Steve Gannon - Kane

I backed from the room, a trickle of sweat gathering under my arms.

It hasn’t been long. Is he still here?

Without a sound I retreated down the hall to the other bedroom door. When I arrived, I heard a low moan on the other side.

Go in fast or slow?

Fast.

I slammed into the room. Swinging my automatic in a two-handed arc, I crabbed left, moving out of the lighted doorway.

Candle on the dresser, another by the window. Someone on the bed. Someone else on the floor. Nobody moving.

Finger tensed on the trigger, I flipped the light switch. A lamp on the nightstand came on. A second police officer lay at my feet, the back of his skull matted with blood. My eyes narrowed as I turned toward the bed. Lauren.

I rushed over. Hearing my approach, Lauren began struggling, fighting to free herself from ropes binding her to the bed frame.

“Oh, my God,” I whispered, lifting Lauren’s head and unwrapping a blood encrusted gag that covered her lower face. She had been severely beaten. Her face was bruised, her nose broken. Both of her eyes were nearly swollen shut.

At the sound of my voice Lauren stopped struggling. “Kane?” she sobbed, peering up at me. “Kane?”

“It’s me,” I said softly.

“I can’t…”

“Lie quiet. I’ll call an ambulance. Where’s Candice?”

“At her dad’s. Will you-”

“I’ll take care of everything. Save your strength. Don’t talk.”

An opened Christmas present lay on the nightstand beside the bed. With a chill, I noted the box’s contents: a length of pipe, a coil of rope, a small scissors, a strip of unused prophylactics, and a second Ace bandage.

Several deep, oozing lacerations marked Lauren’s torso, along with a hideous pattern of bites and lesser knife wounds on her breasts and neck. After determining that she had no crucial arterial bleeding, at least none that I could see, I checked the other downed officer on the floor. He was beyond help. I returned to the bed and gently removed the ropes from Lauren’s wrists and ankles, then pulled a sheet over her savaged body. Next I made two quick phone calls-one to the West LA station, the other to task force headquarters. Then I sat beside Lauren and applied pressure to the worst of her wounds, using towels from an adjacent bathroom. “Hang on, Van Owen,” I said. “Help’s on the way.”

Lauren turned her head toward me. “He said he wouldn’t hurt me if I got you to come,” she said, her words leaden. “I’m sorry. I tried to warn you.”

“I know.”

“He said he found my newscasts offensive. But it’s you he really wants.”

“Me?”

“He blames you. He made me tell him everything.”

“Save your strength, Lauren. The medics will be here any minute. You’re going to be all right.”

Lauren’s head lolled to one side. “Kane…?”

“I’m still here.”

“Be careful.”

I stayed with Lauren until police backup arrived. By then, although the worst of her bleeding had slowed, she’d lost a lot of blood and seemed to be going into shock, drifting in and out of consciousness. After a hurried conference with the arriving officers, I returned to her side and remained there until the ambulance squealed to a stop out front.

The paramedics worked rapidly, ensuring that Lauren had an open airway, applying gauze pressure bandages to the worst bleeders, and starting a saline drip. Within minutes they had her on a gurney and were wheeling her out to the street. I trailed them to the ambulance.

“Hang on, Van Owen,” I repeated as the white-jacketed team slid her into the back. One medic followed her in; the other slammed the double doors and climbed into the front. Seconds later the van roared off. Choked with guilt, I stood at the curb, watching as the ambulance’s taillights disappeared into the night.

I was summoned into Lieutenant Long’s office in West LA early the following morning. After entering, I stood in the center of the room and surveyed the officers seated across from me. In addition to Lieutenant Long, two others were present: Captain Theodore Lincoln, the West LA Division commanding officer, and Lieutenant Snead.

No one was smiling.

“You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, you insolent bastard,” said Snead. “When I heard what happened, I knew your grubby Irish prints would be all over it. This time you’ve gone too far.”

I stiffened but said nothing.

Captain Lincoln cleared his throat. Snead, who had been about to add something, deferred to the senior officer. “Detective Kane, we’re here to discuss the propriety of your relationship with Ms. Van Owen,” said Lincoln, speaking slowly and deliberately. “And make no mistake, if even half of Lieutenant Snead’s accusations are true, you’re in deep trouble. Both the chief and the mayor phoned this morning concerning this matter. They want to know why a member of the task force has been associating with a news reporter. Especially as that very reporter has been receiving confidential information from inside the department.”

I remained silent.

“Nothing to say? According to Lieutenant Snead, you also sidestepped the chain of command by extending surveillance on the Baker family.” The captain turned to Long. “I believe you played a part in that, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, sir, I did. And as things turned out-”

“How things turned out is unimportant,” Snead broke in.

“I disagree,” said Long. “The way I see it, it was because of Kane that the task force actually had a chance of arresting the killer, and you blew it. If things had worked out differently, you’d be kissing Kane’s ass right now.”

“Even a blind squirrel occasionally finds a nut,” Snead countered. “The point is, Kane ignored a direct order. We’ve got a pattern going here. Your maverick detective seems to think he can pursue any agenda he likes. Well, this time somebody got hurt.”

“You think Kane is responsible for Van Owen’s attack?”

“Possibly.” Snead glared at me. “There’s no doubt he’d been feeding her information.”

“That’s ridiculous,” objected Long. “Captain, there’s clearly a personality thing going on here. Snead has no proof of any of this.”

“No?” said Snead. “We checked Kane’s phone log. Van Owen left a message for him on Monday morning, the day before her attack. He called her back, then went to her condo at eight-fifteen that night.”

“You had Kane followed? ” Long said angrily.

Snead shrugged. “I was told to plug the leak. As Kane seemed the most likely hole, I had friends at Internal Affairs look into things.”

“I wasn’t aware you had any friends,” said Long.

“Let’s stick to the issues,” Captain Lincoln broke in, shooting a scowl at Long. Then, to me, “How do you explain visiting Ms. Van Owen at her home, Detective?”

“Oh, his dealings with her went a lot further than a visit,” Snead snorted. “Last Thursday Detective Kane met Van Owen at a West Los Angeles bar. From there he took her to a little love nest in Brentwood, where the two spent the night. Like I said, we’ve got a pattern going here, Captain. Kane’s been screwing with the media, and in more ways than one.”

“Has anyone talked with Van Owen?” Lincoln asked.

“Yes, sir,” answered Snead, clearly enjoying himself. “She wouldn’t say anything about Kane except that she had phoned him for help. Unfortunately, she wasn’t able to give much of a description of her attacker. Apparently the guy took her down as soon as she opened her door. She doesn’t remember much after that until waking up tied to her bed. Even with all he subsequently did to her, she never got a good look at him.”

Captain Lincoln returned his gaze to me. “Do you have anything to say for yourself, Detective?”