Steve Gannon - Kane

“But here’s what I’m getting at,” I went on more seriously. Years back my dad told me something that’s seen me through more than a few tough times. He said that to make it through the rough spots in life-along with relying on family and those who love you-you have to know who you are. When things go bad, really bad, just remember who you are… and hold to it.”

“You mean like looking at a picture of yourself?” asked Nate.

“Sort of. Only it’s one you keep inside-an image of yourself that nothing and no one can take from you. Do you understand?”

“I… I think so.”

“Ali?”

“I know what you’re saying,” Allison answered somberly. “I just don’t happen to like my picture any more. Can we go now? I’m getting cold.”

“In a minute,” I said, realizing that I hadn’t reached them-at least not Allison. “There’s one more thing I want to discuss before we head home. It’s about your mom and me.”

Both children regarded me in surprise.

“I’m sure you know that Kate and I have been having difficulties. Even though we love each other, when two people have been together as long as your mom and I, sometimes problems arise.”

“Could the problem that’s been arising possibly have your name on it?” asked Allison.

“More than possibly.”

“Are you and Mom getting divorced?” asked Nate.

“You asked me that a couple weeks ago, kid.”

“Are you?”

“I don’t know what’s going to happen,” I sighed, for the first time admitting to myself that things between Catheryn and me might have gone too far. “I’m hoping we can straighten things out, but-”

“If you try, you can always straighten things out,” said Nate. “Right, Ali?”

“Absolutely,” affirmed Allison.

“I’ve always believed that, too,” I said, feeling a tightening in my throat. “And I still do. But whatever happens between Kate and me, I’m still your father. I know I’ve made mistakes, a lot of them, and I know that recently I’ve been a disappointment to the whole family. And for that I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry. But if it’s not too late, and if you’ll let me, I want to start over. I’m asking you to give me another chance. Will you?”

The children, who had rarely heard me apologize for anything, especially to them, nodded somberly.

“Good,” I said. “Then I’ll make you a promise. In the future I’ll do my level best to never let you down again. Whatever happens, if you need me, I’ll be there.”

Silently, Nate slipped into my arms. An instant later Allison joined him. I held them tightly, shamed by the realization that somehow, while I’d been consumed by my own grief, the fabric of my family had nearly come unraveled… and would take more than words to mend.

Prunes, huh?’ the guy says to his elderly friend. ‘ That’s your cure for constipation?’” Deluca paused, as usual enjoying his own joke to a degree unwarranted by the material.

Concentrating on threading through Tuesday-morning freeway traffic, I edged into the right lane and took the Van Nuys Boulevard off-ramp, emerging on the surface street from beneath a concrete overpass.

“So the old guy nods,” Deluca continued. “‘Works for me,’ he says. ‘Since I started eating them, I’ve been regular as clockwork. Every morning at five.’ ‘Five AM?’ says his buddy. ‘Jeez, what time do you get up?’ The old guy shrugs and says, ‘Seven.’”

“Not bad,” I laughed. “Better than most of the stuff you usually pass off as humor.”

“All my jokes are gems,” objected Deluca. “Which reminds me. Have you heard the one about the-”

“Later,” I interrupted, turning south on Beverly Glen Boulevard. “What’s the street we’re looking for?”

Deluca squinted at a map of the San Fernando Valley he had folded in his lap. “Lacota Place. Hang a right on Valley Vista.”

“Got it.” I twisted the wheel, cruising a maze of residential streets I had first come to know while working patrol at the Van Nuys Division. Three blocks down I stopped before a two-storey stucco house. Sliding from behind the wheel, I surveyed the surroundings, taking in the well trimmed palms and a number of “For Sale” signs dotting the neighborhood. “What’s their name-Baker?” I asked, starting up the driveway toward the front door.

“John and Maureen,” answered Deluca, several steps behind. “Fairfield talked to their maid last night at the hospital. She couldn’t remember shit.”

“She never saw her assailant?”

“Nope.”

At that point, the task force had investigated over sixty selected breaking-and-entering occurrences. Neither of the Bakers’ cars had been recently damaged, but because a physical injury had taken place and the other task force search criterion fit, Lt. Huff had decided to follow up. Deluca and I had drawn the assignment. Given the number of break-ins already investigated without success, it was without much hope that I climbed a final flight of steps and rapped on the Bakers’ front door. Seconds later I changed my mind.

“Mrs. Baker? Maureen Baker?” I asked the stunningly beautiful brunette who had answered the door.

The woman, who was extremely tall and possessed a flawless figure, nodded. “You’re the cop… the detective who called?”

I flipped out my shield. “I’m Detective Kane. This is Detective Deluca.”

“Under different circumstances, a pleasure,” said Deluca.

Mrs. Baker looked at Deluca, then back at me. “I told the other policemen everything I know, which isn’t much. I’m not certain why you want to talk to me. I wasn’t even here when it happened.”

“Yes, ma’am. We understand, but there are still some things we want to go over. May we come in?”

“Why not? Everybody else has.”

I pushed past her into the house. Deluca followed.

“Would… would either of you like something?” Mrs. Baker stammered as she closed the door, seeming uncomfortable with me towering over her in her entry. “Coffee, a Coke?”

“Not me,” answered Deluca.

“I’ve had my caffeine for the day,” I said, glancing into the living room. “How about if we talk in there?”

“All right.”

Deluca and I followed the woman into a large, elegantly furnished room with a leather couch and loveseat facing a rock fireplace. Withdrawing a pen and notebook from his jacket, Deluca took a seat on the couch. Mrs. Baker settled nervously on the love seat, her hands flitting like captive birds in her lap. I remained standing. “Take it from the beginning,” I suggested. “And don’t leave anything out.”

Mrs. Baker nodded. “As I said, there’s not much to tell. I got a call at work yesterday. Our maid had been attacked. I rushed home in time to see Rosa being driven off in an ambulance. That’s it.”

“Was anything taken?”

“No. At least, I don’t think so. I searched through everything, but I couldn’t find anything missing.”

“How’d he get in?”

“I don’t know. John and I always lock the doors when we leave. Rosa comes on Mondays and Thursdays, but she has her own key. Maybe she forgot to lock up after she arrived.”

“The report said one of the garage doors was open.”

“I noticed that when I got home,” Mrs. Baker said, appearing puzzled. “I suppose I could have forgotten to shut it on my way out.”

“You’re not sure?”

“No.”

“Do you lock the door from the garage into the house?”

“Not usually. You think the burglar may already have been inside, and Rosa surprised him when she got here?”

“Maybe. Do you have kids?”

“One. Kyle is seven. He was at school when it happened.”