The White Angel Murder (9 page)

“
Later.”

18

“
You want how much!”

Stanton thought Tommy looked like he was either about to pass out or start yelling.

Tommy was technically a police officer rank two, just underneath a detective. But he had never shown any initiative for taking the next step up the ladder. After Harlow picked him as his personal assistant, Tommy never looked to working a regular beat again. He was young and full of bravado; sometimes he was the only one in the entire force that had the guts to stand up to Harlow. But he was overly loyal. Stanton knew if Harlow needed something done that wasn’t on the up and up, Tommy would do it.

“
It’s necessary,” Stanton said, sitting across from Tommy in the office next to Harlow’s. It was the second largest office on the floor, larger than the Executive Assistant Chief under Harlow.

“
The only thing that could justify that much scratch is a drug buy. No way I can approve that, Jon.”

“
Mike said we would get anything we need.”

“
Yeah, but within reason. Five grand in cash without you being able to tell me what it’s for is not reasonable.”

“
You can take it out of my salary, over time. I just don’t have that much on me.”

“
Over your … are you crazy? You want to pay five G’s of your own money on this stupid case?”

Stanton got a look at how everybody viewed the homicide of Tami Jacobs. It was something they didn’t want to speak about. Cases that were deemed unsolvable were often treated that way. They were a mark of failure, of madness that showed itself and disappeared. It was an uncomfortable reminder for even the most hardened detectives that even the really crazy ones sometimes got away.

“
I didn’t mean it that way,” Tommy said. “It’s just, five G’s is a lot to not have a reason.”

“
I’m paying someone to reveal a source. A good source that is absolutely necessary for me to do my job.”

Tommy was quiet; looking Stanton in the face like it could reveal something to him. He turned to his computer and pulled up a disbursement sheet. “Fine, you’ll have it in an hour. But if this doesn’t go anywhere, I can’t authorize anymore spending.”

“
Deal.”

*****

The restaurant Stanton had chosen specialized in Nepalese cuisine but still considered itself an Indian establishment for marketing purposes. It was decorated in posters of Mt. Everest, cloth tapestry with small jewels sewn in, bowls from Nepal, and paintings of every day scenes from the Himalayas. Stanton pulled Jessica’s chair out as they were sat near the windows and then ordered two strawberry lassis.

“
Do you come here a lot?” she asked.

“
I used to. After a shift me and my partner would come here for a late night dinner.”

“
You can say his name, Jon. I’m not a child.”

“
I didn’t mean to patronize you. I just don’t like talking about him.”

The lassis came and she dipped her straw in it and pulled it out, sucking the fruit bits off the tip. “Did you read the paper? The piece about our unit?”

“
Yeah.”

“
They made me seem like a nut-job.”

“
It wasn’t as bad as everyone’s making it out and people will forget about it in a few weeks. There’s always a new story, a new person to attack.”

They ordered their meal and some naan and mango chutney was brought out for them. They ate in silence and Stanton wished he hadn’t brought up Sherman. He had found himself, over the past two years, speaking about him at times that weren’t appropriate.

“
I had a sister that was in 5 North for about three weeks.”

“
Really?” Stanton said, unsure what else to say.

She nodded. “She committed suicide a little later. When she got out. They can fix ‘em while they’re there but they can’t do shit when they get out.”

“
The facility treats you like you’re not human sometimes. You either do as they say or they’ll restrain you and do it anyway. Luckily for me it was all prescriptions with little talk-therapy.”

“
Must’ve been scary.”

“
For some. I mostly just stayed in my room and kept to myself.” He took a forkful of chicken and dipped it in the mango chutney. It was soft and moist and went down as easily as warm butter. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’d like to talk about something else.”

“
Me too. How about we talk about Harlow?”

“
What about him?”

“
Everybody’s dying to know how you two are so tight. Everyone else on this team was chosen for the application process and then went through three interviews and a screening before being selected. The rumor is he just recruited you personally.”

“
Mike and I were detectives in narcotics for a brief time. We hit it off and have stayed friends. Some people can do that. Make a quick connection that never breaks. I trust him.”

“
I wish I had that; someone to trust. So far, I haven’t seen anyone worthy of absolute trust.”

“
Maybe you’re searching the wrong places.”

She attempted to answer when Stanton’s phone buzzed. He checked it and a text had been received. It said:
money in ur acct good luck-Tom

“
Who is it?”

“
Tommy. He came through on something for me I wasn’t sure he could come through on.”

She absent-mindedly played with the food on her plate awhile and then said, “So this Mormon thing. I have a few questions and then I won’t ask about it again.”

“
No worries. Ask away.”

“
I’ve heard you guys think the Garden of Eden is in Missouri?”

“
True.”

“
Isn’t that kinda, silly?”

“
Why? Do you think having it in Africa or Jerusalem is somehow more serious?”

“
Well, no, I guess not. But it seems weird that America would play such a big role in the Bible.”

“
Generation after generation has been taught that the most important religious events have happened in the Middle East and that is what everyone has accepted. Doesn’t make it true.”

“
Guess not. Okay, how about multiple wives?”

“
I’m all for it.”

She smiled and said, “No, be serious.”

“
Abandoned that practice a long time ago.”

“
Everyone?”

“
Everyone that’s a true Church member, yeah. So I’d like to ask you something now.”

“
Okay.”

“
I noticed you only wear one earring. I thought you’d forgotten or lost the other one but then I saw that you did it every day.”

