Steve Gannon - Kane

“We’re not eating out tonight, are we?” asked Travis in a transparent attempt to change the subject.

Steve Gannon

Kane

“Don’t worry, we won’t miss her call. We’ll be eating at home.”

“Are you cooking?” asked Allison, also clearly trying to steer the conversation in another direction.

Yep,” I said, deciding to end my harangue and hoping I’d reached them. “I’ll be whipping up something we haven’t had in a long time.”

“Sushi,” guessed Nate.

“Nope.”

“Jambalaya?”

“Naw. We had that last month.”

“That southwestern dish you make,” Allison chimed in. “Wild mushroom enchiladas with red pepper sauce?”

“Wrong again.”

“I know-linguini with clam sauce,” said Travis. “I saw clams in the fridge.”

I’d stopped by the market on the previous evening to pick up several items I would need for the dinner I planned. “You’re getting warmer. If you had looked closer, you would’ve also noticed chicken, shrimp, and chorizo.”

“Paella! We’re having paella!” Nate shouted triumphantly.

“All right!” said Allison. “Is it okay if I invite Christy?”

“Sure,” I agreed. “Maybe I’ll give Arnie a call, too.”

“Good idea,” said Travis. “We haven’t heard much from him since he retired from the Force.”

I smiled. “It’s having a new girlfriend that’s made my ex-partner scarce, not quitting the Force. I barely see him at his house, either.”

“Can I help cook?” asked Nate.

“We’ll see. Right now it’s time you rookies got to church. That’ll be your mom’s first question when she calls.”

“Are you coming with us?” asked Allison.

“Not today. I have some other things to take care of.”

“Like driving out to visit Tommy’s grave?”

Instead of answering, I started for the house. “C’mon, let’s head on up,” I said.

All three children rose and followed, Callie in the lead. Running to match my strides, Nate caught up with me halfway to the sea wall and took my hand. Allison and Travis joined us a moment later. I slowed my pace to allow them to keep up.

“Hey, Dad?” said Allison when we reached the deck.

I turned to her, once again struck by how much she had come to resemble Catheryn. “What, Ali?”

Allison hesitated, seeming uncharacteristically at a loss for words. Finally she spoke. “We miss him, too,” she said softly.

Later that evening I stood at the kitchen sink, washing the last of the dinner dishes. Arnie had dropped by around seven with his girlfriend, Stacy. Christy had joined us for dinner as well. I’d prepared a lot of food, including a rum-cake dessert, so there was plenty to go around, and the gathering turned into an enjoyable family meal with a lot of give-and-take table talk-reminding me of better times. Even Allison seemed to enjoy herself for a change. Catheryn called around nine, just after Arnie and Stacy had left. My conversation with Catheryn was brief-most of her phone time being spent talking with the kids. During the minute or two I did get with her she sounded tired and distant, but she said that the tour was going well and that she was enjoying her stay.

As it was a school night, Nate went to bed a little after that. Allison followed shortly afterward, but twenty minutes later a sliver of light still leaked from beneath her door down the hall, and I could hear the staccato clicks of a computer keyboard coming from her room. Travis and Christy were talking on the lower deck, sitting on the swing. After putting away the final pots and pans, I knocked on the door to Trav and Nate’s room.

“Nate? You still awake?”

“Yeah, Dad.”

“Can I come in?”

“Sure.”

When Travis had left for college, Nate had moved from a small bedroom loft above the entry into Trav’s room, and he was sleeping in Tommy’s empty bed. I entered without turning on the light. “How’s it goin’, squirt?” I asked, sitting on the edge of Trav’s mattress

“Fine,” Nate answered sleepily from the adjacent bunk.

It hadn’t been that long since Nate had moved in with Trav, and I was struck by how small Nate looked in Tommy’s former bed. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about the other night,” I said.

“You mean about my nightmare? What about it?”

“I don’t know, kid. You tell me. Your mom thinks there’s more to these dreams of yours than you’re letting on. She’s concerned about you. So am I.”

“I’ll try not to do it anymore.”

“You can’t decide not to have nightmares,” I said. “Do you remember what your dreams are about?”

“No,” said Nate.

For better or worse, one of the things I’ve learned from my years on the Force is how to tell when someone is lying-or at least holding something back. I’m not sure how I do it, but I’m never wrong. With a feeling of sadness, I realized that Nate wasn’t being truthful. I didn’t know why, and I didn’t know what to do about it. “Is there anything you want to tell me?” I asked.

“No.”

“Your mom thinks maybe you should talk to somebody.”

“A shrink? I’m not crazy.”

“I know, kid. Having you go to a psychiatrist wouldn’t be my first choice, either. But if something’s bothering you, it might help to get it out.”

“Nothing’s bothering me.”

“Okay. But if there is, I want you to feel that you can come to me with it. I want to help. Sometimes things that seem like a big deal to somebody your age turn out to be not so bad when viewed in the light of day. You know what I’m saying?”

Nate remained silent for several seconds. “I understand what you’re saying,” he answered at last. “I just don’t think you’re right.”

“Aw, hell, Nate. You’re eleven years old. Whatever problems you have right now are going to seem like nothing in a couple of years.”

Nate didn’t respond.

“That came out wrong,” I backtracked. “I don’t mean that life is going to get worse as you get older. Things do tend to get more complicated as you grow up, but there are plenty of good parts, too. Falling in love, for instance. And having a family, and making your way in the world, and going to college-things like that.”

“I’ll be fine, Dad.”

“Okay, Nate,” I sighed, again wishing Catheryn were home. “Get some sleep.”

During the following week, driven by the inertia of men and money delegated to the task force, the investigation plodded forward. In my opinion, however, it moved no closer to finding the murderer, so upon arriving downtown at LAPD headquarters the following Friday it was with a sense of amazement that I noticed a long line of news vans again crowding the street, the lobby once more jammed with reporters. Forcing my way through the throng outside, I joined Deluca near the first-floor civic auditorium. “What’s going on?” I asked.

“Immigration picked up Domingos crossing the border last night,” Deluca informed me tersely. “Snead called a news conference to make the announcement.”

“So much for putting our one-and-only suspect under surveillance.”

“Yeah. C’mon, let’s go in and find out what kinda heroes we are.”

As I entered the auditorium, I noticed that temporary banks of auxiliary spotlights had been added to each side of a raised platform at the front. In addition, since I’d last visited some months back, a thicket of microphones had sprouted like weeds from a podium in the center of the stage.

“Kane! Deluca!”

I turned, spotting Barrello and several other task force members sitting in the back. Following Deluca, I joined them, slumping into a seat beside Barrello. “When’s this thing supposed to get under way?” I asked.