The White Angel Murder Read online

  “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.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “Hi.”

  He pulled out the envelope and handed it to her. “A few things. Some jewelry I found when I moved.”

  She looked through the envelope. “Jonathan, you can keep most of this stuff. I gave it to you.”

  “No, some of its family heirlooms. It should be in your family.”

  Just then a small head popped around the corner and Mathew ran out and threw his arms around his father. Four year old Jon stood at the corner and didn’t move.

  “Hey dad,” Mathew said.

  “Hey squirt. How was the game?”

  “We lost by two goals.”

  “You’ll get ‘em next time.”

  Melissa’s fiancé Lance came to the door and stood behind her, softly letting his hand rest on her shoulder.

  “How are you, Jonathan?”

  “Fine. Thanks.”

  Lance cleared his throat. “So what’s up?”

  “He was just dropping off some of my stuff,” Melissa said. “Why don’t you join us for dinner?”

  “Yeah!” Mathew shouted.

  Lance said, “I’m sure your dad’s got more important things to do than have dinner with us. Don’t you, Jonathan?”

  There was a long silence as the men stared at each other.

  “Sure,” Stanton said.

  “Come on, Matty, let’s finish up supper. Good to see you, Jonathan.”

  “Yeah. I’ll see you later, squirt.”

  “Bye dad.”

  Melissa stood at the door until they were out of view in the kitchen. She stepped outside, folding her arms though it wasn’t cold.

  “He misses you,” she said.

  “I know. I wish I could see him more.”

  “Jon Junior misses you too. He just doesn’t know how to show it.”

  “He’s angry with me. He thinks this is my fault.”

  “That’s not true.”

  There was a silence and then Stanton said, “I’d like to take them more, Mel. I don’t see them enough.”

  “They’re going to have a new life. Lance is going to be a big part of that life and they need to spend a lot of time with him. I think every other weekend is appropriate.”

  Stanton looked down to his shoes. They were worn and hadn’t been polished in a long time. He noticed that Melissa was bar
efoot and had her toenails painted black.

  “I should go. Kiss the boys for me.”

  “Jonathan,” she said hurriedly as he turned to leave. “I know I can’t talk you out of that job. But be careful.”

  “I will. Thanks.”

  As Stanton got into his car he looked through the window at the family having dinner; they were laughing and joking around again. He started his car, and pulled away.

  5

  When Stanton walked in to police headquarters on Monday morning he stopped at the vending machine and got a Diet Coke. He wore old khakis and a blazer he had dug out of his closet. After work he would have to head to the Fashion Depot and pick up a couple of suits.

  He went to the fifth floor and it was buzzing with activity. Detectives with their suit coats off and their sleeves rolled up ran around making demands of assistants and secretaries. A few uniforms were wandering around, rubbing elbows with the detectives and swapping war stories.

  He walked to the large door and entered the code. It clicked open and he stepped inside.

  The space was quiet as opposed to the rest of the floor. He could hear someone speaking in hushed tones on a telephone in one of the offices.

  “Jonathan!” Harlow shouted from across the hall. The chief came over and shook his hand. “I’m so glad you said yes. We’re going to do some real work here, Jon. God’s work. Come on, let me introduce you to everyone.”

  The conference table had an ample supply of bagels and coffee spread over it. Three men and a woman sat at the table speaking quietly with each other. They stopped and looked at Stanton when he walked in.

  Harlow motioned to a seat near the head of the table and Stanton sat down. The chief took his position at the head and glanced over everyone quietly.

  “I can’t tell you how happy it makes me to see these faces around this table. You five are the best at what you do. I’ve never served with better cops in my career. There’ll be more coming, but you were the ones I wanted, the ones I needed, right away.

  “I know this is fucking grade school, but I want to go around the table and have you introduce yourselves. Where you’re from, family, all that bullshit that you would have to get out in small talk. Let’s start with you, Chin.”

  An Asian man with glasses and a finely cut suit straightened up in his seat and said, “I’m Chin Ho. I’m from San Francisco PD. Got transferred down for this unit. Originally from Korea. I have a partner and he’s moved down with me too. He’s a lawyer.”

  Harlow looked to the next man, tall and black with an ipad on his lap.

  “Nathan Sell. San Diego PD. Divorced, no kids.”

  The next man was white and overweight with a black suit and white shirt.

  “Philip Russell, FBI. On loan to the unit. Single, no kids.”

  “Jessica Turner, LAPD. Single, one child.”

  Stanton cleared his throat. “Jonathan Stanton. I’m … I guess I’m with San Diego now. Going through a divorce. Two sons.”

  “Good,” Harlow said, “now we’re all friends.” He reached for a bagel and placed it on a napkin in front of him. “I’ve talked to each of you individually about what we’re doing and what’s expected of you. If you have any questions, now’s the time to ask.”

  Nathan raised a finger in the air and Harlow nodded to him.

  “Who’s the unit commander, Chief?”

  “I am. That’s why you’re set up next to my office. I want everything reported and ran through me.”

  Jessica asked, “What’s the budget for this unit?”

  “As much as we need to get the job done. We got grants from the city, state and federal government. But like I said, everything goes through me. No one buys so much as a paperclip without me knowing it. But I’m not going to micromanage. Submit a report of what you need directly to Tommy and as long as you think it’s reasonable I’ll have the money to you within one day. I’m putting a lot of trust into each and every one of you and I expect you to take that trust seriously.” He looked around the table. “Anything else?”

