The White Angel Murder

32

Stanton knew his car was off limits so he took a cab down to the Barbeque Pit. The ride cost him seventeen dollars. Money was suddenly a great concern to him. He had a couple of credit cards and a few thousand dollars in his checking account with a couple hundred in cash. He was grateful he had the habit of always taking his wallet with him whenever he left the apartment; otherwise he wasn’t sure what he would do.

He sat down on the curb near the restaurant and watched the entrance. It was busy at lunch and the crowd varied from businessmen in suits to stoner surfers in wet shorts and sandals. There were no patrol cars around but obviously there wouldn’t be. What he was looking for was much more subtle.

Plainclothes officers attempted their best to fit in but if one had an eye for them, they could be spotted every time. It was their attempt to seem natural that was the give-away. They would read their phone or newspaper or magazine too intently. A long line would cause just a little too much impatience. Stanton watched for that now but didn’t see anything but a hungry crowd coming in and out of the dilapidated building.

He stood up and brushed off the sand on his pants before making his way to the restaurant.

It was dim inside but the scent of fresh cooking barbequed meat and frying potatoes made his stomach growl. He had only bought a sandwich from the store to seem like he had a purpose but he was too distraught at the time to eat and just threw it away.

In the corner near the window with her back to the door sat Jessica. She was sipping strawberry lemonade and gazing at the ocean outside the windows. She was quite striking. Her face and body were lean and fit and she had a slight tan from her constant time in the outdoors. Stanton walked over and sat down across from her.

“Hi,” he said, unsure exactly what to say.

“Hi.”

“Thanks for coming here, Jessica. I’m sorry I got you involved in this but I don’t really have anyone else. Everyone I knew in the department’s transferred around.”

“It’s okay.”

Stanton could sense the hesitation in her and the minor grimace when she first saw him. She appeared normal to him, as if it were just another work day. But to her, he had crossed an invisible line that he could never uncross. He was a murderer now.

“Look at me,” he said. She raised her eyes to his. “I swear to you, on the life of my children, I did not kill that man.”

“Then why are they saying you did?”

“The chief was having an affair with Tami Jacobs. That’s why that information wasn’t in the initial reports. She was supposed to be with him that night. I told him he had to turn himself in and if he didn’t I would go to IAD. Francisco being killed by the gang was probably just an opportunity for him that he exploited.”

“Why don’t you go to IAD now? We could-”

“I’m sure he’s already thought of that. Someone’s probably been promised a promotion or intimidated or just bribed. I knew the corruption ran deep, but I couldn’t guess how deep.” The waiter came over and he ordered ribs and ice water. “I saw inklings of it before I retired. Some drugs missing here and there, reports altered to establish probable cause when there wasn’t any … but this. I couldn’t imagine Mike would do this.”

Jessica stared at him a long while. Looking at his face and the way his hands moved and his profile when he turned to stare at the ocean. Shit. He’s telling the truth.

She had a pen in her purse and she pulled it out. There was a moment’s look of panic on Stanton’s face before he saw the pen and she moved slowly to the table to ensure he saw what it was. She took her napkin and wrote a single word on it: Run.

Stanton glanced around the restaurant. Standing in the doorway of the kitchen, Chin Ho mumbled something into a mic connected to his collar.

Stanton rose and sprinted for the entrance. A waitress attempted to pass in front of him and he slammed into her, a tray full of drinks and barbeque catapulted into the air before crashing onto the hardwood floors of the restaurant. Someone screamed.

He pushed his way past a couple in the entrance and was outside. He looked left and right and didn’t see anyone. There was a convenience store across the street and he dashed for it when he felt an impact like a truck and saw a flash of white.

When his vision stabilized he saw the blue of the sky and felt the bright sunlight on his face and knew he was on his back. A large officer in shorts and a tank-top was on top of him, trying to twist him around to slap a pair of handcuffs on him.

Stanton curled his arm and grabbed the other man’s elbow. He thrust his hips up, pushing the man off him as he turned his body into the man’s elbow and spun him onto his back. He was now on top and he hugged him tightly and ran his hands along the lower back underneath the tank-top and found the butt of the handgun. He pulled it out and stuck the muzzle into his ribs.

“Easy,” he said.

The man held up his hands in surrender and Stanton sprinted away. A group of diners were exiting the restaurant and saw the gun and they ducked back inside. Stanton ran for the store. A young man pulled up in a Toyota and he tore the keys out of his hand and hopped inside.

“Sorry.”

Stanton slammed the door and locked it as the man started yelling and pounding on the windows. He pulled the car out, the tires screeching, and got onto Ocean View Drive and gunned it toward the intersection. He slammed on the brakes and turned right as another car veered away and hit the curb.

It was a straight shot onto the highway and he hit seventy miles per hour through another intersection and blew a stop sign. There were no cars behind him but he heard sirens in the distance. They weren’t prepared for how quickly it had gone. They were wanting to get some sort of confession and the cruisers were probably parked around the block.

The highway was packed and Stanton made his way over into the express lane and then back to the right hand side of the road. He got off on an exit near a gas station and then pulled into a residential neighborhood and parked. He turned the car off and looked out the windows. There was only one person he could think to call.

Mellissa answered on the second ring. She was at home now and the kids were in school. He told her he needed to talk and she agreed that he could come over. He started the car again and pulled away from the curb. A thought crossed his mind: he knew in his gut that the takedown was flawed. For whatever reason, whoever set it up wanted it to fail.