The White Angel Murder

  THE WHITE ANGEL MURDER

  A novel by

  VICTOR METHOS

  Copyright 2011 Victor Methos

  Kindle Edition

  License Statement

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy.

  Please note that this is a work of fiction. Any similarity to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All events in this work are purely from the imagination of the author and are not intended to signify, represent, or reenact any event in actual fact.

  BY VICTOR METHOS

  Novels

  The Extinct

  Savage: A Novel of Madness

  The White Angel Murder

  Sea Creature

  Walk in Darkness: A Jon Stanton Psychological Thriller

  Novellas and Short Fiction

  Clone Hunter

  Existentialism and Death on a Paris Afternoon

  Earl Lindquist: Accountant and Zombie Killer

  Star Dreamer: The Early Science Fiction of Victor Methos

  To contact the author, learn about his latest adventures, get tips on starting your own adventures, or learn about upcoming releases, please visit the author’s blog at http://methosreview.blogspot.com/

  I hate mankind, for I think myself one

  of the best of them, and I know how bad I am

  -Joseph Baretti

  I also gave them over to statutes

  that were not good and laws

  they could not live by;

  I let them become defiled through their gifts … .

  that I might fill them with horror

  -Ezekiel, 20 : 25

  San Diego, California. Two years ago

  The coppery stink of blood hung in the air like a strong perfume.

  Jonathan Stanton felt the coolness of the linoleum in the kitchen against his back as his nostrils filled with the scent. His vision was blurry and only faint echoes rang in his ears but he knew there was no one near. He felt the calmness of the house now; the quiet. The gun was heavy against his hand but he didn’t feel he had the strength to lift it.

  He glanced down and saw the dark black blood pouring out of him and onto the floor, spreading into a wide circle around him. He felt the dampness of his shirt as it clung to his ribs and the trickle of urine down his thighs as he lost control of his bladder. His vision was clouded past a couple of feet and he didn’t know what, or who, was there, but there was no movement. His head collapsed back and his eyes began to close.

  Stay alive. Stay alive. Sleep is death.

  But all he wanted to do was sleep. It would be a simple thing to do; like falling onto silken sheets and wrapping them around himself. The softness would kiss his skin and then, there would nothing. It would be so easy to do.

  His eyelids grew too heavy to keep open, and darkness enveloped him.

  *****

  A crash and then cold over his chest. His lids opened but his eyes had rolled back into his head and they began to twitch and flutter.

  “He’s conscious!”

  He felt lightness, a floating sensation, as if he began to hover and he thought of his mother. His sweet mother with the soft hands that smelled like lavender. She had passed too soon from breast cancer and he had watched her soft smile as it withered away in the hospital bed with the clean white sheets. She held his hand as much as possible those last few days and they would watch reruns of shows on television. He would tell her about his day and the mundane things that happened.

  It’s trivial stuff, Ma.

  No, she would reply. Nothing’s trivial, Sweetheart. You have to love all of it.

  The next day, she couldn’t speak. And the day after that, her soul was lifted from her body like fog over a still river at sunrise.

  “Wake up, Jon. Jon! Stay with me. Jon!”

  A rushing gasp of warm air. He saw the sparkle of stars as the stretcher rattled to the ambulance out of the old house. The twirling blues and reds of the police cruisers caught his eye as he vomited blood and it spewed out of his nose.

  “He’s bleeding out! I need an IV now. What’s his blood type?”

  “No time. Grab a Type O bag and get it going. We’re losing him.”

  1

  It had been four days since anyone had seen Tami Jacobs.

  She worked the night shift as a server in a small barbeque restaurant just outside La Jolla. Tim Piggeneli, the owner, had been calling her cell phone and leaving messages and after two days it went straight to voicemail.

  The apartment complex she lived in was known to house young men and women who had come to Southern California in search of the type of life they had read about in books or seen in movies. The type of life that had died out with the older generation being supplanted with a new generation, marked more by apathy than a love for the ocean. Tim assumed she had enough money to live for awhile and would surf and get stoned and have sex with the beach-bums that were ever-present. In a few months, she would come begging for her job when nearly broke. It occurred often and he usually accepted the kids back. He had been in the same position when he moved here almost thirty years ago and wished desperately that someone had given him a helping hand when he needed it.

