Though it was dark inside, he could make out the outline perfectly. Soft curves leading to a disheveled top. It had been pushed far back into the closet, behind a dark trench-coat and next to a box full of paperclips and documents and notepads. But the outline was unmistakable.
It was a body.
40
Stanton got outside into the sunlight and shut the factory door behind him. He snorted out of his nostrils, as if to get the air from inside out of his lungs.
With little light and no context, Stanton was still able to see the pattern. The animal-like ferocity of the attack, the torn and ragged flesh, breasts bitten or ripped away from the body. There was no doubt in his mind that it was the same as Tami Jacobs.
He called Jessica and told her what he had found. He asked her not to call it in for two hours to give him time with the body. She told him she would wait one.
It was a brisk walk to the shore. Laid out in front of him was a blanket of small bones and he could see through his childhood eyes why he thought they were seashells. He cleared a space with his foot and sat down; the crunch of bones he missed underneath him as he stretched his legs out and then curled them back against his body. It had caught him off guard, like the photos of Tami. As a detective in the thick of his career, he had distanced himself from horror. Desensitized was the word his father had used to describe it when Jon had told him how he felt. But that wasn’t accurate. He was still sensitive to it but was able to push it down deep inside, where it couldn’t get out. At least not right away. That’s how he could function and push himself forward when he needed to.
Still, he was glad this one was dead. The live ones were much harder to deal with. The interviews at the hospitals with broken and bleeding women or young girls. The guilt and misplaced blame they feel. The anger that would well up in him. It tore him apart inside. He never wanted any of that to touch Melissa or the boys so he kept it bottled up as tightly as possible, unacknowledged even to himself. But it was too large a part of his life to repress. Soon, he had to repress everything and he withdrew into himself. That’s when they didn’t talk anymore.
He stood up and watched the small waves lap on the shore for awhile before heading to his car and then back into the building.
It took a few moments of standing over the body before he leaned down and pulled out the flashlight he had taken from his glove-box and flicked it on. In a normal scene, there were things he would look for that he had memorized. A checklist he would go through. Ligature marks, synthetic and hair fibers, blood spatter, foot prints, fingerprints, photographs, video, three walk-throughs followed by diagramming. Later on would be a rape kit performed by a nurse and serological analysis. There was no time for any of that now. He checked his watch; he had thirty-seven minutes before Jessica called it in.
Stanton snapped on a pair of gloves and held the flashlight in between his teeth. He took a deep breath and then turned his attention to the body.
She was clearly female, early twenties, blond. Stanton went to bring the light closer to her face and her mouth fell open and she gasped.
He jumped back, the flashlight falling out from between his teeth and hitting the floor. His heartbeat was pounding in his ears. When he regained himself he felt her pulse. There was no beat. Her skin was cold and her body rigid.
When someone passed, bacteria in the intestinal tract would begin to eat the organs, releasing gas as a byproduct. This was what caused the bloating of corpses. The gas would sporadically be released through the mouth, causing a gasping sound. Occasionally, if it activated the vocal cords, it could produce sounds resembling words. In the middle ages, they often mistook this phenomenon as vampirism and the corpse would be staked, decapitated, and burned.
Stanton stepped away from the body and leaned against the wall. Sweat was rolling down his face and he wiped it with the back of his forearm.
When he was ready he turned back to the body. He didn’t want to disturb anything for the forensics unit so he tried to carefully just run his hands over the inside of the closet. He examined the body closely and the box and trench coat. Other than that the closet was empty.
He searched the office, the desk, and the blankets left on one side of the room. There was nothing. He checked the corners of the room and as he was about to turn back to the body he heard a noise on the factory floor. It sounded like someone dropping something and running.
He stepped out onto the platform. The floor was quiet. Stanton walked down the stairs as silently as possible and then ducked low, looking underneath the machines. On the far end nearest the door was a shadow. The shadow moved.
Without a firearm he felt helpless. He crouched low and ran behind one of the machines. Peering around the corner, he saw that the shadow was planted in one spot and didn’t move. There was the main entrance on the other side of the building but it was bolted and chained. The employee entrance was the only way in or out.
Stanton quietly went from one machine to the next, keeping his head low so he could watch the shadow. As he was on the main floor going to another machine, he heard a sneeze and then someone mumbling.
The person didn’t respond to his movements at all and Stanton managed to get behind him. He snuck around the machine and glanced at a man huddled on the ground. In one swift movement Stanton sprinted at him and threw his bodyweight against him, slamming him to the ground.
The man fought back, bashing his fist into Stanton’s jaw but he couldn’t get a good grip. He flipped onto his stomach to push himself up and Stanton wrapped his forearm around his throat and pressed his other arm to the back of his head creating a scissor choke.
The man was screaming and Stanton pressed harder, hard enough that the man’s body began to go limp. When the man had lost strength and was about to pass out, Stanton flipped him over and sat on his chest, his knees pinning the man’s arms to the floor. The man was coughing and Stanton let him finish before speaking.
