The White Angel Murder (22 page)

Though the prison noise had died down, it wasn’t quiet. It was never quiet, even in the dead of night. That was the first thing he learned about prison on his first day. The second thing was that it always smelled. The cleaning crew would come by twice a week and they routinely cycled the stale air, but it never helped. There was always the stench of sweat and piss and feces. The stench of hundreds of human beings crammed together so tightly the walls themselves absorbed their stink.

“
Heard you was leaving?”

Sherman looked to Tucker but saw his eyes weren’t open. “Yeah.”

“
You coming back?”

“
Not planning on it.”

“
Don’t seem right, you kill them girls and get to go free.”

“
Whoever said the world was right?”

“
Not me.”

“
Not me either.”

“
You gonna get them urges again, Noah? The bad thoughts.”

“
The bad thoughts come and go. It’s a fight, that’s for sure.”

“
I ain’t never got bad thoughts. I killed the mutherfucker cause he deserved it. Don’t seem right you getting to go free and me bein’ here.”

“
No, it doesn’t.” He turned to him; his eyes were now open. “I never got to thank you for what you did for me. I have a feeling my time here would’a been a lot worse without you.”

“
Every man got a choice in life. And he should be free to make that choice, even in hell. I did what I did cause I think that’s what Jesus would want me to. You want to pay me back, next time you get them urges, you think a Jesus.”

“
I’ll try.”

46

Stanton went back to his office around six, just when everybody else had gone home. He sat at his computer awhile, checking emails, and then went through the Jacobs file again. He stared for a long time at the photos; but there was no doubt. It was either the same person that had killed both girls or someone with intimate knowledge of the first killing.

Chin Ho stepped into his office. He stood awkwardly at the door a full ten seconds before saying anything.

“
I guess there’s not much I could say.”

“
You did your job, Chin. Besides, I don’t hold grudges. They shorten your lifespan.”

He fidgeted with the doorknob a few seconds and then said, “Thanks.”

“
You’re welcome.”

“
So did you hear about Noah?”

“
What about him?”

“
He’s out. He’s being transported tonight down here to help with the Jacobs and Dallas murders.”

“
Dallas?”

“
Oh, yeah. Hold on a sec.” He ran over to his office and then came back and sat down, throwing a copy of a file onto the desk. “Pamela Maren Dallas. The girl in the closet at the Salton Sea.”

“
How’d you ID her?”

“
Dental records. She’s got some next of kin too, her mother and stepfather. They haven’t been notified yet. Harlow’s assigned the case officially to you and Jessica. Unofficially, Noah’s helping too.”

Stanton leaned back in his chair. “That’s a bad idea.”

“
Why? Seemed all,
Silence of the Lambs
to me. Kind of takes one to catch one.” He saw that Stanton grew uncomfortable and then quickly said, “Harlow only wants him out a few weeks. After that, if there’s no developments, he goes back in the can.”

“
Thanks for the file, Chin.”

“
No problem. There’s an autopsy report too, but Imperial’s ME hasn’t faxed it over yet.” He rose. “You’re going to get treated like shit from some of the people here, Jon. I don’t know what the hell happened with George and that whole thing, but I just wanted you to know I think what you’re doing, catching this bastard, I think it’s noble.”

As he left Stanton flipped over the file. On the first page was the familiar glossy stare of the dead. There were a few photos of the scene, not nearly as many as there should’ve been, and then one of her laid out on the metal autopsy table. Despite the chalk-white skin and the purple bruising covering her body, her beauty still shined through.

She was twenty-one. There was a note from the autopsy report. The ME had already detected early signs of liver failure from alcohol abuse. Aside from her height, weight and some other statistics, there was no other information. Nothing about her. It was the type of report that would be written for a drug murder where victimology was not a factor. Salton City was not used to this kind of monster.

Pamela still lived with her parents and their home was in Orange County. Without an autopsy report he couldn’t be sure, but based on what he saw, she had been dead at least three or four days. Her parents should have called it in by now.

Stanton called Jessica and gave her the address to the parent’s home. She didn’t even hesitate or complain that it was after hours. She just agreed to meet him there.

Stanton drove in the waning sunlight down the Interstate and wished he would’ve waited another day or two before trading in his car. He thought about going back, but he knew it was already altered and on the market. It wouldn’t be fair to Louis, even if he was a crook.

He saw a sign for Disneyland and pain pulled at his guts and gave him a nervous stomach; he missed his boys. There was no doubt they had heard their father was a fugitive and he wanted to speak to them, to explain what had happened. But he knew that wasn’t possible. Melissa would do everything she could to keep them out of the darker side of his life. To her, the less they knew the better. But Stanton knew that wasn’t the right approach. They had a right to know; altering facts never did any good.

The house was rundown but in a middle class neighborhood. The lawn was torn up from being worked on and some engine parts were strewn over the driveway. A 1968 Mustang sat in the garage and an older man in a t-shirt and jeans was working on getting a dent out of the back bumper. Stanton guessed he was easily in his seventies.

Jessica was already parked down the street and began walking to him as he stepped out of his car. He walked to the driveway and waited for her.

The man saw them and nodded hello.

Stanton reached for his badge and remembered he didn’t have it. Jessica pulled out hers and flashed it quickly before looking away toward the home.

“
What can I do you for, officers?”

“
Are you Mr. Harold Dallas?” Stanton said, noticing that Jessica wasn’t looking at the man.

“
Yes.”

“
Do you have a daughter named Pamela? Born on June third of ninety-one?”

The man’s face went flush with anger. “What the hell did she do now?”

