The White Angel Murder

4

It was 6:30 pm on a Saturday when Jonathan Stanton walked in to the San Diego PD Headquarters on Broadway. The building had recently been through a renovation and the exterior looked clean and white, the darkened windows freshly washed. The surrounding area was grass and trees and clean sidewalks. Jonathan didn’t remember it this clean a few years ago.

Night security checked him in and gave him a temporary employee pass to use on the elevators. He went to the fifth floor and turned down the hall.

The Cold Case Unit had been set up in five empty offices and a large conference room. The space recently housed two other units that had been moved a floor below. A uniform nodded to him and looked down to the small box he was holding. He noticed the PhD in psychology in the brown frame.

“You’re Detective Stanton?”

“Yeah.”

“Got your own office next to the chief. But he wasn’t expectin’ you till Monday.”

“Just came to set up early. Didn’t want to bother anyone.”

The man mumbled something and then said, “Follow me.”

He was led down the hall and past an enormous number of cubicles. They stopped at a large door with a keypad on the side wall.

“Combo’s 521. Got it?”

“Yeah.”

The door clicked open and they went in. The offices were furnished with glass desks and leather furniture. Each one had a well manicured plant in the corner and a piece of abstract art hung behind every desk. They walked through the conference room. Jonathan counted at least twenty high-backed black leather chairs with a large flat screen at the front of the room, hooked up to a laptop. On the other side of the room was a floor-to-ceiling size map of San Diego.

“Your office is that one there.”

“Thanks.”

The man left without saying anything and Stanton walked into his new office. He placed the box on the desk and sat down. One wall was a thick window looking down onto Broadway. He could see the cars passing on the street below and he watched them a long time.

There was a computer on the side of his desk against the wall and he turned it on. The screen flashed and prompted him to enter his password. He entered it and an error message came up: Password Expired. Please See the Administrator For a New Password.

He leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes. It was strange being here. Like he had come into someone’s home uninvited. Stanton tried unpacking his box and hanging up his degrees. There were two photos he put on his desk: one of his nine year old son Matthew and his four year old son Jon, and one of his father, Dr. George Stanton.

His father had been a psychiatrist and was displeased when Stanton chose the police academy after his doctoral degree rather than going to medical school. A PhD and M.D., he had told him, would make him invaluable as a researcher to any number of universities lucky enough to have him.

The day he told his father he was joining the police academy, all his father said was, “Son, power, no matter how nobly it’s applied, eventually corrupts.”

After he had unpacked he sat down. He began looking out the window again when a man with a vacuum stepped into the room. He looked in the garbage can and glanced passively at Stanton before leaving.

Stanton took a deep breath, and decided to leave.

*****

It was dark by the time Stanton pulled to a stop in front of the large house. It was two stories with a wide lawn. A Mercedes was parked in the driveway. Through the kitchen window he saw a man, woman and two young boys eating dinner. They were talking and laughing and the mother would get up and get another dish or fill someone’s glass.

He walked to the door and knocked, a large manila envelope under his arm. Melissa answered, a smile on her face that quickly faded away when she saw him.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi.”

He pulled out the envelope and handed it to her. “A few things. Some jewelry I found when I moved.”

She looked through the envelope. “Jonathan, you can keep most of this stuff. I gave it to you.”

“No, some of its family heirlooms. It should be in your family.”

Just then a small head popped around the corner and Mathew ran out and threw his arms around his father. Four year old Jon stood at the corner and didn’t move.

“Hey dad,” Mathew said.

“Hey squirt. How was the game?”

“We lost by two goals.”

“You’ll get ‘em next time.”

Melissa’s fiancé Lance came to the door and stood behind her, softly letting his hand rest on her shoulder.

“How are you, Jonathan?”

“Fine. Thanks.”

Lance cleared his throat. “So what’s up?”

“He was just dropping off some of my stuff,” Melissa said. “Why don’t you join us for dinner?”

“Yeah!” Mathew shouted.

Lance said, “I’m sure your dad’s got more important things to do than have dinner with us. Don’t you, Jonathan?”

There was a long silence as the men stared at each other.

“Sure,” Stanton said.

“Come on, Matty, let’s finish up supper. Good to see you, Jonathan.”

“Yeah. I’ll see you later, squirt.”

“Bye dad.”

Melissa stood at the door until they were out of view in the kitchen. She stepped outside, folding her arms though it wasn’t cold.

“He misses you,” she said.

“I know. I wish I could see him more.”

“Jon Junior misses you too. He just doesn’t know how to show it.”

“He’s angry with me. He thinks this is my fault.”

“That’s not true.”

There was a silence and then Stanton said, “I’d like to take them more, Mel. I don’t see them enough.”

“They’re going to have a new life. Lance is going to be a big part of that life and they need to spend a lot of time with him. I think every other weekend is appropriate.”

Stanton looked down to his shoes. They were worn and hadn’t been polished in a long time. He noticed that Melissa was barefoot and had her toenails painted black.

“I should go. Kiss the boys for me.”

“Jonathan,” she said hurriedly as he turned to leave. “I know I can’t talk you out of that job. But be careful.”

“I will. Thanks.”

As Stanton got into his car he looked through the window at the family having dinner; they were laughing and joking around again. He started his car, and pulled away.