by Steve Gannon
“And Ali is a good woman. She’ll make a wonderful mother.”
“Yes, she will. I’m not too sure how I feel about being a grandfather, though.”
“You’ll get used to it,” Dorothy laughed. “And you’ll love it, take it from me. Speaking of my grandchildren, did you hear Trav’s news?”
“Don’t tell me McKenzie is pregnant,” I joked. “I can’t afford another wedding right now.”
“That’s not it, but I do like that girl. She has a lot of spunk. They’re talking about renting a place together in New York.”
“They are, huh? Is that Trav’s news?”
“No, it’s about the concert he played with the New York Philharmonic last month. The scheduled soloist was unable to perform, and Gilbert Ashley, the Philharmonic’s music director, asked Travis to take his place. Mr. Ashley knows Travis from Juilliard, and he knew that Trav had Beethoven’s ‘Emperor’ Piano Concerto in his repertoire, and when—”
“Yeah, I remember,” I broke in. “When the scheduled soloist bailed at the last minute, Travis stepped in and hit a home run.”
“He certainly did. Since then he’s received offers to perform with several other major symphonies.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“The problem would involve Trav’s continuing his studies at Juilliard. He might have to postpone or even drop out of his master’s program to pursue a performance career. It’s a wonderful opportunity, but Trav has also shown promise in composition and orchestral conducting, and he thinks those areas might be where his real passion lies.”
“Can’t he do both?”
“I don’t know. Either way, Trav has some career choices to make.”
“Not to mention moving in with McKenzie. Well, I’m sure he’ll make the right decisions,” I said absently, my mind returning to my conversation with Lieutenant Long.
“I noticed you speaking with your police lieutenant earlier,” Dorothy continued, seeming to read my thoughts. “Did he say something to upset you?”
“Maybe,” I answered, not for the first time wondering how women like Dorothy sensed things so easily.
“Was it about the murders in Bel Air?”
I nodded.
“I saw some coverage on the news. I can’t imagine how anyone could do such a thing. Your lieutenant wants you to work on the case, doesn’t he?”
“Sort of,” I answered. “There’s a task force being set up, and I think the chief wants to talk to me about joining it. The chief’s lapdog, Assistant Chief Strickland, pretty much indicated that if I’m not at headquarters tomorrow morning, I can forget about resuming my position on the force.”
“Can he do that?”
“It’s possible. You know how things work.”
“So are you going in?”
I didn’t answer.
Dorothy set down the trash bag she’d been tying. “Talk to me, Dan.”
Instead of responding, I stared out at the ocean. By then the moon had risen over Santa Monica, outlining the waves in glimmers and flashes of soft, silvery light. “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” I finally admitted. “It seems like my being a cop has caused nothing but trouble for everyone I care about. First the man who attacked us in our home, and then later, Catheryn . . .”
“Those incidents weren’t your fault, Dan. You were simply doing your job.”
“Right. But if I’d had a different job—”
“Don’t do this to yourself,” Dorothy interrupted. “Blaming yourself won’t change anything.”
“I know that. Don’t you think I want to pick up the pieces and go back to work? Playing football and being a cop are the only two things I’ve ever been good at. But I won’t go back to police work again at the expense of endangering my family.”
“It doesn’t have to be that way. What happened to Catheryn was tragic, and it devastated everyone who loved her. But that doesn’t mean something like that will ever happen again. It doesn’t mean life has to stop. God has a plan for us all, Dan. We just have to have faith that things will work out as they are meant to.”
“I’m not too happy with God’s plan right now, Dorothy.”
“You’ve taken some hard blows, Dan, and your faith in life has been shaken. I know when you wake up in the morning, Catheryn’s death is the first thing you think about. And that’s okay. You will never forget Catheryn, or Tommy either. But maybe someday their loss will be the second thing you think about, and that’s okay, too. In the meantime, other people are hurting, too. Nate needs you. In case you haven’t noticed, the boy is struggling.”
