The White Angel Murder

2

Police Chief Michael R. Harlow sat in the patio chair and lifted the glass of orange juice to his lips. The balcony of the small apartment overlooked Ocean Beach Park and he listened quietly to the waves lap the shore.

It was early in the morning and the only people out were joggers and dog-walkers. The sun was a golden orb coming over the ocean and he slipped on his sunglasses so he could watch its rays reflect off the water.

“It’s small,” he said, “but the view makes up for it.” Stanton sat down in the chair next to him, but didn’t respond. “Can I ask you something, Jonathan? You left Homicide for your family and now your family’s gone. Why didn’t you ever call me?”

“I don’t know,” Stanton said. “Just never seemed right.”

“You could’ve pushed papers behind a desk. You didn’t have to quit.”

“Melissa wouldn’t have gone for that. She knew what it was like, the not having me around.”

Harlow nodded. “How is she anyway?”

“The divorce gets finalized next month. There’s a waiting period. She’s going to get married as soon as it goes through.”

“I know. I got an invitation to the wedding.” He shook his head and chuckled. “The balls on her.”

Stanton leaned back and stretched out his legs. The sunlight warmed his bare calves. “What is it you want, Mike? I know you’re not here to hang out.”

It was too quick, Harlow thought. He wanted to save the meat of the conversation for when Stanton was relaxed and comfortable. He wished like hell Melissa was still around.

“We’re starting a new division. Cold Case Homicide.”

“I read about it in the Union-Trib. They had photos. I didn’t think I’d ever see you shaking hands with a Fed.”

“You gotta cut deals in this day and age if you want to get things done. It’s not like it was when you and I were coming up. Everybody’s into this collaborative bullshit. Drug Enforcement, the DA’s Office, hell even the Navy’s got a piece of this thing. But believe it or not it’s actually looking good. We got a nationwide database that searches prints, DNA, facial recognition … the Fed’s let us use their labs in Virginia … it’s not all bad.”

“Sounds like you got everything you need.”

“No, not everything.” He finished the rest of his juice and set the glass down. “I’d like you there, Jonathan. I need you there. The senior guys don’t want it and the greens can’t do it. I need someone with experience. That’s you.”

Stanton looked down to the scar on his chest, just under the collarbone. His former partner, Noah Sherman, had put slugs into him two years prior.

“Yeah, I’ve got experience.”

“What happened with Noah,” Harlow said as calmly as possible, “was unavoidable. It was like lightening or a shark attack. No one could see it coming.”

“He ate Sunday dinners at my house every week. Did I ever tell you that?”

“No,” Harlow said, looking out over the water.

“The newspapers were right. If anybody should’ve seen it, it was me.”

“Fuck the papers. They’re bottom feeders. Your worst days are their good days. They live off misery. Nobody cares about them.”

Harlow felt the blood hot in his face. He could still see the headline of the Trib:

KILLER EMPLOYED WITH SAN DIEGO PD FOR TWELVE YEARS.

“I heard you’re teaching at a community college. Is that really where you want to be?”

“I like teaching,” Stanton said.

“You can make a difference here. The division’s brand new. No ground rules yet. You could help set those. Bring closure to families.”

“What’s the criteria to screen a case?”

“Has to have no active leads and be older than one year. A lot of it will be drug killings, deals gone bad, bank robberies, things like that. But some of it will be different. Some of it will be the real sick ones. Jon, you and I both know that if the case is open, he’s still out there. He’s still looking and he’s still watching and he may not even know he’s killing them himself, much less anyone around him. Not until he screws up. I need someone like you for those.”

Stanton stared out in the distance. He’s much darker, Harlow thought. Darker and with sun bleached hair. He’s taken up surfing again.

“I wouldn’t ask this from you if I had any other options. Lord knows you have every reason to say no and to tell me to shove it. But this isn’t about me.”

“You’ve got everyone you need. I don’t think I could bring anything to the table.”

“That’s not true.” Harlow saw a young lady in skimpy shorts run by and he watched her a moment. “You got something, Jon. Whatever it is it helps.”

“Didn’t help me with Noah.”

Harlow leaned forward, taking a long while before speaking again. “Do you remember the Tapia case? The pedophile?”

“Yeah.”

“You got him quick; what was it like three days? After you left the force he was interviewed for an unrelated case. Insurance fraud or something. He said he had planned another victim that day. Had him picked out and everything. He was going to pick him up at his school early with a fake badge and uniform. The same day, Jon. You stopped that. You can make a difference in people’s lives. I know that’s why you became a cop. That’s all I’m saying.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Harlow rose, pushing his sunglasses to his forehead. “Call me. The unit gets up and running Monday morning.”

Harlow pulled his Mercedes out of the parking stall and turned onto Grand Avenue. There was a billboard near the stoplight of a young girl in cutoffs and a see-through shirt. Her thumb was tucked into her waistband and she was pulling her shorts down, revealing her hips and lower stomach. The ad was for vodka.

He dialed a number on his phone.

“Hey, Chief.”

“He’s going to be joining, Tommy. Make sure everybody’s on their best behavior. Any jokes or comments about Sherman or what happened and it’s your ass.”

“I understand. How’d you get him to come back?”

“Don’t worry about that.”

“Does he know what we’re doing?”

“I don’t think he would come if he did.”