Naked Addiction

by Caitlin Rother

  As he drove up Turquoise Street, he visualized her Red Honda CRV in her driveway. Be home, be home, he chanted silently as he approached. But her driveway was empty. Neither of her roommates’ trucks was there either, although their pool cleaning supplies were scattered all over the lawn. The neighbors couldn’t be too happy about that.

  Goode parked down the street and went into stealth mode as he approached her house. Going from one open window to another, a burglar’s fantasy, he peered inside for signs of life. But he saw no shadows moving, heard no music playing or water running, and smelled no food cooking.

  He snuck around back and saw the birthday surfboard he’d bought her a few years ago leaning against the wall. Custom-made by a friend in Cardiff, the board was silk-screened with a dark-haired woman coming out of an aquamarine tube. This was not a good sign because it ruled out the possibility that Maureen was surfing in Baja. Goode walked sullenly back to his van and gunned the engine hard, just to hear it roar.

  Where the hell could she be?

  Sharona Glass lived less than a mile from Maureen. As much as he wished he could dismiss his big-brother worries as needless, he couldn’t ignore the fact that these murders seemed to be the work of one killer still on the loose in his sister’s neighborhood.

  By the time he got to Sharona’s apartment, Stone and Byron were huddled up outside and the ME investigator was preparing her body for transport to the morgue. Since Byron was the lead on the crime scene investigation, Stone told Goode not to go inside until Byron and the evidence tech had cleared it.

  Goode peeked in and saw Sharona’s body lying on the living room carpet, just short of the bar counter that bordered the kitchen. Her arms were sprawled out as if she had fallen backwards unexpectedly or was pulled down from behind. The tech was dusting the bar counter and stools for fingerprints. Goode looked around for Norman Klein, but didn’t see him around. He still needed to talk to him about that “off the record” problem.

  “Maybe we’ll get lucky again and find a journal,” Goode said.

  A minute later, Byron came back with a calendar that had been tacked on the refrigerator with a magnet, featuring the ass of a different male college student each month.

  “Here, check this out,” he said.

  Goode could barely read the numbers on the days because of all the red pen marks. Most were men’s names with notations such as “Dinner,” “A movie,” and sometimes, just “Wow.” He wondered if she, too, was a potential escort service babe given that the only male name he recognized from the case was Seth’s. The two of them apparently had a lunch date in between two nights when Sharona had dinner and then drinks with Clover.

  This is no coincidence. They’re all in this together somehow.

  Goode watched the tech go through the kitchen cabinets, which were filled mostly with diet food like canned tuna in water, though he did find a stash of chocolate bars. In the end, however, there was nothing more inflammatory than a box of birthday candles.

  “We found a mirror on the bar counter next to her, with some white powder and a rolled up dollar bill,” Byron said, handing the mirror to Goode in an evidence bag. “Looks like coke to me.”

  “Aha,” Goode said, reveling privately in the fact that he’d finally been able to say it. “Could be meth, though. We’ll have to test it to find out.”

  Now all he had to figure out was who was supplying Sharona, Tania, Clover and Seth. If Goode had to guess, Seth was not just a recreational user, as Keith had claimed, but a dealer, maybe even a successful one. And despite Keith’s innocent act, Goode thought he was probably involved as well. It was possible that Keith had been trying to frame Clover as the mastermind behind their drug operation. If that was the case, it wasn’t going to work.

  “How’s it going?” Lieutenant Wilson asked, appearing at his side out of nowhere.

  Now with multiple victims, this was starting to look like a possible serial killer case, so the stakes were getting higher. Stone had said earlier that Wilson didn’t often come to crime scenes unless they were big. The chief probably had Wilson show up to put some pressure on the investigative team and put up a good face for the cameras.

  Goode made his way into the bedroom and studied the magazine cutouts of super-models that consumed an entire wall over the bed. But he was more interested in the framed photos on top of her bureau. The blonde fit the description of Clover Ziegler. She was definitely attractive, but he picked up some of the personality traits on her face that Keith had described. He took one of the photos and put it in his pocket to show Alison.

