The White Angel Murder (32 page)

The sound occurred again and he saw the doorknob twist slightly to the right and then to the left. He saw the bottom of the door. The gap between the floor and the wood was massive. This door was not part of the original home design, or it had been replaced with a wrong size door.

Fingers came through the bottom and the knob turned again and Stanton stood and pointed his firearm, his finger on the trigger. The fingers retracted and he heard thumping down a set of what sounded like wooden stairs.

He knelt down to the gap between the door and the floor. “This is the police. Who’s down there?”

“
Oh my God,” he heard someone shout. “Help me, please help me.”

He heard the crying of a young girl and the sobs and pleading for help. His instinct was to kick the door down but he remained calm and put his firearm away and took out his pin and tension wrench.

The door was open in less than a minute. It was dark but Stanton could see the first few steps leading down into a basement. Near the middle of the stairs was a girl, her blond hair covering her face, her feet bound. Stanton jumped down the stairs.

“
Are you hurt?”

“
No,” she cried. “Please, we have to go. He’s going to come back. We have to go.”

“
Okay, okay, calm down. We’re going to get out of here, okay?”

Stanton tried to loosen the plastic wraps around her ankles but they were too tightly bound. “Wait here.”

“
No! Don’t leave me!”

“
I’ll be right back. Hold on.”

He ran to the kitchen and grabbed the butcher’s knife off the cutting board. He ran back to the girl who screamed when she saw him.

“
Shhh. It’s okay, I’m just going to cut these wraps, okay? Don’t move for just a second.”

He placed the blade in between the wraps from the bottom and sawed into them. The plastic was hard and he could feel that bits were flying off over his arms. He got through and took them off.

“
Come on.”

He helped her up the stairs and turned for the front door. He was going to get his cell phone, when he remembered that he had no reason to be here. There was no warrant. Everything found in this house would be suppressed in court, including the statements made by the girl.

“
Can you walk?” he said.

“
Yeah. Come on, let’s go.” She pushed for the door.

“
Hold on, I need you to do something for me. I need you to go to the neighbor’s house and call the police. When you do, you’re going to tell them that you found that knife in the basement and you cut yourself loose and got out. That the door wasn’t locked when you tried it and you got out on your own. I’m going to leave and you can’t mention me.”

“
No, we have to go.” She was crying and beginning to get hysterical. “We have to go. We have to go, please.”

Stanton put his palms on her cheeks and brought her eyes to his. “Listen to me. They can’t know that I helped you. I’m going to leave and you’re going to tell them that you found that knife in the basement and you cut yourself loose. Please.”

“
Okay.”

“
What are you going to tell them?”

“
I … I found the knife and I cut myself loose.”

“
Okay. Now I need you to be strong for me just a little bit longer, Zoe. Okay, just a little bit longer.”

She nodded and they walked to the door. Stanton opened it and watched as she walked to the neighbor’s house and knocked on the door. He was about to leave, and then ran back into the bedroom and grabbed the stack of letters, shoving them into his pocket before dashing out to his car. He waited until he saw Zoe speaking with the neighbors and one of them pull a cell phone out before driving away.

*****

Stanton stopped near a small neighborhood park. Sweat was pouring out of him and his heart pounded in his chest.

He tried to relax but the tension coursed through his body and it tickled his stomach and bladder and he had the sensation that he needed to urinate. He got out and went to the public bathroom at the park. Nothing came so he went back to his car and flipped on an overhead light and read the second letter. The third and fourth letters were as uninteresting as the rest; they praised each other and talked about their conquests. It reminded Stanton of a schoolyard pissing contest.

Then he got to the last letter. It was dated two days ago:

Jon Stanton’s address: 2312 New Haven. If you want to be free you’re going to have to take care of it. Send a message to all of them.

Stanton thought Sherman had given him the wrong address and then recognition pounded in his head like a hammer against steel: it was Melissa’s address.

66

Stanton raced on the interstate, weaving in between cars. He cut off a semi and the loud horn startled him. He fumbled for his cell phone and was annoyed that he had to wait for it to turn on. He dialed Jessica’s number.

“
Hey,” she said, “what’s up?”

“
He’s going after Melissa. Call dispatch and tell them an officer needs assistance immediately and get them to 2312 New Haven. Tell them the suspect is armed and hostile to officers.”

“
Oh my God. Okay, I’m on it.”

He then called Melissa. There was no answer as it went straight to voicemail. He tried again with the same result.

Stanton glanced down at his speedometer and saw he was doing nearly ninety miles an hour, disrupted only with the frequent braking he had to do before passing slower vehicles.

By the time he got off his exit six minutes had passed. He knew he would be closer than any responding officers and probably be the first one there.

The street was quiet and there were no vehicles parked in the driveway. Stanton ran up onto the grass and left the car on as he darted out and to the front door. It was locked and he pounded and rang the door bell and shouted for Melissa. He took a step back and raised his right leg and smashed his heel by the doorknob. He did it again, and again, and again. The door was beginning to splinter and he did it twice more with the other leg before switching back.

With a thunderous crash the door swung open, bits of wood flying everywhere, and Stanton pulled out his firearm and entered the house.

It was dark except for the blue light of the television coming from the living room. He flipped the switch on the wall and nothing happened. He pushed his back against the wall and slid along it, heading for the living room when saw a figure slouched on the sofa.

“
On the ground!”

