The White Angel Murder (2 page)

“
We’re starting a new division. Cold Case Homicide.”

“
I read about it in the
Union-Trib
. They had photos. I didn’t think I’d ever see you shaking hands with a Fed.”

“
You gotta cut deals in this day and age if you want to get things done. It’s not like it was when you and I were coming up. Everybody’s into this collaborative bullshit. Drug Enforcement, the DA’s Office, hell even the Navy’s got a piece of this thing. But believe it or not it’s actually looking good. We got a nationwide database that searches prints, DNA, facial recognition … the Fed’s let us use their labs in Virginia … it’s not all bad.”

“
Sounds like you got everything you need.”

“
No, not everything.” He finished the rest of his juice and set the glass down. “I’d like you there, Jonathan. I need you there. The senior guys don’t want it and the greens can’t do it. I need someone with experience. That’s you.”

Stanton looked down to the scar on his chest, just under the collarbone. His former partner, Noah Sherman, had put slugs into him two years prior.

“
Yeah, I’ve got experience.”

“
What happened with Noah,” Harlow said as calmly as possible, “was unavoidable. It was like lightening or a shark attack. No one could see it coming.”

“
He ate Sunday dinners at my house every week. Did I ever tell you that?”

“
No,” Harlow said, looking out over the water.

“
The newspapers were right. If anybody should’ve seen it, it was me.”

“
Fuck the papers. They’re bottom feeders. Your worst days are their good days. They live off misery. Nobody cares about them.”

Harlow felt the blood hot in his face. He could still see the headline of the Trib:

KILLER EMPLOYED WITH SAN DIEGO PD FOR TWELVE YEARS.

“
I heard you’re teaching at a community college. Is that really where you want to be?”

“
I like teaching,” Stanton said.

“
You can make a difference here. The division’s brand new. No ground rules yet. You could help set those. Bring closure to families.”

“
What’s the criteria to screen a case?”

“
Has to have no active leads and be older than one year. A lot of it will be drug killings, deals gone bad, bank robberies, things like that. But some of it will be different. Some of it will be the real sick ones. Jon, you and I both know that if the case is open, he’s still out there. He’s still looking and he’s still watching and he may not even know he’s killing them himself, much less anyone around him. Not until he screws up. I need someone like you for those.”

Stanton stared out in the distance. He’s much darker, Harlow thought. Darker and with sun bleached hair. He’s taken up surfing again.

“
I wouldn’t ask this from you if I had any other options. Lord knows you have every reason to say no and to tell me to shove it. But this isn’t about me.”

“
You’ve got everyone you need. I don’t think I could bring anything to the table.”

“
That’s not true.” Harlow saw a young lady in skimpy shorts run by and he watched her a moment. “You got something, Jon. Whatever it is it helps.”

“
Didn’t help me with Noah.”

Harlow leaned forward, taking a long while before speaking again. “Do you remember the Tapia case? The pedophile?”

“
Yeah.”

“
You got him quick; what was it like three days? After you left the force he was interviewed for an unrelated case. Insurance fraud or something. He said he had planned another victim that day. Had him picked out and everything. He was going to pick him up at his school early with a fake badge and uniform. The same day, Jon. You stopped that. You can make a difference in people’s lives. I know that’s why you became a cop. That’s all I’m saying.”

“
I’ll think about it.”

Harlow rose, pushing his sunglasses to his forehead. “Call me. The unit gets up and running Monday morning.”

*****

Harlow pulled his Mercedes out of the parking stall and turned onto Grand Avenue. There was a billboard near the stoplight of a young girl in cutoffs and a see-through shirt. Her thumb was tucked into her waistband and she was pulling her shorts down, revealing her hips and lower stomach. The ad was for vodka.

He dialed a number on his phone.

“
Hey, Chief.”

“
He’s going to be joining, Tommy. Make sure everybody’s on their best behavior. Any jokes or comments about Sherman or what happened and it’s your ass.”

“
I understand. How’d you get him to come back?”

“
Don’t worry about that.”

“
Does he know what we’re doing?”

“
I don’t think he would come if he did.”

3

Harlow sat at the large circular desk he’d had custom designed by a young sculptor making a name for himself in the San Diego art scene. Calls had been placed to the papers and a few blogs the day he bought it, every story emphasizing the fact that he had paid for the desk himself. The photo in the Trib had the sculptor sitting at the desk with Harlow sitting on the edge, in the foreground.

The desk was clear except for a computer, a legal pad, and a box of files. The box had been pushed to the edge of the desk, as far away from him as possible. A large white label was across the top with the name TAMI CRYSTAL JACOBS written in red permanent marker.

His phone buzzed.

“
Yes?”

“
Chief, Melissa Stanton here to see you.”

There was a pause before he said, “Send her in.”

His office door opened and a woman came and sat across from him. She wore tight spandex capris and a Gold’s Gym tank-top. He rose and shut the door before sitting back down.

“
I’d heard you were a personal trainer now. How’s that going?” he said.

“
Make more money than I ever did in a uniform.”

“
I bet. How you been, Melissa?”

“
I’m good. Not great, but good.”

“
I got your wedding invitation.”

“
Are you going to come?”

“
No,” Harlow said, leaning back in his chair.

“
The mayor’s going to be there. So is the Lieutenant Governor. My fiancé is in the legislature.”

