Walk in Darkness - A Thriller (Jon Stanton Mysteries) Read online

  “That’s what you don’t understand, Jon. It’s what you’ve never understood: there’s always monsters. The world has always been a mess and always will be a mess; the point is to straighten out your own life.”

  “You might be right, but that’s not going to comfort me when we’re watching television and an Amber alert flashes across the bottom of the screen. I’ll always think ‘is it him?’ For the rest of my life I would think that. I don’t want that to be who I am. I’m going to either catch him or kill him, but I can’t just let him go.”

  She looked at him a moment and then leaned over and kissed him softly on the lips. “You go do what you need to do. I just can’t promise that I can wait.”

  She rose and took his hand and he rose with her, allowing her to lead him to the door. They got to the front entrance and stood inside the house looking out. Some young kids were playing across the street. Stanton wanted so badly to say, Look at them. Look at what he’s taking out of the world. How can you ask me to just allow it? Instead, he turned around, kissed her once more, and then walked to his car.

  2:10 P.M. when Stanton pulled to a stop near Woodrow Wilson Elementary. He parked farther away, up the street, but close enough to see the entire perimeter except for a dozen or so feet that was blocked by one of the buildings. He decided that was too large a blindspot to have and he got out and walked to the gap in the fence that led to the front entrance of the school.

  The kids began to pile out and he only casually glanced at them, pretending he was a waiting parent. He was more interested in the other people around the school. There was a group of young men on the south side, perhaps five or six of them, no older than sixteen or seventeen. His profile of these abductions did not lend well to a group attack. Group attacks were more violent and obvious, each member attempting to impress the others with their lack of morality and compassion. These kidnappings were subtle and quiet; they were the work of a single person that was probably ashamed of what he was doing, but had an eye toward having a long career of doing it.

  He took a few steps south and leaned against the fence, careful not to look too long at anyone. Then he saw a couple of young boys run into the crowd. One of the older boys hugged him and the younger one handed him a paper. Brothers, or a very young father.

  There was no one else around the perimeter of the school. This had been a bust.

  Just as Stanton was about to turn away he saw movement out of the corner of his eye.

  Someone had run over from across the street and was sitting on a bicycle rack the school provided on the west side. He was older than the group of boys, perhaps twenty-three or twenty-four, and was staring at the girls as they walked by.

  Stanton’s heart began to race.

  He pulled out his cell phone and buried his head in it as he began to walk around the school on the sidewalk toward the west side. He didn’t glance up except to ensure a clear path. He looked once to the street when he heard screeching tires and saw that a mother on her cell had come to an abrupt stop, nearly running over some kids at a crosswalk. The man had noticed too, and looked to Stanton.

  Stanton glanced away as quickly as possible, but it was too late. He stuck out too much. The man hopped off the bicycle rack and began walking toward the intersection.

  Stanton picked up the pace and put his cell phone away. There was no charade now. The man didn’t turn around until he got to the intersection about seventy feet ahead of Stanton. He turned around, looked at him, and then sprinted across the street.

  Stanton shouted, “Stop, police!” and ran.

  The man was at a full sprint past some local shops as Stanton came to a red light. Cars were coming from both sides. He dashed for it and one car laid on the horn as it slammed on its brakes and twisted to the side to avoid him, hitting a bus in the far left lane.

  Stanton ran as the other cars came to a standstill. The owner of the car he’d caused to hit the bus was out and chasing him. He had no time to stop. The man in front of him had just turned a corner and Stanton couldn’t see him.

  He rushed past a group of children walking home and was nearly hit by a homeless man pushing a shopping cart. He rounded the corner and saw the man hop a chain-link fence and run into a house. Stanton sprinted for him and hopped the fence. He ran up the old stairs to the porch and tried to open the front door. It was locked.

  Stepping back, he lifted his leg, bashing his heel just underneath the doorknob. The door didn’t budge. He kicked it again and again and nothing happened. There was a window just to the side of the porch. He grabbed a patio chair that was against the house and crashed it through the window, shards of glass spraying over the interior of the house.

  He used another chair to scrape away as much of the remnants as he could and then climbed through.

  The house was empty except for trash strewn over the floors. Old fast food containers, beer bottles, condom wrappers . . . it was probably a vacant house used by local teens to get drunk. It didn’t have the hypodermic needles or vomit and fecal stains of a full blown drug house.

  He ran through the living room and stopped in the hall and listened. The house was quiet, dust swirling in the sunbeams that came through the cracks in the boarded windows. He held his breath and closed his eyes . . .

  There was a soft brushing sound coming from upstairs; hardly more than a whisper. He pulled out his sidearm and held it low as he climbed the stairs to the second floor.

  The carpet had been torn up, exposing multi-colored foam padding underneath. The walls were filled with graffiti and the unmistakable stench of marijuana hung in the air. Stanton walked down the hallway, pausing with each step to listen. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest and he consciously tried to slow it down, as if someone could hear it.

  There was a crash next to him and Stanton brought his weapon up.

  A piece of board ripped up from the floor had been leaned against the wall of the bathroom and had fallen over. Stanton stepped close and put his back to the wall in the hallway and reached in with just his hand, flipping on the light in the bathroom.

