“Thanks, Allison. I’ll do that.”
“Will you still be able to drive me to the airport?” asked Catheryn. “If you want, I could catch a ride with Arthur.”
I frowned. “I’ll take you.”
“No more talking,” clamored Nate. “Let’s go eat!”
“I agree, squirt,” I said, happy to change the subject. “What are you having tonight? Your usual fish sticks and fries?”
“Yep.”
“What about the rest of the troops? Allison?”
“I’ll be partaking of the grilled snapper,” said Allison. “Predictably, Mom and Travis will undoubtedly choose their customary-and, I might add, boring-shrimp and scallop salad. How about you, Pop?”
I thought a moment, still irritated by Long’s news. “Me? Tonight, I have a hankering for something different.”
“What?”
“Tonight, I’m having shark.”
10
I left Arnie’s house early the following morning, allowing plenty of time to drive Catheryn to LAX and still make it downtown to the LAPD meeting on time. Nonetheless, by the time I’d picked her up in Malibu, reversed direction, and cleared the McClure Tunnel in Santa Monica, the flow of early-morning commuters had already begun to slow. Deciding to take surface streets to the airport instead, I exited on Lincoln. Thirty-five minutes of stop-and-go driving brought us to the far end of the Los Angeles Airport Departure Concourse, where I pulled to a stop in front of the Tom Bradley International Terminal.
Conversation on the way in had been minimal-me stretching the yellow lights and jumping the reds, Catheryn reviewing her checklist, certain she had overlooked something. “Don’t forget that Nate’s bus arrives at seven-twenty sharp,” she reminded me for the third time as I stepped from the car and began unloading her bags. “Allison said she would-”
“I’ll make sure everything goes as smooth as glass,” I interrupted. “Sugar, you’re acting like a nervous hen. Nate will catch the school bus every morning, Allison will get to class on time, and Travis will be coming home on weekends to help. If I have to work late, Christy said she would stay over. Don’t worry, when you return you’ll find all the Kanes well fed, relatively clean, and definitely happy to see you. Jeez, Kate. Don’t you trust me?”
Catheryn smiled. “Absolutely not.” Then, again referring to her list, “I left my tour schedule on the bedroom dresser. Dates, locations, and hotels are all listed, although some might change. I included hotel phone numbers, too. My cell should work most places over there, but if you can’t get through, try me at my hotel. I’ll try to call as often as possible, but the time difference will make it difficult.”
“We can talk on weekends. Keep the phone bill down.” I slid from behind the wheel and crossed to Catheryn’s side of the car.
“Okay,” she said as I helped her out. She hesitated a moment. “One more thing, Dan.”
I noticed a tall, distinguished-looking man climbing from a cab three cars back. Arthur West. “What?” I asked.
“While I’m gone, will you think about what we discussed Sunday night?”
“We talked about a lot of things.”
“You know what I mean. I’m serious about our getting counseling. Think about it. Please.”
“Catheryn!” called Arthur, spotting us by the curb. “There you are.” As a porter began loading his suitcases onto a handcart, Arthur hurried over. Ignoring me, he kissed Catheryn on the cheek.
“That’s right,” I said. “Here we are.”
Arthur nodded curtly. “Good morning, Detective.” Then, turning back to Catheryn, “It’s getting late. We should get our bags checked in.”
“You go ahead.” Catheryn gave Arthur a gentle push toward the terminal. “I’ll meet you at the departure desk.”
“Please hurry. I’ll have the agent arrange for us to sit together.” After signaling the porter to add Catheryn’s bags to his, Arthur started for the entrance.
I watched Arthur ascend a ramp to the terminal. “I guess this is it,” I said as the cellist entered through the glass doors.
Catheryn put her arms around my neck and kissed me lightly on the lips. “Good-bye, Dan. I’ll call when I arrive. And I’ll be back before the Christmas Mercado,” she added, referring to a Music Center fundraiser that had been scheduled to coincide with the conclusion of the Philharmonic’s tour. “It won’t be that long. In the meantime, will you think about our discussion?”
“Kate…”
“Please?”
I shrugged. “All right. I’ll think about it.”
Catheryn smiled and kissed me again. “Thank you.”
Minutes before the scheduled ten AM meeting, I arrived at Los Angeles Police Department headquarters, better know as the new Police Administration Building, sometimes shortened to PAB. Ten levels above street grade of stone and glass, the huge, 500,000 square-foot structure had replaced the aging Parker Center LAPD headquarters in 2009, and it’s modern architectural elements and extensive gardens, terraces, and green space occupied an entire city block on West First Street. Located near the new city hall building, it served as the command center for a law enforcement organization that encompassed twenty-one far-flung patrol divisions, and its closeness to the city’s political seat of power was more than just physical. It was common knowledge that the administration of the LAPD via the mayor, city council, and police commission had increasingly become a political wild card-and one that no politician, especially Mayor Fitzpatrick, could afford to ignore.
As I drove past the entrance, I noticed a fleet of newswagons jamming the street outside. From each van tangles of thick black cable ran toward the building, trailing past a decorative waterfall and a lattice of planters that served as an effective vehicle barricade. Wondering about the media’s presence, I circled the block to a nearby parking structure, leaving my car in a slot clearly reserved for the bomb squad. The Larson murder files tucked under my arm, I made my way back to the main building.
Upon arriving at the ground-floor lobby, I hung my ID from my coat pocket, glancing around the crowded room. It appeared that representatives from every conceivable news organization were present, with more clustered around the entrance to the 400-seat civic auditorium.
I threaded through the crowd to the reception desk. “May I help you, sir?” asked the duty officer there, an Asian woman in her early twenties.
“Hell of a mess,” I observed.
The officer eyed my ID. “Yes, sir.”
“I’m attending a ten AM meeting with the Orange County Sheriff’s Department. Any idea where that might be?”
The woman referred to a handwritten list. “Seventh floor,” she said, finding my name.
“Thanks.” After signing in and receiving a temporary pass, I started for the elevators.
“Detective Kane!” a woman’s familiar voice called across the lobby. “Detective Kane!”
I turned, cursing inwardly as I spotted Lauren Van Owen threading toward me through the crowd. She flashed a smile when she arrived. “You don’t seem happy to see me.”
“For once you’ve got something right.”
“No need to be hostile. You know, Kane, if you ever gave me a chance, you might find I’m not half as bad as you think.”
“And it might rain dollars tomorrow, too. Look, I’m late for a meeting, so if you’ll excuse me-”
“How about getting together afterward for lunch? On me. We could go over the case.”
