The White Angel Murder (14 page)

A few minutes later, Anderson walked up and said hello. He was tall and bald, slim at the shoulders with jowls that were just beginning to appear.

“
I was told you need to speak to me, Detective.”

“
I do. Mind if we talk in your office?”

“
Not at all.”

His office was orderly and sparse. The only ornament that said anyone even occupied the space was a photo of Anderson and his wife on a boat. His arm was around her and he was smiling. It creased his face in a way that said he was not a man used to smiling.

Stanton was seated across from him and Anderson took his time settling into his high-backed leather chair. He sat rigid and folded his hands across the desk. Stanton knew instantly he was a man that had served time, a long time, in the military.

He took the letter out of the envelope and placed it on the desk. Anderson picked it up and read it. He didn’t flinch. Stanton was impressed that he showed no reaction at all. He just calmly placed it into his waste bin next to the desk.

“
I assume he sent that to you recently?”

“
I got it today. It was postmarked for yesterday, the day he was killed.”

“
What are you suggesting, Detective?”

“
Nothing, sir. I just wanted to talk to you about it.”

Anderson took a deep breath and his hands went to his lap. He leaned back in his chair, looking at Stanton, but he guessed anybody could’ve been sitting in that chair and receiving the same look.

“
When I started in this department,” he said, “it was a whole different beast. There was … predictability in it. Most of the guys came from the armed services. Uh, were you in the service at all?”

“
No, sir.”

“
Helluva experience, Detective. Vietnam. You know I used to stick my rifle up and shoot without looking at what I was shooting at. I was an eighteen year old kid and what I did almost all day was shake.” He stood up and walked to a cupboard that was in a corner. He took out a clear bottle holding what appeared to be whiskey and poured a glass. He looked to Stanton. “A glass?”

“
No thank you.”

He took three fingers of whiskey and came and sat back down. “Twenty-four hours a day, Detective, I shook. And I was always wet. If it wasn’t raining I was drenched in sweat. The humidity was something you can’t even imagine. The weather just stuck to you. You could taste it, it had a taste.” He took a long drink and placed the glass down on a coaster of the American flag he pulled out of a drawer. “Anyway, that’s all the past now. Most of the detectives I know up here want to get flashy positions so they can get the good jobs later. Guarding dim-witted celebrities or whatever. You know, that’s one of the hallmarks of a civilization in decline, when the celebrities are more revered than the day-to-day folks. Happened in Rome, happened in Gaul, happened to the French and English.”

“
Yes, sir.”

Anderson finished his whiskey. “So what is it you want, Detective Stanton? I know the chief suspended you. Do you want to be reinstated? At a higher grade, I’m sure?”

“
No, sir.”

“
Then what do you want?”

“
I want to find who killed Tami Jacobs.”

Anderson looked at him a few moments and said, “Why? It’s one homicide. You got us by the balls on this thing and you don’t want to use it?”

“
No, sir. If I may be frank, I was retired before this case. I don’t care about my career. But the type of person that killed her is very rare. And very hard to catch. Given the timeline, I expect that since her death he’s killed anywhere from one to ten other girls depending on whether he is a plant or roving killer.”

“
What does that mean?”

“
Plant killers fix themselves in one spot, like if they have a home somewhere. But roving or rogue killers travel around, usually in between cities and states and sometimes even in between countries and look for victims. Because law enforcement has been slow in communicating with disparate agencies, they go for years, sometimes decades, without getting caught.”

“
And you think that’s what you got here? A rogue?”

“
I don’t know what I have, sir. He’s extremely smart, probably trained or self-taught in forensics. There’s little physical evidence left. What I do know is that outside of a shark attack, I’ve never seen a victim as badly mutilated as this girl.”

Anderson nodded as if he understood. “And all you want is to catch him? No fame or money?”

“
No, sir. I don’t even need my badge back. I just want to make sure I’m given access to a few things I may need.”

“
You shame me, son.” He leaned forward and placed his hands on the desk again. “Well you got your badge back. I’ll clear it with the chief. What else do you need?”

“
Why did you order that information be kept out of her case file?”

“
Because like Detective Hernandez, I was following orders too. And there’s only one person in this whole place that can give me an order I have to follow.”

29

Chief Michael Harlow’s home sat on top of a small hill overlooking the beach. It was upscale, more so than even a chief of police of one of the largest cities in the country could normally afford, and was filled with two children, a wife, and a mother-in-law with a live-in nurse.

Stanton came to a stop in front of it and sat in his car a long time. He watched the neighbors come and go. A utility man was on a power line repairing what looked like damage from someone throwing items up there. A kids pair of shoes hung over one of the lines. This used to be a signal to potential buyers driving through that drugs were being sold. A sort of “open for business” sign. But that had stopped since law enforcement picked up on it. It was now red lighting on porches.

Stanton guessed this neighborhood had some rowdy children; ones that had rich parents that were never around to see what it was exactly their children were doing. In many respects, though the media painted the poor as responsible for most crime, the rich committed just as much. But there were so few of them it didn’t seem significant.

He could see the family having dinner and he pushed his seat back and listened to an Opera to Relax CD for forty-five minutes until they were done. The children ran off and Mrs. Harlow cleared the table and then began helping her mother back to the guestroom upstairs. The chief sat alone at the table sipping wine.

Stanton knocked on the window to the kitchen rather than the front door. Harlow didn’t move and then eventually got up and opened the front door and stepped outside.

“
What’s going on, Jon?”

“
I need to speak with you. In private.”

“
If this is about reinstating you—”

“
I don’t care about that. I just need to speak for a few minutes.”