“Who are you?”
“I ain’t nobody, man.”
“What are you doing here?” Stanton noticed his clothing, torn and ragged.
“I live here, man. I live here. Get off me. I ain’t done nothin’.”
“Tell me who you are.”
The man stunk of marijuana and body odor. Alcohol was strong on his breath and Stanton saw the yellowed and black teeth. He ran his hands over the man’s clothing and found no weapon. He stood up and let the man go.
“You,” the man said out of breath, “you the detective. You the detective, yeah?”
“Yes.”
“Star, er, Stage something.”
“Stanton.”
“Yeah, man. I got a message for you.”
“From who?”
“Don’t know. Mutherfucker paid me a hundred bucks and said to wait here for you.”
“Who was it?”
“I don’t know, man. I told you. Just some white dude. He gave me a C note and said tell Stanton there’s gonna be another one in two weeks. That’s what he said. Two weeks.”
“What else did he say?”
“Didn’t say nothin’ else. Said, tell him there’s gonna be another one in two weeks.”
Stanton helped the man to his feet. “What did he look like?”
“White dude, man I don’t know. You mutherfuckers look the same to me.”
“Did he say anything else? It’s very important you tell me.”
“Nah, man. That’s all the dude said.”
“Do you know anything about who she is?”
“Who?”
Stanton saw the genuine look of confusion on the man’s face; he didn’t know.
“Here,” Stanton said, pulling out a hundred dollar bill. He gave it to the man and then asked if there was anything else he could remember.
“Nah, man. That’s it.”
“Did you see him bring anything into that office back there?”
“Nah, when he gave me the money I left. I ain’t seen nothin’ after that.”
&
nbsp; “Well, the police are going to be here soon. I know you got some pot here. I think you should go somewhere else for awhile if you got some place.”
Stanton checked his watch. Jessica should’ve called it in over ten minutes ago. He gave another twenty and told him to spend it only on food and the man agreed.
He ran out and jumped into his car. As he pulled out of the parking lot and made his way into Salton City, he saw two police cruisers heading toward the factory.
41
Hunter Royal watched himself in a mirror over the bed as his climaxed, the young brunette bent over in front of him groaning with pleasure, their bodies glistening with sweat under the red lighting. When they were done he collapsed next to her on the bed and looked his body over in the mirror. He was about twenty pounds overweight. Not that that mattered with women when you had money, but still. It was something he would have to work on. His body was hairless from waxing and it looked good, he thought, not model good but good. But he’d always had a problem with his nipples. He thought they were too big considering that he had a slender chest. There was no doubt he would pay a visit to his plastic surgeon in Beverly Hills to get them done, but it was a matter of timing. He would be bandaged for at least two weeks and he was hitting the pool right now at least four times a week. Maybe in the cooler months.
“Are you spending the night?” the girl said.
“No. I got work to do early tomorrow.”
She pulled a joint out of the nightstand next to her and lit it. The smoke was sweet smelling and it quickly overtook the scent of sweat and sex. They passed it back and forth quietly for a few minutes before he rose and found his boxers and jeans.
“You could go to work from here tomorrow,” she said, “if you wanted.”
“Nah, you know I like sleeping in my own bed.” When he had slipped his shirt on and found his sandals he leaned down and kissed her, running his tongue over her lips. “I’ll call you.”
“No you won’t.”
“No, I won’t. You call me.”
He left the house and stood on the front porch awhile, enjoying the evening air. The garden next to the porch was well tended and the lawn was freshly mowed. He watched the sun climbing down into the earth and painting the sky a light pink.
Though nineteen, the girl still lived at home. Her parents were out of town right now. Royal got a big kick out of fucking her in her parents’ bed. Maybe he would send a note to her father a little later letting him know? He only wished he could see his face as he read it.
Royal walked down to his car. As he was about to insert his key into the lock, he felt pressure on his arms and his neck snapped back as someone had him by the throat. He tried to make a sound but his airway was blocked and he began to fight.
He was lifted off his feet and dragged down the sidewalk to a car and thrown in the back.
“What the fuck!” he shouted.
Two men climbed into the backseat with him. One stuck a gun into his side and Royal froze. He felt the warm trickle of urine down his pants.
“Listen, guys. I’m rich. I can get—”
“Shut the fuck up you piece of shit. I don’t want your money.”
Royal looked to the passenger seat and saw a man leaning back, absently tapping a ring against his teeth.
Harlow turned around and looked at him.
“Mike? Are you shitting me? You can’t—” One of the men sitting next to him elbowed him in the face, causing his nose to crack and start bleeding. “Fuck!”
“I need something from you. We’re both gonna get out of it so it’s a good deal. But I need a yes or no now.”
“This how you ask all your friends for favors?”
“You’re not my friend you fucking parasite and don’t you forget it.”
Royal pressed his fingers to his nose. The blood was gushing now and he tilted his head back, letting it go down his throat rather than down his shirt.
“Don’t tilt your head back,” Harlow said. “It’ll make you vomit if you get too much blood.”