  Tim sat in his office at the back of the restaurant. It was a small space and cluttered with papers and empty boxes; the room was too small for the bookshelf against the wall filled with culinary books and the guitar and amp stacked in the corner. He picked up the phone and called Tami’s boyfriend who also worked at the restaurant and asked if he could make sure she was okay.

  Two hours later Jimmy Arnold pulled into a parking space at her apartment complex. He had been dating Tami off and on for over a year and wondered what it was that he had done to make her not answer his calls. They had a domestic violence incident three months ago, but that was old news. The District Attorney’s Office had dropped the case when Tami refused to cooperate. It was a minor scuffle, Jimmy decided. And one that had no business getting the law involved.

  He tried her cell phone again.

  This is Tami, you know what to do.

  He went up to her apartment and knocked. He pounded on the door with his fist and shouted into the peephole. He waited patiently another ten minutes and then made his way downstairs.

  The leasing office was in the first apartment and he smoked a cigarette next to his car before walking there. There was a pool in front of the building but it was empty, garbage and old toys strewn in the deep end. Weeds had overtaken the small gardens and an old tricycle sat on the grass, the red and white paint fading and chipped.

  He knocked and a man with a massive belly hanging over his belt answered the door. He was in shorts and a t-shirt and his feet were sandaled.

  “Hi, I’m Tami’s boyfriend, in 2-F. She’s not answering her door. You mind openin’ it for me?”

  “Can’t do it.”

  The man went to shut his door and Jimmy put his foot between the door and the frame. “Hey man, I just wanna make sure my girl’s all right. She might’a passed out or somethin’.”

  “Sorry. Now take yer foot out.”

  “She smokes, man. If somethin’s lit up there could burn this place down. Come up with me. If she ain’t in we’ll leave. Or can you at least call an ambulance or somethin’ so they can check up on her?”

  The man thought and then said, “Wait here.”

  A moment later he came back out wearing sweats and they headed to the second floor.
He opened Tami’s door with a master key and called out her name. There was no answer and they stepped inside.

  The apartment was warm and all the windows were closed. It smelled stale, like dust, and Jimmy saw half a sandwich on the coffee table.

  The manager attempted to say something but Jimmy walked down the hallway and looked into the bathroom. Her hairdryer was out and a photo of him and his black lab were taped to the mirror.

  He stepped into the hallway and saw that her bedroom door was shut.

  “Hey, she ain’t here,” the manager said. “Let’s go.”

  Jimmy ignored him and walked to the bedroom, opening the door. The manager walked over and looked in. He stood frozen awhile, and then ran to the bathroom and vomited.

  2

  Police Chief Michael R. Harlow sat in the patio chair and lifted the glass of orange juice to his lips. The balcony of the small apartment overlooked Ocean Beach Park and he listened quietly to the waves lap the shore.

  It was early in the morning and the only people out were joggers and dog-walkers. The sun was a golden orb coming over the ocean and he slipped on his sunglasses so he could watch its rays reflect off the water.

  “It’s small,” he said, “but the view makes up for it.” Stanton sat down in the chair next to him, but didn’t respond. “Can I ask you something, Jonathan? You left Homicide for your family and now your family’s gone. Why didn’t you ever call me?”

  “I don’t know,” Stanton said. “Just never seemed right.”

  “You could’ve pushed papers behind a desk. You didn’t have to quit.”

  “Melissa wouldn’t have gone for that. She knew what it was like, the not having me around.”

  Harlow nodded. “How is she anyway?”

  “The divorce gets finalized next month. There’s a waiting period. She’s going to get married as soon as it goes through.”

  “I know. I got an invitation to the wedding.” He shook his head and chuckled. “The balls on her.”

  Stanton leaned back and stretched out his legs. The sunlight warmed his bare calves. “What is it you want, Mike? I know you’re not here to hang out.”

  It was too quick, Harlow thought. He wanted to save the meat of the conversation for when Stanton was relaxed and comfortable. He wished like hell Melissa was still around.

  “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.”