  Slausson showed up, headed straight for Sharona’s bureau, and wasted no time before fingering her silk panties. He practically dove into her nightstand, looking for another “goodie” drawer.

  “That’s her, the redhead,” he said, pointing at a photo of Sharona in a bikini. “You know about redheads, right?”

  “A little respect here, okay?” Goode said. Slausson was definitely a pervert with too much of the asshole gene. And Goode had been so hoping he wasn’t.

  In several of the photos, taken at varying ages, Sharona had her arm around Clover. Both women were tall and athletic looking.

  “Hey, did you ever get an interview with Clover Ziegler?” Goode asked.

  “No, I went by her house at that address you gave me, but no one answered the door,” Slausson said.

  Goode sorted through the piles of envelopes and other papers on Sharona’s desk. They were mostly junk mail and unpaid bills, some several months old. He also didn’t see the same expensive clothing, furniture, and other household items he’d seen in Tania’s apartment, so joining the escort service would probably have been an attractive opportunity for Sharona.

  Looking through the victim’s purse for her phone, Goode searched through the contacts under G and found her family members, presumably—Patricia, Jason and Melissa Glass. He wrote down the numbers and addresses before handing the phone to the tech to log into evidence before she gave it to London from the RCFL, whom Stone said was on his way. Goode knew he was going to have to start asking Alison some hard questions about the escort service. He just hoped that she wasn’t involved.

  By the time he was done at the crime scene that night it was too late to go talk to Alison, so he went home to catch a few hours sleep. But before he hit the hay, he reread Tania’s diary entries, looking for some mention of Sharona Glass.

  He tried to reach his sister one more time just before lights out. Still no answer.

  Chapter 26

  Goode

  Wednesday

  The next morning, Goode tried to avoid the stop signs by driving the back way to Alison’s and inadvertently found himself in the same alley where he’d found Tania. It was chilling to say the least. As he headed toward the trash cans, he pictured Tania’s body, but not the way he’d found her. This time, her long black hair was streaming out from between the black trash bins.

  He knocked on Alison’s front door, heard a faint “Wait a minute,” then waited for what seemed like five minutes before she opened up. Dressed in a white terry-cloth bathrobe, her hair up in a towel turban, she had green goop around her hairline. She looked a little embarrassed.

  “You’re not dying your hair, I hope,” he said.

  “No, it’s just henna.”

  Goode must have looked puzzled because Alison felt compelled to explain further. “It’s this stuff you put on your hair to make it thicker and shinier. Plus, it gives it a nice, warm glow. It has to stay on for an hour and I only just put it on. Sorry.”

  Green goop or not, she still looked pretty. It was something in her eyes, and the way the corners of her mouth curled up into a coy, shy smile. He tried not to think about how the tie on her robe looked so loose that it might fall open at any moment and expose her rather ample breasts.

  “No problem,” he said. “Can I come in for a minute?”

  “Sure,” she said, gesturing him toward the couch. “But you’ll have to promise to ignore the me
ss. I haven’t been in a tidying-up kind of mood.” Alison pulled the tie tighter on her robe before sitting in her grandfather’s chair.

  “I really miss her,” she said. “I can’t get her out of my mind.”

  Neither could he. He looked around the room and was surprised not to see a TV, which, he assumed, meant she hadn’t been watching the news. “Well, unfortunately, I have some more bad news,” he said.

  “What now?” she asked.

  “Did you know Sharona Glass?”

  “The name sounds vaguely familiar,” she said. “Why, who is she?”

  “Another girl at your beauty school.”

  This time, it was Alison who seemed puzzled. “What does she look like?”

  “Pretty. Red hair. She’s dead, Alison.”

