Walk in Darkness - A Thriller (Jon Stanton Mysteries) (13 page)

“I don’t know. You need to be careful with him. He’s crazy. Something’s wrong with him.”

Stanton thought a moment before speaking. “Okay, here’s what we do: you keep up the façade and gather info. Do whatever he asks. I don’t have anything to hide so he won’t find anything. But you gotta get clean, Danny. I think you gotta check-in somewhere. There’s a facility not far from—”

“Rehab? I’m not going to fucking rehab. I can handle it. I’ll just stop. I promise.” She reached out and touched his hand. “I promise, I’ll stop.”

When they had finished eating
, Danielle cleaned up the dishes while Stanton sat on the sofa and watched television. She came and stood against the wall, watching him as he smiled at some sitcom. He was like a boy in a way, a boy that refused to grow up because he knew what waited for him if he ever became an adult. That was one of the things she liked most about him.

She sat with him and they watched television another twenty minutes before he kissed her goodnight and left. She saw him out and waited until he had pulled away before shutting the door. She went upstairs to the kitchen and stood over the sink. There was a bottle of whiskey in the cupboard and she took it down and poured herself a shot.

Ransom stepped out of the bedroom and sat down at the dining room table where Stanton had been sitting. He ran his hands along the edge, letting his fingers land on a handprint that was on the tabletop.

“That was good. He trusts you.”

She poured another shot and threw it back. “Yeah.”

He stood up and walked to her, taking the bottle out of her hand and pouring her another shot. He rested his chin on her shoulder and she could tell he
’d smelled her hair. He held the glass up to her lips and she reluctantly drank.

“Do you believe that about me?” he said softly, “that there’s something wrong with me?”

“Yes.” She pushed him away and turned to face him. “And I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“It’s not just drugs and we both know it, don’t we?”

He stared into her eyes so long she grew uncomfortable and looked away. “What do you want from me?”

“From you, nothing. But I want Jon Stanton sitting behind bars where he belongs.”

“He doesn’t belong there.”

“How the fuck would you know!” He composed himself, bringing his fingers up to his eyes and squeezing lightly. “Sorry. Just do what you’re told and it’ll be over soon.”

She didn’t turn around as he walked away but when she heard the door close, she took another shot, and began to cry.

28

Stanton met Taylor Rowe outside the Emerald Plaza building fifteen minutes early. The sun was already baking the city and he felt
a sheen of sweat on his forehead. He wished he hadn’t worn a suit but he knew Coop would probably mention that during the deposition if he didn’t.

Rowe was dropped off in a Lincoln Town Car and stepped out
, already on her cell phone. She was dressed in a red business suit and heels and looked like she could’ve been on a runway somewhere.

“Jon, how are you?”

“Good.”

She finished a text she was sending and put her phone away. “We’re just doing Daniel Childs’ deposition today. I don’t expect he has too much good information so we’ll probably only be here a few hours. Chin Ho was scheduled next and Detective Porter after that, but there’s been a change in plans. Your deposition is going to be on Friday. Coop requested it in exchange for a couple of stipulations on his part. We can get into that later but it’s a good trade. I need you to come by the office tonight so we can spend some time prepping.”

“Sure.”

“Okay, well, remember that everything here is on the record. Don’t say anything unless I ask you to. Come on, they’re waiting for us.”

The Plaza was a series of buildings rather than a single tower and it gave Stanton the impression of a beehive. They rode the elevator to the twenty-ninth floor of the office building and stepped off. The lobby and hallways were plush and a small fountain was set up next to the Offices of Gary C. Coop.

The secretary was young and attractive and showed them back to the conference
room which was like a small auditorium and the table was easily twenty feet long. Stanton did a quick survey of the chairs and saw that the table was meant to hold thirty people. There were flat screens wherever they would fit and the exterior wall was tinted glass overlooking the city below.

“Detective,” Coop said as he stood, “have a seat.”

Several other people were sitting at the table but Stanton could only identify the court reporter acting as stenographer. He placed himself next to Rowe and watched as Coop sat back down, a slight grin on his lips.