“
All right. Well come inside before one of my neighbors shoots you as a prowler.”

Stanton was led through Harlow’s home to a study off to the side of the living room. Books lined cherry wood shelves and a puffy brown leather couch took up an entire wall. Harlow sat down at an old desk and lit a cigar. He put his feet up and waited for Stanton to speak first.

“
You ordered Anderson to halt progress on the Jacobs case. Then you brought me in. You had to have known I would eventually find all this out. So that means you’re in trouble somehow and you thought solving this thing could get you out of it. My best guess is that you found out the cop she was dating was Noah and you didn’t want another body attributed to the San Diego PD. But why bring me in? What if I just went to IAD?”

Harlow sat frozen. He took his feet off the desk and put his face in his hands, rubbing his eyeballs with his palms. “Christ. I was hoping you could handle this without finding out certain aspects of it. I had a sneaking suspicion you would but I had to risk it.” He put his cigar out in an ashtray and mumbled something under his breath. “But you’re wrong, that’s not how it was.”

“
Then what happened?”

Harlow rose and shut the door. He came and sat down on the couch. Stanton saw his shoulders slump and his belly puffed out of his shirt as he stared at the carpet. In a few seconds, he had gone from a man in control to a man spinning wildly through the universe.

“
I met her at that restaurant. I was having lunch with Tommy. I think I actually offered him his position there.”

“
Who’d you meet there?” Stanton knew the answer but wanted to hear it from him.

“
I asked her out to dinner and we started talking on the phone. We would talk, get this, for two or three hours sometimes. When was the last time you talked to anyone for two or three hours? I felt like a teenager again.”

“
Say her name, Mike.”

Harlow looked at him. You cruel son of a bitch, he thought. “Tami Jacobs. I was having an affair with Tami Jacobs.” He chuckled. “Would you believe me if I told you it actually made my marriage better. Swear to God. I was more attentive with Crystal. It felt like the time I would spend with her and the kids was more special. I can’t explain it. But that’s the way it was.”

Stanton thought of the young girl in the sweatshirt, her arms thrown around her grandfather. The look of joy on her face at being able to spend a sun-filled afternoon with her family.

“
I can’t believe you can sit there and tell me this like it’s okay.”

“
I know it’s not okay, Jon. Hell, I knew it right when I started doing it. You asked and I’m telling you what happened.”

“
She was a kid. She was lost and looking for anyone to hold on to and you used her like trash.”

“
Hey, who the hell do you think you are? I cared for her. You think working three days a week at that shithole paid her rent? I bought her clothes when she needed, I took her out, I got her car fixed. I did everything I was supposed to do.”

“
Except save her life.”

It was low and Stanton felt the pain of his words cut deep into his boss. He regretted saying it, but then thought that perhaps Harlow deserved it. That this might be the only time that someone will be able to say it to him.

Harlow put his face in his hands again and they sat in silence. There was an antique clock on the wall and it was ticking softly. A shower started somewhere in the house and the groan of pipes ran through the room and then faded away.

“
You’re right about something though. I am in trouble, Jon. And I need your help.” He stood up and walked to a space behind the desk and knelt down. Stanton could hear the turn key to a safe and then a click and the creak of a metal door that needed to be oiled. Harlow came back with a small box. He opened it and showed him what was inside. They were letters. Stanton glanced through them. They were demanding different amounts of money.

“
After she was killed, I got one of these in the mail with a photo of me and her checking into a hotel. You gotta see, Jon, this was right after Noah. I mean right after. The media was all over us, looking for anything they could use to show that we were all sick fucks like him. I couldn’t let this get out.”

Stanton rose and began pacing. He had to move, to get blood flowing through him. He felt the softness of the carpet through his shoes and he looked to the walls, focusing on a single point of reference and keeping his eyes fixated before moving to another wall.

The idea of the Chief of Police manipulating a murder investigation to cover himself …

“
You have to turn yourself in.”

Harlow suddenly appeared pale. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“
Having your detectives selling steroids and you taking a cut is one thing. This is something else.”

“
Taking a—”

“
I’m not blind, Mike.”

“
No, you’re not. I’m sorry. These are things that just … not even Crystal knows these things about me.”

Stanton sat back down on the couch and looked him in the eyes. “You need to turn yourself in and resign.”

“
Now hold on a second, Jon. We go back a long ways you and me. This ain’t just a Boy Scout solution to turn myself in and everything’s going to be fine. I’ll be thrown off the force. I’ll lose my pension. You know the forfeiture laws as good as me. All this,” he said, waving his hand around the room, “they’ll take it all and sell it at some fucking IRS auction. I got a family relying on me.”

Stanton rose. “You let them down a long time ago. Turn yourself in, Mike. Or I will.” He got out to the hallway before Harlow was on his feet.

“
You’re not such a fucking saint! You got a good detective, a detective with a family, murdered for nothing.”

“
I didn’t get him killed, Mike. You did.”

Stanton left the house and went to his car. He laid his head on the steering wheel and rested there. He remembered something his grandfather had told him: No one is what they want you to see. No one.

30

Stanton found he couldn’t sleep. He would toss to one side of the bed and then another and stare at the floor for what he thought were long periods of time. Then he would look at the clock and realize only a few minutes had passed. At two in the morning, he stopped trying and threw on shorts and sandals and walked down to the beach.

There was something more primal about the ocean at night. The water appeared like dark tar, devoid of any color and swallowing everything in its path except for the glowing light of the moon. Most predators in the sea hunted at night and there were no ships or wind-sails or yachts. But there were occasionally surfers. The crazier ones that had little outside of their time on the ocean.