“Nate’s tough. He’ll be fine.”
“He’s not fine, and I don’t see him getting any better. I’m worried about him. He has been through a lot for a sixteen-year-old, so his sadness is understandable on that level, but I’m afraid something more is going on. Maybe he could talk with someone—a counselor or a psychiatrist?”
Having more than once run up against a psychiatrist testifying in court to save some worthless client, I had little faith in the psychiatric community. “A shrink? Nate’s not crazy.”
“No, I’m not saying that, but—”
“Kate and I took Nate to a counselor last year when he was having trouble at school,” I said, cutting her off. “It didn’t do any good, and after a couple sessions Nate refused to go back.”
“I don’t have all the answers, Dan,” Dorothy sighed. “I just know that your son needs help.”
“What do you want me to do?”
Dorothy took my hand in hers. “Dan, I know you’re in pain, but . . .” She hesitated. Then, seeming to come to a decision, she pushed on. “When Catheryn was growing up, there was something I used to tell her when things went wrong, really wrong . . . like when we lost her dad. Now I’m going to tell it to you. It’s this: Life can be unimaginably hard, as you said in your toast. That’s simply a fact. But if you aren’t willing to accept life’s sorrows and move through them, you’re going to miss out on all the good parts, too.”
“Where did you get that, a fortune cookie?” I shot back, regretting my words the moment they were out of my mouth.
Tears started in Dorothy’s eyes, but she didn’t look away, even for an instant. “This hasn’t been easy for me either, Dan. Catheryn was your wife, but she was also my daughter. I loved her more than anything in the world.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, once more realizing the source of Catheryn’s strength. “I didn’t mean that.”
“I know you didn’t.” Dorothy hesitated again, then continued. “It’s going to take time, Dan, but things will get better,” she said. “You’re going to be okay.”
I lowered my head, unable to meet her gaze. “I know,” I mumbled.
“No, you don’t,” Dorothy replied. “But I do.”
Chapter 6
At 9:30 a.m. the following morning, thirty minutes before my scheduled appointment with Chief Ingram, I pulled into a parking garage on West First Street, a block down from the Los Angeles Police Administration Building. Colloquially known as PAB, the ten-story, 500,000-square-foot structure of stone and glass had eventually replaced the aging Parker Center, the LAPD’s headquarters for decades. Serving as a command center for the department’s twenty-one far-flung patrol divisions, the new complex occupied an entire city block and was surrounded by some of the city’s most iconic buildings, including Los Angeles City Hall. I knew from experience that PAB’s close proximity to the city’s seat of power was more than mere coincidence. In the world of modern politics, the administration of the Los Angeles Police Department through the offices of the mayor, the police commission, and the city council had assumed far-reaching implications that no elected official could afford to ignore.
Wondering what the meeting with Chief Ingram would bring, I exited the parking structure and walked to PAB’s front entrance, on the way passing a civic plaza, a number of terraces, gardens, a police memorial dedicated to LAPD officers killed in the line of duty, and a large pu
blic auditorium that lay outside the building’s main footprint. Absently, I realized that these design elements had been included to symbolize the department’s new era of openness and connection with the city. I also knew that it would take more than modern architecture to change the department, and when I pushed through the glass doors fronting the building, things would probably be business as usual.
I wasn’t disappointed. After threading past a fleet of satellite news vans setting up on the street—undoubtedly preparing for the briefing by the mayor—I entered the lobby, hung my shield on my coat, and fought my way through a snarl of reporters to a reception desk at the rear. After presenting my ID and having my name checked off a typewritten roster, I received a visitor’s badge and took an elevator up to Ingram’s tenth-floor office. There, as expected, I waited another half hour for the chief to see me.
During the time spent cooling my heels in the chief’s reception room, I repeatedly asked myself the same question: Why was I there?
Granted, I’d been ordered to appear, but why had I agreed?
