on-which probably explains why Nate and Travis are still in the dark.”
“I’m sorry you kids saw that,” I said guiltily. “This may be hard for you to swallow, but my actions occasionally fall short of perfect. And maybe sometimes your mom’s do, too. That’s all I’ll say, except that your mother and I have some things to work out. Okay?”
“Okay, Pop,” said Allison reluctantly.
“Now, where’s Kate?”
“The Music Center.”
“What’s she doing there this early? The concert’s not till tonight.”
“She’s in a special rehearsal with the music director.”
“What for?”
“Well, Pop, that little handshake you gave Mr. West put a crimp in his playing. The doctor says he’ll be out for a couple of days. In case you don’t know, it’s tough putting on a cello concerto without a cello soloist. The Philharmonic tried to get a virtuoso substitute, but on short notice they didn’t have any success.”
“So?”
“So Mom has the Dvorak in her repertoire,” Allison continued excitedly. “She’s never performed the solo part with the orchestra, but Mr. West has heard her play it, and he thinks she’ll do great. Plus, she accompanied every one of his performances in Europe, so it’s not as if she’s going into it cold.”
“Kate’s going to be the soloist tonight?”
“Uh-huh. Isn’t that exciting?”
“It is,” I said sincerely. “I’m happy for her.”
“Me, too. Mom was so nervous when she left. I’ve never seen her that flustered.”
“She’ll get over her butterflies once she gets up there and starts playing. I’ll bet she knocks them dead.”
“I hope so.”
“Any chance of getting tickets?”
“No way, Dad. This thing’s been sold out for weeks.”
Another long pause. “Is Travis around?” I asked, changing the subject.
“Why? Already tired of conversing with the only one of your offspring who can form a declarative sentence of more than four words?”
“Yeah, as a matter of fact. And don’t start in again, Ali, or I really will wring your neck the next time I see you.”
“When will that be?”
“Christmas, I suppose,” I sighed. “If I don’t get ahold of her, tell your mom I’ll be by tomorrow to cook. Can’t have the whole family starving because we’re…” My voice trailed off. Sadly, I found myself unable to put into words what was going on between Catheryn and me. “Anyway, put Travis on,” I finished lamely.
“He’s out on the beach taking a walk.”
“Well, when he gets back, ask him to throw together some clothes for me and drop them by Arnie’s.”
“Please get things straightened out with Mom soon, okay?”
“I’ll try, kid. I want to. I really do, but things aren’t that easy.”
“Yes, they are, Dad. Like you always tell us: Figure out what you want, then do whatever it takes to get it.”
41
After talking with Allison, I spent the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon interviewing various males between the ages of twenty and sixty who had made the mistake of attending one of the police-sponsored “killer awareness meetings” in Pacific Palisades, Mission Viejo, and Newport Beach. Though I conceded that the job needed doing, I held little hope of its bearing fruit, concurring with Dr. Berns’s assessment that the killer was far too careful to make that type of mistake. Nonetheless, other developments in the investigation had recently begun to appear more promising-talking with employees of the law firm of Donovan, Simon, and Kerr, for instance-although lately those assignments had all been funneled to other members of the unit besides me.
I knew that keeping me out of the loop was no coincidence. Following the killer’s escape from the Bakers’ house, Snead had done his best to keep me off the front line. Nonetheless, things could have been worse. Hotline calls had tripled after Lauren Van Owen’s on-air revelation of the FBI profile, and in response to increased demand, a number of task force members had been relegated to permanent phone duty. At least my current assignment got me out of the office.
Later that day, upon returning to task force headquarters, I found several message slips on my desk. One was from a woman who had refused to leave her name. Curious, I dialed that number first, waiting impatiently as the phone rang. As I was about to hang up, someone answered.
“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.”
