The White Angel Murder

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The White Angel Murder Page 17

by Victor Methos


  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.”

  48

  A trip had been arranged for Noah Sherman to go to the Salton Sea and walk around the scene of Pamela Dallas’ death. Stanton found it grotesque, but he didn’t have a choice. He needed to be here as well and he couldn’t bring himself to come back alone. Now that she had a history and a mother and polka-dot sheets, he didn’t want to be here at all. But he would have preferred to be here with anyone on earth other than Noah Sherman.

  The federal marshals walked behind them as Sherman and Stanton walked in. Stanton went to the stairs leading to the managerial office without waiting for him but he followed, the rattle of leg chains echoing in the room.

  Though he had been given civilian clothes, they couldn’t cover up his double-locked handcuffs and the thick chains that ran from his ankles up to his wrists. An ankle monitor was locked around his right leg and
had a red blinking light. If the light at any point went green, meaning Sherman was out of range, the built in GPS device sent coordinates to the SDPD SWAT team and the federal marshals. It wasn’t said, but they had orders to shoot first if that situation ever occurred.

  “Must be insulting seeing me out like this.”

  Stanton opened the door to the office. “Haven’t really thought about it.”

  “Bullsh—” He stopped himself and thought a second before saying, “I don’t believe it.”

  “Trying to stop swearing?”

  “I know you hate it.”

  Stanton turned to him. “Since when do you care what I hate?”

  “Just trying to be courteous.”

  Stanton turned back to the office. He glanced out the door and didn’t want to admit to himself that he was comforted to see the marshals right outside.

  “What’s the matter, Johnny? Don’t want to be alone with me?”

  Stanton turned and stood face-to-face with him. “You won’t be here long.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I know you don’t have anything to add to this case. Mike’s got twenty detectives that were better with evidence than you. He doesn’t need you walking around a crime scene.”

  “Then why bring me?”

  “He thinks that you know who the killer is. Once he realizes that you don’t know anything, you’ll be heading back.”

  Sherman leaned in close, their faces nearly touching, and whispered, “Don’t bet on it.”

  “Hey!” one of the marshals shouted, “get the fuck away from him.”

  Sherman stepped back and leaned against a wall.

  Stanton turned to the scene. There were muddy boot-prints on the carpet that weren’t there before. He guessed they would also find fingerprints and fibers that weren’t here. The local cops, probably guessing that this was bigger than their office and would be someone else’s problem, didn’t care about contaminating the scene.

  “There’s another note,” Sherman said. “He wouldn’t give you just one.”

  Stanton glanced at him and then turned his attention back to the room.

  He ran his eyes over the entire space, taking in every corner and stain and chip of paint that had fallen to the carpet. He knelt down and ran his eyes over the floor in a circular pattern, beginning in the center of the room and working his way outward until he hit the walls. He sat at the desk and went through the drawers. The ceiling was exposed and he looked at each beam carefully. At the far end, nearest the closet, one of the water pipes was off center slightly.

  He climbed up on the desk and pushed at the pipe. It came loose immediately and spilled putrid water down his shirt and onto the desk and floor. Stanton ignored it and pulled the pipe down and looked inside. There was a clear plastic bag taped to the side. He pulled it out and inside was a folded piece of paper.

  “Well well,” Sherman said, “looks like you are a cop after all. Tell me something though; how many people were through here and missed that?”

  Stanton shook his head. “Maybe the locals would have but our forensics are too good to miss it. It was put here after we’d already gone through.”

  “What’s it say?”

  “You don’t need to worry about it.”

  “Tiss tiss, don’t make me go to the boss.”

  Stanton hopped down and walked past him and onto the factory floor. He called Jessica and asked her to meet him back at the office. She suggested dropping the note off to latent prints and he agreed. He wasn’t expecting to find anything, but you never knew.

  When he was alone in his car, he slapped on some latex gloves and took out the note:

  Detective Stanton,

  What do you think? She’s much better than the first, no? A tigress in the bed too. You wouldn’t believe how much loving this little bitch could give. I’ve kept a few pieces for myself, hope you don’t mind, but I didn’t think she would be needing them. Maybe I’ll send a few to her parents?

  See you in a couple of weeks.

  Sincerely,

  Quaker

  Stanton drove back to the office. He went to latent prints on the second floor and submitted the note after having a copy made. He didn’t find Jessica in her office or the conference room on the fifth floor so he tried the cafeteria downstairs and saw her sitting at a table by herself eating a salad and Diet Coke.

  “Hey,” he said, throwing down the copy of the note in front of her, “read this.”