She looked down to her plate. “My sister and I would share earrings when we were kids. When I used to visit her, toward the end of her life, we started doing it again. I put one of all of my earrings in a little box that was buried with her. Now I just wear one.”

This time her phone interrupted them and she checked the ID.

“
Sorry, have to take this. It’s the sitter.”

“
No problem.”

As she rose and answered her phone, walking out to the front entrance to talk, he texted Hunter:
Deal’s on. 5 is the highest I can go
.

Ten seconds later, he replied:
no need got it for 2
.

19

It was nearly eleven o’clock when Stanton dropped Jessica off at her apartment and made his way to Rancho Santa Fe to meet Hunter at his place.

Rancho Santa Fe was easily the most affluent area of the city and in the top three most affluent places in America. The median household income was right under $200,000 and for a small cottage with no yard someone could expect to pay over a million dollars. It was predominantly white and in every driveway was a Mercedes or BMW or Cadillac or Lincoln. The usual marks of life indicating that people lived in a neighborhood were not present here; there were no toys left out on lawns, no neighbors barbequing together. Whenever Stanton came through this area it gave him a heavy gray feeling in his gut. Becoming successful enough to live in Rancho Santa Fe was the goal of most people in the city, but the top was as hollow as the bottom. Meaning came from somewhere else.

He pulled into a quiet street in a cul-de-sac and parked on the curb. The home was square with a well manicured lawn and trimmed hedges. A neon sign hung above the door:

ABANDON ALL HOPE YE WHO ENTER HERE

Stanton walked up the driveway past a 7-Series BMW and knocked on the door. No one came. He knocked again and rang the doorbell. He tried the door; it was open.

The house was immaculately clean and a small note with a mint was on a table by the door, indicating that a maid had come through recently. Art hung on all the walls. It was neither good art nor bad, but the eclectic mix gave it a certain randomness that made it appear tacky.

The living room was a large space with three flat-screens up on a single wall, all turned to the same channel. It was a vampire show and on the leather sofas that took up most of the room were two partially nude women; one black, one white. They were wearing bathing suit bottoms but no tops and the stale air of marijuana smoke was thick.

“
I’m looking for Hunter.”

“
He’s in the pool,” one of the girls said without taking her eyes off the televisions.

Stanton saw the sliding glass doors and went outside. The pool was large and lit with underwater lights on each end. Hunter was splashing around with a woman, both of them nude. A male was passed out in a lounge chair on the side of the pool, a small line of cocaine laid out on a mirror he had placed on his chest.

“
Johnny boy!” Hunter yelled out. He stuck his tongue in the girl’s mouth and said something that made her giggle before climbing out of the pool and wrapping a white robe around himself. The initials “MHR” were stitched in gold lettering over the heart. “Hungry, thirsty, horny?”

“
I’m fine, thanks. I brought the cash.”

“
Straight to business, huh? Well at least come inside and watch while I get drunk.”

They walked inside and to the kitchen. Hunter opened the fridge and scanned up and down, unfamiliar with what was in there, and noticed a bottle of cognac.

“
Who the fuck put my cognac in the fridge?” he yelled to no one. He poured it into a wine glass and drank half before motioning to the living room. He plopped in between the two girls and put his arms around them. “Interesting little cookie this Francisco.”

“
Can we talk in private?”

“
Oh don’t worry,” he said, pushing the heads of the girls together lightly, “they’re empty as rocks. Ain’t you girls?”

“
Asshole,” one of them said.

Hunter took a drink and grinned. “They got him set up on Cleveland Ave in a little shitty apartment. The name of the apartments is the, Boca Del Ray. His name’s Hector Garcia and he’s a footsoldier with the Sureños. They sent him in for the prostitution the gang’s been running. Prostitutes are a much safer business than drugs. Most pimps are low level guys out there by themselves. Sureños think with their rep they can muscle everybody out and have it to themselves. They’re probably right too.”

Stanton wrote everything down in his pad and then took out two thousand in cash in an envelope.

“
No no,” Hunter said, “on me. For the gun thing.”

“
Thanks. Consider us even.”

“
Even Steven.” He began pushing the girls’ heads into his lap. “You sure you don’t want to stay?”

“
Positive.”

*****

Stanton sat in his car outside awhile, staring at the information in his notepad. He had to move forward cautiously; if the crew Francisco was running with even suspected that he was working with the cops, much less was a cop, it would be instant death. No words exchanged, no explanations given. Just a bullet in the back of his head when he wasn’t expecting it.

He pulled away and got onto the Interstate, taking his time to get to the Cleveland/Lincoln Avenue exits. The area was primarily apartment high-rises and low-income tenements. It was segregated into three different districts: white, Mexican, and Russian. He remembered a case he had out here. A wife had shot her husband after she found a receipt from an escort agency in his pants.

The Boca Del Ray was a square, cream colored building with a large front porch and a keypad entry. Two young Mexicans were on the porch smoking. They saw him and Stanton could tell from the looks on their faces they made him for police before his car even came to a stop in front of the building.

He got out and looked around. In heavily populated gang turf there were scouts everywhere. Their job was to alert the street’s enforcer; the person in charge of protection from rival gangs and the police. They had grown sophisticated over the past two decades, choosing to take to sniping from rooftops rather than face-to-face combat. A lot of officers were shot because they weren’t aware of what they were up against. Newbies would act tough, thinking they would win by dog psychology, and set off flags from the scouts that this officer wasn’t going away.