“Jon,” Harlow said, “sit down, please. We have a few things to go over.”
Stanton sat down at the end of the table. “When Chin told me about it I didn’t think it would go through.”
Sherman glanced at him quickly and winked.
“Jon,” Harlow said, “I know this must be hard for you, but Noah has some insight that we may need.”
“He doesn’t have anything. And I’m quitting. You can deal with this on your own.”
Stanton rose to leave.
“Wait,” Harlow said placatingly, “just wait. Sherman was the original detective assigned to the case. He spoke with some people that weren’t put in the initial report. He has some insight into this, Jon.”
Stanton was about to ask why that information was buried but knew Harlow wouldn’t tell him with federal marshals and Jessica present. He simply sat quietly and waited for Harlow to speak.
“You can quit if you want, but I don’t think you want to. I think you want to catch this bastard as much or more than anyone here. I know seeing him is unsettling, but I think he can help us save some lives.” Stanton didn’t leave and Harlow continued. “So, what’ve we got?”
Jessica put her hands on the table and said, “We spoke to the family yesterday. There’s definitely drug abuse with the second vic and we’re following up on that. Family hadn’t heard from her in weeks but apparently that was normal. We’re working on getting a list of boyfriends and friends.”
“Okay. And what about the note to Jon?”
“I submitted it to latent prints and there was nothing there. I checked the paper stock but it’s a casual brand, something you’d pick up in a supermarket.”
“Jon, was there an envelope or anything?”
“No, I found it at the Hernandez scene stuffed into an air vent. It was folded a few times, but no envelope.”
“How the fuck did forensics miss a note in a vent?”
“It was put there after we left.”
“How would he know about Hernandez? You think he’s responsible?”
“Maybe. Or maybe he had knowledge of it from somewhere else and came to the scene after we were gone. Or maybe he was there with us.”
Harlow leaned on his elbows. “Are you telling me you think this cocksucker is a cop?”
“I don’t know. It could be someone close to cops like reporters or ME staff, forensics … it would make sense though. They knew I’d be back at the scene. And when I got there the police tape wasn’t cut, it was fresh and it was the official stuff. Nothing you’d buy at the Army-Navy store or online. So he either left with the rest of us or had some new tape.”
Harlow sighed. He looked to Sherman who was grinning. “Tommy, tell me we followed protocol and had a sign-in sheet at the scene?”
“We did, Chief.”
“Make copies and get that to everybody. I want every person there looked at but not confronted. Everybody needs to keep this low-key. Capiche?”
“There is one more thing,” Stanton said. He explained the homeless man and the message he had for him.
Everyone sat in a silence, the undeniable truth hanging in the air; he was going to kill again and there would be another family that would need to be notified.
“All right, well, Tommy follow up on that with Jon. See if we can find this guy.”
“Sure thing.”
“That’s it for now then. I cannot stress this enough people; no talking about this in public to anyone outside this room. Okay, excused.”
“You didn’t ask me anything,” Sherman said.
“Okay, what do you have to add?”
“I would put Missing Persons on notice for blonds with large breasts. Anything they get should be kicked up here for review.”
“Well, shit on me, but that’s actually a good idea. I might not regret bringing you down here after all. Tommy, get on that too. Anybody have anything else? All right, we’re done.”
Stanton went back to his office and rummaged his drawer for some ibuprofen. He found two in a cellophane wrapper and took them out, swallowing them without water. Jessica came in and shut the door and leaned against it.
“You okay?”
“Good as can be I guess,” he said.
“I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know why Noah is here. I don’t know why the charges against you were suddenly dropped. But I don’t think I can take this anymore. I’ve put in for a transfer.”
“To where?”
“Vice.”
“Are you kidding me? You want to work for the LAPD version of George Young?”
“It’s not about him. It’s about how quickly I can get out. They’re always looking for female officers to work as decoys in prostitution stings. Thought that would be interesting for awhile.”
“It’s not, trust me. And it’s a mistake for you to leave. A few years here and you can write your own ticket to anywhere you want to go.”
“That’s just it: I don’t know if I want to go anywhere. It feels like I’m moving through water. We deal with the worst parts of people and none of the good. And the faces …”
Stanton could see tears in her eyes and she stopped a moment and composed herself before continuing.
“And the faces of people looking at me from the grave. Begging me to help them and knowing that I can’t. This girl, Pamela. She was in Madrigals in high school and then enrolled in college and majored in Dance before dropping out. I did that, Jon. I did that same thing.”
“Don’t do this to yourself.”
“I just don’t get it. I don’t get why I’m standing here and she was stuffed into a closet like garbage. And even when she died nobody gave a shit. Not really. We see it as a challenge but we don’t care about her either.”
“You care about her, Jessica.”
“Do I?”
“Look, just finish this case before you put in your papers. That’ll give you time to think. Once the case is done and you still want to go, then you should.”
She nodded. “Okay, Jon. I’ll finish this case with you. Then I’m done.”
48
A trip had been arranged for Noah Sherman to go to the Salton Sea and walk around the scene of Pamela Dallas’ death. Stanton found it grotesque, but he didn’t have a choice. He needed to be here as well and he couldn’t bring himself to come back alone. Now that she had a history and a mother and polka-dot sheets, he didn’t want to be here at all. But he would have preferred to be here with anyone on earth other than Noah Sherman.
The federal marshals walked behind them as Sherman and Stanton walked in. Stanton went to the stairs leading to the managerial office without waiting for him but he followed, the rattle of leg chains echoing in the room.
Though he had been given civilian clothes, they couldn’t cover up his double-locked handcuffs and the thick chains that ran from his ankles up to his wrists. An ankle monitor was locked around his right leg and had a red blinking light. If the light at any point went green, meaning Sherman was out of range, the built in GPS device sent coordinates to the SDPD SWAT team and the federal marshals. It wasn’t said, but they had orders to shoot first if that situation ever occurred.
“Must be insulting seeing me out like this.”
Stanton opened the door to the office. “Haven’t really thought about it.”
“Bullsh-” He stopped himself and thought a second before saying, “I don’t believe it.”
“Trying to stop swearing?”
“I know you hate it.”
Stanton turned to him. “Since when do you care what I hate?”
“Just trying to be courteous.”
Stanton turned back to the office. He glanced out the door and didn’t want to admit to himself that he was comforted to see the marshals right outside.
“What’s the matter, Johnny? Don’t want to be alone with me?”
Stanton turned and stood face-to-face with him. “You won’t be here long.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I know you don’t have anything to add to this case. Mike’s got twenty detectives that were better with evidence than you. He doesn’t need you walking around a crime scene.”
“Then why bring me?”
“He thinks that you know who the killer is. Once he realizes that you don’t know anything, you’ll be heading back.”