Naked Addiction (27 page)

Chapter 43

Goode

A
lison was curled up under a blanket on the couch when Goode got home. The place smelled of a tantalizing mix of garlic, tomatoes, and sausage that had simmered for hours. He opened the fridge to get a beer and saw a plate of spaghetti and sauce, covered with plastic wrap. After heating it up in the microwave, he grabbed a beer and went to his room to eat.

Lacking the energy and motivation to brush his teeth, he finished his beer and shut off the light. But he couldn’t stop the frenzy of evidence running through his head or the evolving list of interview questions for Seth Kennedy that his brain was compiling. So, he rolled over and switched on the light, hoping that if he emptied his mind onto a piece of paper, the cerebral noise would quiet enough for him to drift off to a more serene place. And sure enough, he did just that.

He was bicycling on a dirt road that ran along an isolated beach, the air heavy with humidity, when he came to a cove where the turquoise water was calm and inviting. Sweaty, he stopped and leaned his bike against the seawall, tossing his backpack onto the sand. He climbed over the wall and walked out a few feet. The sand burned his feet, so he tore off his T-shirt and took a running dive into the sea, which was warm but still refreshing. He could see his hands against the coral pink backdrop of the ocean floor as clearly as if they were under glass. Floating on his back, he watched the palm fronds flutter in the breeze. When he grew tired of floating, he waded out of the water and lay face first in a cool crevice he’d dug in the sand. Soon, the sun had dried his back and he put his T-shirt over his head to block its rays.

A few minutes later, he felt a woman straddle his back. He could tell it was a woman from the way she touched him as she seated herself, her hair brushing lightly against his shoulder blades and her bottom pressing into his lower back. She rubbed hot coconut oil into his skin in circular motions, her legs, soft and smooth, hugging him firmly on either side. The massage was so good he started to feel woozy. Her soft hands slid their way down his spine to his lower back, probing and pushing the tension out, pouring more oil on his back as she went. At first it felt relaxing, but when her hands started creeping lower by degrees under his swim trunks, he felt himself getting excited. He tried to turn over, but she wouldn’t let him. She held his wrists above his head, a little rougher but still playful. She didn’t mean him any harm. This was a game for her.

She teased him by rubbing herself over him, pressing herself into him, riding him. He was hers. She had taken him. She stopped moving for a moment and he waited with anticipation, wanting more as he listened to his own blood rushing through his head.

Why is she stopping?

As if she could read his thoughts, she started caressing his back with her fingertips, then her nails. She leaned over and licked around his ear, teasing him, taking the lobe into her mouth. He could feel her full breasts, still covered by a tight shirt, pushing into his back. She squeezed him harder with her legs. Then she took her shirt off, allowing just her nipples to tickle him. He thought he was going to explode. Finally, he couldn’t stand it anymore. If she wouldn’t let him turn over, he had to break the silence.

“Tania, let me turn over,” he whispered, his words slurred with sleep. “I want to touch you.”

She got off him and was gone. As Goode heard his bedroom door close, he sat up with a start.

Chapter 44

Goode

Friday

G
oode left early the next morning before Alison was awake, careful to close the front door as quietly as possible. He couldn’t face her after what had happened in the middle of the night. He was so embarrassed, he didn’t know how he could undo what he’d said to her. He’d been so sure he was having another dream about Tania. The beach scene, with those hands rubbing his back, kept repeating itself in his mind. He was still all charged up.

Once he got to Harry’s Coffee Shop, he bought a newspaper from the machine outside and tried to focus on work. That turned out to be easy. Norman Klein’s story was on the front page and it was all about the letter Stone had mentioned. It also included an interview with Stone that he hadn’t mentioned.

EX-GIRLFRIEND FINGERS DRUG DEALER LOVER IN PB MURDERS

Victims’ families accuse police of dragging their feet

By Norman Klein

Staff Writer

A 27-year-old La Jolla man, jailed on suspicion of selling cocaine and methamphetamine, is the target of a letter accusing him of being the Pacific Beach beauty-school killer, the Sun-Dispatch has learned.

