The White Angel Murder

47

Stanton finished the day by speaking to Jessica for a few minutes and then headed to his car. He got in and turned the key in the ignition and was about to put it in drive when it hit him he wasn’t sure where home was. The SWAT team was not known to be gentle and his apartment might be unlivable right now. But he had nowhere else.

He drove to his complex and parked in his usual spot. The sun was setting and he walked to the beach and sat in the sand and watched the last surfers and bathers pack up for home. A young couple was near him, lying on towels and whispering softly in each other’s ears. Their hands exploring their skin before interlacing fingers and kissing.

When the sun was swallowed by the ocean and the moon began to shine in the sky, gray-black clouds gently drifting across it, Stanton rose and went to his apartment. Suzie was out on her balcony and was sipping a hard lemonade and smoking her Marlboros.

“Where ya been, hon?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“All manner a cops came to my house askin’ about ya.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that, Suzie.”

“That’s okay. I told ‘em to self-fornicate. That’s what I said too, I didn’t want to be crass.”

“I’m sure they appreciated that.”

“You know, I was married to a cop back in the day.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” she said, ashing onto a plate set on a side table. “Some damn near twenty years ago. His name was Archie Haines. He was a bear. Won all sorts of state championships in wrestling when he was young. Archie told me, he said, that every cop gets their house searched by other cops. That they all get suspected of somethin’ sometime.”

“That’s probably true.”

She inhaled the smoke deeply into her lungs from her last puff and then put the cigarette out. “Well, if you ever wanna talk about it you know where I am.”

“Thanks, Suzie. I think I just want to get to bed and try and forget about it now.”

“Well, have a good night.”

“You too.”

He walked up the stairs to his apartment and opened the door. The entire space was trashed and looked as if someone had thrown a massive party. The coffee table was kicked over, the couch was torn apart, and one of the cupboard doors was off its hinges. His television was on the floor, its screen a spider-web of cracks. He had been suspected of cop-killing, they would not spare him any courtesy.

The bedroom was a little better; the bed at least had not been demolished. He kicked off his shoes and lay down, asleep before he could remember to get out of his clothes.

*****

When morning came, he woke with a migraine. He had not slept that long since he could remember but it was a restless sleep. Filled with nightmares of the dead watching him, calling to him. He saw the killer too, a shadow cast upon a wall. Stanton told him to hang on, to fight as hard as he could. That he was coming and that he would stop him. The shadow replied that he was trying to stop but couldn’t.

Stanton knew it was true. Many psychologists believed the notes killers sent to police were taunting, showing their superiority and disgust for the people and organization they considered beneath themselves. In some cases, this was true. But that wasn’t what this was. There was no condescension or hatred in the messages he sent Stanton. In fact, they were helpful and leading to more evidence. He wanted desperately to stop, but needed Stanton to do it for him. There was a part of him that was still human.

After a shower he checked the fridge and saw that it was empty. He left his apartment and stopped at a Subway, grabbing an egg and cheese sandwich and some orange juice before heading into the office.

As he was about to get on the elevator, George Young stepped off. He stood and looked into his eyes a long while and then walked away without saying a word. Stanton got onto the elevator and noticed that a few uniforms waited for the next one.

He walked into the Cold Case Unit and received a few glances, but the shock had worn off. Nathan nodded to him and Philip waved hello and said it was good to have him back.

He settled into his office and flipped on his computer. He heard Harlow in the conference room speaking with somebody. His phone buzzed and Tommy asked him to come in.

Stanton walked into the conference room but stood at the doorway. He didn’t notice Harlow or Tommy or the two federal marshals standing by. He didn’t notice the breakfast spread or Jessica sitting with her arms folded quietly listening to Harlow speak. The only thing he noticed was Noah Sherman, sitting with his back to him.

“Jon,” Harlow said, “sit down, please. We have a few things to go over.”

Stanton sat down at the end of the table. “When Chin told me about it I didn’t think it would go through.”

Sherman glanced at him quickly and winked.

“Jon,” Harlow said, “I know this must be hard for you, but Noah has some insight that we may need.”

“He doesn’t have anything. And I’m quitting. You can deal with this on your own.”

Stanton rose to leave.

“Wait,” Harlow said placatingly, “just wait. Sherman was the original detective assigned to the case. He spoke with some people that weren’t put in the initial report. He has some insight into this, Jon.”

