Naked Addiction (24 page)

Chapter 38

Norman

N
orman called everyone he could think of in his search for the author of the red-lipped letter. He also tried every Warner in La Jolla and Pacific Beach, hoping to find Keith’s parents. He got a few wrong numbers and left a bunch of messages on answering machines. Still, he refused to lose touch with the feeling he’d woken up with, that this was going to be his lucky day.

Norman was determined to try every Glass in San Diego County, which was no small feat. If he kept calling—leaving periodic messages for Detective Goode and Sergeant Stone in between—he figured he eventually had to hit pay dirt. Norman checked off the names in the phone book as he went. His next call was to Glass number eighteen in Lemon Grove. A woman with a nasal voice answered the phone, sniffling.

“Hi there,” he said. “This is Norman Klein with the
Sun-Dispatch
.”

“We already take the paper,” she said wearily.

She was about to hang up when Norman interrupted. “No, wait. I’m a reporter, I’m not trying to sell you a subscription.”

“Oh, well, if it’s about Sharona, we’ve already been interviewed by the TV station. Why don’t you call them and get a copy of the interview?” she said, trying to hang up again.

He pushed on. “Mrs. Glass, I know this a hard time for you and I’m very sorry for your loss, but I was hoping to ask you a couple of questions. My story might prompt the police to move faster on this case, or maybe it will generate some new leads for them.” Getting this woman on the phone had been half the battle. Now all he needed was to hook his fish on the line, reel it in, and snag that baby. But Mrs. Glass wasn’t biting.

“Listen, can’t you call back another time?” she asked. “I was just lying down. You know, I’ve hardly slept the last two days.”

“I know and I’m really sorry, but I’ll make this quick, ma’am, I promise. Do you know a Seth Kennedy?”

Mrs. Glass paused. “Seth Kennedy. No, that name doesn’t ring any bells. Seth Kennedy. Wait a minute, now that you mention it, that name does sound familiar.”

She seemed to be waking up now. “That’s right. He knew my daughter’s friend Clover, I believe. I remember him now. He may have called here once or twice for Sharona. Why?”

The fish was biting, Norman could feel it. “I think he might be involved in all of this somehow,” he said. “Do you know if Clover was romantically involved with him?”

“Well, yes, I think she was.”

“And what did you say her last name was?”

“Ziegler. Clover Ziegler,” she said. “Sharona always said Clover could do better than that boy. I guess he didn’t treat her very well. Clover is a very striking girl you know, but she isn’t well. Never has been, really. What does this have to do with Sharona? Are you going to put what I’m saying in the newspaper?”

“I was hoping to. I think our readers are very interested in these murders. Most people think of San Diego County as a safe place. Didn’t you, before this happened?”

“Well, yes, I suppose I did. That’s why we moved here from Los Angeles when Sharona was little.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, trying to encourage her to keep talking. “Doesn’t it seem like the police are taking a long time to get the investigation off the ground?”

“Well, yes, yes, it does. They won’t tell me anything and I can’t sleep, waiting, wondering if they’re going to call. I want to know what happened to my daughter. She’d never hurt anyone. I’m just sick about it.”

Norman had caught his fish. He stopped asking questions and scribbled furiously.
Let them fill in the silence
. That’s what Al told him.

Mrs. Glass sighed and paused. “You know, the police came around here right after she was killed and they haven’t been back since. Do you have any news you could share with me? I’ve been watching the TV, but they keep saying the same thing over and over again.”

“That’s TV for you,” Norman said. It was hard to talk and write at the same time. He needed practice. “They don’t have as much time as we newspaper reporters do to investigate stories. And as a matter of fact, I have some information I could share with you, and maybe you could help me understand what it means.”

“Yes, all right.”

Norman read the letter to her and she gasped right after the mention of Seth. Then he heard her sniffling. “Are you all right, Mrs. Glass?”

She sniffled some more and then let out a long, loud sigh.  “Yes, I’m all right. What did you say your name was again?”

“Norman Klein.”

“Well, Mr. Klein. Do you think it’s true? What do the police say?”

“I’m not sure if it’s true and the police don’t know anything about it yet. I wanted to do some investigating on my own first.”

“Well, I hope that poor girl isn’t in any danger. What I want to know is if Seth Kennedy killed my daughter, why isn’t he in jail?”

