Naked Addiction

by Caitlin Rother

  She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I wonder if he could have done it,” she said after a minute or so.

  “I doubt it,” Goode said, relieved that she’d come out of it. “But if it’s him, my drug-dealing motive is definitely out the window.”

  Goode paused to give Alison a chance to say something more. She didn’t, so he continued. “Besides, what would his motive be to kill his own daughter? And why would he want to kill Sharona and Keith?”

  “My head hurts,” Alison moaned, covering her face with her hands.

  “Did he hit you again?” If he had, Goode would run outside, grab him, and throw him to the cement.

  “No,” she said, rising to a seated position on the floor, leaning against the couch. “You got here in time.”

  Alison didn’t appear to be hurt physically, but he could tell the incident had caused some emotional damage. He wanted to help if she would let him.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked gently, touching her arm.

  “Nothing,” she said in a monotone.

  “You can tell me.”

  “No, maybe another time.” She turned and gave him a weak smile. Her voice was barely audible. “Tell me about the investigation. Have you learned anything new?”

  Goode smiled back, relieved to have been given a safe topic of discussion. “No, not really. I just came from Keith’s parents’ house. Let’s just say they seemed, well, out of touch.”

  “How are they taking it?” Alison asked.

  “They seemed pretty shaken up.”

  “What if Tony comes back?” she said, fear visibly creeping into her eyes now.

  Good question. Especially with what I’ve just done to the doorframe by crashing through it.

  He hated to see her so scared, but he didn’t really know what to do about it. “Is there a friend you can stay with for a couple days?”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “Not really.”

  “How about going back to LA to your grandmother’s?”

  That must have stirred something in her because she got off the floor and sat on the sofa. “No, I haven’t talked to her much since I got here,” she said, “and I’m not up to going back up there.”

  “You could stay at my house for a night or two,” he blurted out, wondering why in the hell he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “I have a sofa bed.”

  Alison’s face lit up like a child grabbing at a helium balloon at a birthday party. “Really? That would be great. Are you sure?”

  He couldn’t back out now. “Um, yeah.”

  “That would be really great,” she said. “Let me get some stuff together.”

  Alison disappeared into the bedroom and returned a few minutes later with a small overnight bag. “I won’t get in the way, I promise. And I’m a heavy sleeper, so I won’t even hear you come in late or anything. . . .”

  He knew the sergeant wouldn’t like this, so the sergeant wasn’t going to learn anything about it. Goode wondered what he was getting himself into.

  “You aren’t going to get in trouble for this are you?” she asked. What was she, a mind reader?

  “What the sergeant doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Goode said. He half-hoped that saying it out loud would make it true.

  Just then, a loud crunching sound erupted from the parking lot, like metal on metal, making them both jump. Goode ran outside and peered over the railing into the lot below. A white BMW had crashed into the stairs, its front end crushed, as if it were made of cardboard.

  Tony was yelling something as he ran up the stairwell, but Goode couldn’t make it out until the man was almost on top of him. “My cell phone is dead. Call an ambulance!” he said, gasping for breath after sprinting up the stairs. “My wife crashed her car into the stairwell.”

  Goode pulled out his cell and called for an ambulance and a patrol unit right away. Then he ran down the stairs to check on the driver, with Tony right behind him.

  Helen was unconscious, her face pressed into the airbag. The sweet smell of gin and tonic filled the car. He couldn’t tell whether Tony’s wife had passed out because of the impact or from drinking. Maybe both.

  “God, she reeks,” he said to Tony, who nodded in agreement. “What happened?”

  “She must have followed me here. She just tried to run me over,” Tony mumbled, shaking his head in disbelief.

  Nice marriage. “Why would she do that?”

  “I didn’t even see her until the car was coming right at me. Luckily, I was able to jump up the stairs and out of the way.”

  When the paramedics arrived, they agreed with Goode’s suggestion to take Helen to the nearest hospital with a detox unit.

  “You need to make sure she gets into treatment,” he told Tony. “She a daily drinker?”

  Tony shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Looks to me like she has a problem, don’t you think?”

  Tony nodded, his eyes cast down.

  “Well, I suggest you leave Alison alone and concentrate on salvaging what’s left of your family,” Goode said.

  Tony nodded again.

  By then, the patrol unit had arrived and Goode gave the officer a quick report. After he’d finished, he went upstairs to give Alison his address, and told her to wait a while before she came over.

  “I need to clean up a little first,” he said.

  The truth was, he needed some time to clear his head.

  Chapter 40

  Goode

  Alison arrived at Goode’s cottage about an hour later. He gave her a quick tour, steering her quickly through the bedroom without calling attention to the queen-sized bed, and told her she could sleep on the foldout couch in the living room. Letting her stay could get him in enough trouble, but he was determined not to let anything more happen, at least until the case died down a bit. Still, given how long it had been since he’d been intimate with a woman, he couldn’t be sure whether he could stick to his resolve.

  The two of them were chitchatting about getting Alison’s apartment door repaired when his cell went off again. It was the sergeant calling. Goode feared that, somehow, Stone found out that Alison was in his living room. He excused himself, closed the door to the bedroom, and took the call.

