The White Angel Murder (18 page)

“
That’s him.”

“
Huh. Okay, hang on … all right, we did a grid search and … yes, I checked the vent for over twenty inches and didn’t find anything. It tilted at an angle and no one could’ve gotten anything in farther than that.”

“
That’s all I needed to know. Thanks, Eddie.”

“
Yup.”

She hung up the phone and sat down in a large wicker chair with a blue seat cushion. “Checked the vent for twenty inches and didn’t find anything. So I guess that means it was put there after we left. How would they know you would come back?”

“
I don’t know. If they knew that they had to have known I wouldn’t be the one assigned to the case. So they would just somehow have to guess that I would come back and search the bathroom. We were thinking Francisco was killed and then dragged into the living room, but maybe someone came in after and dragged him there and left the note for me.”

“
You thinking another cop?”

“
Maybe. Honestly I don’t know what to think. I’m feeling burned out.”

“
Jon, I do believe you. But I don’t want to lose my career by helping you.”

“
I understand. I wasn’t suggesting that I stay here. I just need to go somewhere and sleep for awhile.” He rose to leave. “I’m going to the Salton Sea. I’ll call you afterward. Take the note in to latent prints and have them run it.”

“
Do you need me to do anything else?”

“
I don’t think there is anything you can do. But thanks. You can’t imagine how nice it is to have someone on your side when everyone else is against you.”

“
Yeah, I can.”

38

Chief Harlow was not used to waiting. He sat now on a metal bench at the Pelican Bay State Prison and checked his watch. They had kept him waiting over an hour and a half. It was punishment, he knew, from the warden. The chief had scheduled a visit by his own calendar rather than the prison’s and two extra guards had to be pulled away and stuck in the visiting corridor.

He strove that, no matter what, he would always be honest with himself. It was difficult enough to be honest with others but to look at oneself without judgment and without filtering was nearly impossible. It was something you had to work on for years and do constantly, from sun up to sun down. He felt he had a grasp of himself now. Of what he felt and why he felt it. It helped calm him in difficult situations.

But for some reason he was fuming. He couldn’t think about anything but running up to the warden’s office and chewing him out. But he knew he had no authority here. At best, the warden would yell back. At worst, he would have him arrested and escorted off the property or stuck in a cell for a few hours. Wardens and judges were the last forms of tyranny left in America.

The door opened and a guard led Noah Sherman in. He placed him down on the metal stool in front of Harlow and he picked up the phone as Harlow did the same.

“
I heard they got you as temporary chief now.”

“
Position turned permanent.”

“
Oh yeah? What happened to Rufino Ortiz? I thought he was next in line.”

“
He retired based on some problems he was having.”

“
Problems?” Sherman said with a chuckle. “Jesus, you are a politician. I heard he got busted with coke. I knew Rufino. Really well. Never once saw him with coke in all the years I knew him.”

“
Yeah, well I guess we don’t really know people.”

“
No, guess not. So first Jon and now you. You guys miss me down there or something?”

“
I have a proposition for you.”

“
And what’s that?”

“
Tami Jacobs. Twenty-three, blond, found in her—”

“
I remember the case. What about it?”

“
I need your help on it.”

“
You took me off that case and gave it to a couple of ass-kissers that just came up from the Gang Unit.”

“
I know, I remember. But you got farther than anyone.”

“
Then why’d you take me off?”

“
I have my reasons.”

He was quiet a moment and then said, “You know what, Mike? I never trusted you. From the first fucking second I saw you I thought you were a snake that would kill his own mother if it made him a few bucks.”

“
Fuck you, Noah. Don’t forget which one of us is on this side of the glass.”

“
Yeah, I know. In a perfect world you’d be back here with me.”

“
In a perfect world Jon’s bullet would have been a few more inches to the right and you’d be in a grave instead of a cell.” He leaned forward on his elbows. “And let me ask you something: why the fuck would you try and kill your partner? He would’ve worked something out with you.”

“
He would have arrested me and testified against me at my trial. There’s no gray area for him. Now cut the shit. What do you want?”

“
I want that case solved. As quickly as possible. You think you can handle it?”

Sherman’s eyes lit up and a smile came over his lips. He leaned back and spread his legs, allowing himself to slouch comfortably. “What makes you think I haven’t already?”

“
You would’ve told me.”

“
Would I? You fucked me and gave the biggest case of my career to two dumbasses who’d never worked a homicide. You really think I’d hand over everything I had to them?”

“
No,” Harlow admitted, “you wouldn’t.”

“
You know what’s interesting about you, Mike? Do you know why you just said that?”

Harlow bit the inside of his cheek. “Because I wouldn’t.”

“
Yeah, I know you wouldn’t, man. I know it and it creeps you the fuck out that me and you think the same. You wanna hear something crazy? Everybody in here thinks like that. It’s a type of mentality. I don’t even know where it comes from. Parents maybe. Maybe they’re just born with it though. Like the way you think is just part of your package with your guts and brains.”

“
I didn’t come here for a philosophy lesson. You gonna help me or not?”

“
Can’t. Not from in here.”

“
You wouldn’t be in there. You help me, you’ll be out of custody. You’ll have to wear chains and a location ankle monitor at all times, and you’ll have a federal marshal with you twenty-four seven, but you’ll be allowed to be outside the prison.”

“
And?”

“
That’s not enough for you?”

“
You knew it wouldn’t be. What else did you get?”

“
Your sentence is life without parole. You help me get who did this, it becomes life with parole.”

“
How?”

“
Your attorney’s gonna file a Post Conviction Remedies Act petition and the Court of Appeals is going to grant it. One of the justices, not in public of course, but one of the justices has already agreed.”