  The tub was filled with rancid water, urine, cigarette butts, old beer, and who knows what else. It stank like sulphur and animal entrails and Stanton nearly dry-heaved. He turned away and as he did so a board came up and smashed into his face.

  He flew back into the tub, water overflowing onto the floor. The board came down at him again and he held up his forearm and felt the impact like a jackhammer. The man lifted and smashed again, attempting to get a headshot.

  Stanton ducked into the water and the board slammed against the edges of the tub. He came up with his sidearm and pressed it into the man’s groin.

  “Don’t,” Stanton said, out of breath, wiping putrid water out of his eyes. “Unless you don’t care if you have any kids.”

  “You won’t fuckin’ do it.”

  “Why not? Haven’t you heard; I kill criminals for fun.”

  The man looked at him a few moments, and then dropped the board to the floor.

  30

  The young man sat in the interrogation room. Stanton wanted to hop in right after him but instead stationed a uniform outside and took a shower in the back near the lockers. He had a change of clothes there and he took his time; let him wait.

  After he showered and changed, he dumped the clothes he had been wearing in the trash and went to the cafeteria. He bought a drink and sat alone at one of the tables. He had vomited several times before and after uniforms had come to the house to pick up the suspect. His stomach was still queasy and he sipped at a Fresca to settle it.

  When the can was empty, he headed to the interrogation room.

  The man’s name was Cameron Spangler and he had his head down on the table, buried in his folded arms. He looked up as Stanton walked in.

  “I didn’t do nothin’.”

  “You assaulted a police officer with a deadly weapon.”

  “It was a board.”

  “Could’a fooled me. It
felt like a bat.”

  Stanton had brought in a file under his arm and he placed it on the table as he sat down. He opened it and brought out the photos of the young girls. He placed them before Cameron and let it sit a while. Cameron glanced at two of them, stared at Sarah’s picture, and then buried his head again.

  “I’m not saying anything.”

  “You don’t have to. There are officers at your mom’s house executing a search warrant right now. I’m sure we’ll find everything we need there.”

  He looked up. “What the fuck are you doing at my mom’s house?”

  “We’ll get to your house too, don’t worry. But I know people like you, Cameron. I know them really well, and I know you keep your best trinkets at your mom’s. And when they find them, you’re going to be killed by the state of California.”

  He made a dismissive sound and put his head down again. “I can handle it.”

  Stanton took in a deep breath and stood up. “Follow me.”

  “No.”

  “I can have the officer out there tie you like a pig and drag you or you can follow me. Your choice.”

  He slowly stood up.

  Stanton took him out past the drunk-tank to the holding cells farthest away from everybody else. This was where they kept the prisoners awaiting arraignments and transfer to the county facilities. In the farthest two cells were the inmates considered too dangerous to be kept with others: the ones that no longer had any fear of incarceration and would mutilate or rape other inmates.

  Stanton stood in front of the cell and brought Cameron over. The inmate came to the bars and stuck his hands through in a relaxed way. He was covered in tattoos and bald, but with a chubby face and glasses that gave him a milder appearance.

  “You bring me a treat, Jon?”

  “This is Cameron. He might be joining you soon.” He turned to Cameron. “This is Rich. He can be your cellie for the next seventy-two hours if I wanted him to be. Rich here had to be confined by himself because last time he was here, he raped his cellie and scooped his eye out with a spoon. When was that, Rich?”

  “Some two years ago.”

  “Rich, this is off the record, I give my word.”

  “You the only cop I believe when he says that, ya know.”

  “What would you do if I put Cameron in that cell with you?”

  He smiled, several of his teeth missing and the remaining darkly stained and yellowed. “Oh we’d have a good time, me and him. I need to bust a nut, anyway. You suck cock, Fish? You’d learn with me. But if you bite I’m a knock yer fucking teeth out and then you ain’t bite no more.”

  Stanton looked to Cameron and saw the terror. His hands were trembling and he began to look at the floor, unable to lift his eyes. Stanton grabbed him and led him away as Rich began to shout about what they would do together. He pounded on the bars like an animal and began to hiss and spit.

  Stanton got Cameron back into the interrogation room and sat down across from him.

  “That was set up,” Cameron said. “That ain’t real.”

  “Rich is real. He’s schizophrenic. That’s why he keeps getting released. When he took out the guy’s eye last time we couldn’t find it in the cell. We think he might’ve eaten it.”

  Cameron swallowed hard, as if his throat were dry, and leaned forward, his elbows against the table. “What do you want to know?”

  31

  Stanton stepped out under the guise of getting sodas and made sure the video recorder was on in the interrogation room. Slim Jim walked by sucking on an unlit cigar.

  “Who you got in there?”

  “Just some follow up.”

  “Follow up to what?”

  “Routine case, nothing interesting.”

  “Wew, I know it’s interesting when Jon Stanton is being evasive. I’m in. I wanna be bad cop.”

  “It’s not like that. He’s already agreed to talk. I was just making sure the camera’s working.”

  “Well, can I second at least?”