There was no movement. Stanton reached for the light switch and a lamp turned on. It was Lance. His head was leaned back against the leather, a small hole in his forehead drizzling blood down over his face. The back of his head was blown out and brain matter and blood was on the wall behind him.

He heard screaming from farther down the hallway. They were of young children.

Stanton sprinted down the hall. The gun was in his hand but it was lowered now and he couldn’t think; there was only the instinct to run to the voices and destroy anything in front of him.

They were coming from the bathroom and the door was locked. Stanton rammed his shoulder into it and it flung open. His boys were on the floor, their faces covered in tears and sweat, their eyes swollen. But alive.

They ran to him and he wrapped his arms around them.

“
Where’s your mom?”

“
I don’t know.”

Stanton glanced around the bathroom. “Come on, let’s go.”

He took them outside and shouted for help. A neighbor came out, an older woman in gym clothes. Stanton told her to take his boys inside her home and wait for the police and lock her doors. She was frightened and confused, but did what he asked without a word.

Stanton ran back inside the house.

His heart was pounding so hard he didn’t think he could hear anything else. He ran back to the bathroom and checked the two rooms farther down that hallway. They were empty. He ran over to the stairs leading to the second floor. On the first few steps were dirty boot-prints.

Stanton climbed the stairs slowly, straining to hear any sounds. He got to the top and stood for a moment listening. There was a muffled cry in the room immediately to his left. He twisted around the other side of the door and ducked low. He took a deep breath, and reached for the doorknob.

He twisted the doorknob and pushed the door open. Tied to the bed with plastic cuffs, Melissa was in her bra and panties. Her make-up was running down her face and she was hysterical, fighting against the straps as her wrists bled.

Stanton pushed the door open farther, and then went deaf.

A shotgun blast tore through the wood just above his head. Where his chest should have been had he been standing. He fell to his stomach as another blast went off, his ears ringing and causing nausea.

He crawled along the floor away from the room as another blast tore through the wall, blowing fragments of wood and drywall over the hallway and on top of him. Another blast farther along but above him.

Stanton climbed to his knees and got toward the end of the hall when he heard Melissa scream. He stood and ran for the bedroom. Brady was at the door and fired, the spray mostly hitting the wall behind Stanton as he fell to his stomach and fired up at the figure in front of him.

Stanton squeezed the trigger and felt the impact against his wrist and shoulder. Another shotgun blast caught Stanton and tore chunks out of his midsection and shoulder. Brady was hit once in the throat and the face. His jaw shattered into pieces, revealing his tongue and pink throat, and he stumbled backward. Stanton steadied his hand, and fired.

A single shot went into his cheek just underneath the eye. He fell to his knees as Stanton stood up and fired two rounds into his head, knocking the corpse over onto its back. A handgun was in Brady’s other hand and Stanton walked over and kicked it away. He stood over the body, and fired his last round into the heart.

He ran over to Melissa and tugged on the straps. They weren’t tightened all the way: he had been interrupted. Stanton ripped them off and placed his arms around his wife and kissed her forehead as she wept onto his chest.

“
It’s over,” he whispered. “It’s over.”

67

The glass partition was dirtier than Stanton remembered. There were fingerprints smeared across it; small fingerprints about the size of a child’s hands. Stanton didn’t want to be here. He would have preferred to be on the beach with the ocean foaming around his ankles. But he felt that if he didn’t come questions would always nag at him. And he needed to look him in the eyes and tell him that he had lost.

Sherman was sat down and picked up the phone with a grin on his face.

“
So, Johnny boy gets his man. I’m humbled that you came to see me. Heard you spent some more time in the hospital?”

“
Were you ever going to turn him in?”

“
I don’t know. I enjoyed his work. He was progressing, Jon. Tami wasn’t the first. He came to visit me once. He told them he was my attorney and they didn’t record anything. That’s what you should’ve done.”

“
How many were there?”

“
His first one was when he was fourteen. Such an early age to begin, isn’t it? I wonder how far he would’ve gotten if you hadn’t murdered him.” Sherman bit a long piece of his thumbnail off and spit it out. “I saw on the news that you retired after this case.”

“
I have.”

“
Retirement’s an odd thing. Actually decreases your lifespan. I’m dying to know something, Jon: what’d they find in his house? Any trophies?”

“
They found Mike’s cash he’d been paying in blackmail. I take it you found out Mike was sleeping with Tami and had him follow them around for photos?”

“
Mm, part of that money was mine. Such a shame. What else did they find?”

“
His mother. She had her head bashed in with a hammer.”

He chuckled. “A little going away present. He was going to go away, you know. Right after he killed you and tortured that little woman of yours. He would’ve had fun with her; she’s a fighter.”

Stanton leaned in close to the glass. “I came here to tell you that you lost, Noah. I’m still here and you’re still in there. Have fun, I hear their retirement plan is a good one.”

He hung up and left without looking back.

*****

Stanton sat in the hot sand and let the sunshine warm his body. The beach was nearly empty as it was a Wednesday afternoon but there were a few people playing hooky from work that had gotten out their surf and boogie boards and were yelling and laughing in the water.

Melissa was farther down the beach, playing in the surf with the boys, the water foaming at her ankles. She looked beautiful, her hair wet and touching the tops of her shoulders. The smile on her face was genuine and the tan made her appear young.

Stanton looked out over the water and saw a seagull land near shore and dip underneath the water before coming back up and taking flight with something glistening in its mouth. He watched it a long time, effortlessly gliding through the air and landing on a secluded part of beach farther up near the parking lot.