The letter, sent anonymously to the Sun-Dispatch yesterday, claims that real estate agent Seth Kennedy murdered two beauty school students and his best friend, Keith Warner. However, the letter did not offer an explanation or any possible motive.

Police officials ordered the newspaper to turn over the letter as evidence in the multiple-homicide investigation.

The author claims to be Kennedy’s ex-girlfriend.

Kennedy was being held at the downtown jail on $200,000 bail on felony drug charges last night and was unavailable for comment.

Clover Ziegler, 23, dated Kennedy until very recently, according to her mother, Rosemary Stratton. However, it could not be confirmed yesterday whether Ziegler had authored the letter. Ziegler was a close friend of the second murder victim, Sharona Glass, 23.

The first cosmetology student victim was Tania Marcus, 24, whose body was found in an alley outside her apartment on Sunday.

Ziegler, who lives with her mother in La Jolla, did not respond to a phone message left at her home.

Police refused to comment on whom they think wrote the letter, saying it could interfere with their homicide investigation.

“A letter has come to our attention that may lead our investigation in a certain direction, but it’s too early to comment on exactly what direction that will be,” Sgt. Rusty Stone said.

Glass, Marcus, and Ziegler were students at a new beauty school in Bird Rock, aimed at training cosmetology entrepreneurs to open their own salons. Glass had injuries consistent with strangulation and Warner died from a fatal shot to the back of the head, county Medical Examiner’s officials said. Marcus’ cause of death is still under investigation.

Goode stopped reading at that point, gaining a new respect for the cub reporter. He’d done his homework on Clover Ziegler. It looked like now, more than ever, that she was key to solving this case. He wondered for a fleeting moment whether she could have killed Tania out of jealousy and framed Seth for it. But he dismissed that as unlikely because it wouldn’t explain the death of Sharona or Keith.

After breakfast, Goode stopped by the station to check in with Stone, who said the
Sun-Dispatch
story had caused a big ruckus with the brass over his failure to squelch the cub reporter. Most of the rank and file cops were speculating why anyone would send a novice reporter like Norman such a letter in the first place. The detectives joked about Stone’s completely meaningless statement, but the ribbing was meant as praise, not criticism. That’s why he got paid the big bucks.

Goode found the sergeant in the men’s room. He didn’t look so good.

“Hey, buddy, what’s up?” Goode asked. 

“You’re questioning Kennedy again this morning, right?” Stone said, his tone charged with anxiety.

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, we got the tests back on those busts. The cocaine and meth from Pumphouse came from the same batches as the high-quality stuff we found on Tania’s table and in Sharona’s apartment. That Kennedy kid must have some connection. . . .And by the way, the mayor skipped calling the chief and ran directly all over my ass this morning, asking why we haven’t talked to Clover Ziegler yet. I almost told him he should take over the investigation if he wants to be involved. . . .Why it is again that haven’t we taken her statement?”

“We’ve been trying, chief. Slausson’s gone over there, I’ve been there twice and left a card, but she’s never home and she isn’t calling back. I was wondering if we should stick Slausson or Fletcher outside the house until she shows up. She might have left town. I was planning to go over there again after I interviewed Kennedy.”

“Let’s hold off on the surveillance idea for the moment,” Stone said. “With practically a murder a day here on this case, we don’t have enough manpower to do that.”

The sergeant let out a long sigh and headed back to his office. Given his mood, Goode didn’t want to tell Stone about Paul’s pseudo-confession until he could figure out what connection Paul had to Seth, if any.

Goode pictured Alison as he had last seen her that morning, her hair all messed up and her mascara smudged under her eyes, apparently from crying, a contrast with the erotic creature who had straddled him in the middle of the night. Maybe he’d only thought he’d heard the door close. Maybe it really had been a dream. He could only hope. But he didn’t have time to think about that. He jumped back in his van and went over to the county jail for his appointment with the Little Prince Kennedy and his high-priced lawyer.

