The White Angel Murder

by Victor Methos

  Royal went limp; his breathing labored and gurgled with blood. Stanton collapsed next to him, his lungs on fire and his shoulders aching and stiff. Blood began to pool on the carpet and Royal stirred but was dazed and couldn’t focus. He waited a few moments without moving and then became more aware. His hand went to his face and he attempted to stop the bleeding by applying pressure to the gap in his teeth.

  “You knocked out my fucking teeth!” he stammered, out of breath. “I forgot you don’t carry your gun.”

  “Why did you run from me?” Stanton said, his chest tightening from the exertion and making it difficult to breathe.

  “You know why I ran asshole.”

  Stanton realized no one had called it in. He had no help coming and was alone with no protection.

  “Look, Johnny. I’m leaving. You’re not taking me in.”

  “You’re not going anywhere.”

  Royal climbed on top of him with a yell and pressed his forearm into Stanton’s throat. He was heavier than Stanton by at least fifty pounds and Stanton, out of breath and weak, couldn’t get him off. The world began to go black and little sparkles of color appeared in his vision.

  There was the sound of a hammer cocking. Royal looked over to see Jessica pointing her firearm at his face. He waited to see if he could tell if she would actually fire and she steadied her arm and naturally fell into the Weaver stance. He put his hands up and Stanton choked and spit as air rushed back inside him.

  53

  Maverick Hunter Royal sat in an interrogation room for the second time in his life. Though the first one was years ago in a different state, they both looked the same.

  It was gray and empty of any semblance of normality. There was a desk and two chairs, a pad of paper with no pens or pencils. A camera was mounted in the corner and covered with a tinted hard plastic shell. A two-way mirror sat in front of him and he stared at his reflection.

  The paramedics had done a good job cleaning and bandaging his face. His teeth had stopped bleeding. He knew protocol said they were supposed to take him to an ER whenever there was “substantial bodily injury,” but that phrase meant different things in different jurisdictions.

  Life had a sick sense of humor, he thought. Yesterday at this same time he was getting a blow job in his hot tub from a model he had met at a Hollywood party. There were no A-listers there but there were some actors that had passed their prime and were now in sitcoms or made for tv movies. He had done cocaine in the basement with at least ten other people and drank Bacardi and Cokes.

  Now he was beaten and bruised and sitting in a room staring into a mirror; wondering where his youth had gone. He was forty-two years old and was still a boy; clinging to everything he had dreamed about when he was a kid.

  Stanton walked in, shutting the door softly before sitting down across from him. “How’s your teeth?”

  “Only one fell out but a couple of ‘em are loose.”

  “I’m sorry about that, Hunter.”

  “You want to know the fucked up thing? I think you actually are.”

  Stanton gave him a courtesy grin. “The homeless man at the Salton Sea, Darrell, identified you.”

  “I figured. He was so high when I spoke to him I didn’t think he would remember me.”

  “How many more are there?”

  “How many more what?”

  “Victims, Hunter. How many more girls am I gonna find?”

  “Whoa, wait a second. You think I killed those girls?”

  “What should I think?”

  “Johnny, you know me. I’m not into that S & M stuff. I like my sex nice and sweet. I could never do that. Tami Jacobs—check my calendar and with my secretary—I wasn’t even in the fucking country when that happened. All I did was tell Darrell to give you that message and paid him a hundred bucks.”

  “The note I got was signed Quaker. You went to the University of Pennsylvania. I think that’s the mascot isn’t it?”

  His eyes went wide. “That motherfucker. He’s trying to set me up.”

  “Who, Hunter? And why did you pay Darrell a hundred bucks to tell me that?”

  He looked away, toward the camera and then back to the table. “I want a deal.”

  “A deal for what? If all you did was pay someone to tell me something you won’t get an accomplice or conspiracy charge. Maybe obstruction of justice at worst. I won’t go forward on assaulting a police officer or fleeing. A good lawyer’ll take care of it in a month.”

  “I take it you have an arrest warrant for me?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And a warrant at my house?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I want a deal on what’s going to be found in—”

  The door opened and Harlow walked in. He placed a CD carrying case on the table and stared at Royal.

  “What’s that?” Stanton asked.

  “Tell him, Hunter.” Royal kept his eyes low, staring at the table. “Should I tell him? Okay. Well, Jon, these are homemade DVD’s. Short films starring a new up and coming actor: Maverick Hunter Royal. Tell him who your actresses are, Hunter. No? Cat got your tongue? Okay, I’ll tell him: the actresses are young girls. We’re talking—what Hunter—seven and eight year olds?”

  “That’s all overseas, man. Never here. You got no jurisdiction.”

  “Oh, but get this my friend, some of the DVD’s are labeled. Mostly Singapore but a few in Pakistan of all places. Rape of a child is punishable by death in Pakistan. Did you know that, Hunter?”

  “It was never rape. They were prostitutes at brothels. You can find them anywhere over there.”

