So why did she have to be so damn tempting?
I swore under my breath as I grabbed the tiny motel shampoo bottle and squeezed half of it into my hand.
At least last night proved drunk me knew the rules too. Still, I’d never risk letting him near her again. I flinched at the thought—how one wrong move and he’d act on every impulsive urge, pinning her against the motel door and not letting her down until she trembled.
Those thoughts made me no better than the people she hated. The people she was running from. Even if I told myself it wasn’t malicious.
Sober me wasn’t much better. I was still drawn to the idea of giving in to whatever fantasies flashed across her face when she peeked at me from across the room. But I could hide behind short answers and sideways glances.
Distance. I’d keep my distance, so I didn’t become the very thing I was trying to protect her from.
Chapter 16 – August 30, 1993 – Sergeant Aileen Taylor
Sergeant Taylor considered herself very good at multitasking. Others might disagree. Her best efforts were going toward an assault case that was three months old and revealed more red flags than a minefield, while the more recent cases dumped on her desk were getting little more than slaps on the wrist and misdemeanor charges.
Erich Zaleski was not married to the mystery woman. She still couldn’t pinpoint who the woman was, but she knew plenty about the shady town-hopper who had beaten Bruce Miller behind the bar.
Emil had helped her track down the culprit’s name by searching the entire 1980 census rather than just the New York pages. It had been tedious—scrolling through each line on microfilm in search of similar names. There was only one Erich Zaleski, around ten years old, in that survey year. He lived with his mother, Linda Zaleski, and his brother, Steven Dawson, inLos Angeles, California. It had taken countless late nights and early mornings to find that piece of information, but once they did, it opened the floodgates to a wealth of concerning details.
She knew a lot about the young man now. She didn’t dare go up the chain of command yet—not until she could trace what happened between 1988 and 1993. Everything before that was effectively closed, charges and events forgotten to time.
From Linda Zaleski, she was able to trace the family back to Glenda Marie Zaleski on the outskirts of Los Angeles. Glenda had two daughters: Kathy, a divorced travel agent in San Jose with two children, and Linda, who went missing in 1983. Linda had a criminal record before her disappearance, mostly drug-related. After that, she was never heard from again—presumed to have run off to follow musicians as a groupie.
Linda Zaleski had clashed with her mother throughout her teenage years. She dropped out of high school at fourteen, drawn to the music scene. Her mother housed her until she became pregnant at sixteen, at which point Linda ran away. She gave birth to Erich Zaleski in Los Angeles on October 23, 1971. No father was listed on the birth certificate.
Tracking down Linda and Erich’s last known address before her disappearance took hours. After leaving her mother’s home, Linda’s next address led to a mobile home in the Desert Hills community, where she lived with a man named Tyler Dawson. Tyler worked at a local concert venue as both a performer and bartender. Steven Dawson was born shortly after, on July 5, 1978, with Tyler listed on the birth certificate.
Sergeant Taylor knew she was drifting off track, but the backstory deserved a place on her board—red strings and all—to build a complete picture of her suspect. It appeared Tyler Dawson left Linda less than a year after Steven was born. He had a clean record aside from a speeding ticket and unpaid child support.
The idea that a mother could abandon her two young children fascinated Sergeant Taylor. One detail from her search stood out—an autopsy report she couldn’t quite place in the timeline. If she could connect Linda to it, it might change everything. But she lacked the evidence.
Recently, a serial killer named Marcus Burke had been arrested in the same mobile home community where Linda had lived with her sons. He was a charismatic guitarist who frequented the same venue where Linda’s last arrest occurred. Neighbors claimed she had been around his house before her disappearance, though none had spoken to either Linda or Marcus directly.
The prevailing assumption had been that Linda left town to follow a band. Burke’s crimes weren’t uncovered until 1991, when a neighbor reported a foul smell coming from his home. Police arrived, knocked three times, then forced entry. Inside, they found a ceramic bowl of human fingers sitting beside a microwave—but no sign of Burke.
He was later apprehended at a nearby drugstore, purchasing hydrogen peroxide and duct tape. When questioned about the fingers, he reportedly said, “Fingers are the dirtiest part of the human body. You need to soak them in vodka for days before they’re good enough.”
Burke was officially connected to the murders of two young Hispanic women. Their fingers were the ones in the bowl; their remains were found in his refrigerator and freezer.
Sergeant Taylor was immune to the gore. If anything, she found the developing narrative compelling. If she could place Erich’s mother among Burke’s victims, she might be able to push for a broader confession—potentially uncovering more victims.
Emil had spent weeks assisting with the Burke case while Sergeant Taylor tried to stay focused on the original assault.Together, they mapped timelines, piecing together overlapping threads of tragedy. Eventually, she reached the CPS records.
CPS had been called to Linda’s residence on December 3, 1983. Erich and Steven were removed and taken to Sacred Heart Adoption Center. The social worker, Carrie Hinnepin, described the conditions:
“Neglectful. These children, approximately ages eleven and five, have been eating peanut butter directly from the jar. Cabinets and refrigerator are empty aside from a sleeve of saltine crackers. Trash, dirty dishes, and clothing are scattered throughout the home. The toilet is clogged. Flies are present around a trash can containing rotting food. The younger child appears unaware of his living conditions. The older child shows clear distrust but is protective of his brother.”
Sergeant Taylor’s family had become collateral damage in her obsession. Her husband, Bob, and their son, Maxwell, worried as she came home at three in the morning, often finding Bob asleep in front of the TV, waiting for her. Maxwell pretended to sleep, though the creaking floorboards betrayed him. She barely noticed.
Her thoughts were consumed by the image of a young woman’s mugshot—sunken eyes, drawn features, blonde hair barely contained. A life marked by addiction and exhaustion. Linda Zaleski. A mother she now suspected had died violently, perhaps just houses away from where her sons once lived.
Despite everything, Sergeant Taylor felt a flicker of pity for Erich. His past was undeniably tragic. But it didn’t excuse his present.
A hard life wasn’t a free pass to crime.
It took days to complete the timeline of Linda’s life and move on to Erich’s foster records. Her desk drawer held a notebook filled with handwritten notes, folded documents, and highlighted articles. At home, her office mirrored the sametimeline—pins and yarn stretching across the east wall. Cigarette smoke hung constantly in the air despite the open window.
This was her case. Even if it had started as Bruce Miller’s assault report months ago, it had become something larger—something that consumed her more than her own family.
