“From you, nothing. But I want Jon Stanton sitting behind bars where he belongs.”
“He doesn’t belong there.”
“How the fuck would you know!” He composed himself, bringing his fingers up to his eyes and squeezing lightly. “Sorry. Just do what you’re told and it’ll be over soon.”
She didn’t turn around as he walked away but when she heard the door close, she took another shot, and began to cry.
28
Stanton met Taylor Rowe outside the Emerald Plaza building fifteen minutes early. The sun was already baking the city and he felt a sheen of sweat on his forehead. He wished he hadn’t worn a suit but he knew Coop would probably mention that during the deposition if he didn’t.
Rowe was dropped off in a Lincoln Town Car and stepped out, already on her cell phone. She was dressed in a red business suit and heels and looked like she could’ve been on a runway somewhere.
“Jon, how are you?”
“Good.”
She finished a text she was sending and put her phone away. “We’re just doing Daniel Childs’ deposition today. I don’t expect he has too much good information so we’ll probably only be here a few hours. Chin Ho was scheduled next and Detective Porter after that, but there’s been a change in plans. Your deposition is going to be on Friday. Coop requested it in exchange for a couple of stipulations on his part. We can get into that later but it’s a good trade. I need you to come by the office tonight so we can spend some time prepping.”
“Sure.”
“Okay, well, remember that everything here is on the record. Don’t say anything unless I ask you to. Come on, they’re waiting for us.”
The Plaza was a series of buildings rather than a single tower and it gave Stanton the impression of a beehive. They rode the elevator to the twenty-ninth floor of the office building and stepped off. The lobby and hallways were plush and a small fountain was set up next to the Offices of Gary C. Coop.
The secretary was young and attractive and showed them back to the conference room which was like a small auditorium and the table was easily twenty feet long. Stanton did a quick survey of the chairs and saw that the table was meant to hold thirty people. There were flat screens wherever they would fit and the exterior wall was tinted glass overlooking the city below.
“Detective,” Coop said as he stood, “have a seat.”
Several other people were sitting at the table but Stanton could only identify the court reporter acting as stenographer. He placed himself next to Rowe and watched as Coop sat back down, a slight grin on his lips.
“We’re just waiting for Detective Childs,” Coop said. “Would you like something to eat or drink in the meantime? We have bagels, juice; we can get an omelet from downstairs . . .”
“I’m fine, thank you.”
They were silent another few minutes and Stanton peeked over to Rowe and saw her on an iPad. She had a copy of Childs’ HR history up and was glancing through the disciplinary section.
The clock on the wall said nearly twenty after when Childs came in. He was wearing a tight t-shirt exposing his arms and slacks with a press crease; he didn’t look any different than he did on any other given day. Except that his sidearm had been moved up to a more prominent position on his waist for easy viewing.
“Detective Childs,” Coop said, “nice of you to come.”
“Fuck you, asshole.” Childs sat down right next to Coop. “Let’s get this bullshit over with.”
Stanton saw a slight grimace on Coop’s face. He wasn’t a man that liked not being in control of any situation. Stanton also guessed he was upset that he hadn’t had the stenographer dictating or the video recording and had missed that little barb from Childs.
For his part, other than the grimace, Coop handled the situation coolly and didn’t react. He crossed his legs and picked up a legal pad he had written his questions on.
“Are we ready?” Coop said to the stenographer.
“We are.”
“Okay. Please state your full name and address for the record, Detective.”
“Sergeant Daniel William Childs, 1276 Westpoint, San Diego California, 92103.”
“And where do you work and for how long?”
“San Diego Police Department, and I’ve been with them for sixteen years.”
“What unit are you assigned to now?”
“I’m sergeant at the Northern Precinct. I’m supervisor over special squads and operations.”
“Did you supervise or partake in the investigation which was dubbed, ‘the Sandman Murders?’”
“Yes.”
“Could you please describe what the Sandman Murders were, Sergeant?”
“They were a series of three kidnappings involving young girls between the ages of ten and twelve. They weren’t technically murders since no remains were ever found but that was the name the sex crimes unit gave them. When a child is missing for over thirty days they are presumed dead.”
“And why were they called the Sandman Murders? Where did the term ‘Sandman’ come from?”
“The girls were kidnapped from their homes between the hours of 10 p.m. and 2 p.m. The term was applied by the newspapers when they covered the story and it just stuck.”
“And what were the names of the girls?”
“I don’t know off the top of my head.”
“You don’t know? Were you not the supervisor in charge of this case?”
“I was, but that doesn’t mean I was involved in it. The lead detective is the one who handles all the details.”
“So what was your role?”
“As I said earlier, supervisory. If anything went wrong or if the investigation wasn’t going in the right direction, I would step in and help.”
“So who was the lead detective?”
“Detective Jon Stanton.”
