Steve Gannon - Kane

“You want to dumb that down a bit?”

“By zero-spanning the instrument, we can examine the components of one particular frequency,” Hank explained. Noticing the blank expression still on my face, he prompted, “The code, Dan.” He made another adjustment to the instrument, then pushed the opener button again. “There. See what I mean?”

I leaned in. The spike on the monitor had been replaced by a series of blocky pulses. “That’s it? The opener code?”

“Right. This particular code string is redundant-repeated twice in a one second period-with several bit reversals in the second frame. Tricky.”

“So anybody with one of these analyzers could sit down the street, wait for some poor sucker to come home, and record his door-opener signal. How close would he have to be?”

Hank glanced at the remote control. “Close. A hundred feet or so, although you could probably pick up the signal farther out if you used a directional antenna.”

“As far away as a block or two?”

“Possibly.”

“Then what? Push a button and rebroadcast the signal when you want to break in?”

“This instrument isn’t a transmitter,” said Hank. “But knowing the frequency would simplify getting the correct replacement opener. The rest wouldn’t be that difficult.”

My mind raced ahead. “So the guy has to get the frequency on the first go-around, then snag the code after that. And he has to be fairly close to do it.” I looked thoughtfully at the spectrum analyzer. “What are we talking for one of these? A couple hundred bucks?”

Hank smiled. “Not even close. I borrowed this one from a friend. It sold new for around twelve thousand, and compared with some, that’s cheap. Depending on their capabilities, some of these instruments new can top a hundred grand.”

I whistled softly, eyeing the analyzer with new respect. “So you don’t just pick one up at your local Radio Shack.”

“No. Not that many companies even make them. Hewlett-Packard, Tektronix, Agilent, a few others.”

“So if you wanted one, where would you look?”

“On something like this, you could go directly to the company. There’re a few test equipment rental places around, too. You might be able to lease a unit at one of those. And, of course, there’s eBay.”

I thought a moment, trying to figure a way to limit the search parameters. “You said these things have different capabilities. Could you make up a list for me of the type or types of unit that someone would need to do what we’re talking about here? You know, like Goldilocks-just enough capability, but not too much.”

“No problem. Call me tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Hank,” I said. “I have to take off, but you’ve been a huge help. Give my best to your son and the new missus.”

“Sure. Don’t be a stranger.”

I slipped around the counter, then turned. “I’ll stop by again when I get time. I have a wedding gift to drop off.”

Hank smiled. “I’ll give Mitch the message.” Then, his smile fading, “I take it you’re still on the serial-killings case?”

I hesitated a moment. “Yeah. I’m still on it.”

Arnie stared across the table. “Excuse me, ol’ buddy, but it sounded like you just said you were stayin’ on the case.”

“You heard right,” I said, glancing around the crowded interior of Regular John’s Pizza Parlor. From our booth in the back, I could take in most of the room. Clusters of tables with checkered tablecloths jammed the interior, with an order counter at the far end, video games against one wall, and hard-benched booths lining the rest. Every other available inch of wall and ceiling space displayed items of memorabilia ranging from pictures and posters to a dusty collection of snowshoes, surfboards, antique rifles, a racing scull, even a menagerie of stuffed animal heads.

“Have you lost your mind?”

I took a swig of my Coke, gazing pensively at a huge moose head mounted above our booth. “I still don’t understand why you insist on coming to this hole,” I complained, sidestepping his question.

Arnie shrugged. “Great pizza and cheap beer. Let’s get back to the question of your sanity, pal. You realize it’ll mean your badge if you’re caught.”

“This thing’s personal now.”

“I was afraid you were gonna say that. Damn, you’re already in deep enough without makin’ things worse. Have you seen the news lately?”

I nodded. “Grim.”

“Grim’s an understatement.” Arnie looked at me curiously. “How’d you get hooked up with Van Owen, anyway?”

With a lurch of regret, my thoughts returned to the horror at Lauren’s condo. “I don’t know,” I said softly. “I wish to God I hadn’t.”

“How’s she doing?”

“I visited her yesterday at the hospital. They still had her pretty sedated. The doctors say it’ll take time and a lot of plastic surgery, but she’ll make a full recovery. Fortunately, it appears the guy was waiting for me to show up before he really got down to business.

“Why do you think he left her alive?” Arnie asked.

I shrugged. “Who knows? The patrol officers I called in probably caught him off guard. After killing them, maybe he got spooked and bolted, leaving Lauren for dead. She had several chest wounds that barely missed major arteries.”

“The papers say she has a daughter.”

“Candice. She’s staying with her dad in Pasadena.”

Apparently hearing something in my voice, Arnie sighed. “What happened wasn’t your fault, Dan.”

“I wish I could believe that.”

“It wasn’t. You were trying to push the killer into making a mistake, and he did. He should have been caught at the Bakers’ house. And no one could have predicted he would lash out at Van Owen like that afterward. Besides, if it hadn’t been for you, right now the entire Baker family would be dead. Welcome to the real world, amigo. It’s one where you don’t control everything that happens. Now, let go of this thing with Van Owen and move on. Maybe I’m stepping out of line here, but you need to hear this. Kate’s the best thing that ever happened to you. Life doesn’t give you a lot of chances at happiness, and you’re blowin’ the best one you ever had.”

An uncomfortable silence descended. Arnie drained his beer, then refilled his mug from a pitcher on the table. “Have you phoned Kate since last night?”

I lowered my eyes. “Yeah, I called her. After what happened at Van Owen’s, I insisted that she and the kids go someplace safe. They’re all staying with Catheryn’s mother in Santa Barbara. I’d feel better if they were even farther away, but Kate’s not listening to me much these days.” I started to add something, then stopped.

“What?”

“I don’t know, Arnie. On top of everything else, I’m afraid Kate blames me for putting our kids in jeopardy.”

“She said that?”

“No, but-”

“I didn’t think so. That’s bullshit, Dan. I know Kate. She would never lay that kind of guilt on you, because it isn’t true. She knows you were just doing your job.”

At that moment, a youngster at the counter called out a number over the loudspeaker. Arnie checked our order ticket. “That’s us,” he said, sliding from the booth. “You want a refill on your Coke?”

I shook my head.

“Suit yourself.” Arnie rose and crossed the sawdust strewn floor, returning with a steaming, sixteen-inch pizza. Setting the platter on a wire stand, he squeezed back into the booth and for the next ten minutes we ate in silence. After polishing off his fourth slice of pizza and third mug of beer, Arnie leaned back and wiped his fingers with a napkin. “Can I say one more thing?” he asked. “After that I promise to shut up.”