  She read the note carefully and placed it back on the table. “Where’d you find it?”

  “Stuffed in a pipe at the scene.”

  “He’s trying to piss you off.”

  “Maybe. Something’s off though. Most killers like this hold in their urges as much as possible until they can’t and they have to go out and hunt. That’s why some go for months or even years without killing. Then their urges take over and they have to kill more frequently. But they’re also sloppier cause they haven’t had months to fantasize and plan every detail. For how meticulous and careful he is, two weeks is too short a time frame. At two weeks apart, he’d be a crazed animal killing in broad daylight with witnesses. It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Since when do any of these assholes make sense?”

  “Good point.”

  She took a bite of her salad. “How was it being there with Noah?”

  “Awful. And it breaks my concentration.”

  “I won’t be in the same room with him anymore. He told me I had nice tits in the conference room and the chief agreed that I wouldn’t have to work with him.”

  “He won’t be with us long, I’m sure of it.”

  She shrugged. “Hope so. So what do you make of the name?”

  “I thought about that. Maybe he has some roots with the Quakers?”

  “Could just be trying to throw us off. I once had a case where someone left a note talking about other victims and it turned out to be the vic’s husband that had just killed her for the life insurance.”

  “I don’t think that’s it. He’s leading me to something but I don’t know what it is.”

  “Can I be honest with you, Jon?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’ve never seen a detective analyze every little thing like you do. These people are crazy and evil. There is nothing else there. Their actions are random and there’s nothing for us there. I think we just need to work the evidence and sooner or later he’ll screw up or some neighbor will turn him in and we’ll have him.”

  “Do you like abstract art?”

  “Abstract art?”

  “Yeah, Jackson Pollock, Rothko, stuff like that?”

  “Not really.”

  “Why?”

  “I think a five year old could splash paint on a canvas. Doesn’t mean anything.”

  “That’s exactly what I used to think when I was younger. I don’t believe that anymore and I love abstract art now. You know why? Because nothing is random. Nothing. Our unconscious is the bulk of our minds, it’s what motivates and controls us far more than what we see as our conscious mind. In fact, the more random you try and make an expression of yourself, the more the unconscious comes through. Guys like Pollock, their paintings may seem like throwing paint on a canvas but that paint represents something buried deep inside them that even they may not want to admit is there.

  “It’s the same with the monsters. The more they try and throw us off, the more they reveal. They can’t help it. Everything we need to find him is right in front of us. We just have to make the right connections.”

  Stanton’s cell phone buzzed. It was a text from Tommy saying that Pamela Dallas’ step-father had just dropped off a list addressed to him and Jessica.

  “Come on,” he said, “we need to get upstairs.”

  49

  They sat at the conference room table and looked over the list. There were only four names and just one of the four was male. Scribbled next to the names was the relationship they had with Pamel
a. Two friends, one cousin, and one ex-boyfriend.

  “Dropped it off himself,” Tommy said looking over Stanton’s shoulder at the list. “Could’a just called or emailed.”

  “He’s from a different time, Tommy. This was something he wanted to do himself.”

  “Yeah, I guess. My grandpa still refuses to use a computer. Says technology is throwing off the balance of nature and causing the world to go crazy.”

  “Well,” Stanton said, “I think I should hit the ex-boyfriend. Do you want to hit the two friends and the cousin?”

  Jessica looked over the list one more time, memorizing the names. “I think I should talk to the ex. If it is him, it may piss him off if you come at him.”

  “Okay. I’ll hit the friends and the cousin. Let me know as soon as you’re done with him.”

  Jessica rose and walked out of the room as Stanton leaned back in the chair and put his hands behind his head, trying to force himself to relax.

  “You sleeping all right?” Tommy asked.

  “Good enough. Why?”

  “You look like shit.”

  “Thanks.”

  He sat down in a chair next to him. “How you holding up?”

  “I’ve been better.”

  Tommy glanced around. “I know what the chief did, Jon. It made me sick when he told me. You didn’t deserve that, no cop does. As far as I’m concerned, he crossed the line.”

  “But you didn’t do anything to fix it, did you?”

  “I … no. No I didn’t. Truth is, I’m a coward. I think you need to be to do what I do. I’m basically his assistant. I’ve never sought a promotion or to branch out or anything like that. I just do what I’m told. But I’ll tell you, there’s freedom in that. I don’t have to think, just act.”

  Stanton rose. “That’s slavery, Tommy. Freedom at the end of a leash isn’t freedom. Thanks for the list.”

 

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