“Now, you were familiar with Detective Stanton long before the Sandman case, were you not?”
“I was.”
“In fact, you were once slated to be partners with him, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And why were you two never made partners . . . Sergeant, please answer the question, why were you two never made partners?”
“Because Stanton took a leave of absence from the force.”
“Why did he do that?”
“He was having some personal troubles and needed time off.”
“Personal trouble, Sergeant? Isn’t it true Detective Stanton was institutionalized at the Shadow Oaks Treatment Center for psychiatric problems?”
Childs looked to Stanton and then away, out the window. “Yes.”
“And those psychiatric problems, where do you believe they stem from?”
“I would object,” Rowe interjected, “he’s not a psychologist, Gary; move on.”
“I’ll rephrase that,” Coop said. “Sergeant, did you ever know Jon Stanton to have psychiatric problems when you first met him?”
“No.”
“Did something occur to change that?”
“You could say that.”
“And what was it that occurred?”
“His former partner, Eli Sherman, was arrested for a series of murders. Jon was the one that caught him and Eli nearly killed him. Shot him in the chest and he was in intensive care almost two weeks. He retired from the force after that.”
“Now, when you refer to Eli Sherman you mean Detective Eli Sherman who was convicted and sentenced to life in prison for the murder and rape of two young women, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And isn’t true, Sergeant, that the San Diego Police Department believes the actual number of slayings by Detective Sherman to be in the ten to twenty range?”
“I guess.”
“You guess or it’s true?”
“It’s true we think there’s more murders. We don’t know how many.”
“And Detective Sherman was partnered with Detective Stanton for how long?”
“They were together two years, yea
r and a half, something like that.”
“And is it fair to say that in two years partners have the opportunity to grow close to one another?”
“Sure.”
“Because you’re out on the street, risking your lives together — brothers in arms and all that?”
“Something like that.”
“So is it fair to say that Detective Sherman and Detective Stanton were probably fairly close after two years of being partnered together?”
“I couldn’t say. Every partnership is different.”
“Okay, but it’s a possibility that they were close?”
“Anything’s possible.”
“And after two years of riding together every day it’s probable they were at the least … friends, or familiars?”
“Sure.”
“And in that two years did Detective Stanton ever come to you with concerns about Detective Sherman?”
“What kind of concerns?”
“Anything relating to his job or personal life? Anything indicating he may not be what he seemed?”
“No, he never came to me with anything like that.”
“Did he ever go to any of your superiors with anything like that?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“So it’s fair to say he had no idea Eli Sherman was killing young women?”
“Of course not.”
“Now in your opinion, Sergeant, someone like Detective Stanton, someone who was close to Detective Sherman, who probably shared most of his meals with him, who probably spent holidays with him, who spent long hours together with him every day, and saw absolutely nothing wrong with him, but it turns out he was a serial killer, in your opinion, wouldn’t you say that’s someone who doesn’t have the best judgment?”
“None of us saw it coming with Sherman. He was smooth. He could fool his own mama. Blaming it on Jon is unfair and frankly indecent. Ask the wives of any serial killer and they’ll tell you they had no idea they were doing what they were doing.”
“So you have a police officer, sanctioned to carry a gun and put people in jail, out murdering women and all you can say is ‘none of us saw it coming?’ Wouldn’t you agree that’s bad judgment on all your parts?”
“No I wouldn’t”
Stanton saw Childs growing visibly upset and could see Coop writing furiously, probably follow-up questions. He knew he’d struck a nerve and he hoped to get Childs upset enough to hang himself with something he’d say.
“Childs has a temper,” Stanton whispered to Rowe.
“I’m objecting to this, Gary,” Rowe said. “There’s no point to this. It’s all speculation and a jury won’t hear any of it anyway.”
“Objection noted. Unless you want to ring up the judge this early, I’m going to continue with it.”
“No, that’s fine.” She leaned to Stanton. “He can ask what he wants. I’ll object to break his rhythm but judges get really upset when they have to mediate a simple deposition. It’s not good to call him on this.”
“Now Sergeant,” Coop continued, “you have a serial killer wearing the uniform and investigating crimes, interacting with witnesses, going to court and testifying under oath, and eventually he’s caught—”
“By Detective Stanton.”
“Yes, by Detective Stanton. Eventually he’s caught and convicted and roughly two and half years later police chief Michael Harlow is also arrested, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And in fact he was arrested in the largest police corruption scandal in this county’s — and probably this state’s — history, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Chief Harlow was confiscating narcotics and having trusted members of the force re-sell them on the streets?”
“Yes.”
“And these trusted members, some of them sergeants like yourself, would sell these drugs back to the dealers they confiscated them from?”
“Yes.”
“And he and these trusted members of the police force would then split the profits?”
“Yes.”
“Did you ever get a piece of these profits?”
