The White Angel Murder

57

Detective Marcos Garcia sat with his feet up on his desk. The Missing Persons Unit was split into two sections and he had recently been promoted to what was considered the less stressful section: adults. The juvenile section, he believed, was the most painful unit of the police department next to Sex Crimes. There were an average of forty-three missing persons reports filed in the County every week. With both units combined, they had only six detectives working them.

Many people, especially the families of the missing, were shocked to learn that so few resources were dedicated to this unit. But they didn’t understand, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to explain to them, that eight out of ten missing persons were never found and had no workable leads. In reality, only seven real, feasible cases per week came in. The rest had no leads, no evidence, and no hope.

His phone buzzed and the receptionist told him someone was here to see him. He told them to make an appointment but the receptionist said it was a mother who needed to file a report on her daughter.

“Send her back,” he said.

He took his feet off the desk and straightened his tie. Though most detectives at this point in their careers were phoning it in, he believed in his work and thought that the way he treated the families mattered. People could sense when someone was really going to work for them or not.

An older brunette came to the door, but not too old. Garcia guessed she was in her early fifties. She’d had some plastic surgery, her breasts definitely, but also her face. Her eyes were swollen and red and she wore no make-up. She sat down across from him without being asked to do so and pulled out a photograph and gave it to him.

“This is my daughter Zoe. She went missing last night.”

“Did you speak with her last night, Ms …?”

“Mrs. Mrs. Diane Kelly. Yes, I spoke to her. She was at work at the Gap and we were texting back and forth. She was supposed to go to some dance club with her boyfriend. She went out to the car to get some clothes and make-up and she never came back. He called me.”

Garcia began typing into an ipad. “What’s her boyfriend’s name?”

“Brian Newman.” She took out a sheet of paper. It was covered in names and phone numbers and addresses. “These are her friends and his number’s on there too.”

“How old is she?”

“Nineteen.”

“You sure she’s missing, Mrs. Kelly? A lot of times nineteen year olds stay out too late and-”

“I’m positive. That’s not her. We talk. She tells me everything and she always lets me know where she is. This isn’t like her at all. And her car is still at the mall; it’s Fashion Valley mall. I went and saw it. Her keys were on the ground next to it. Something’s happened.”

“What kind of car does she have?”

“A green Prius. It’s parked right out in front of Macy’s.”

“Mrs. Kelly, Diane. Ah, may I call you Diane?”

“Yes.”

“Diane, I’m going to ask you some questions now and they’re going to make you uncomfortable. But I promise you they are necessary. And if Zoe is missing, they are going to help us find her, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Does Zoe have a drug problem that you know of?”

“No, she doesn’t use drugs. She drinks sometimes, I know that. She comes home smelling like alcohol. But we talk about it and if she’s been drinking she doesn’t drive. We have a deal that if she’s been drinking and needs to drive home she has to call me and I have to not get angry or punish her. She’s very good about that.”

“Okay. Now, is Zoe promiscuous?”

“What kind of question is that? No, she’s not promiscuous she’s nineteen. I don’t think she even really knows what sex is.”

“Okay, again, I’m not trying to be invasive or hurtful. I just need to rule out a few things. Now where was the last place anyone saw her?”

“Inside the mall. Brian was the last to see her.”

“Well, I’m going to give Brian a call and speak to him. Then I’ll draft a report and we’ll wait forty-eight hours and if she doesn’t turn up, we’ll file the report and then put out a-”

“Forty-eight hours? She’s missing. We can’t wait that long.”

“I understand your frustration, Diane. But that’s the law. We have to wait-”

“That’s bullshit! My daughter is missing. Find her.”

“We will, but, I can’t file a report for forty-eight hours.”

She began crying and Garcia pushed a box of tissues toward her. She took two of them and dabbed at her eyes.

“Please, just find her.”

*****

Garcia drove down to Fashion Valley mall. He was not required to take any action on a missing persons case for forty-eight hours. A lot of cases were people that had fled and wanted a break, or, more likely, people with mental illnesses that had gotten lost and would eventually wander back. The forty-eight hour waiting period, though painful for the families, was necessary so that the detectives could spend their time working the real cases.

But something about Zoe Kelly’s case didn’t sit right with him. He had spoken to Brian and didn’t get a good feeling. He was too flippant about it, too calm. He asked too many questions and they all involved him: What do I have to do if she doesn’t turn up? What will I have to fill out if she’s missing? — questions that revolved around him and showed little concern for her. Though he wasn’t a suspect, Garcia decided to keep his mind open and go take a look at the car while it was still in the mall parking lot.

His air conditioner didn’t work well and it was spewing warm, dusty air in his face. He turned it off and rolled down all his windows as he got onto the Interstate. It was a scorching day and the sunglasses that had been sitting on the passenger seat were too hot to put on. He had to squint as sunlight reflected off the windows and metal emblems of the cars in front of him.

He got off the exit and drove down a palm tree lined road to the mall. He had to circle around to find the Macy’s and he slowly went up and down the rows of cars. On the third one over, parked next to a motorcycle and a truck, was a green Prius with the license plate number he had pulled from the DMV.

He parked behind it and got out. The car was new and the interior looked clean and polished. Hanging from the rearview was a picture of Zoe and some of her friends hugging on the beach. On the passenger seat was a small CD carrying case and on the backseat were a pair of sunglasses and white flip-flops next to a make-up bag and some items of clothing.

Garcia made his way around the car and checked the doors and the trunk. He should’ve asked her mother for a copy of the key or for her to meet him down here.

He checked underneath the car and didn’t see anything. As he was about to stand, he saw a small discoloration on the pavement. He bent down and looked at it a minute longer before going back to his car and retrieving a q-tip from a little container he kept in the glove-box. He went back to the stain and dabbed at it with the q-tip. Though it was dry from the heat, he could see the particles of black that were entwined in the cotton. It could be blood. It could also be tomato or prune juice.

He went back to his car and looked at the photo again. He had been debating whether to send an email and it was still unclear to him whether he should. He opened the car’s built in laptop and reread the email Assistant Chief Anderson had sent to the Missing Persons Unit:

Report any and all missing young women ages twenty to twenty-nine with blond hair directly to the Homicide Unit.

Garcia typed up the email, and sent it.