“
Mr. Dallas, may we come inside and speak with you?”

“
Yeah, I guess.”

They walked into the home. It smelled of cooking fat and meat and a television was blaring somewhere. They were led to the living room and sat on an old sofa. Harold continued to stand but leaned against the mantle over the fireplace.

“
So, what’d she do?”

Stanton waited for Jessica to say something, but she sat quietly, staring at a magazine on the coffee table.

“
Harold, your daughter has passed away. Her body was found near the Salton Sea and she was identified from dental records. I’m so sorry.”

There was no reaction other than clenching of the jaw, the muscles underneath his skin bulging and then relaxing. There was a long silence that seemed to go on forever. Finally Jessica cleared her throat and began to speak.

“
She was murdered, Mr. Dallas. Under normal circumstances we would just notify you but these aren’t normal circumstances. We need to find who did this quickly. Your daughter was not the first victim. If you could answer—”

“
Stop!” He was shaking and ashen white, but no tears came. He was from a different century, one in which men did not cry even in the most deserving of circumstances. “Just stop for a minute.” He rose up, straightening his back. “I need to tell her mother. Please wait here.”

Harold left the room for what seemed like a short time. He came back and sat in a lazy-boy next to the couch and looked out the window.

“
Is she okay?” Jessica asked.

“
No. But she will be.” He looked away from the window and down to the floor. “Pamie’s not my daughter. Her real daddy was killed in Iraq. I’m her step-father, but she thought of me more as her grandfather.”

“
I don’t know what to say, Mr. Dallas. I wish we didn’t have to be here telling you this.”

“
But you are, so let’s get on with it. What do you need to know?”

“
Was Pam having any personal problems lately?” Stanton asked.

“
Her and her mama’s been fighting a lot lately. Over drugs. We ah … one time we found her overdosed in our bathroom. She was a heroin addict and she called us from rehab. She seemed to be doin’ fine so we brought her home, but that was a mistake. She shot that poison in her neck cause she couldn’t get it in her arms no more. Since then, we been kinda expecting news like this.” He sighed loudly. “Oh Jesus. My poor girl. I raised six children a my own. They all doin’ fine. Could do nothin’ for Pamie though.”

“
I’m very sorry for your loss,” Jessica said. It sounded flat and unconvincing. Harold didn’t seem to notice. “She was probably killed three to five days ago. Did you see her around that time or notice she was gone?”

“
No. She would come and go as she pleased. She was in Las Vegas for over a month one time and didn’t even call us. I ain’t seen her for at least a couple a weeks. I know her mama ain’t seen her for even longer than that.”

“
Did she call or email or anything?”

“
No.”

“
Could you get us a list of her friends,” Stanton said, “particularly her male friends? And any boyfriends you may know about. If you know her daily schedule or routine, that would help too.”

“
I’ll see what we can put together for you. Her mama would be the one to know. I’ll get it from her and drop it by.”

Jessica rose to leave and pulled out her card, placing it on top of the magazine. “If you think of anything else that may be helpful, please let us know.”

Stanton rose as well and said, “Does she have a room here I could take a look at?”

“
Yeah, upstairs to the right.”

He turned to Jessica. “I’ll be out in a sec.”

Stanton walked up the stairs and looked at the photos hung on the wall. They were family portraits taken at beaches and camp grounds and fishing boats. None of them were of Pamela.

To the right hand side of the hallway on the second floor were two doors. One led to a small bathroom, stockings slung over the shower rod. Feminine products and make-up were on the sink and on top of the toilet tank and an empty waist bin sat next to the shower. The other door led to a room.

The carpet was brown and the wallpaper was polka-dot; red and blue and yellow. Something a child might choose. The room slanted at an odd angle and he could tell it wasn’t originally meant to be a room but storage. The ceiling sloped down from left to right and the two windows were different sizes. There was a bed with sheets decorated the same pattern of polka-dots and a small nightstand.

Stanton walked to the nightstand and opened the first drawer. It was filled with change and a belt, an old paperback novel, a few ID cards and receipts. The second drawer had a small black three-ring binder and Stanton opened it. There were names and phone numbers scribbled on the pages. He pulled out his cell phone and snapped photos of all the writings before putting it back in the drawer.

There was a closet on the other side of the room and he went to it and slid open the right side. It was cluttered and filled with clothing and shoes from top to bottom. Boxes were stacked on the floor and he opened some of them. They held socks and underwear and jewelry. The box farthest from him was the largest, pink with white trim. He opened it and found a couple of wigs and some high-heels, a few pieces of lingerie and some make-up. He pulled the box out of the closet and took photos of all the contents.

The room had no photos, no keepsakes or memorabilia. It was like a hotel room and Stanton suddenly felt sorry for Pamela Dallas. Not just for her death, but for the life that led her to this soulless room.

He left, and shut the door behind him.

47

Stanton finished the day by speaking to Jessica for a few minutes and then headed to his car. He got in and turned the key in the ignition and was about to put it in drive when it hit him he wasn’t sure where home was. The SWAT team was not known to be gentle and his apartment might be unlivable right now. But he had nowhere else.

He drove to his complex and parked in his usual spot. The sun was setting and he walked to the beach and sat in the sand and watched the last surfers and bathers pack up for home. A young couple was near him, lying on towels and whispering softly in each other’s ears. Their hands exploring their skin before interlacing fingers and kissing.

When the sun was swallowed by the ocean and the moon began to shine in the sky, gray-black clouds gently drifting across it, Stanton rose and went to his apartment. Suzie was out on her balcony and was sipping a hard lemonade and smoking her Marlboros.