When Goode arrived, the kid was as smug as ever, despite not having shaved or showered in thirty-six hours. Seth’s attorney wore the expected uniform of a dark gray suit, crisp white shirt, royal blue Hermes tie, and black loafers with tassels. Goode could only hope a man in blue would catch him driving drunk someday. The guy needed a humility check, big-time.

“So you must be Mr. Kennedy’s attorney,” Goode said as he sat facing them across the rectangular table in the interview room.

“Milton Biggs,” the lawyer said, offering his hand to Goode.

“Yes, Mr. Biggs. We’ve heard a lot about you around here. Always representing the nice rich folks who get into trouble.”

Biggs was not amused, but he kept his cool. “Let’s get down to business, shall we? I interrupted my vacation for this.”

“All righty then,” Goode said. He spread out the newspaper and Clover’s letter on the table. “Take a gander at Exhibit One—this freshly incriminating evidence, gentlemen.”

They read the story and letter intently as Seth grimaced and Biggs turned pale under his Hawaiian sunburn. “Could I have a moment alone with my client?” Biggs asked, his jaw muscles clenching.

“Sure, I’ll go get myself another cup of coffee,” Goode said.

To hell with the caffeine diet. You can never be too alert.

Goode was beginning to enjoy himself. He still didn’t know whether Paul had killed Tania, and Seth had some explaining to do. But the turn of events made him happy to be a detective. He enjoyed making two men of privilege squirm.

By the time he returned with a tepid cup of coffee from the vending machine, Seth and his attorney had recovered their collective composure. The coffee was barely drinkable, but it served its purpose. Goode was tired.

“Gentlemen? Are we ready?”

Biggs nodded. His brow was furrowed and his eyes serious. Goode sipped from his cup, glanced back and forth at the two of them, and let the silence sink in. He wanted them to feel uncomfortable.

“So, Seth,” he said finally. “You told me you had nothing to do with the murders of Tania Marcus and Keith Warner. Does that go for Sharona Glass, too?”

“Yes, it does.” Seth looked as if he’d had another rough night in the pokey. His eyes were droopy and his left cheek was bruised. A little scuffle on the cellblock, perhaps. But Goode was not a ruffian. He would do his work on Seth with words, not fists.

“Then how do you explain this letter?”

Biggs straightened his tie. “First of all, my client doesn’t answer any more questions about the murders unless you agree not to seek charges on the drugs found in his house or at Pumphouse. He says they aren’t his. Someone planted them in his house and he has no idea who has been selling drugs at the bar, other than Jack O’Mallory. This letter was obviously written by Clover Ziegler, one of my client’s former acquaintances who has spent time in a mental institution.”

So Biggs was starting big
. “Well, I don’t know anything about that,” Goode said, “but I assure you, we will be seeking to gather any corroboration this witness can offer. Now, you know I have no power or authority to offer you a deal. That’s up to the DA. But what I can say is that we believe these killings are the work of one person and whatever you can tell us to prove you are not that person can only help you. I have to tell you, Mr. Kennedy, it doesn’t look good for you. The same drugs were found at Pumphouse, your house, and in Tania’s and Sharona’s apartments.”

“You didn’t find any meth at my house,” Seth said quietly. “And I don’t know how you make the leap from drugs to murder in the first place.”

“Okay. So what I’d like to know is this: who do you think might be interested in planting these drugs and pinning these murders on you?”

“We were just discussing that,” Biggs interjected.

Seth licked his lips and ran his fingers through his tousled hair. Goode saw some white strands he hadn’t noticed before. Seth was only twenty-seven, but Goode had heard of some people going white as early as eighteen. Could it be the night in jail had been a little harder on Seth than he was letting on?

Seth shifted in his chair. “Well, Clover Ziegler for one. She’s a psycho. She got all obsessive and possessive with me over the summer. She was at Pumphouse the night I met Tania and she was outside in the parking lot, waiting for me when I left. On the day Keith was killed, he told me she’d followed us that first night to Tania’s house, and he’d gone after her. When he followed me to Tania’s apartment, he saw Clover sitting in her car in the alley after Tania and I went upstairs. So she knew where Tania lived. Keith wasn’t sure whether she saw him or not, but—”

Goode interrupted him. “So, you’re saying that maybe Clover killed Tania and then went after Keith because he saw her parked outside Tania’s apartment?”