  “It’s rape because a child can’t consent under the law.” Harlow put his hands on the table and leaned in closely. “You’re a child rapist you piece of shit. And you can’t bribe your way out of this.”

  “I want a deal.”

  “A deal means you got something I want. What the fuck do you have that I want?”

  He looked to Stanton. “The fucker that killed those girls. I have his address.”

  *****

  Stanton and Harlow sat in the cafeteria. It was afterhours so Harlow had front entrance staff open it up for them. They made grilled cheese sandwiches in the microwave and got two bottles of water before heading out to the metal tables and placing their food down. It was dark and they turned on half the lights and sat across from each other.

  They ate in silence and were done in less than ten minutes. They finished their waters and then Harlow checked his watch.

  “They should be done by now,” he said.

  The two headed back upstairs to the third floor. Technically, as administrative offices, the interrogation room was not used in investigations and was just a training room for rookie detectives. But Harlow wanted this one close by.

  They sat on a sofa by the receptionist’s desk with two uniforms guarding the door to a conference room down the hall. After twenty minutes, the door opened and a fat man in a gray pinstripe suit stepped out. He walked to them, sweating glistening on his forehead and neck, and sat on a chair next to the sofa.

  “Jesus Marty, what’dya sleep in your suits?”

  “Just always on call,” he said. He turned to Stanton. “How are ya, Jon?”

  “I’m good. How have you been?”

  “Good good. Crime’s a growth industry so there’s always good business for lawyers.”

  “All right, Marty,” Harlow said, “what’s the deal?”

  “My client says he knows the actual, physical address of the man you’re looking for.”

  “How’d he get it?”

  “The man contacted him. Said he was a fan of his work or something. He sent my client—ah, this is all off the record and excluded from court as plea bargain negotiations by the way.”

  “There’s no one from the DA’s Office here, but all right. It’s all off the record,” Harlow said.

  “He sent my client a letter about the victim at the Salton Sea. Said he would give him more information if he pas
sed along a message to a homeless man that had set up camp there.”

  “Why didn’t Hunter just come to us?” Stanton asked.

  “That I can’t say. My guess is he just wanted to follow a good story. Maybe he was a little scared too that if he didn’t do what the letter said the man would never contact him again.”

  “This smells like bullshit, Marty,” Harlow said.

  “Hey, I’m just the messenger. Take it or leave it.”

  “How’d he get the address?”

  “He traced the letter back to its source. It was sent from a forwarding address in Las Vegas but, again, off the record, if you can hand out some cash at the post office you can find out anything privileged.”

  “What city is the address in?”

  “Can’t say that without a deal, Mike.”

  “Marty, damn it, just tell me the city. I’m not asking for the whole thing.”

  “No, we want the DA here and a deal in writing.”

  “What kind of deal?”

  “No extradition, of course. And a charge of one class A misdemeanor for unlawful sexual contact with a minor. One of the girls on the discs is American and my client has no doubt you’ll discover it as you go through them. Just that one charge, no jail.”

  “Marty, he rapes little girls.”

  “The guy you’re looking for kills them. Take your pick.”

  Harlow turned to Stanton. “What’dya think?”

  “The A won’t put him on the sex offender registry.”

  “I know. Is it worth it?”

  Stanton ran his tongue along his upper lip and realized he was dehydrated, his lips dry and cracking. “No. Hunter’s not the more dangerous but he’ll have a lot more victims.”

  Marty shrugged. “Up to you guys. Otherwise we’ll just take our chances.”

  “Hold on,” Harlow said, “A third degree felony, no jail or prison, but he has to register. Tell him that’s the best we can do. I know the DA and he won’t go less than that no matter how many killers Hunter knows about.”

  Marty thought about it a moment and said, “That’s doable. Get the DA down here and I’ll convince my client to take it.”

  54

  Stanton drove home and by the time he parked and got into his apartment it was nearly one in the morning. Royal’s alibi had checked out. His secretary, who ran to the police station once Royal’s attorney called her, and his official calendar placed him in Singapore the week of Tami Jacobs’ death. Stanton checked the airlines and the hotel. The hotel only had records going back a year but the airline had him checking in and out when he told them he did. They also had credit card transactions from Singapore at the time.

  The District Attorney had sent an ADA to negotiate the deal and draw up the plea bargain contract. They would be there a few hours hashing out the details of Hunter’s guilty plea. When they were done, a uniform would call Harlow and let him know they had the address.

  Stanton kicked off his shoes, took off his clothes, and changed into sweats. He was too wired to sleep and instead he flopped onto his couch and turned on the television. An interesting series based in a fantasy world was on and he watched an entire episode before getting up to go to the bathroom.

  When he came out he checked his fridge and remembered there was no food. He ordered a pizza from a twenty-four joint; extra cheese and tomatoes, and got out his credit card, reading the numbers off before putting it back into his wallet.

  As he sat back down, he was hit by how much he missed his boys. It was too late to call them now. The temporary orders of the potential divorce decree specified that he couldn’t call them past six, but he wanted just to hear their voices and wish them good night.