“No. Not once. And if I’d known about it I’d have arrested Harlow myself.”
“Did Detective Stanton ever get a piece of these profits?”
“No.”
“So you have Detective Sherman out murdering women and you have no idea, but you’re telling me that you know for certain that Detective Stanton didn’t skim a little profit from Harlow’s drug trade? You know that for an absolute fact?”
Childs hesitated. “Not for an absolute fact, no. But I know Jon and I know—”
“Just answering the question will suffice, Sergeant, thank you. Now how many officers would you say you had getting a piece of the money from the drug trade?”
“No idea.”
“Not even a guess?”
“Dozens of officers were arrested and convicted.”
“How many would you say there were that were not arrested?”
“I don’t know.”
“Would you say there were more than five?”
“I don’t know.”
“More than fifteen?”
“I don’t know.”
“More than a hundred?”
“I don’t fucking know! Damn, move on.”
“Sergeant, please, calm down and remain seated.”
“I am seated, what the fuck are you talking about?”
“Sergeant, would you like a minute to calm down? Maybe take a break?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“Okay,” Coop said, a slight smirk on his face as he began writing something down.
Rowe leaned over to Stanton. “He told him to remain seated because the jury is only going to read the transcript. There’s no video introduced there to see that he never got out of his seat.”
“Now Sergeant,” Coop continued, “I’d like to turn to the Sandman case. Now you said Detective Stanton was the lead detective. How did he identify my client’s son, Darrell Putnam, as the perpetrator of those crimes?”
“The three victims lived near each other. We did a sex offender search and hit on fourteen names. Putnam’s previous crimes fit.”
“Fit how?”
“He was a child sex offender with two priors. He had raped his nine year old niece and molested a ten year old neighbor.”
“How long ago were those crimes committed?”
“The first one was fifteen years ago and the second one was eight years ago.”
“And he did prison time on each of those and was released?”
“Yes.”
“Did he kill either of those girls in his previous offenses?”
“No.”
“Did he kidnap them in the middle of the night?”
“No.”
Coop made a few more notes and then put his pen down. “I think that’s all I have for you now, Sergeant. I may recall you to another deposition farther down the line should something develop.” Coop signaled to the stenograph to cut the recording. She stopped taking dictation and turned the audio off. “And, brother, you need to calm down. You lie with whores you gonna wake up with whores. Ain’t no reason to get upset with me.”
Childs stood up. “We got the same skin color but you ain’t my brother. And you’re the only whore I see here.”
He stormed out without looking back and Stanton looked to Rowe. She closed out her iPad and stood up. “See you Friday.”
Stanton followed her out as Coop sent him a glare and then smiled.
29
Stanton went to Melissa’s house and knocked on the front door. She answered in sweats with an iPod on.
“Hey, handsome,” she said, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing. I just wanted to see you.”
“I was just working out. Come in.”
The house looked immaculate and a cardio kickboxing DVD was playing on the television in the front room. She turned it
off and went to the kitchen and brought out two bottles of water. They sat on the couch a while and didn’t say anything. Stanton would drop by like this every so often and they had grown accustomed to it.
“How was your morning?” she said.
“Not that great. I was in a deposition.”
“Over the Sandman thing?”
“Yeah.”
“I heard the mother is asking for millions of dollars. Not much of a mother if your son grows up and rapes little girls. She doesn’t deserve a dime.”
“No, she doesn’t. But you never know with a jury.”
“You actually think you might lose?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure what I think right now.” He placed his bottle down on the coffee table and leaned forward, his elbows against his knees, his hands rubbing together as if it were cold though the sun was bright without a cloud in the sky. “I’m not sure this is worth it anymore, Mel. It seems like most days I’m just bashing my head against a wall and the harder I bash the more I get punished for it. I don’t think I want this anymore.”
“We’ve had this conversation before, Jon.”
“I know.”
“And you’ve gone back on your word each time.”
“I know that too.”
“I can’t get my hopes up again. Neither can the kids. I know what you want. You want me to tell you to move back in and to start making plans. That you’re going to be a professor and we’re going to live this perfect life. That’s not going to happen. You’ve broken my heart too many times. I won’t let it happen again.”
“What can I do to make you believe me?”
“Quit right now. Call your boss and give your resignation. Don’t tell him why, just do it. And don’t go back. We’ll have someone else go back and get your things.”
“Mel, I—”
“I know, you can’t. That’s the problem, Jon. That’s why I don’t believe you.”
“It’s this last case. It’s gotta end. The wrong guy’s been blamed, I know it. I can feel it. The monster’s still out there and we’re not even looking for him. If I quit, he would disappear and take who knows how many kids with him.”
“That’s what you don’t understand, Jon. It’s what you’ve never understood: there’s always monsters. The world has always been a mess and always will be a mess; the point is to straighten out your own life.”
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