  “How are cases assigned?” Stanton asked.

  Harlow shifted in his seat. “I’ll pair the appropriate case with the right investigator. You don’t start another case until the one assigned is solved or it’s dead, and then it shifts from this unit to archives.”

  Clever, Stanton thought. Every year the unit’s cases would shrink and people would assume it’s because they were being solved.

  “Anything else?” Harlow looked to each person. “Good. Let’s start with assignments.” He pressed a button on a sleek gray phone set up on the conference table.

  “Yeah, Chief?”

  “Tommy, get me the assignments.”

  “You got it.”

  While they waited for Tommy, the group quietly read emails or checked phone messages. Jessica took a cup of coffee and asked if Stanton wanted one and he declined.

  “He’s Mormon,” Harlow interjected.

  “Oh,” Jessica said. “That’s interesting. Why the Diet Coke?”

  “It’s a gray area in the Church,” Stanton said.

  The door opened and Thomas Sanchez walked in with several uniforms carrying boxes and thick three-ring binders. They spread everything on the table, shoving the food out of the way, and left the room with a nod to Harlow.

  “Chin,” Harlow said, passing two binders over, “Todd Grover. He was a liquor store owner that was robbed in 0 4. They got off three rounds during the robbery and one hit him in the neck. He died in the hospital. Only thing he gave us was that they were African-American, young, and one had a tattoo of some sort on his hand.”

  Harlow pointed to one of the boxes. “Nathan, that’s you. Alberto Domingez Jovan. He was leaving a strip club and flirting with one of the dancers in the parking lot when some other patrons began talking shit to him. He asked them what their problem was and they showed him with two slugs in the head. Got at least twenty witnesses and two suspects that went nowhere.”

  “Got it, Chief,” Nathan said.

  “Jessica, this is yours.” He handed her a binder and a small box with a DVD and a folder in it. “James Damien Neary. Stabbed in the heart while walking home from a Wal-Mart. He got back to his apartment and, for whatever reason, didn’t call an ambulance. Died there. No leads.”

  Harlow pointed to a box at the end of the table. “Philip, you got Rodrigo Carrillo. Gang member. Shot to death sitting on his porch in a drive by.”

  There was one final box and Harlow hesitated before putting his hands on it. He grabbed it by the sides and pulled it near to him, staring at the name.

  “Jonathan, you got Tami Jacobs. Twenty-three year old waitress. It’s … it’s pretty bad.”

  He pushed the box to Stanton and then looked to everyone again before standing. “All right, we got a lot of work to do. Tommy’s your point man on everything. Once a week we have meetings on Monday morning to go over our cases. You may be working them alone, but you’re not alone. We got a brain trust on these cases.” Harlow glanced at his watch. “I’m not expecting miracles, but I am expecting results. Even if it’s nothing more than declaring the case dead and moving it to the basement. Now do what I know each of you is capable of doing and let’s have some of these bastards stay in our concrete hotels courtesy of the California taxpayer. Our system’s burdened by too many obstacles and loopholes as it is, but we can make it better and give our kids the future they deserve.”

  Stanton glanced around the table and saw that no one had noticed the prepared stump speech; one intended to be given at a lectern in front of an audience.

  When the chief had gone everyone gathered their materials and headed to their respective offices. Stanton stayed and got a bagel, spreading warm cream cheese over it with a plastic knife.

  “Sorry about the coffee,” Jessica said, walking back out and throwing away her paper plate and napkin.

  “It’s okay.” He noticed for the first time she was wearing one pearl earring in her right ear and nothing
in her left. Before he could ask her about it, she walked back to her office and shut the door.

  Stanton finished eating and took the box into his office. He placed it down on the desk, and pulled out the first three-ring binder inside.

  6

  Tami Jacobs was originally from Iowa. Her parents were both custodians; one in high school and the other grammar school. Her mother committed suicide when she was nine years old and her father died eight years later, on Tami’s graduation night from high school. He was driving drunk and had careened into oncoming traffic. He survived for six days in the hospital with massive brain swelling before the family decided they needed to cut life support.

  She had two siblings somewhere, brothers. Stanton wondered if they felt the tug of guilt in their bellies from not being able to save her. Brothers are often the de facto protectors of the only female in the family.

  There was a photo of her with her family when she was in her teens. She wore a University of Iowa sweatshirt and was hugging someone Stanton guessed was her grandfather. Short blond hair and deep blue eyes set in a thin face. Her legs were long and she had slim hips. Stanton knew instantly why she had come to California.

  He didn’t need to look at her bio to know she was an aspiring actress, waiting tables until her big break. At some point, the cold detachment of reality fell on her and she realized that even if she made it, it was still failure. Hollywood was a zero sum game.

  She was an “A” student in high school but moved to West Hollywood after her father’s death. There were no college transcripts.

  Tami volunteered on the weekends at a senior center. There were printouts of emails in the box she had written to her grandfather in Iowa and from some of the patients she had befriended at the center. Stanton pulled one of the emails out. He hesitated before looking at it, like he needed to ask permission first.

  i hope you are doing good Poppy! i am great here. The beach is next to my house and i surf all the time! I miss you guys. i wish i could come home and visit but its pretty crazy with auditions and everything :(