  He wondered if, when they got older, they would even remember him.

  His own father had been distant and Stanton felt like he couldn’t care less where he was or what he was doing. His grandfather had raised his father that way. He was a man with tightly held Victorian values. His father had told him stories that at the dinner table there was to be nothing but absolute silence. His grandmother once tried to ask about everyone’s day and his grandfather had quickly shut her down and let her know that the dinner table was no place for conversation, especially from a woman.

  Someone knocked on his door. Stanton didn’t move for a time and then went into the kitchen and pulled out his gun from a cupboard. He held it behind him as he answered the door.

  Jessica stood there holding a pizza and a six pack of Diet Coke.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “Hey.”

  “Can I come in?”

  “Sure.”

  She walked in and sat down on the couch, placing the pizza on the coffee table. “I couldn’t sleep. I was just going to come over but I didn’t want to come empty handed.”

  “I’m glad you came. Let me get some plates.”

  He placed the gun down on the counter and pulled out two plates and two glasses and came back over and sat down next to her.

  “What are you watching?”

  “I don’t know what it’s called. It’s good though. About a king trying to rule seven kingdoms and all the deceit that’s going on in his court.”

  The other pizza came and Stanton placed it down on the table as well. They ate and chatted about their kids and careers. When they were done they watched television, Jessica placing her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her and they watched a DVR recording of David Letterman.

  “I’d like to sleep here tonight,” she said.

  “Okay. But … you know I can’t …”

  “Not before marriage, right?”

  “Yeah,” he said, relieved that he didn’t have to say it.

  “That’s okay. I just want you to hold me in your arms.” She leaned in and kissed him a long while. They rose and went into the bedroom.

  *****

  It was seven in the morning when Stanton was woken by the sound of his shower. They had slept in each other’s arms all night. Nothing sexual had taken place but it was an intimate night, long kisses broken with the conversations that you don’t share with strangers.

  Stanton got up and went to his balcony and sat cross-legged. He said a long, meditative prayer and then went inside, catching her as she was walking into the kitchen.

  “Afraid all I got is cold pizza.”

  “It’s all right,” she said, putting an earring in, “I’m gonna grab some coffee from Starbucks before heading in.”

  “It’s not that I don’t want to. It was really hard to resist. But it’s just something I think I have to do.”

  “I know. But I’ve always figured that’s what repentance is for.” She walked over and gave him a long kiss. “Some things are worth repenting for.”

  When she left, he went and changed and headed to the beach for a morning of surfing. By seven, there were too many families and teenagers on the beach to get a spiritual experience on the ocean. Occasionally though, when there was no one and nothing but the sea, the morning mist, and the sun, he would have deep experiences with God. Deeper even than those he would have in church.

  The waves were light and the water choppy. He finished early and headed back to his apartment. As he got in he checked his cell phone. There was a text from Tommy:

  got address get ur ass down here

  55

  The conference room was packed and the noise of ten different conversations numbed Stanton as he walked in. Every seat was taken and extra chairs had been brought in and placed around the room. A map was up on the screen connected to Tommy’s laptop. It was a Google Maps view of the house and neighborhood.

  Stanton had received a fax from Imperial County: a copy of the autopsy report. It read like Tami Jacobs with one exception: semen had been found in the rectum. The sample had been rushed to the state lab and Stanton had been assured there was enough for a DNA comparison should he have a suspect.

  Stanton saw the pattern immediately: he was growing arrogant. He had been so careful with Tami
not to leave evidence behind other than fecal matter. No pubic hair had even been found; which means he probably shaved it before the attack. But with Pamela, it was different. He didn’t care if he left DNA behind. He was getting more careless, but also more dangerous.

  Stanton sat down in the corner next to Chin Ho and read through the autopsy reports again. He leaned over to Ho and said, “Where’s Noah?”

  “Shipped back to Pelican Bay. Didn’t need him anymore.”

  “Okay everyone,” Harlow bellowed, “listen up. We got a white male, forty-one years old, Brady Louis Rattigan. Lives with his mother in this house. His mother is wheelchair bound and with high blood pressure. When we go in, we’re goin’ in hot but avoid any heroics. The last thing I need is this douchbag’s mom croaking from a heart attack.” There was quiet laughter. “I’d show you a photo but we don’t have one. No driver license, no ID card, no bank accounts. All he’s got is a social security card with a name and birthday. This guy’s living completely off the grid for obvious reasons.

  “Now we’re having surveillance until we get something good and you all got your assignments. Four shifts in six hour increments. AC Anderson is gonna go over the details but I want to be kept in the loop on everything. Rodney.”

  Anderson stood up and began going over the logistics of the operation. Harlow motioned for Stanton to join him outside and he followed him to his office.

  “Shut the door,” Harlow said, sitting down at his desk.

  “Where’s Hunter?”

  “County lock-up. He’ll probably get bail today though, little shit. I kinda wish his alibi didn’t check. Anyway, why I asked you here, I need something done that’s delicate.”

  “What is it?”