“We’re just waiting for Detective Childs,” Coop said. “Would you like something to eat or drink in the meantime? We have bagels,
juice; we can get an omelet from downstairs . . .”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

They were silent another few minutes and Stanton peeked over to Rowe and saw her on an iPad. She had a copy of Childs’ HR history up and was glancing through the disciplinary section.

The clock on the wall said
nearly twenty after when Childs came in. He was wearing a tight t-shirt exposing his arms and slacks with a press crease; he didn’t look any different than he did on any other given day. Except that his sidearm had been moved up to a more prominent position on his waist for easy viewing.

“Detective Childs,” Coop said, “nice of you to come.”

“Fuck you, asshole.” Childs sat down right next to Coop. “Let’s get this bullshit over with.”

Stanton saw a slight grimace on Coop’s face. He wasn’t a man that liked not being in control of any situation. Stanton also guessed he was upset that he hadn’t
had the stenographer dictating or the video recording and had missed that little barb from Childs.

For his part, other than the grimace, Coop handled the situation coolly and didn’t react. He crossed his legs and picked up a legal pad he had written his questions on.

“Are we ready?” Coop said to the stenographer.

“We are.”

“Okay. Please state your full name and address for the record, Detective.”

“Sergeant Daniel William Childs, 1276
Westpoint, San Diego California, 92103.”

“And where do you work and for how long?”

“San Diego Police Department, and I’ve been with them for sixteen years.”

“What unit are you assigned to now?”

“I’m sergeant at the Northern Precinct. I’m supervisor over special squads and operations.”

“Did you supervise or partake in the investigation which was dubbed, ‘the Sandman Murders?’”

“Yes.”

“Could you please describe what the Sandman Murders were, Sergeant?”

“They were a series of three kidnappings involving young girls between the ages of ten and twelve. They weren’t technically murders since no remains were ever found but that was the name the sex crimes unit gave them. When a child is missing for over thirty days they are presumed dead.”

“And why were they called the Sandman Murders? Where did the term ‘Sandman’ come from?”

“The girls were kidnapped from their homes between the hours of 10 p.m. and 2 p.m. The term was applied by the newspapers when they covered the story and it just stuck.”

“And what were the names of the girls?”

“I don’t know off the top of my head.”

“You don’t know? Were you not the supervisor in charge of this case?”

“I was, but that doesn’t mean I was involved in it. The lead detective is the one who handles all the details.”

“So what was your role?”

“As I said earlier, supervisory. If anything went wrong or if the investigation wasn’t going in the right direction, I would step in and help.”

“So who was the lead detective?”

“Detective Jon Stanton.”

“Now, you were familiar with Detective Stanton long before the Sandman case, were you not?”

“I was.”

“In fact, you were once slated to be partners with him, correct?”

“Yes.”

“And why were you two never made partners . . . Sergeant, please answer the question, why were you two never made partners?”

“Because Stanton took a leave of absence from the force.”

“Why did he do that?”

“He was having some personal troubles and needed time off.”

“Personal trouble, Sergeant? Isn’t it true Detective Stanton was institutionalized at the Shadow Oaks Treatment Center for psychiatric problems?”

Childs looked to Stanton and then away, out the window. “Yes.”

“And those psychiatric problems, where do you believe they stem from?”

“I would object,” Rowe interjected, “he’s not a psychologist, Gary; move on.”

“I’ll rephrase that,” Coop said. “Sergeant, did you ever know Jon Stanton to have psychiatric problems when you first met him?”

“No.”

“Did something occur to change that?”

“You could say that.”

“And what was it that occurred?”

“His former partner, Eli Sherman, was arrested for a series of murders. Jon was the one that caught him and Eli nearly killed him. Shot him in the chest and he was in intensive care almost two weeks. He retired from the force after that.”

“Now
, when you refer to Eli Sherman you mean Detective Eli Sherman who was convicted and sentenced to life in prison for the murder and rape of two young women, correct?”

“Yes.”

“And isn’t true, Sergeant, that the San Diego Police Department believes the actual number of slayings by Detective Sherman to be in the ten to twenty range?”

“I guess.”

“You guess or it’s true?”

“It’s true we think there’s more murders. We don’t know how many.”

“And Detective Sherman was partnered with Detective Stanton for how long?”

