Naked Addiction (22 page)

Chapter 33

Norman

Thursday

T
he next morning, Norman got a call from Al to come in to the newsroom and work some more overtime. Charlie was still sick and Al wanted another follow-up on the murders. Norman was reticent after the humiliating experience with Detective Goode, but he assumed he must have done a competent enough job of dictating from the Pumphouse bust or Al wouldn’t have asked.

When Norman arrived at his desk, he found a news release that had been faxed over by the San Diego PD, presumably after Al had called him that morning. A note was scrawled in red pen across the top:
You totally missed this other drug bust, Klein. See me ASAP. Al.

Norman’s outrage grew as he read the release, which said police had made
two
big busts the night before. One involved a stash of cocaine and meth from Pumphouse worth $500,000, and the other was for $750,000 worth of rock cocaine and Mexican heroin from a house in La Jolla owned by real estate agent Seth Kennedy. The release credited detectives Ken Goode and Marshall Rogers with making the second bust around midnight.

“Lying scum,” Norman sputtered. “Going to his girlfriend’s house. No scoop, my ass.”

Norman marched over to Al’s desk to tell him how Goode had lied to his face, bitten off his head, and spat it out. But Al was busy listening to Jerry sell a story idea, so Norman had to wait until Jerry sauntered back to his desk, his chest puffed out like a human cockatoo.

What an asshole
.

Al sipped his coffee and paused, taking his time before meeting the young reporter’s eyes. He was visibly disappointed in him. Norman decided to go on the offensive.

“So, look at this, Al,” he said, holding out the release. “The police lied to me last night. Can you believe it? I followed one of these detectives to La Jolla. He was obviously on his way to the drug bust, but he pulled me over, with the whole flashing red light thing, and told me to go home because he was just going to his girlfriend’s house. Swear to God.”

Al still looked pissed, but Norman obviously had a good excuse. “I’ll have to talk to Big Ed when he comes in, but in the meantime, go chase this down and clean up your mess,” Al said, before he whirled around in his swivel chair and knocked over a cup of coffee on his desk.

“Goddammit! Look what you made me do. Get me some paper towels,” Al shouted. “Not tomorrow.
Now
!”

Norman ran across the newsroom, swerving to avoid Jerry and a group of women clustered around the coffee machine, laughing. By the time he got back to the city editor’s desk with a wad of brown paper towels, the coffee had already been mopped up. Jerry handed a sopping mess to Norman.

“Here you go, buddy. Do something with this, will you?”

Glaring at Jerry, Norman dumped the dripping towels into a trashcan. He tried to reach Sergeant Stone, but he kept getting voice mail. It was going to be another long day.

Chapter 34

Goode

G
oode slept only a few hours before heading over to the Pannikin, an outdoor café in La Jolla where birds are known to clamp their beaks onto innocent croissants and fly away with them. After downing a double cappuccino, he headed downtown to the county jail, trying to organize his thoughts to the sound of a local blues guitarist on the radio.

I hope a night behind bars has improved the memories of Seth Kennedy and One-Eyed Jack. Someone is going to tell me who is doing all this killing.

While he was questioning the two suspects and Byron was attending Keith’s autopsy, Slausson and Fletcher were going to take care of some loose ends. How could they not break this case with three suspects in custody?

Goode saw three possible scenarios. One, that Seth or One-Eye had murdered one or more of the victims. Two, that Paul had killed Tania, but not the other two. Goode didn’t even want to consider the third, that the murders weren’t related to the drug operation. The latter would fail to prove that he was Homicide-worthy.

Still lacking a motive, he decided to start with One-Eye to see if he could put a hole in Seth’s alibi for the night of Tania’s death. He knew the two men were working the drug angle together, but with Keith dead, he might never learn any more than that.

Seth was right about One Eye’s priors. He had a long record of petty theft, possession of unlicensed firearms, and several DUIs, not to mention nonpayment of child support, fifteen unpaid parking tickets, and several outstanding warrants for failure to appear in court. Goode wondered how he’d managed to get a job serving liquor, let alone avoid arrest for violating parole.

Downtown, the streets were crawling with men in suits, walking briskly as they carried briefcases and large cups of designer coffee. Most were lawyers on their way to the courthouse, bureaucrats working at City Hall to overspend his tax dollars, and commercial real estate brokers trying to sell office space in one of the tall glass buildings. The planes approaching Lindbergh Field flew in so low it was amazing that they never crashed into one of them.

Goode ended up waiting in the interview room for half an hour because the sheriff’s deputy took his sweet time bringing One-Eye down from his cell. With its fresh paint and new carpets, the refurbished room was quite a contrast to its predecessor, where the rug was so worn the cement showed through and the walls were the same sickly, pale blue as the bathroom in the house where Goode grew up. After his mother died, his father accidentally painted the window closed so no one could open it, and it wasn’t long before the mildew and a smell like wet dog took over. So whenever Goode used to sit in this room, memories of that bathroom and its dank odor came back to him. He felt a twinge of nostalgia for the old days.