  “Yes, I know who she is now,” she said, turning her head away. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

  Goode got off the sofa and stood next to her chair. He wanted to be comforting. But when he put his hand on her shoulder she jumped a little. He sighed. He never knew what to do in these situations.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “We’re going to find this killer. I’m starting to worry about your safety, though. Maybe you should go home and stay with your parents for a while.”

  Alison shook her head. “No, I can’t,” she said, her lips pursed tight.

  “Why not?” he asked.

  “I just can’t.”

  Obviously, troubles at home had sent Alison further south. She would tell him if and when she was ready. An awkward silence fell over the room. He wondered whether she was too upset for him to pull out photos for a Q & A session, but he didn’t have a whole lot of time to wait for her to get comfortable.

  “Ken,” she said, suddenly, sitting up straighter and meeting his gaze. “I have to tell you what happened at the funeral.”

  “What do you mean? I was there, standing right next to you.”

  Alison pulled at a loose thread on her robe. “Well, I saw Tania’s father in the front row and, it turns out he was the older guy I was dating before I moved to San Diego.”

  Goode was pretty tough to shock, but that one floored even him. “Wow,” he said. “How bizarre is that?”

  Alison’s voice shook as she spoke. “I know. First I find out Tania is dead and then I find out I slept with her father. It’s so creepy.”

  The cogs in Goode’s head started clicking as he tried to determine whether this meant anything to the case. He kneeled in front of her, and this time, she let him take her hand. To hell with ethics and police procedure. It was a long shot, but Goode’s curiosity was piqued.

  “Did he ever hurt you in any way?” he asked, searching her eyes for the truth.

  Alison nodded, wiping her cheek with the back of her other hand. “He hit me one time,” she said so softly he almost couldn’t hear her. “How did you know that?”

  Goode squeezed Alison’s hand. “I sensed it somehow. I don’t even know why. Tell me what happened.”

  Alison looked vulnerable and scared. Something about this damaged young woman really touched him. He wanted to make her feel safe.

  “Well, it happened the last time we were together,” she said. “It was right before I moved to San Diego. We were in this hotel room and he grabbed my shoulder and slapped me. Never said he was sorry. After that, I decided to stop seeing him. Especially after what my grandfather did. . .”

  As Alison pulled her hand away, he wondered whether she now regretted telling him. He didn’t know where she was going with all this, so he didn’t know how he was supposed to react.

  “Your grandfather hurt you, too?” he asked carefully.

  She nodded. “He used to come into my room at night and make me touch him.”

  “You mean. . .?”

  “Yes. Down there.” She nodded down at Goode’s crotch, looked away, grimacing, then put her hands over her face and started to cry. Goode felt like taking her in his arms and holding her, but he couldn’t tell what she wanted him to do. Alison let her hands fall back into her lap and stared at the carpet.

  “When I first met Tony, he was so nice to me. He took care of me, spent lots of money on me, treated me like I was worth something. One time, he bought me a pair of sapphire and diamond earrings. But then, after he hit me, I felt bad inside, just like when I was growing up. . . .I haven’t told anyone else about my grandfather but Tania. I trusted her and felt some kind of bond with her. But it’s funny. I never told her about Tony for some reason. Pretty ironic, huh?”

  Goode nodded, not wanting to say the wrong thing. His thoughts were flying every which way.

  Alison frowned. “Why are you looking at me like that? Are you grossed out that I dated a man who was old enough to be my father? Or is it because I let my grandfather touch me?”

  “No, no, that’s not it at all. You were a child, Alison. You’re not to blame for what he did,” he said, putting his hand on her knee. “I was just wondering whether Tony ever did anything like that to Tania, or had anything to do with her death.”

  What he didn’t say was that he was trying to figure out Alison, too. Things were making a bit more sense now—her vulnerability, the way she disappeared into herself.

  “I’m sorry you had to go through all that,” he said. “You’re a very sweet, beautiful young woman. You should never let your bad memories make you feel any less than that. Have you ever talked to a counselor about this?”