“
Don’t matter. Just cause I got the possibility don’t mean nothing. They’ll never let me out of here. Charles Manson never killed anybody and wasn’t there when his followers did and he’s going to die in prison.”

“
That’s all I got, Noah. That’s the extent of my connections. You can help me or not but I can’t give you anything else. And when have you ever heard of a serial killer getting the possibility of parole? It’s a huge deal.”

“
I’m not a serial killer. I only got two kills. FBI defines it as three kills. But it don’t mean shit. They won’t let me out.”

“
Fine,” Harlow said, standing up, “then I’ll find another way. Have fun with your butt buddies in here.”

“
I didn’t say no.”

“
Then what?”

“
Put it in writing.”

“
Are you fucking stupid? We’re talking about an appellate judge making a finding before being presented the case. I can’t put that in writing. No, my friend, we’re just going to have to trust each other on this one.”

“
Well, I guess I ain’t got nothing else.”

“
Ain’t? Since when did you start talking like a fucking redneck?”

“
You are what you’re around.”

“
God help us if that’s true. So, you still haven’t given me an answer.”

“
Okay. You got yourself a deal.”

39

There was perhaps no more eerie place on earth for Jon Stanton than the Salton Sea.

In the nineteenth century the only reason Californians had to be near the Salton Sea were salt mining operations that occurred there. But the area proved too harsh an environment and went into decline.

There was an effort in the 1950’s to rejuvenate the area and celebrities from that era could be seen in old photographs hanging out in boats, sipping wine or beer with groups of friends. But the rejuvenation never stuck and the real estate boom that was expected as a result never materialized. Fish were introduced into the lake but the heavier than expected rains and the overwhelming salinity of the water wiped out the introduced species quickly. The rejuvenation resulted only in shores full of dead fish and half-finished homes staring out over the water like corpses.

Corpses were what Stanton remembered about the area from his childhood. Small fish lined along the shore in piles, their eyes dried out. Once he found an entire beach of sea shells and began happily collecting them, enjoying the crunch underneath his feet, only to have his father tell him they were not sea shells but the bones of dead fish and animals.

The Salton Sea was now nearly abandoned and all the nearby towns were known more for their massive production of methamphetamine than any tourism.

Stanton took Route 86 down and regretted not trading in his car. Every police cruiser on the road was a potential threat and his heart would race until the cruiser turned away or sped past him. Before long he came to the intersection of Montego and Aberdeen. It was near the shore and there was nothing nearby that he could see until he looked farther down the road to the south and saw an abandoned warehouse building. He pulled down the road and made his way to the front of the building and parked.

All the windows were broken out or painted over in black. The wood and paint were falling off in large chunks and the dirt surrounding the building was littered with trash. Stanton stepped out of his car and the powerful odor of sea salt filled his nostrils. He noticed piles of dog feces covering the surrounding ground and knew packs of feral dogs roamed this area, scavenging garbage cans and the carcasses of dead fish and game that died near the lake.

Stanton walked to the building and stood in front of a door marked, “EMPLOYEE ENTRANCE.” He looked around and saw that he was completely alone. Maybe it had been a mistake to come here? But he knew he couldn’t leave. He had nowhere else to go.

He tried the doorknob and it turned and opened the door. He walked inside.

It was a large space with no wall divisions and old machinery had been left to rust and fall apart on the factory floor. Stanton could see a few nests, what the homeless called the makeshift sleeping places they made with whatever soft material they could find. In this case it was newspapers and blankets. Blankets were valuable and he knew no one would leave them willingly. They would be back for it, or they were still here.

He turned toward the front of the warehouse and walked into an open doorway to the office spaces. The first office was small, almost the size of a bathroom, and he looked around before stepping out and going to the next office. There was a filing cabinet and he opened it and checked the drawers but there was nothing in them but rat feces. He came next to what he thought would have been a breakroom as there was an empty water jug and an old rusted fridge thrown on the floor. The carpet had been torn out, revealing wood underneath with large patches of glue that his shoes would stick to.

There was a calendar with a shoeprint on it lying next to the fridge and he kicked it open with his foot, revealing a woman in a string bikini and no top. He then opened the fridge. It was empty except for mold and a box of Arm & Hammer.

The other offices were the same. In one he found an abandoned pair of shoes that had been worn away to the point that the bottom halves were falling off. In another was a rusted kitchen knife with the handle missing. But it was all innocuous. There was nothing here.

He went out to the factory floor and wandered among the large machines. Once they had been powered and producing goods that traveled halfway around the world. They had been taken care of; cleaned and polished and maintained. Now they were on the brink of falling to dust.

There was a small stairwell near the back leading to a platform overlooking the floor. Behind it was another office. Stanton climbed the stairs and stood on the platform looking over the factory floor. He imagined the workers that must’ve been here, the laughter, the sadness, the hours upon hours of mindless labor that must’ve dulled their souls. He turned to the office door behind him. It was labeled “SUPERVISOR” and it was thick with a smooth steel knob that hadn’t decayed like the rest of the factory.

Stanton tried the door and it was locked. He tried kicking it open but the lock was too strong and the door too thick. Next to the door were a few windows. He broke one with his elbow and then cleared out the jagged edges carefully. He lifted himself up on the sill and began climbing in. There were still a few pieces of glass he hadn’t gotten to and they scraped and cut his knees and hands. A tiny stream of blood flowed from his palm and he instinctively sucked on it and then wrapped it tightly in his shirt. He stood frozen, applying pressure to his hand, listening to the sounds of a dead building.