  “It’s your lucky day,” Stone said, a note of triumph in his voice.

  As he sat on the bed, which he’d quickly made before Alison arrived, Goode thanked God it was just his paranoia acting up again. “Yeah, why’s that?”

  “Listen. With all these photos, we’ve got plenty of evidence to charge Paul Walters for Tania Marcus’ murder, so that’s what we’re going to do. I’m sure his DNA will match the stuff on her stomach. We’re going to make sure his health is A-OK, then we’re going to transport him to the county jail. We’ll parade him in front of the television cameras and pat you on the back.”

  “This is all good news,” Goode said, “but I’ve got to tell you, I think something is still wrong with this picture. None of the suspects seems like he could be responsible for all three murders. But my gut says—in fact I would sacrifice my firstborn child on it—that there was only one do-er.”

  “Okay, well, if it turns out he isn’t the guy who did all three, maybe the do-er will think he got off scot-free, start bragging to his buddies and implicate himself. Criminals are stupid. That’s why they get caught.”

  “Yeah,” Goode said, kicking off his shoes. He needed a shower. “Maybe you’re right.”

  “Besides, you’re on a roll,” Stone said. “Multitalented narcotics detective with a penchant for homicides hits it big, first time out. Pulls in three suspects and makes two big drug busts. You’d like to taste some glory wouldn’t you? We’ll make the charges stick. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”

  “You think?” Goode, still not all that comfortable with the scenario, rubbed the lint off his feet.

  “There is one thing that happened today that kind of struck me as odd, though,” Stone said.

  “Yeah?”

&nb
sp; “That cub reporter from the Sun-Dispatch came in this morning with a letter from someone claiming that Seth Kennedy killed all three people. It was supposedly written by one of his ex-girlfriends, but it wasn’t signed.”

  “Really? Huh. You have it there? Can you read it to me?”

  As soon as Stone read it to Goode, he felt in his gut that he knew the author’s identity. “Sounds like Clover Ziegler wrote that,” he said.

  “You’re probably right. But it might just be a prank.”

  “Could be, but worth checking out, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah, I’m having the crime lab take a look at it.”

  “Why send a letter like that to the newspaper and not to us? You know, until we check this out some more, I’d feel better if we held off making any big announcement about Paul Walters. Seth still looks like he’s involved in this somehow. The bartender, too. Can we wait just one more day?”

  Stone paused for a minute. “Well, this Walters arrest looks pretty good to me, plus, if Kennedy is involved, maybe Walters will turn on him. But if you feel that strongly about it, I’ll see if I can buy you some more time. Trouble is the chief has been in my face to get charges filed first and ask questions later. He wants the mayor off his ass.”

  “He said that?”

  “Pretty much. I need a confession from Kennedy or that Walters character or whatever other wild card you can pull out of your ass by tomorrow afternoon at the latest. Use the letter if you have to. I’ll email the text to you right now. Get it?”

  “Got it.”

  “Good.”

  Goode hung up and went back into the living room, where Alison was sitting on the couch with that feminine concern thing on her face. It was a nice change, not having to reassure her for once. She gave him a half-hearted grin, which he took as a positive sign after the scene in her apartment earlier.

  “What’s wrong, Ken? You look sick. Got a virus or something?”

  Goode appreciated her attempt at humor. And come to think of it, he was feeling a little under the weather. But he figured it was a case of mental, not physical, health. The pressure was starting to get to him. “I’m fine, really, it’s just that. . . .” he trailed off. She had enough on her mind without being burdened with his problems.

  “What? You can tell me. It’s okay,” Alison said, patting the sofa next to her.

  “No, I don’t want to bother you with my stuff.”

  “Hey, you were there for me. Now let me return the favor. Maybe I can help. What is it?”

  Goode sat beside her. He really wanted to help her, let her stay at his place, but he didn’t want to get too close. Not yet, anyway. “That was the sergeant. He says we’ve got enough evidence to ask the DA to file charges against Paul Walters.”

  “That’s great, Ken,” she said, excitedly. “But you don’t look happy. What’s up with that?”

  “I’m not so sure he killed Tania, let alone the two other victims.”

  Alison’s mouth fell open. “What do you mean? What about the photos and the shorts you found? You know he had a motive—rejection and all that.”

  “Yeah, I know. But something isn’t right. I don’t know. I see no motive or connection with him killing Sharona Glass or Keith Warner, and I have a gut feeling that the same person did all three murders. I told the sergeant, and he said I’m doing a great job, blah, blah, blah. Even so, the last thing I want to do is put the wrong guy in jail.”

  Alison gave him one of those I’m proud of you looks. “It’s great that you’re so conscientious,” she said. “I mean, you took me into your place and, well, it’s not all that big. I’m sure you’ll figure this whole thing out.”

  Alison offered to make dinner, but Goode said he really needed to get back to work. After she described the menu, however, he decided he could squeeze in a quick bite before trying again to interview Clover at her house. They’d tried mornings and afternoons. Maybe they’d have better luck at night. He gave Alison a couple of twenties and directions to the supermarket so she could pick up fixings to liven up his bottled pasta sauce.

