The White Angel Murder

18

“You want how much!”

Stanton thought Tommy looked like he was either about to pass out or start yelling.

Tommy was technically a police officer rank two, just underneath a detective. But he had never shown any initiative for taking the next step up the ladder. After Harlow picked him as his personal assistant, Tommy never looked to working a regular beat again. He was young and full of bravado; sometimes he was the only one in the entire force that had the guts to stand up to Harlow. But he was overly loyal. Stanton knew if Harlow needed something done that wasn’t on the up and up, Tommy would do it.

“It’s necessary,” Stanton said, sitting across from Tommy in the office next to Harlow’s. It was the second largest office on the floor, larger than the Executive Assistant Chief under Harlow.

“The only thing that could justify that much scratch is a drug buy. No way I can approve that, Jon.”

“Mike said we would get anything we need.”

“Yeah, but within reason. Five grand in cash without you being able to tell me what it’s for is not reasonable.”

“You can take it out of my salary, over time. I just don’t have that much on me.”

“Over your … are you crazy? You want to pay five G’s of your own money on this stupid case?”

Stanton got a look at how everybody viewed the homicide of Tami Jacobs. It was something they didn’t want to speak about. Cases that were deemed unsolvable were often treated that way. They were a mark of failure, of madness that showed itself and disappeared. It was an uncomfortable reminder for even the most hardened detectives that even the really crazy ones sometimes got away.

“I didn’t mean it that way,” Tommy said. “It’s just, five G’s is a lot to not have a reason.”

“I’m paying someone to reveal a source. A good source that is absolutely necessary for me to do my job.”

Tommy was quiet; looking Stanton in the face like it could reveal something to him. He turned to his computer and pulled up a disbursement sheet. “Fine, you’ll have it in an hour. But if this doesn’t go anywhere, I can’t authorize anymore spending.”

“Deal.”

*****

The restaurant Stanton had chosen specialized in Nepalese cuisine but still considered itself an Indian establishment for marketing purposes. It was decorated in posters of Mt. Everest, cloth tapestry with small jewels sewn in, bowls from Nepal, and paintings of every day scenes from the Himalayas. Stanton pulled Jessica’s chair out as they were sat near the windows and then ordered two strawberry lassis.

“Do you come here a lot?” she asked.

“I used to. After a shift me and my partner would come here for a late night dinner.”

“You can say his name, Jon. I’m not a child.”

“I didn’t mean to patronize you. I just don’t like talking about him.”

The lassis came and she dipped her straw in it and pulled it out, sucking the fruit bits off the tip. “Did you read the paper? The piece about our unit?”

“Yeah.”

“They made me seem like a nut-job.”

“It wasn’t as bad as everyone’s making it out and people will forget about it in a few weeks. There’s always a new story, a new person to attack.”

They ordered their meal and some naan and mango chutney was brought out for them. They ate in silence and Stanton wished he hadn’t brought up Sherman. He had found himself, over the past two years, speaking about him at times that weren’t appropriate.

“I had a sister that was in 5 North for about three weeks.”

“Really?” Stanton said, unsure what else to say.

She nodded. “She committed suicide a little later. When she got out. They can fix ‘em while they’re there but they can’t do shit when they get out.”

“The facility treats you like you’re not human sometimes. You either do as they say or they’ll restrain you and do it anyway. Luckily for me it was all prescriptions with little talk-therapy.”

“Must’ve been scary.”

“For some. I mostly just stayed in my room and kept to myself.” He took a forkful of chicken and dipped it in the mango chutney. It was soft and moist and went down as easily as warm butter. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’d like to talk about something else.”

“Me too. How about we talk about Harlow?”

“What about him?”

“Everybody’s dying to know how you two are so tight. Everyone else on this team was chosen for the application process and then went through three interviews and a screening before being selected. The rumor is he just recruited you personally.”

“Mike and I were detectives in narcotics for a brief time. We hit it off and have stayed friends. Some people can do that. Make a quick connection that never breaks. I trust him.”

“I wish I had that; someone to trust. So far, I haven’t seen anyone worthy of absolute trust.”

“Maybe you’re searching the wrong places.”

She attempted to answer when Stanton’s phone buzzed. He checked it and a text had been received. It said: money in ur acct good luck-Tom

“Who is it?”

“Tommy. He came through on something for me I wasn’t sure he could come through on.”

She absent-mindedly played with the food on her plate awhile and then said, “So this Mormon thing. I have a few questions and then I won’t ask about it again.”

“No worries. Ask away.”

“I’ve heard you guys think the Garden of Eden is in Missouri?”

“True.”

“Isn’t that kinda, silly?”

“Why? Do you think having it in Africa or Jerusalem is somehow more serious?”

“Well, no, I guess not. But it seems weird that America would play such a big role in the Bible.”

“Generation after generation has been taught that the most important religious events have happened in the Middle East and that is what everyone has accepted. Doesn’t make it true.”

“Guess not. Okay, how about multiple wives?”

“I’m all for it.”

She smiled and said, “No, be serious.”

“Abandoned that practice a long time ago.”

“Everyone?”

“Everyone that’s a true Church member, yeah. So I’d like to ask you something now.”

“Okay.”

“I noticed you only wear one earring. I thought you’d forgotten or lost the other one but then I saw that you did it every day.”

She looked down to her plate. “My sister and I would share earrings when we were kids. When I used to visit her, toward the end of her life, we started doing it again. I put one of all of my earrings in a little box that was buried with her. Now I just wear one.”

This time her phone interrupted them and she checked the ID.

“Sorry, have to take this. It’s the sitter.”

“No problem.”

As she rose and answered her phone, walking out to the front entrance to talk, he texted Hunter: Deal’s on. 5 is the highest I can go.

Ten seconds later, he replied: no need got it for 2.