Steve Gannon - Kane

“Come on, Dan,” said Catheryn. “I want to see this.”

Steve Gannon

Kane

Reluctantly, I lowered the control, watching as the scene shifted to a foggy street outside the Larsons’ house. Police, neighbors, and reporters clogged the narrow road. The coroner’s wagon had already departed, but additional squad cars and news vans had arrived by the time of the news conference. Feeling an unsettling sense of deja vu, I listened to my televised image fielding questions, the most difficult being posed by Lauren Van Owen. The coverage ended with an out-of-sequence shot of me saying, “Sooner or later, we’ll get this maggot.”

Once again the Channel Two news anchor came back on. The shot widened to include the co-anchor, Lauren Van Owen. “KCBS has recently learned from LAPD sources that the Pacific Palisades murders have now been linked to last month’s deaths in Orange County,” she said solemnly. “Authorities are searching for a serial killer they believe to be operating in the Southern California area.” Then, as she turned to a new camera angle, “In other news today…”

“Damn,” I groaned, thumbing the off button. “How’d that bimbo find out so fast?”

Catheryn frowned. “Dan. Watch your language.”

“Excuse me, Kate. Didn’t mean to offend the innocent ears of our offspring here.”

“Which bimbo is Dad referring to?” asked Nate.

“Nate!” scolded Catheryn, shooting me another look of irritation.

“That cute little number on Channel Two who’s always picking on Dad, that’s who,” Allison piped up. All the children knew of my general disregard for reporters. They were also well aware that over the years I’d had more than one confrontation with the crime correspondent in question.

“You mean Lauren Van Owen,” said Travis, joining in.

“The one Dad says is such a tightass?” asked Nate, ignoring Catheryn’s renewed look of irritation.

“Right,” said Allison. “Whatever that means.”

“She’s quite a dish,” Travis persisted. “Don’t you agree, Dad?”

Sensing myself outnumbered, I rose from the couch. “If you like sharks,” I answered tersely. “Speaking of which, let’s go grab some grub. The Sea Lion will be packed before long,” I added, referring to a nearby Malibu restaurant that offered an excellent selection of reasonably priced seafood.

“Do I have time to finish packing?” asked Catheryn. “I’m almost done.”

“Do it when we get back, sugar. I’m starving.”

Just then my cell phone rang. I glanced at caller ID. Lieutenant Long.

“Damn,” I said aloud as I flipped open my phone, realizing this wasn’t going to be good news. “Evening, Lieutenant.”

“Kane,” Long’s gravelly voice came back.

“Hold on a sec.” Covering the mouthpiece, I turned to Catheryn. “I’m going to take this outside. Get the kids ready. I’ll be done in a minute.” Without awaiting an answer, I made my way to the kitchen and stepped through a beachfront window, exiting onto a second-floor deck I’d added to the house some years back. Access to the deck was still via the window only; I had originally intended to install a door but had never managed to find the time. Like so many of the additions, bootlegged rooms, and quick fixes made to the house over the years, time had lent the window-doorway arrangement the air of permanence.

“Kane. You still there?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Have you seen the news?”

“More than I wanted.”

“Ditto that. I spent an hour with the captain after you got back from Orange County. Mayor Fitzpatrick wants us to take an aggressive stance on the situation before it gets out of hand. I get the feeling he’ll be squeezing as much political juice out of it as possible, too. And I just now got a followup call from the captain. He informed me that Fitzpatrick came unglued when he saw tonight’s newscasts. Says if we can’t put a lid on our own people, he’ll do it for us.”

“That’s all we need,” I said, gazing over an expanse of seaweed-strewn sand to the ocean beyond. The sun had set, and several couples were making their way along the water’s edge, enjoying the final light of day. “Any idea who leaked to the press?”

“No. Although if I had to guess, I’d say it was somebody in the mayor’s office. Naturally, they’re pointing their fingers at us.”

“Back up a sec, Lieutenant. What does Fitzpatrick mean by ‘taking an aggressive stance’?”

“That’s why I called. First thing tomorrow, Fitzpatrick’s announcing the formation of an interagency task force. LAPD’s gonna be working with the OC Sheriff’s Department. Under the auspices of Mayor Fitzpatrick, of course.”

“You can’t be serious,” I exploded. “Politicizing the investigation will foul up everything. I’ve already got the ball rolling with the detective handling the case in Orange County. Why can’t we just-”

“As usual, you’re not listening,” interrupted Long. “It’s out of my hands. Be downtown at the new Police Administration Building tomorrow morning at ten. Ask at the desk. We should have a room assigned by then.”

“But…”

“No argument. Be there. And Dan?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Once this thing gets rolling, watch your back.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ll see tomorrow.”

After hanging up, I stepped through the window back into the kitchen. Catheryn stood waiting with the children by the front door. “What’s wrong?” she asked, apparently noticing something in my expression.

“Nothing. Let’s go.”

“I know you better than that. What is it?”

“They’re forming a task force. I have to be downtown at headquarters first thing tomorrow morning.”

“A task force. That’s bad?”

“Yeah,” I said. “For one thing, it means that from now on I’ll have a bunch of useless humps looking over my shoulder.”

“Why don’t you consider it as an opportunity to improve your social skills?” suggested Allison. “You know, learn to play with the other kids.”

“Thanks, Allison. I’ll do that.”

“Will you still be able to drive me to the airport?” asked Catheryn. “If you want, I could catch a ride with Arthur.”

I frowned. “I’ll take you.”

“No more talking,” clamored Nate. “Let’s go eat!”

“I agree, squirt,” I said, happy to change the subject. “What are you having tonight? Your usual fish sticks and fries?”

“Yep.”

“What about the rest of the troops? Allison?”

“I’ll be partaking of the grilled snapper,” said Allison. “Predictably, Mom and Travis will undoubtedly choose their customary-and, I might add, boring-shrimp and scallop salad. How about you, Pop?”

I thought a moment, still irritated by Long’s news. “Me? Tonight, I have a hankering for something different.”

“What?”

“Tonight, I’m having shark.”

I left Arnie’s house early the following morning, allowing plenty of time to drive Catheryn to LAX and still make it downtown to the LAPD meeting on time. Nonetheless, by the time I’d picked her up in Malibu, reversed direction, and cleared the McClure Tunnel in Santa Monica, the flow of early-morning commuters had already begun to slow. Deciding to take surface streets to the airport instead, I exited on Lincoln. Thirty-five minutes of stop-and-go driving brought us to the far end of the Los Angeles Airport Departure Concourse, where I pulled to a stop in front of the Tom Bradley International Terminal.

Conversation on the way in had been minimal-me stretching the yellow lights and jumping the reds, Catheryn reviewing her checklist, certain she had overlooked something. “Don’t forget that Nate’s bus arrives at seven-twenty sharp,” she reminded me for the third time as I stepped from the car and began unloading her bags. “Allison said she would-”