Part of it was curiosity, I suppose. I’d met Chief Ingram on several occasions, and I had found him to be intelligent, engaging, and as forthright as one could expect a high-level administrator to be. We weren’t friends, though, not even close—so for Ingram to request my presence that morning was somewhat of a puzzle. Sure, I knew my old departmental enemy, William Snead, had definitely had a hand in things, but that didn’t explain everything.
There had to be more.
Another part of my being there, much as I hated to admit it, was because of Assistant Chief Strickland’s tacit threat. I hadn’t yet decided whether I wanted to return to the department, but whatever my decision, I wanted it to be my choice, not someone else’s. As I had told Dorothy, I wasn’t certain Strickland had the power to freeze me out, but one never knew. If nothing else, Strickland could prove a powerful enemy, and I already had enough of those in the department.
After thirty-five minutes of being ignored in Ingram’s outer chamber, I had just about decided to leave and let the chips fall where they may when Strickland poked his head into the room. “We’re ready for you,” he said, brusquely signaling me through the door with a tilt of his head.
I followed Strickland down a broad hallway, passing several small offices and a large conference area before arriving at Chief Ingram’s private suite. As I entered, Ingram looked up from behind an expansive oak desk. Without speaking, Strickland moved to stand behind him. I remained in front, hands clasped behind my back.
“Kane, thanks for coming in,” said Ingram, leaning across his desk to offer his hand. “Again, please accept my condolences for the loss of your wife. Catheryn’s death was a terrible tragedy, and everyone here shares in your pain.”
“Thank you,” I replied, shaking Ingram’s hand. His grip was firm and dry, and he held my gaze. His concern seemed genuine, but I had seen him use that same father-figure approach in the past, just before sticking in the knife. I also knew that Ingram hadn’t asked me there to express his sympathy for Catheryn’s death. Despite his friendly manner, Ingram’s agenda was going to involve whatever he thought was best for the department, and everything else would be secondary.
“You’re probably wondering why you’re here,” Ingram continued, resuming his seat.
“Yes, sir. You could say that.”
Ingram glanced at Strickland. “Owen, you want to fill in Detective Kane on the situation?”
“Of course,” said Strickland. “Kane, I’m certain you’ve heard about the Bel Air murders. That patrol area falls within the West Los Angeles Division’s geographical command, correct?”
“It does,” I said. “But I haven’t been on active duty for some time, so—”
“Nevertheless, you do watch the news,” Strickland interrupted. “So you know that Saturday’s multiple homicides were among the most sadistic, brutal murders on the Westside in quite some time. What you may not know is that elements of the killings suggest a terrorist connection.”
“What elements?” I asked.
“We’ll get to that later. For now, all you need to know is that because of the terrorist aspect, media coverage is going through the roof.”
“What does this have to do with me?”
“We’ll get to that later as well,” said Strickland with a scowl. “Hold your questions, Kane. Now, here’s the problem. Because of the terrorism link, the FBI has claimed jurisdiction. We will be working with them under the authority of an FBI Joint Terrorism Task Force. We were already in the process of setting up our own task force, but—”
“Led by Lieutenant Snead?”
“That’s Captain Snead,” Strickland corrected, looking increasingly annoyed. “Snead was recently promoted and is now the HSS detectives commanding officer,” Strickland continued, referring to the Homicide Special Section of the Robbery-Homicide Division, whose detectives routinely handled high-profile investigations.
“So Snead and his HSS detectives are grousing that their case is being preempted by the Bureau,” I said, surprised to hear of Snead’s promotion. A rising star in the department sometimes achieved poster-boy status, and for some reason, Snead fit the bill. “If I don’t miss my guess, Snead’s task force will wind up doing most of the legwork, with the Bureau taking most of the glory,” I added.
“There’s more to it than that,” Ingram broke in. “And there may not be that much glory to go around. This thing is already shaping up to be the kind of political quagmire that ends careers.”