Turned out the delay in bringing Jack down wasn’t the deputy’s fault. Apparently, One-Eye had been taken to the infirmary, and the deputy had to wait while a nurse bandaged a nasty wound on the brow over his bad eye. When he was finally brought in, Goode couldn’t help himself.

“How are we this morning, Mr. O’Mallory?” he asked. “Did you sleep well in our luxurious Gaslamp District hotel?”

One-Eye glared at him, if that was possible with mono-vision, and Goode was silently amused at how fitting his moniker turned out to be.

“I could use a cigarette,” One-Eye mumbled. Slumped in the orange vinyl chair, he touched the tape around his eye and winced. “And some coffee too. With cream.”

“What do you think this is, the Hyatt?”

“You just called it a luxurious hotel,” One-Eye retorted. “I’m only trying to get a couple of amenities here. I called room service but they never showed up.”

“Ahhh, I see,” Goode said. He had to give it to the guy. At least he had a sense of humor. Goode stuck his head into the hallway and passed the request on to the officer.

“Do I look like your bitch?” the deputy said under his breath.

Goode sat facing his prisoner across a long table with a faux wood-grain finish, his hands folded in front of him. They stared at each other until One-Eye leaned over and rapped on the table with his knuckle. “Do I need a lawyer, or what?”

“That’s up to you, pal,” Goode, said. “I say, why don’t we just talk for a while?”

One-Eye folded his arms across his chest. “Well, I didn’t do nothing, so I don’t really want to hire one, but since this drug charge you got me on is all trumped up, I might need one.”

Until One-Eye actually demanded a lawyer, Goode intended to press on. “We don’t trump up charges, here, so listen up,” he said, reading him his rights. “You can’t deny that we found large quantities of cocaine and methamphetamine in your bar. Also, you’ve admitted to knowing there was a drug ring operating out of that fine establishment, correct?”

One-Eye shrugged and nodded. “I thought it was just coke, and there’s no ring. It’s just Seth. But go on.”

“So,” Goode said, “if you come clean and tell us how the drugs are related to these murders, I could see some reduction in the conspiracy-to-murder charges. Of course, I’ll have to get the DA to agree, but I can be pretty persuasive.”

“Okay, wait a minute,” he said, leaning toward Goode. “What conspiracy charges? And who the hell is part of this conspiracy?”

“You tell me,” Goode said. “Seems to me that if you were involved in the drug operation and the murders were somehow related to that operation, then you’re involved in the murders, right?”

One-Eye frowned and shook his head. “No, that’s not right. I told you I don’t know nothing about no murders. I talked to that Tania girl about the taxi, and that was it. I don’t even really remember that other chick you showed me. And the Warner kid, well, let’s just say he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“No argument there. But I’m guessing there’s more to it than that. I’m thinking maybe you set him up because he wanted you out of the business. What, did he want in, or was he already in and he just wanted a bigger cut?”

One-Eye grimaced.

“No? Well, he seemed like a pretty good kid, and you, my friend, seem shady. So, maybe he threatened to rat you out? Or maybe Keith wasn’t involved at all, and you killed him for jollies, and then went back to serving drinks like nothing ever happened.”

One-Eye banged his fist on the table. “I don’t like where this is going, man. I was behind the bar the whole night until I heard that shot outside. What about Seth? Where’s he? He’s the guy who left with Tania. He’s the guy selling drugs. He’s the guy you should be talking to. Not me.”

As the prisoner grew increasingly jumpy Goode felt all the more calm. “Well, as a matter of fact, Seth spent the night in one of our deluxe suites. I’ve got him booked on serious drug charges with some murder charges on tap, too. Now, if you don’t want to join him in prison, you need to tell me now, not next week, how the drugs and the murders are tied together.”

“I told you. I. Don’t. Know,” One-Eye said, enunciating every word.

“Okay. If that’s how you want to play it,” Goode said. “Did you see Seth the night Tania was murdered?”

One-Eye sighed. “Yeah. He was in the bar most of the night. I saw him talking to that redhead who was in the papers this week. Warner was there too.”

Ah, now we’re getting somewhere
. “Sharona Glass?”

“Yeah, I think that’s her name. She’s a regular. Used to come in with that Clover chick Seth was seeing for a while.”

“See anything funny going on between them?”

“Who?”

“Seth and the redhead.”

“No, they were just talking. They went in and out of the bathroom a few times to do some lines, I guess, then she took off and Warner and Kennedy went to some party.”

Goode took down the chronology in his pocket notebook. “What time did they leave?”

“I don’t remember,” One-Eye said. “It was pretty busy.”

The detective rapped his pen several times on the table. “Try harder.”

One-Eye rubbed his eyes for a while and sighed again. “Maybe around ten or so.”