  Alison shook her head. Goode decided it was now or never and leaned in to give her a hug. She let him, and pulled him closer still. The two of them stayed like that for a few minutes, with their faces buried in each other’s necks. She smelled like freshly brewed tea. He liked it. It felt nice. A little too nice.

  He started feeling a rush of heat sweep across his face, neck and chest. Then she started lightly rubbing her nose back and forth, under his jaw line. He felt her warm breath on him, the friction of her skin, rubbing against his, her lips on his neck. What was she doing? Goode was breathing heavier now. He could feel the flush spread downward. Alison was leading him somewhere he knew they shouldn’t be going. She slowly brushed her lips across his ear, over his cheek, and down to his lips.

  Then she kissed him. Softly at first, her wet mouth barely touching his. But soon, she was pressing harder and, by that point, Goode didn’t care about what he should or shouldn’t be doing, about the case, about anything. He lost sight of protocol, of where he was. All he knew was that he was kissing her, his head awash with white heat. She put her tongue in his mouth gently and then a little deeper. Pulling her closer, he felt her breasts pressing against his chest. It had been so long since he’d allowed himself to feel like this. He wanted her. He moved his hand up her robe and started to loosen the tie.

  But as if she had turned off a switch she abruptly went cold. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” she whispered.

  Alison moved away from him and he let his hands fall to his side as she ran into the bathroom. He sat on the floor, feeling stupid and a little bit angry. Why had he let himself lose control like that? She was a pretty messed-up girl. She needed help, not sex. Goode heard her turn on the tap. She was probably trying to wash off the mess he’d made of the situation. He wandered into the kitchen area, where he saw a pack of Camel Lights lying on the counter.

  “No shit,” he said. He looked around for an ashtray from which he could quickly grab a butt. Seeing one on the balcony, he grabbed it and put it in his jacket pocket.

  When Alison came out a few minutes later, her eyes were red, but they were dry. She sat in the armchair, so he went for the couch. He didn’t know what to say. He’d wanted her, even though he’d known it could be disastrous. Hadn’t he learned anything? What was the point of waiting all this time to do things right and then let this happen?

  “I’m really sorry,” she said.

  She didn’t have to say it. He could see it in her eyes. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said. “I shouldn’t have hugged you.”

&nb
sp; “No, it’s not your fault.”

  “I thought you wanted—”

  “Don’t.”

  Goode wondered if he was trying to sabotage his first big chance at getting that transfer. He still needed Alison’s help with the case. What if she turned out to be a whack job and reported him? What if his hormones had blown the opportunity he’d wanted so badly? Or worse, what if her DNA on the Camel cigarette matched the ones in Tania’s trash?

  “So, where were we?” she asked, forcing a weak smile. “I mean, you know, with the case?”

  He felt relieved. “Are you mad at me?”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head, “just embarrassed. I’m not usually aggressive like that.”

  Goode didn’t know who she was, or who he was, or where they were supposed to go from there. All he wanted to do was get up and leave. But he had a job to do and it was time to get down to it.

  “Let’s pretend it never happened,” she said.

  “My thoughts exactly,” Goode said. He took a deep breath and ran his hands through his hair. “Okay. If you’re up to it, I’ve got some questions for you. But first, I want you to look at these photos.”

  Alison nodded and blew her nose into a tissue. He laid a couple photos on the coffee table, and as she leaned over to look at them, her robe opened up to reveal the top of her breasts. It was hard not to look after they’d been pushed up against him.

  “That’s Clover,” she said right away, pointing to the blonde next to Sharona.

  “Right. The girl who does a lot of coke and is the bane of Seth’s existence. But that’s Keith’s story, and, as the saying goes, he doth protest too much. Do you think Keith is involved with her somehow or just Seth?”

  “Neither one, actually,” Alison said. “Seemed like she was a pain in both of their butts. But Tania seemed to like her. I saw them talking at school. Sharona and Clover hung out a lot, too. I got the feeling they were longtime friends.”