Royal straightened up. “What’dya want?”
“Before we talk deal, how’s that little philly you were fucking in there?”
“She’s fine.”
“How old is she?”
“Nineteen.”
Harlow threw a piece of paper onto his lap. He flipped on the interior light so Royal could see it well. It was a copy of the girl’s high school ID.
“Fuck me,” Royal said.
“That’s right asshole. She’s fifteen. You’re smarter than that. You should always check ID. Although she may have a fake one she would’ve showed you. Under the law, doesn’t make a difference. How messed up is that?”
“What’dya want, Mike?”
“Now that you’re in more of dealing mood, we can talk. Noah Sherman. I got him released into my custody.”
“Why?”
“He’s helping with a cold case.”
“How’d you manage that?”
“That’s not your concern. Here’s what your concern is: you can’t write about it. Don’t snoop around, don’t ask questions, don’t call any of your boys. You leave this alone. I don’t want the public to know about this.”
“I’m not the only reporter in town.”
“No, but for some reason I think you’re the only one that would find out. You got the deepest contacts and I’ve seen how you operate. You wait until the crowd’s gone and then come over and ask your questions and get what you want. You’re a perverted little scumbag weasel, but you’re a good reporter.”
Despite the blood pouring over his hand, Royal felt a small gleam of pride. Legitimacy was something he had coveted since his days writing five hundred word op/eds for a porno magazine in Los Angeles.
“So I don’t report on it and you don’t arrest me?”
“And when I catch the cocksucker I want to catch, you can break the story and get exclusive interviews with me and Noah. I won’t give it to any other reporters.”
“Shit, count me in.”
“You know, Hunter, that’s what I’ve always liked about you. You know when you’re outmatched. Now get the fuck outta my car. And no more teenagers.”
Royal was thrown out and fell to the pavement. He stood up and flipped Harlow off as the car sped away.
42
It was nearly ten at night by the time Harlow walked out to his car from the San Diego PD headquarters. The air was warm and it was a full moon. He leaned against his car for a few minutes and stared at it. It was incredible, he thought, that that rock was what Caesar and Napoleon and George Washington and Al Capone and all the other people he had read about growing up looked up to and saw in the sky. The same moon. It gave him some comfort that there was continuity in his species. He was not religious, bowing and praising someone or something else had never appealed to him. Life to him was random chance that could’ve happened on a million different worlds but ended up happening here. But the moon that he looked at now was the same moon his ancestors saw. Life moved on.
He didn’t feel like going home to his wife. That relationship had ended years ago. They were now roommates, sharing the same space because it was more convenient than going through the hassle of a divorce and custody battle. They had sat down at the kitchen table and talked it through, rationally. Less rational people wouldn’t have been able to do it and he was pleased when she was receptive.
They had agreed they would stay together but live separate lives. They belonged to different gyms, they had different circles of friends, they went on separate vacations, and above all, they slept in different bedrooms. It had been working fine for quite some time until Harlow saw her on a date with another man. They had also agreed that they would see other people, but there was a world of difference between theory and practice. When he actually saw it, he longed for her and rage filled him. The man had been lucky Harlow was at the restaurant with other officers. He knew that for sure.
It had been confusing lately however. They
had begun eating dinner as a family for the kids. They had started talking again, reconnecting. She had even asked him where he was when he had come home late one night. There would have to be another conversation and the dinners would have to end if it was going to work.
Harlow climbed in and began driving. He decided he didn’t feel like taking the freeway just yet. He drove down a residential neighborhood and saw the lights on in a large white house. A couple sat watching television in the living room and Harlow remembered it was Friday night. He had missed the fights and he didn’t have a date for tonight. It would be warmed up leftovers and pornography. But he would hit the gym in the morning and see what he could find there. Sometimes it only took him a couple of hours of faking exercise to strike up just the right conversation with just the right person. Once he had even banged an older aerobics instructor in his car in the gym parking lot.
He parked the car at the curb and observed the couple. The male had his arm around a young blond and they were watching The Royal Tenenbaums. Her face wasn’t visible at the angle he was at but he could see her sockless feet up on the coffee table. They were smooth and milky white with brightly colored toenails.
There was a squeal behind him and then the red and blues filled his car with light. A patrolman had pulled up behind him. The officer stepped out of the car with a flashlight and came to the driver side window. He tapped on the glass with his knuckles and Harlow rolled down the window.
“License, registration and proof of insurance please.”
“You’re new to the force, aren’t you Officer … Mesels.”
“License, registration and proof of insurance, please. Now.”
“Sure.”
Harlow handed him the documents and the officer went back to his cruiser. It was a Dodge Charger, one of the two dozen Harlow had commissioned for the traffic squad. The old model Fords the city used to buy simply couldn’t keep up with the newer vehicles coming out. There had been more one than suspect vehicle that had gotten away because the older cars were too slow and the chopper was busy. Harlow had gone to the mayor and gotten the extra funds he needed in less than three hours.
The White Angel Murder Page 14