“They were together two years
, year and a half, something like that.”

“And is it fair to say that in two years partners have the opportunity to grow close to one another?”

“Sure.”

“Because you’re out on the street, risking your lives together
— brothers in arms and all that?”

“Something
like that.”

“So is it fair to say that Detective Sherman and Detective Stanton were probably fairly close after two years of being partnered together?”

“I couldn’t say. Every partnership is different.”

“Okay, but it’s a possibility that they were close?”

“Anything’s possible.”

“And after two years of riding together every day it’s probable they were at the least
… friends, or familiars?”

“Sure.”

“And in that two years did Detective Stanton ever come to you with concerns about Detective Sherman?”

“What kind of concerns?”

“Anything relating to his job or personal life? Anything indicating he may not be what he seemed?”

“No, he never came to me with anything like that.”

“Did he ever go to any of your superiors with anything like that?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“So it’s fair to say he had no idea Eli Sherman was killing young women?”

“Of course not.”

“Now in your opinion, Sergeant, someone like Detective Stanton, someone who was close to Detective Sherman, who probably shared most of his meals with him, who probably spent holidays with him, who spent long hours together with him every day, and saw absolutely nothing wrong with him, but it turns out he was a serial killer, in your opinion, wouldn’t you say that’s someone who doesn’t have the best judgment?”

“None of us saw it coming with Sherman. He was smooth. He could fool his own mama. Blaming it on Jon is unfair and frankly indecent. Ask the wives of any serial killer and they’ll tell you they had no idea they were doing what they were doing.”

“So you have a police officer, sanctioned to carry a gun and put people in jail, out murdering women and all you can say is ‘none of us saw it coming?’ Wouldn’t you agree that’s bad judgment on all your parts?”

“No I wouldn’t”

Stanton saw Childs growing visibly upset and could see Coop writing furiously, probably follow-up questions. He knew he’d struck a nerve and he hoped to get Childs upset enough to hang himself with something he’d say.

“Childs has a temper,” Stanton whispered to Rowe.

“I’m objecting to this, Gary,” Rowe said. “There’s no point to this. It’s all speculation and a jury won’t hear any of it anyway.”

“Objection noted. Unless you want to ring up the judge this early, I’m going to continue with it.”

“No, that’s fine.” She leaned to Stanton. “He can ask what he wants. I’ll object to break his rhythm but judges get really upset when they have to mediate a simple deposition. It’s not good to call him on this.”

“Now Sergeant,” Coop continued, “you have a serial killer wearing the uniform and investigating crimes, interacting with witnesses, going to court and testifying under oath, and eventually he’s caught—”

“By Detective Stanton.”

“Yes, by Detective Stanton. Eventually he’s caught and convicted and roughly two and half years later police chief Michael Harlow is also
arrested, correct?”

“Yes.”

“And in fact he was arrested in the largest police corruption scandal in this county’s — and probably this state’s — history, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Chief Harlow was confiscating narcotics and having trusted members of the force re-sell them on the streets?”

“Yes.”

“And these trusted members, some of them sergeants like yourself, would sell these drugs back to the dealers they confiscated them from?”

“Yes.”

“And he and these trusted members of the police force would then split the profits?”

“Yes.”

“Did you ever get a piece of these profits?”

“No. Not once. And if I’d known about it I’d
have arrested Harlow myself.”

“Did Detective Stanton ever get a piece of these profits?”

“No.”

“So you have Detective Sherman out murdering women and you have no idea, but you’re telling me that you know for certain that Detective Stanton didn’t skim a little profit from Harlow’s drug trade? You know that for an absolute fact?”

Childs hesitated. “Not for an absolute fact, no. But I know Jon and I know—”

“Just answering the question will suffice, Sergeant, thank you. Now how many officers would you say you had getting a piece of the money from the drug trade?”

“No idea.”

“Not even a guess?”

“Dozens of officers were arrested and convicted.”

“How many would you say there were that were not arrested?”

“I don’t know.”

“Would you say there were more than five?”

“I don’t know.”

“More than fifteen?”

“I don’t know.”

“More than
a hundred?”

“I don’t fucking know! Damn, move on.”