Steve Gannon - Kane

“Van Owen.”

“Damn,” I said, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. “Why did you call me here?”

“This is important. Can you meet me in an hour?”

“No.”

“Later?”

“What’s this about?”

“I can’t talk over the phone. Please, Kane?”

I hesitated. “After work,” I said tersely.

“When do you get off?”

“Late.”

“Drop by when you’re done.” Lauren rattled off an address and hung up before I could object.

At a little past eight that evening, after stopping at a market for several items I still needed to cook Christmas dinner the following day, I drove to Brentwood, took a right off San Vicente Boulevard onto Westgate, and stopped three blocks down. I sat for a moment, inspecting a string of gray condos across the street. When Lauren had given me the location, I’d thought it sounded like a residential address. Now I was sure.

I climbed out of the Suburban and crossed the street, wondering what I was doing. I knew I had to see Lauren at least once more, but I would have preferred neutral territory for the meeting. Still, I went.

The sprawling complex I entered covered several acres of prime Westside real estate, with extensive landscaping between secluded, two-story units. Lauren’s condo lay in the back. I pushed the doorbell. Lauren answered the door on the second ring.

She was wearing tight fitting jeans and an oversized T-shirt, with just a trace of makeup accenting her eyes and lips. “I’m sorry, officer,” she said, a puzzled expression furrowing her brow. “You seem to have mistaken my house for a doughnut shop. Krispy Kreme is up on Wilshire.”

“Funny, Van Owen,” I laughed in spite of myself. “Where do you get your material?”

“TV sitcoms, mostly,” Lauren answered with a grin. She slipped the security chain and opened the door the rest of the way. As I stepped in, she placed an arm affectionately around a tall, coltish youngster standing beside her in the entry.

“Dan, this is my daughter Candice,” Lauren said proudly. “Candice, Detective Kane.”

Shyly, the girl extended her hand. “Nice to meet you, sir,” she said.

I smiled, taking her small palm in mine. “You, too,” I said. “I can see you’re going to be a heartbreaker, just like your mom.”

The youngster smiled back, her eyes twinkling. “Mom says women aren’t near the heartbreakers that men are.”

“Sounds like your mother,” I replied. “Don’t you believe it.”

“Candice, why don’t you go upstairs and do some homework?” suggested Lauren.

“I don’t have any, Mom,” Candice laughed, rolling her eyes. “Tomorrow’s Christmas, remember?”

“Right. In that case, how’s about making yourself scarce for a couple minutes? Detective Kane and I have something to discuss.”

“Sure, Mom. But can we eat soon? I’m starving.”

“We’ll be done in a few minutes. I promise.”

“Okay. Catch you later, Detective Kane.”

“Nice kid,” I observed as the youngster bounded up the stairs.

“She’s a great kid. I wish I could take credit, but being a single parent isn’t easy, with work and all…”

“You have to be doing something right.”

“Thanks,” said Lauren, a catch in her voice betraying her nervousness. “In all fairness, her dad’s great with her, too.”

“He live around here?”

“Pasadena. We share her as much as possible. Candice is spending Christmas Eve with me this year; Eric gets her tomorrow. You, uh, want a cup of coffee?”

“No, thanks. I can’t stay. I’ve gotta get…” I hesitated, realizing I had been about to say “home.” Although adequate, Arnie’s guest room was definitely not home. “… some things taken care of before tomorrow,” I finished lamely.

“Last minute shopping?”

“Right,” I lied. In truth, my Christmas shopping was done, and the highlight of my evening would probably be a meal of cold leftovers scavenged from Arnie’s refrigerator. “What did you want to talk about?”

Lauren glanced up the staircase. “Let’s go into the kitchen.”

I followed Lauren through the family room, passing a lavishly decorated Christmas tree with a glowing red star on top and a jumble of presents at its base. I smiled, suspecting that most of the gifts there had Candice’s name on them. Past the family room we entered an airy kitchen. Spicy and inviting, the aroma of tomato, garlic, onion, and basil wafted from a pot simmering on a six-burner stove. I noticed an assortment of stainless-steel pots and pans hanging above a maple chopping stand, along with a rack of German cutlery and a small library of cookbooks. “You cook?” I asked.

“I’m not a gourmet, but I have a few recipes,” Lauren answered. “Why don’t you stay for dinner? We’re having pasta. It’s an old Christmas family tradition I just started tonight. There’s plenty.”

“Thanks, no.”

After pouring herself a cup of coffee, Lauren retired to a small breakfast nook and sat. I remained standing.

Lauren took a sip from her mug, grimaced, and set it down. “I had a meeting with the bureau chief today,” she said. “I know you shot down our news team being in the task force meetings, but let me make a suggestion, okay?”

I didn’t respond.

“With your hotline approach and awareness meetings, you guys have been indicating all along that it’ll take public involvement to catch this guy,” she went on, apparently construing my silence as consent. “What I’m about to propose could provide it.” Lauren took another sip of coffee, then rushed ahead, her words obviously rehearsed. “My network’s willing to post a million dollar reward for information leading to the murderer’s capture and conviction. All we want is a presence at your meetings. One cameraman, me, and maybe one other person.”

“We get our man; you kick butt in the sweeps.”

“Everybody makes out. What do you think?”

“I think your station’s already presented the idea to the brass,” I said. “Last week, as a matter of fact. I heard about it Friday. I also heard it got shot down. We can’t play favorites with the media, and the truth is we’re already drowning in tips from concerned citizens. A reward would bring out every dirtbag in the city with a cash flow problem.”

“It’s still a good idea,” Lauren maintained stubbornly. “I thought maybe you could persuade your superiors to take another look. We could-”

“Forget it, Van Owen. It’ll never fly.”

“No. I guess not. Anyway, that’s… that’s not why I asked you here.”

“I know. I’m sorry, Van Owen. I can’t see you anymore.”

Lauren turned her head to hide her disappointment. “Why? Need glasses?”

“My vision’s fine. It’s my judgment that’s off. What happened between us was a mistake. You know that.”

“I’m not too sure about anything right now.”

“I’m married.”

“I don’t care,” she said softly.

“ I do. And you don’t need that kind of trouble, either. You’re a beautiful, intelligent, talented woman, and-”

“I could change.”

I smiled. “Did I mention funny?” Then, more seriously, “Anyway, I wouldn’t want you to change. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I like you just the way you are.”

“Then why?”

“Because of Catheryn,” I said simply. “Things haven’t been right between us for a long time, but I’m going do my level best to get them straightened out. I don’t know whether I can, but I’m going to try.”

“Have you told her about us?”

I shook my head. “We had a falling out recently. I haven’t had the chance.”

“But you’re going to?”

“I have to tell her. Kate and I don’t keep secrets.”