Before any of them could answer, a familiar face flashed up on the screen.
“Hey, Mom!” yelled Nate. “Dad’s on TV again!”
“Darn,” Catheryn answered from the bedroom. “Has the screen cracked yet?”
“Not yet,” Nate laughed. “But you’d better hurry.”
“Yeah,” added Travis. “Smoke’s coming out the back of the set.”
Recognizing the Larsons’ Pacific Palisades house in the background behind my image, I raised the remote control and flipped through the stations, pausing on the Channel Two news.
“C’mon, Dad,” Nate complained. “Turn back to seven. We want to see you.”
“Tough. Nobody ever said this family was a democracy.”
“Perish the thought of anyone but Dad getting his hands on the remote control,” Allison complained. “This family needs two TVs. One for Pop, another for the Earth people.”
“Maybe your new dad will buy you one,” I said. “Now hush. I’m trying to listen to this.”
“Since when have you taken an interest in foreign affairs?” asked Catheryn, glancing at the television as she entered the room.
“The sports roundup will be on in a sec, honeybunch.”
Catheryn smiled, folding a blouse she’d carried in. “As if anyone here cares about football but you and Nate. I swear, Dan-oh, look. You’re on this station, too.”
“Turn it up,” cried Nate.
“Turning it off’s more like it,” I said. “You kids don’t need to see this kind of stuff.” As I raised the remote, however, a map of southern California flashed up on the screen. The cities of Pacific Palisades and Mission Viejo were both circled in red. I hesitated, realizing the implications.
“Come on, Dan,” said Catheryn. “I want to see this.”
Steve Gannon
Kane
Reluctantly, I lowered the control, watching as the scene shifted to a foggy street outside the Larsons’ house. Police, neighbors, and reporters clogged the narrow road. The coroner’s wagon had already departed, but additional squad cars and news vans had arrived by the time of the news conference. Feeling an unsettling sense of deja vu, I listened to my televised image fielding questions, the most difficult being posed by Lauren Van Owen. The coverage ended with an out-of-sequence shot of me saying, “Sooner or later, we’ll get this maggot.”
Once again the Channel Two news anchor came back on. The shot widened to include the co-anchor, Lauren Van Owen. “KCBS has recently learned from LAPD sources that the Pacific Palisades murders have now been linked to last month’s deaths in Orange County,” she said solemnly. “Authorities are searching for a serial killer they believe to be operating in the Southern California area.” Then, as she turned to a new camera angle, “In other news today…”
“Damn,” I groaned, thumbing the off button. “How’d that bimbo find out so fast?”
Catheryn frowned. “Dan. Watch your language.”
“Excuse me, Kate. Didn’t mean to offend the innocent ears of our offspring here.”
“Which bimbo is Dad referring to?” asked Nate.
“Nate!” scolded Catheryn, shooting me another look of irritation.
“That cute little number on Channel Two who’s always picking on Dad, that’s who,” Allison piped up. All the children knew of my general disregard for reporters. They were also well aware that over the years I’d had more than one confrontation with the crime correspondent in question.
“You mean Lauren Van Owen,” said Travis, joining in.
“The one Dad says is such a tightass?” asked Nate, ignoring Catheryn’s renewed look of irritation.
“Right,” said Allison. “Whatever that means.”
“She’s quite a dish,” Travis persisted. “Don’t you agree, Dad?”
Sensing myself outnumbered, I rose from the couch. “If you like sharks,” I answered tersely. “Speaking of which, let’s go grab some grub. The Sea Lion will be packed before long,” I added, referring to a nearby Malibu restaurant that offered an excellent selection of reasonably priced seafood.
“Do I have time to finish packing?” asked Catheryn. “I’m almost done.”
“Do it when we get back, sugar. I’m starving.”
Just then my cell phone rang. I glanced at caller ID. Lieutenant Long.
“Damn,” I said aloud as I flipped open my phone, realizing this wasn’t going to be good news. “Evening, Lieutenant.”
“Kane,” Long’s gravelly voice came back.
“Hold on a sec.” Covering the mouthpiece, I turned to Catheryn. “I’m going to take this outside. Get the kids ready. I’ll be done in a minute.” Without awaiting an answer, I made my way to the kitchen and stepped through a beachfront window, exiting onto a second-floor deck I’d added to the house some years back. Access to the deck was still via the window only; I had originally intended to install a door but had never managed to find the time. Like so many of the additions, bootlegged rooms, and quick fixes made to the house over the years, time had lent the window-doorway arrangement the air of permanence.
“Kane. You still there?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have you seen the news?”
“More than I wanted.”
“Ditto that. I spent an hour with the captain after you got back from Orange County. Mayor Fitzpatrick wants us to take an aggressive stance on the situation before it gets out of hand. I get the feeling he’ll be squeezing as much political juice out of it as possible, too. And I just now got a followup call from the captain. He informed me that Fitzpatrick came unglued when he saw tonight’s newscasts. Says if we can’t put a lid on our own people, he’ll do it for us.”
“That’s all we need,” I said, gazing over an expanse of seaweed-strewn sand to the ocean beyond. The sun had set, and several couples were making their way along the water’s edge, enjoying the final light of day. “Any idea who leaked to the press?”
“No. Although if I had to guess, I’d say it was somebody in the mayor’s office. Naturally, they’re pointing their fingers at us.”
“Back up a sec, Lieutenant. What does Fitzpatrick mean by ‘taking an aggressive stance’?”
“That’s why I called. First thing tomorrow, Fitzpatrick’s announcing the formation of an interagency task force. LAPD’s gonna be working with the OC Sheriff’s Department. Under the auspices of Mayor Fitzpatrick, of course.”
“You can’t be serious,” I exploded. “Politicizing the investigation will foul up everything. I’ve already got the ball rolling with the detective handling the case in Orange County. Why can’t we just-”
“As usual, you’re not listening,” interrupted Long. “It’s out of my hands. Be downtown at the new Police Administration Building tomorrow morning at ten. Ask at the desk. We should have a room assigned by then.”
“But…”
“No argument. Be there. And Dan?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Once this thing gets rolling, watch your back.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’ll see tomorrow.”
After hanging up, I stepped through the window back into the kitchen. Catheryn stood waiting with the children by the front door. “What’s wrong?” she asked, apparently noticing something in my expression.
“Nothing. Let’s go.”
“I know you better than that. What is it?”
“They’re forming a task force. I have to be downtown at headquarters first thing tomorrow morning.”
“A task force. That’s bad?”
“Yeah,” I said. “For one thing, it means that from now on I’ll have a bunch of useless humps looking over my shoulder.”
“Why don’t you consider it as an opportunity to improve your social skills?” suggested Allison. “You know, learn to play with the other kids.”