Melissa saw the struggle in Harlow’s face as he realized why he had recognized the name on the invitation.

“
Don’t worry, Mike. If you decide to show up I won’t think less of you.”

“
Well, maybe. You know, for appearances sake.”

“
Sure.”

“
So,” he said, crossing his legs, “what can I do for you?”

“
Jonathan called me. He said you offered him a job yesterday.”

“
And?”

“
And he intends to take it. Why can’t you stay the hell away from him, Mike? You don’t need him.”

“
I do need him. We’re starting a new unit. I’ve got good cops here, don’t get me wrong, but they don’t have that one thing. That ability to get into the heads of these sonsabitches.”

“
You nearly got him killed last time.”

A vein flared in Harlow’s neck but his face remained passive.

“
I did everything I could to protect him,” he said. “Before and after.”

“
Oh please. You had a fucking psychopath as one of your detectives and in all those years you never saw it? How many brutality complaints did he have? Thirty? Forty? Jonathan only rode with him for a year, it was your responsibility.”

She calmed herself and looked out the window. She could see a tree swaying slightly in the breeze.

“
He talked to me about him once,” she said. “He thought something was really off about Noah and he didn’t trust him anymore. That’s why Noah shot him. He knew something wasn’t right. Jonathan put it together.”

Harlow put his elbows on the desk and made a dismissive motion with his hands. “The past is the past. What do you want from me?”

“
I want you to be honest with him. You don’t give a shit about giving closure to those families. This unit is for you to erase some black marks in your career for when you throw your hat in the ring for commissioner. You’re using him.”

“
Nobody put a gun to his head,” he said louder than he would’ve liked. “And what do you care? You left him when he was dying in the hospital.”

“
That’s not true and you know it.”

“
So it didn’t get finalized until two years later. So what? You as good as left him in that hospital bed. You think he doesn’t talk to me?”

There was a knock at the door and Tommy poked his head in.

“
Chief, got somebody here from Channel 4 wants to talk to you about the Cold Case Unit.”

“
I’ll be right there.”

Melissa rose and began to walk toward the door. “If you hurt him again, I’ll make sure you’re held for it this time. I swear it.”

As she walked out Harlow stood and straightened his tie. He checked his underarms for pit stains and made sure his hair looked good in the mirror he kept in a drawer in his desk. He then walked out to the front of the station to meet the television crew.

4

It was 6:30 pm on a Saturday when Jonathan Stanton walked in to the San Diego PD Headquarters on Broadway. The building had recently been through a renovation and the exterior looked clean and white, the darkened windows freshly washed. The surrounding area was grass and trees and clean sidewalks. Jonathan didn’t remember it this clean a few years ago.

Night security checked him in and gave him a temporary employee pass to use on the elevators. He went to the fifth floor and turned down the hall.

The Cold Case Unit had been set up in five empty offices and a large conference room. The space recently housed two other units that had been moved a floor below. A uniform nodded to him and looked down to the small box he was holding. He noticed the PhD in psychology in the brown frame.

“
You’re Detective Stanton?”

“
Yeah.”

“
Got your own office next to the chief. But he wasn’t expectin’ you till Monday.”

“
Just came to set up early. Didn’t want to bother anyone.”

The man mumbled something and then said, “Follow me.”

He was led down the hall and past an enormous number of cubicles. They stopped at a large door with a keypad on the side wall.

“
Combo’s 521. Got it?”

“
Yeah.”

The door clicked open and they went in. The offices were furnished with glass desks and leather furniture. Each one had a well manicured plant in the corner and a piece of abstract art hung behind every desk. They walked through the conference room. Jonathan counted at least twenty high-backed black leather chairs with a large flat screen at the front of the room, hooked up to a laptop. On the other side of the room was a floor-to-ceiling size map of San Diego.

“
Your office is that one there.”

“
Thanks.”

The man left without saying anything and Stanton walked into his new office. He placed the box on the desk and sat down. One wall was a thick window looking down onto Broadway. He could see the cars passing on the street below and he watched them a long time.

There was a computer on the side of his desk against the wall and he turned it on. The screen flashed and prompted him to enter his password. He entered it and an error message came up: Password Expired. Please See the Administrator For a New Password.

He leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes. It was strange being here. Like he had come into someone’s home uninvited. Stanton tried unpacking his box and hanging up his degrees. There were two photos he put on his desk: one of his nine year old son Matthew and his four year old son Jon, and one of his father, Dr. George Stanton.

His father had been a psychiatrist and was displeased when Stanton chose the police academy after his doctoral degree rather than going to medical school. A PhD and M.D., he had told him, would make him invaluable as a researcher to any number of universities lucky enough to have him.

The day he told his father he was joining the police academy, all his father said was, “Son, power, no matter how nobly it’s applied, eventually corrupts.”

After he had unpacked he sat down. He began looking out the window again when a man with a vacuum stepped into the room. He looked in the garbage can and glanced passively at Stanton before leaving.

Stanton took a deep breath, and decided to leave.

*****

It was dark by the time Stanton pulled to a stop in front of the large house. It was two stories with a wide lawn. A Mercedes was parked in the driveway. Through the kitchen window he saw a man, woman and two young boys eating dinner. They were talking and laughing and the mother would get up and get another dish or fill someone’s glass.

He walked to the door and knocked, a large manila envelope under his arm. Melissa answered, a smile on her face that quickly faded away when she saw him.