“He is in jail, but only on drug charges. . . . I think I’m all set here. Thank you very much for your time. I hope things get better for you and your family.”

“Thank you. I hope they do, too.”

Norman was having such luck, he decided to shoot for the moon. “Oh, and Mrs. Glass, I need your first name. And would you happen to have Clover’s phone number?”

“It’s Patricia. And yes, I think I have her parents’ number. Let me go see.”

Norman scribbled the number down and hung up. “Yes!” he yelled so loudly the other reporters turned around and glared at him. He smiled and waved.

By noon, Norman was feeling
mucho grande
. He had a second donut with coffee so his brain would keep clicking along at top speed. Al walked over to Norman’s desk after the eleven o’clock news meeting.

“So, what have you got?” Al said.

“I think I know who wrote the letter,” Norman replied.

Al looked skeptical. “And who would that be?”

“Her name is Clover Ziegler.”

“Have you talked to her?”

“Not yet, I was waiting for you to get out of the meeting. What’s the decision on running the letter?”

“We’ll run it if you can back it up with responses from the families and reactions on how the police investigation is going. We want our readers to know that this newspaper is taking a strong interest in seeing these murders solved. After you talk to this Ziegler girl, I want you to get back over to the cop-shop and hold the chief’s feet to fire on this letter. Ask him why he hasn’t made any significant progress on the investigation. If he says he has, then ask him why he hasn’t told the public about it. They’ll probably seize the letter as evidence, so be sure to make a few copies before you go. Got all that?”

“Yes. Thanks,” Norman said, scribbling down Al’s instructions.

Norman was excited Al had changed his tune. But he was feeling the pressure. Big time. That load of crap about the newspaper “taking a strong interest” sounded like it came straight from the mouth of the executive editor, the one he saw feeling up the woman in the parking lot. These people talked just like the politicians they ripped every day on the editorial pages.

Norman called the number he’d just gotten for Clover Ziegler. A woman answered. She said she was Clover’s mother, and her daughter wasn’t home.

“Yes, she dated Seth Kennedy for a while, but she hasn’t seen him lately. What does that have to do with anything?”

Norman tried to explain about the letter, and when that didn’t work, he decided to read it to her. She wasn’t impressed.

“Well, who knows if she really wrote that letter? Have they arrested that Kennedy boy for murder?” she asked. “I never liked him.”

“Not that I know of,” Norman said. “We’re still trying to get some straight answers out of the police. What would be a good time to call back to reach your daughter?”

“I’m not sure,” she said. “I don’t know where she is. Sharona Glass was her best friend, you know, and she’s been very depressed since she died. They closed the beauty school for the week because of all this, so she’s been spending a lot of time at the mall.”

Norman left his number with her and hung up. Starting to drag from the sugar high and subsequent drop, he stopped just outside the Coffee Hovel, as reporters fondly called the newsroom break room. Theoretically, a fresh pot of coffee was supposed to be brewing there around the clock, but the pot always seemed to be empty. He overheard Al talking to another editor.

“That kid, I don’t know how he manages to keep pulling himself out of the messes he gets into. That letter was a gift from heaven. But I’m telling you, if he blows it on this one, I’m going to talk to the powers-that-be around here.”

That was all Norman needed to hear. “Gift from heaven, my ass,” he muttered. “I’ll show them.”

At the cop-shop, Norman looked for Ken Goode’s van but didn’t see it anywhere.

Too bad. I’m in the mood for a good confrontation. On the other hand, it might be better to ambush one of the sergeants I just met. Or better yet, the chief himself.

He approached the front counter, where a hard-edged brunette in her late forties was working a large phone console. She had so little hair where her eyebrows were supposed to be that she’d drawn them in. When she looked up at him for a split second, she pursed her thin lips, as if he were moldy cheese.

“I’m Norman Klein from the
Sun-Dispatch
,” he said glancing quickly at her nametag, which read, DIANA SCOTTSDALE.

“I’ve been to Scottsdale,” he said, smiling. “Is the chief in? I need to interview him about the PB killer case.”

She was unfazed by his attempt at charm. “You have an appointment?”

“No,” he said.

“Then why don’t you sit over there and I’ll page the Homicide sergeant,” she said, nodding over at the ratty plaid armchairs that stood against the wall like suspects in a lineup at a thrift store. The seats were ripped and torn, with the yellow foam padding hanging out.