  “I don’t think so, Jim.”

  “All right. I got better stuff to do anyways.”

  Stanton walked back in the room and sat down with a pad and pen. He pushed the photos toward Cameron and leaned back and purposely put his hands on the table in an open position: crossed arms tended to signify disbelief in what the speaker was saying.

  “That girl, her name is Sarah; I want to know about her. When did you meet her?”

  “That’s that chick that got kidnapped, huh? I only met her once at one of Tracey’s parties.”

  “Tracey Aviary?”

  “Yeah. Hey, where are those drinks?”

  “I didn’t have enough change. I told someone to bring them. What were Tracey’s parties like?”

  “They were crazy.” He hesitated. “I don’t know if . . . I think I want to ask to not be arrested on this stuff.”

  “You’re asking for immunity and I’ll consider it. If you help me, I’ll definitely help you.”

  “There was a lot crazy stuff there, man. Like chicks way young like these here and there were lines a coke on the table and people in masks just fucking right in front of you. Crazy shit.”

  “Where were these parties held?”

  “Tracey’s house. Her mom was the one that would have them.”

  Slim Jim opened the door and walked in with two sodas. He placed them down, smiled at Cameron with a slight nod, and then walked out.

  “She knew there was young girls there?”

  “Oh yeah, man. She was the one that would pay me to pick ‘em up. But that’s all I did. Tracey was like friends with ‘em and her mom, Angie, she would tell me to go pick them up.”

  “Is that what you were doing at the school today?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So why’d you run if you were just picking somebody up?”

  “I don’t know. I just ran. I was scared. I thought I could get in trouble even though all I did was pick them up.”

  “So you’d pick them up from school, take them to the Aviary’s house, and then what would happen?”

  “They’d get drunk or high and we’d chill for a bit. Then Tracey’s mom would come down and start teachin’ ‘em about sex. I would watch but I never did nothin’.”

  “There were drunk girls there willing to have sex and you expect me to believe you never did anything with them?”

  “I don’t . . . I’m not into that.”

  “Into what?”

  “Girls.”

  “Oh. Okay, I understand, and that’s okay, Cameron. You have nothing to be ashamed of, okay? Not with me.”

  “Okay,” he said with a slight grin.

  “Okay. So how many parties were there?”

  “Um, like five so far. We’re supposed to have one tonight. That’s why I was there to pick up this chick.”

  “Which chick?”

  “Her name was Kim. I don’t know her last name.”

  “If I go over to the Aviary’s house tonight, am I going to find them in the middle of a party?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What time would be best for me to see what’s happening?”

  “Like probably around ten.”

  “Okay, wait here.”

  Stanton stepped out of the interrogation room and saw Slim Jim, Childs, and three uniforms standing around listening through the two-way mirror set up as a window in the room. Childs looked at him and shook his head.

  “I told you no more Sandman case.”

  “You heard what he said. How could I not follow up?”

  “Because I fucking told you not to. I am your boss, do you get that?”

  “Yeah, but that was the wrong call, Danny. I had to do it.”

  He exhaled loudly through his nose and looked to Cameron through the mirror. “We’re gonna raid that fucking house tonight and tomorrow morning I want you in my office first thing. Got it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Slim Jim, go get me a warrant. I want three uniforms and three detec
tives besides Jon.”

  “Got it, Chief.”

  “Jon, I want you to go in there and tell him to go to that party and act like nothing’s wrong. He’s also gonna have to wear a wire.”

  “I wouldn’t recommend that, Sergeant.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “He’s nervous and weak. He can’t handle the pressure of a wire.”

  “I disagree. Get him sounded up.”

  “Danny, he can’t do it. Let’s just have him call and say he couldn’t find the girl but he found another one that he’s bringing later.”

  “Do as I fucking say, Detective. Or you can just go home.”

  “Yes, sir. But I still think it’s the wrong call.”

  32

  Stanton sat outside the Aviary’s house at ten o’clock in the van with a tech, Slim Jim, and Cameron. The moon was out and he watched it through the van’s back windows a long time. There was something about a full moon that could appeal to a man’s sense of peace, and also their sense of madness. He didn’t know if there was anything else like that, with the exception of women.

  “This fucking hurts,” Cameron said.

  The tech was taping the wire to his chest. “It’s gonna hurt worse when you rip it off.”

  “It itches.”

  “Well be glad I’m not taping it to your balls then.”

  Slim Jim snorted out a laugh and kicked over an empty soda can that was on the floor. “And I was just gonna sit home and watch reruns of Battlestar Galactica tonight.”

  “Slim Jim, you ready to go?”

  He got on the horn. “Ready, Lieutenant.”

  “Send him in.”

  Stanton opened the back doors and helped Cameron hop out. He stepped outside with him and stood there a while, looking up at the house. He imagined Bob at some sports bar with his friends, thinking about the beautiful wife waiting for him at home who he figured was in bed watching television.

  “Listen to me, Cameron; you don’t need to do anything out of the ordinary. Just go in and hang out. We’ll be in soon and we’re going to act like we’ve never met. You’ll be arrested and I’m going to be the one to do it, okay?”