Nodding, Goode calculated the timing in his head. That left thirty minutes before the end of the window the ME set for Tania’s time of death. And estimates, by definition, were never precise. Just to cover his bases, he figured he’d better ask about his body-finder. “Where was Jake that night?”

Curiously, the bartender’s hands started to shake. “He had the night off. Where’s my coffee and smokes?” One-Eye asked. “This is cruel and unusual punishment.”

“They’re coming. So, if it wasn’t you, then who wanted Keith dead?” Goode stared at him, waiting for the truth.

“What do you want me to say? Look, Warner never gave me no problems. And I already gave you enough info to bust Seth last night.”

“Did you see any friction between Seth and Keith?”

“No. Come to think of it, I’ve never seen them fight.”

Goode couldn’t shake the suspicion that One-Eye knew more than he was telling. “What was Keith’s relationship with Clover? He sure had a few choice words to say about her, but he never even mentioned Sharona.”

“I know he didn’t like Clover much. He thought Seth should tell her to get lost once and for all, but Seth kept doing her. She’s pretty wild, I guess.”

Goode cocked his head. “What do you mean, wild?”

“In bed, you know. Seth would tell me about her. Got me all hot and bothered more than once.”

Clover’s “narcissistic asshole” comment popped into Goode’s mind. “Did Jake know Sharona Glass?” he asked.

“Hell if I know,” One-Eye said. “What he does in his off time is his business.”

Closing his notebook, Goode stood up. He was wasting his time with this guy. He’d just gotten a whole lot of nothing. “We’re done here, for now at least. I’m going to have a few words with Mr. Kennedy. I’m sure he’ll sell you out in a heartbeat. Sure beats the death penalty.”

At the very least, Seth Kennedy would never own a gun or hold public office with all the felony convictions he planned to put on the guy’s record, the murders not withstanding. Goode was sure he would be able to pin at least one of them on him. It would do him some good to be behind bars for a while. Teach him some humility.

But then again, Seth would probably just learn from his prison pals how to do even dirtier deeds and not get caught next time.

Goode was surprised that Seth’s daddy hadn’t bailed him out already. Maybe he was trying to show his son the consequences of his bad behavior. Goode was all for that.

By the looks of it, Seth didn’t have a much better night in jail than his partner. “Good morning, Mr. Kennedy,” Goode said as he walked into the interview room next door.

Seth sat slouched in his chair, looking gray, probably from lack of sleep. He didn’t look so good unshaven. “Not really,” he snorted.

“So, let’s talk,” Goode said.

Seth refused to look at him. “What if I want my lawyer present? My dad’s hired one of the best. There is nothing to these charges and he’s going to get me off.”

“Oh, who might that be?”

Seth looked pleased with himself. “Milton Biggs,” he said matter-of-factly. “He’s a power broker from LA who represents all the high-profile celebrities when they’re targeted by false accusations and drug plants by police. He’s flying back from his vacation in Hawaii, just to represent me.”

“Really?” Goode said, settling back into his chair as much one could with jail furniture. Form follows function and all that. He wasn’t going to let the kid play him. “If you don’t want to talk to me, that’s okay. You can just listen to what I have to say, and then once your lawyer gets here, you can answer some questions.”

Seth shrugged, his expression blank. “Whatever.”

“I was just talking to your bartender friend, Jack O’Mallory, and he told me everything I needed to know to get those drug charges to stick. I’m also thinking your alibis for the nights of the murders are a little on the loose side, so you’re looking good for three murder charges, too.”

“You have absolutely no evidence that connects me to these murders,” Seth declared, keeping his composure.

Damn, he is really good.
“We’ll just see about that,” Goode said. “In answer to your ‘drug plant’ reference, why would anyone on a jury believe the San Diego Police Department would want or need to plant drugs in a bar and in your house, all in the same night, just to pin murder charges on you? This is not LA, my friend, and you are not OJ Simpson.”

Seth shook his head with a snide look, his mouth a straight line. Goode pressed on. “So, let’s talk about your alibis. ‘Your honor, I was selling drugs in a bar at the time of the murder.’ Or how ‘bout this one: ‘I was selling a house when my drug-dealing partner was shot, and I was with him at a party the night I didn’t kill Tania Marcus.’”

Seth was clearly not amused. But he remained silent.

“Frankly, I don’t think it looks too good for you, my friend,” Goode said. “What do you think?”

Goode was still fishing for a connection between all of these events, hoping Seth would say something, anything, to make some sense out of this mess.

“No offense, detective, but I think you’re full of shit,” Seth said. “We’re done here. I want my lawyer present.” 

“That is your prerogative. But your bodily fluids, your fingerprints, and oh, yeah, your drugs, are all over this case,” Goode snapped. “Get your counsel down here tomorrow morning, and we’ll get down to business. We have plenty to talk about.”