The White Angel Murder

11

Stanton sat in his car in the parking lot of the Westfield UTC mall. Night had fallen and it had quieted the city. The high-pitched squeal of a siren would break the silence and it would trail off and disappear, and the silence would return only to be broken again a little later.

His window was down and the air was warm and smelled slightly of exhaust, but a breeze was blowing and he leaned back and let it blow over his neck and down his collar.

A few people left the Nordstrom and walked to an Escalade parked near him. They were females, teenagers, white and rich with empty looks on their faces. Their boredom would drive them to do things that their parents thought their station in life had bought them out of.

The driver reminded him of a case from long ago. Another rich, young white girl that had began dating a Hispanic ex-con. She had met him through correspondence while he was incarcerated at the Los Angeles County California State Prison. When she was at a party at his house, he allowed all the party goers to gang rape her on the futon in the basement.

“Detective?”

Stanton turned to see a young girl standing by his car; far enough away that her face was only shadow and her hair glowed under the parking lot lamps.

“Yes.”

“Can I see your badge?”

“Sure.”

He reached into his pocket and brought out the shield, offering it to her through the window. She approached close enough to look at it.

“Okay. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

He stepped outside of his car and shut the door. Leaning back against the driver’s side, he took out a small notepad and a pen. His ipad was far superior at organizing his notes, but there was something about the paper and pen that he needed. When he saw a full pad and had to go to another one, it told him that progress was being made. That the notes would, somehow, lead him to what he was looking for. Sometimes when he went through them again it felt like he had a map rather than just wandering aimlessly.

“So,” she said, “you wanted to talk about Tami?”

“Yes. Do you remember much about her?”

“Yeah, she was cool. She was real sweet, ya know? Like if I needed a ride or to borrow some money she would always do it. Even if I called her at like three in the morning she would gimme a ride.”

She pulled out a package of cigarettes and lit one, letting the tobacco burn and crinkle and moved a strand of hair away from her face with her pinkie.

“What would you guys talk about?”

“I dunno. Stuff. She really liked surfing so she was always talking about that. She really wanted to go to Australia and surf. She said she was saving money for it.”

“She had a boyfriend named James Arnold. The numbers we had for him are disconnected. You have any idea where he is?”

“Oh, yeah. You don’t know? Jimmy died.”

“When?”

“Like … maybe three months after those other detectives talked to me.”

Stanton’s pen stopped moving and he lowered the pad. “What other detectives?”

“The two that came and talked to me after she was … after she passed.”

“Do you remember their names?”

“No, and they didn’t gimme their cards. I thought that was weird cause cops always leave their card, right?”

“Can you describe them?”

“Um, one was Mexican and the other was a white dude. Kinda cute. I think he was flirting with me.”

Stanton flipped to an earlier page in his notepad where he had written some names. “Francisco Hernandez and Taylor Stewart?”

“I guess. I really don’t remember.”

Stanton put the pad in his pocket and said, “Is there anything you can tell me that can help me find who did this, Kelly?”

“I don’t think so. I just knew her from work, ya know?”

“Did she have any other friends that you know about?”

“Not really. She said she didn’t like other girls. But there was this guy she was kinda hanging out with. She didn’t want Jimmy to know about it cause he was real jealous. I think the detectives already talked to him.”

“Do you remember his name?”

“No, but I know he was a cop if that helps.”