“Making matters worse, we now have other bureaus requesting a presence on the case,” Strickland added. “The Department of Homeland Security and our own LAPD Counter-Terrorism and Special Operations Bureau, to name a few. By the way, neither of those organizations has a qualified homicide investigator on its staff.”
“So CTSOB and Homeland Security both want in, but they can’t bring much to the party?”
Strickland nodded. “Unfortunately. And there’s more. We have a backlash developing against our Los Angeles Muslim population, with signs that it may spread to other cities as well. Mayor Fitzpatrick is holding a press conference downstairs at eleven. He’ll try to get ahead of the curve on this, but as soon as politicians get involved, not to mention our friends in the media, things usually go to hell.”
I nodded, deciding that Strickland and I at least agreed on something.
“You see the problem,” said Ingram.
“Too many cooks.”
“Right,” said Ingram. “I want this case closed, and I want it closed quickly, before the whole thing heads south. Despite the Bureau’s taking the lead, we all know that if this is to end well, LAPD will have to do most of the work. It’s no secret that the FBI is best suited for handling bank robberies, organized crime, and the like. They have little experience running an actual homicide investigation, which—despite the terrorist connection—is what this case is. Based on his successful leadership of two previous murder task-force investigations, I have appointed Captain Snead to head up this mission.”
I groaned, beginning to see where we were heading.
Strickland shot me a look of warning.
“I promised Snead that he would have anything he required to get the job done,” Ingram continued, still holding my gaze. “For one, he wants you.”
“Not a snowball’s chance in hell,” I said.
“Damn it, Kane!” said Strickland. “If you ever want to resume—”
“I don’t respond to threats, Owen,” I said, beginning to lose my temper.
“That’s Assistant Chief Strickland to you,” Strickland snapped.
“Fine, Assistant Chief Strickland. In words even you can understand, under no circumstances will I ever again work for Snead.”
Strickland’s face darkened. “Kane, you are one insolent son of a bitch. Another word out of you and I’ll have your badge.”
“Hold on, Owen,” Ingram intervened. “Why don’t you give us a minute? I want a
word with Kane.”
“Yes, sir,” said Strickland. He headed for the door, still fuming. “But I swear to God, Kane,” he added, looking back. “Keep it up and you will regret—”
“Just give us a minute, Owen,” said Ingram.
After Strickland had closed the door behind him, Ingram rocked back in his chair and regarded me for a long moment. “Dan, I know these past months have been hard on you,” he said. “I can’t imagine what you must have felt losing your wife like that, and I meant it when I said that everyone here shares your pain.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I also know you’ve been taking some time off to deal with things, and your absence is understandable. Under normal circumstances, I would agree that you deserve all the time you need. But these aren’t normal circumstances. I’m going to say a few things that I want to stay between us. Agreed?”
I nodded.
“Good,” said Ingram, rising to his feet. “Let’s step outside.”
I followed Ingram through a sliding glass door, stepping out to a large, triangular terrace with an elevated view of the city. When we reached a railing overlooking West First Street and City Hall beyond, Ingram turned to me and asked, “What do you know about the Bel Air case?”
I shrugged. “Not much,” I answered, leaning on the railing and staring out over the city. “I do know that the killings were particularly brutal, and on the drive in here this morning I heard on the radio that there was a video posted of the murders.”
“Brutal doesn’t cover it. Whoever did this is attempting to create as much public outrage as possible, and they are succeeding. The media is already claiming that the police aren’t doing enough to protect our citizens, no one is safe in their own homes, and so on.”
“Screw the media.”
“Unfortunately, that’s not an option. And if we don’t put a lid on this quickly, it’s going to get worse.”
“No argument there.”
“Now, I know you have some history with Snead,” Ingram continued. “To be honest, I don’t like the man much myself. I suspect that he’s an incompetent ass, but there’s more involved here than my personal preferences. The mayor, the police commission, the city council, and every other elected official in Los Angeles are weighing in on the case, and I have to cover myself. Simply put, my hands are tied regarding leadership of the HSS task force.”