Stanton was about to ask why that information was buried but knew Harlow wouldn’t tell him with federal marshals and Jessica present. He simply sat quietly and waited for Harlow to speak.

“You can quit if you want, but I don’t think you want to. I think you want to catch this bastard as much or more than anyone here. I know seeing him is unsettling, but I think he can help us save some lives.” Stanton didn’t leave and Harlow continued. “So, what’ve we got?”

Jessica put her hands on the table and said, “We spoke to the family yesterday. There’s definitely drug abuse with the second vic and we’re following up on that. Family hadn’t heard from her in weeks but apparently that was normal. We’re working on getting a list of boyfriends and friends.”

“Okay. And what about the note to Jon?”

“I submitted it to latent prints and there was nothing there. I checked the paper stock but it’s a casual brand, something you’d pick up in a supermarket.”

“Jon, was there an envelope or anything?”

“No, I found it at the Hernandez scene stuffed into an air vent. It was folded a few times, but no envelope.”

“How the fuck did forensics miss a note in a vent?”

“It was put there after we left.”

“How would he know about Hernandez? You think he’s responsible?”

“Maybe. Or maybe he had knowledge of it from somewhere else and came to the scene after we were gone. Or maybe he was there with us.”

Harlow leaned on his elbows. “Are you telling me you think this cocksucker is a cop?”

“I don’t know. It could be someone close to cops like reporters or ME staff, forensics … it would make sense though. They knew I’d be back at the scene. And when I got there the police tape wasn’t cut, it was fresh and it was the official stuff. Nothing you’d buy at the Army-Navy store or online. So he either left with the rest of us or had some new tape.”

Harlow sighed. He looked to Sherman who was grinning. “Tommy, tell me we followed protocol and had a sign-in sheet at the scene?”

“We did, Chief.”

“Make copies and get that to everybody. I want every person there looked at but not confronted. Everybody needs to keep this low-key. Capiche?”

“There is one more thing,” Stanton said. He explained the homeless man and the message he had for him.

Everyone sat in a silence, the undeniable truth hanging in the air; he was going to kill again and there would be another family that would need to be notified.

“All right, well, Tommy follow up on that with Jon. See if we can find this guy.”

“Sure thing.”

“That’s it for now then. I cannot stress this enough people; no talking about this in public to anyone outside this room. Okay, excused.”

“You didn’t ask me anything,” Sherman said.

“Okay, what do you have to add?”

“I would put Missing Persons on notice for blonds with large breasts. Anything they get should be kicked up here for review.”

“Well, shit on me, but that’s actually a good idea. I might not regret bringing you down here after all. Tommy, get on that too. Anybody have anything else? All right, we’re done.”

Stanton went back to his office and rummaged his drawer for some ibuprofen. He found two in a cellophane wrapper and took them out, swallowing them without water. Jessica came in and shut the door and leaned against it.

“You okay?”

“Good as can be I guess,” he said.

“I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know why Noah is here. I don’t know why the charges against you were suddenly dropped. But I don’t think I can take this anymore. I’ve put in for a transfer.”

“To where?”

“Vice.”

“Are you kidding me? You want to work for the LAPD version of George Young?”

“It’s not about him. It’s about how quickly I can get out. They’re always looking for female officers to work as decoys in prostitution stings. Thought that would be interesting for awhile.”

“It’s not, trust me. And it’s a mistake for you to leave. A few years here and you can write your own ticket to anywhere you want to go.”

“That’s just it: I don’t know if I want to go anywhere. It feels like I’m moving through water. We deal with the worst parts of people and none of the good. And the faces …”

Stanton could see tears in her eyes and she stopped a moment and composed herself before continuing.

“And the faces of people looking at me from the grave. Begging me to help them and knowing that I can’t. This girl, Pamela. She was in Madrigals in high school and then enrolled in college and majored in Dance before dropping out. I did that, Jon. I did that same thing.”

“Don’t do this to yourself.”

“I just don’t get it. I don’t get why I’m standing here and she was stuffed into a closet like garbage. And even when she died nobody gave a shit. Not really. We see it as a challenge but we don’t care about her either.”

“You care about her, Jessica.”

“Do I?”

“Look, just finish this case before you put in your papers. That’ll give you time to think. Once the case is done and you still want to go, then you should.”

She nodded. “Okay, Jon. I’ll finish this case with you. Then I’m done.”