  “One more thing, Alison,” he said. “I would feel better, and I think you would too, if you got a restraining order against Tony first thing in the morning, just in case he decides to come back. “

  “He won’t find me here,” she said.

  Despite her insistence earlier that she would stay with Goode for only a day or two, he sensed it might be tough to get her to go home. “No, but this is temporary and he knows where you live.”

  “I guess you’re right,” she said.

  After showering, Goode was getting dressed when his cell rang again. “Yeah, it’s Goode,” he answered.

  The night watch commander, a real snotty guy and a perfect example of the Peter Principle, gave him a short retort: “Paul Walters says he wants to talk to you right away. He’s still in the hospital and his fever has spiked to one-oh-four. They’re not sure what’s going on with him. He may have caught one of those hospital bacteria deals.”

  Goode scribbled a note to Alison, telling her to go ahead with dinner, that he’d be back in a while. He grabbed his tape recorder and wondered whether his feverish murder suspect was about to confess.

  Chapter 41

  Paul

  Paul’s head was pounding. His thoughts were so loud, he was sure everyone else in the hospital could hear them. He wanted God to listen, but no one else.

  I didn’t want to do it. I didn’t mean to do it. It was an accident, I swear. I loved her.

  Another voice in his head was mocking his thoughts, repeating them. He couldn’t tell whether it was real, whether God was punishing him, or if it was just the fever. He didn’t mind being punished, though. In fact, he reveled in it. He would simply endure it until he saw a sign that God had forgiven him.

  Paul pictured Tania’s face as she lay on his bed on Saturday night. Lifeless. Her eyes closed. He’d finally gotten her, naked, in his bed, and she’d fallen asleep. Damn her.

  She was the queen of his temple. He’d partially covered one wall with photos he’d covertly taken of her going to school, buying food at the supermarket, picking up her mail. Paul was convinced that he was in love with her. He’d never felt such a deep, all-encompassing feeling of desire before. He wanted her and he wanted her to love him back.

  Even before the fever hit, he’d been feeling empty and depressed since she died. He missed her.

  A woman was poking him in the arm again. Another damn nurse. She smelled like cigarettes. It made him want to puke. She could go to hell along with him.

  So, it had all come to this. All because Tania had betrayed him.

  He’d been forced to listen to her moaning next door with that pretty boy on Friday night and again the next day. Then he saw her kissing the loser outside the apartment, wearing each other’s clothes no less. Tania had on the guy’s red and white striped shirt and he was wearing her oversized UCLA sweatshirt. Paul felt sick at the sight of them.

  On Saturday, he’d been a little on edge because he hadn’t been sleeping well. He’d been drinking double espressos from the coffeehouse down the street, then pacing across his living room floor late into the night, blasting Pink Floyd on the headphones. Oftentimes, he lay on the couch, holding a pillow, and imagined it was Tania in his arms. Close his eyes and run his fingertips over her perfect breasts, steeped in the warm glow of candlelight. Then he would take her thin, delicate wrists, taste her soft neck, and stroke her long hair. He was in the midst of one of these interludes when he first heard her through the wall. That’s when he shaped his plan. He wasn’t going to let that loser complicate matters.

  Paul waited a couple hours after the pretty boy had left, figuring Tania would be too tired to refuse the invitation this time. Before he knocked on her door, he lit the fifty-two white candles he’d stuck into wine bottles that lined his bedroom. He loved that freshly burnt match smell.

  Tania opened her door, her hair wet and a comb in her hand. He could see the tai
ls of black nylon shorts underneath the loser’s pinstriped shirt. “Hi. What’s up?” she asked.

  As he predicted, she seemed tired and her defenses were down. “Can you come over for a minute?” he asked. “I want to show you something.” Just looking at her heightened his senses. She was so beautiful it almost hurt.

  “You know, I’m kind of busy. I’ve got a bunch of stuff to do before I go out tonight. . . .You don’t look so good. What’s the matter, are you sick?”

  “No, I’m fine,” he said. “Just for a few minutes? I made something for you.”

  “I really don’t have time,” she said.

  He could tell she was trying to dismiss him, but he wouldn’t have it. Paul’s whole body tensed up. He could feel the excitement building. She was going to bend. He just had to try a little harder. “It’s a surprise. Please?”

  Tania twisted her mouth to one side as she contemplated his request. “Well, all right. Just for a few minutes. Seriously, though. I’m running late as it is.”

  Paul felt a burst of euphoria. He took her by the hand and led her into his apartment, closing the door behind them.

  There. I’m in.

  He took the comb from her hand and laid it on his kitchen table. She pulled away a little when he tried to lead her into his bedroom, so he had to take her arm.

  “Ow,” she said.

  “Sorry.”

  Tania wrinkled up her nose as she walked into the doorway, then stopped still. “God, it smells like something died in here.”

  Paul had made a lot of effort that morning to prepare the temple for her, but he hadn’t had a chance to do laundry.

  “This is really weird,” she said, trying to move back into the living room.

  “Where are you going?” he said, holding her upper arm firmly. “It’s in here.”

  Tania tried to tug away again. “I’ve really got to go. Ow. Cut it out. You’re hurting me.”