“Exactly,” Seth said. “When I first met her, I would never have believed she could do anything like this. She was so affectionate and sweet. But she got all weird later on and violent, too. Last week, Sharona and I had lunch and things got a little intimate. But that’s not important. What’s important is that she told me something you might be interested in.”

“Yeah, what’s that?”

Seth had Goode’s full attention now. “She’s the one who told me that Clover spent the spring in a private hospital,” Seth said. “The doctors initially said she’d had a psychotic episode set off by cocaine use. But after they kept her there for a while, they diagnosed her with schizophrenia, possibly drug-induced, possibly not. As in
delusions
. I didn’t know any of this until last week.”

“So if your theory is correct,” Goode said, “why would Clover kill her best friend? Just because she’s mentally ill doesn’t mean she’s a killer. People with mental illness often hurt themselves, not others.” Goode knew that only too well.

“I have no idea,” Seth said. “Maybe she found out that Sharona and I had sex last week. Maybe there’s a history there we don’t know about.”

Goode decided to shift into a higher gear. It was confrontation time. “Seth, we found rock cocaine in your house, not to mention that slab of heroin. Your business associate, Jack O’Mallory, assures us that you were selling drugs at his bar. He has also admitted that some of the beauty school students bought and did drugs at Pumphouse and he specifically mentioned Clover and Sharona.”

“He’s just trying to save his own ass. With a record like his, he’ll say whatever you want him to say. Maybe he’s the one who planted that stuff in my house.”

“Look. We’ve got plenty of evidence to make all the drug charges stick. We know you have to have a big enough bank account to buy these kinds of quantities from your source in Mexico, while the bartender has few if any assets to his name. This letter names you as a serial killer, so as soon as we can prove how these murders are related to this drug importing business, you will be facing the death penalty. That is, unless you start cooperating.”

Seth whispered with his lawyer before answering. “Okay,” Seth said, sighing. “So I bought small amounts of blow and did it with my friends at the bar. But I’m not a drug lord for Christ’s sake.”

“And why do that with Clover if you knew she had a problem?”

Seth shrugged again. “I didn’t know she had a problem. I mean I noticed she acted a little crazy sometimes, but only lately. Besides, the coke made her wild, if you know what I mean. Is having good sex a crime?”

It is when I’m not getting any.
“No,” he said. “Not unless it’s with a prostitute.”

“Well, Clover isn’t a prostitute. She just likes cocaine. It’s like a love potion for that girl.”

“It’s also an illegal drug, and it’s a serious crime to sell it. So you said Clover got violent with you. How?”

Seth paused for a minute and stared at the wall. “She broke the head off a champagne bottle and threatened me with it.”

“Did Sharona mention anything about Clover being violent with her?”

“She said Clover trashed some of her stuff. When we had lunch, she said, ‘Clover would kill me if she knew we were here together.’ I didn’t think she was serious at the time. But maybe she was.”

“Tell me again why would Clover want to kill Sharona if they’ve been best friends for years?”

“I don’t know, maybe she found out about our lunch last week and thought we’d been sleeping together behind her back for months. Who knows? Maybe she was worried Sharona would tell me about her having been in a mental hospital.”

“Seems thin to me. Isn’t it true that Keith Warner tried to get you to stop seeing Clover because she was getting to be a drag?” Goode asked. “He told me she was neurotic as hell and a pain in the ass. Was that just to throw me off, or was he involved in this little scheme you have going down at the Pumphouse?”

Seth huddled with his attorney for a moment. “Yes, Keith also sold to our friends. And so did Jack. Just as often as I did. But Keith cut Clover off, and I should have, too. Come to think of it, Keith asked me to loan him a big chunk of money a month or so ago, but he wouldn’t tell me what it was for. He told me not to ask any questions, and to just trust that he needed it. He was my best friend, but I don’t know what he was up to.”