After twenty-five minutes went by, Norman was feeling ignored and none too pleased about it. He got up, marched back over to Ms. Scottsdale, and leaned into her face. “Have you reached him yet?” he asked.

“Oh, yeah. I’ll page him now,” she said, giving him a nasty smirk.

“Thank you,” Norman said curtly and returned to his seat. 

Her voice came out over the speakers in the ceiling: “Sergeant Stone, Sergeant Stone, there’s a reporter in the lobby to see you.”

It was another ten minutes before Sergeant Stone came through one of the doors, holding it open with his body. Norman stayed where he was, assuming the sergeant would come over and talk to him.

“Mr. Klein, I don’t have all day to hold this door open for you,” Stone said.

“Oh,” Norman said, jumping to his feet.

As they entered the detective bureau, Stone sat behind a wide metal desk in his office and motioned for Norman to sit in a chair across from him. “So what can we do for you today?” he said.

“Well—”

Stone pulled out a drawer and put his feet up on it. “I’ve been reading your stories. A little on the light side, but hey, that’s the way we like them around here.”

Norman decided to let that one pass, and pulled out the letter, placing it on the desk between them. “This was sent to my attention this morning. . . .What do you think?”

“I think it’s very interesting,” Stone said, raising his eyebrows. “We’ll have to keep this as evidence, of course.”

The sergeant reached for the phone and pressed a buzzer. A man in a jacket and tie came in, took the letter from Stone’s outstretched hand and read it silently, expressionless. When he was finished, Stone jerked his head toward the door and the two of them went into the hall. “Back in a minute,” the sergeant said over his shoulder.

Norman figured the letter was a big break in the case for them. He wondered if maybe he should apply for a job as a police officer and forget the reporting thing altogether.

It was fifteen minutes before the sergeant came back. “So, listen. Thanks for bringing that in,” Stone said. “I’ve got a meeting I’ve got to get to.”

“Hey, wait a minute,” Norman said. “I’ve been here for almost an hour, waiting to talk to the chief about the letter.”

Stone sat back down at his desk. He scowled as he leaned back in his chair, the springs squeaking, and intertwined his fingers behind his head. He paused. “Listen, Mr. Klein. This is a very sensitive case. I don’t want to screw up our investigation by releasing too much information, so we’re not going to be able to comment on the letter. Off the record—”

“Sergeant,” Norman interrupted, “I came to talk to the chief. And I’ve really got to ask you to stay on the record on this one.” He suddenly felt brave. He’d given them the letter. He was the guy in the know, the guy who worked for the company that bought ink by the barrel. He would not be rebuffed. “Is he available?”

Stone’s expression said Norman was an annoying and potentially dangerous predator. “No, he’s not,” the sergeant said. “He’s over at City Hall in a budget meeting. He’s asked me to handle all press inquiries on this matter.”

If Norman couldn’t get to the chief, at least he had to get a comment from the sergeant about how the investigation was going. “Look. I’m writing a story about the case, sort of an update,” Norman said, “and I’ve got some general questions about the investigation.”

“Such as,” Stone said.

“Such as, do you have any good leads you’re working?”

Stone answered in a very measured tone. “We’ve got many good leads. The community has been calling in anything and everything they think is suspicious in the Pacific Beach area, and we are very encouraged by that. We’re hoping to catch this murderer as soon as humanly possible.”

Norman pressed on. “Some of the victims’ families say the investigation is going at a snail’s pace and they’re criticizing police for being too slow in releasing information. What’s your response to that?”

“I haven’t heard that from anyone but you, Mr. Klein. The calls we’ve been getting are all very much in the way of thanking us for working around the clock trying to catch this killer, whoever he—or she—may be.”

“Have you recovered any murder weapons?”

“I’m not going to comment on that.”

“Do you have any suspects in custody?”

“Suspects?”

“Yes, you know, the people you think committed these crimes?” Norman was feeling a little cocky. Maybe a little too cocky.

Stone lunged forward in his seat and spoke soft and low. “Don’t get smart with me, young man, or I’ll throw you out of my office.”

Despite the sergeant’s tone, Norman could see he was squirming. Still, Norman figured he ought to back off a bit. “Sorry, I was just kidding.”

Stone paused. “Well, this is no laughing matter. All I can say is that we are questioning several people at the moment.”