by Steve Gannon
“Sushi,” guessed Nate.
“Nope.”
“Jambalaya?”
“Naw. We had that last month.”
“That southwestern dish you make,” Allison chimed in. “Wild mushroom enchiladas with red pepper sauce?”
“Wrong again.”
“I know-linguini with clam sauce,” said Travis. “I saw clams in the fridge.”
I’d stopped by the market on the previous evening to pick up several items I would need for the dinner I planned. “You’re getting warmer. If you had looked closer, you would’ve also noticed chicken, shrimp, and chorizo.”
“Paella! We’re having paella!” Nate shouted triumphantly.
“All right!” said Allison. “Is it okay if I invite Christy?”
“Sure,” I agreed. “Maybe I’ll give Arnie a call, too.”
“Good idea,” said Travis. “We haven’t heard much from him since he retired from the Force.”
I smiled. “It’s having a new girlfriend that’s made my ex-partner scarce, not quitting the Force. I barely see him at his house, either.”
“Can I help cook?” asked Nate.
“We’ll see. Right now it’s time you rookies got to church. That’ll be your mom’s first question when she calls.”
“Are you coming with us?” asked Allison.
“Not today. I have some other things to take care of.”
“Like driving out to visit Tommy’s grave?”
Instead of answering, I started for the house. “C’mon, let’s head on up,” I said.
All three children rose and followed, Callie in the lead. Running to match my strides, Nate caught up with me halfway to the sea wall and took my hand. Allison and Travis joined us a moment later. I slowed my pace to allow them to keep up.
“Hey, Dad?” said Allison when we reached the deck.
I turned to her, once again struck by how much she had come to resemble Catheryn. “What, Ali?”
Allison hesitated, seeming uncharacteristically at a loss for words. Finally she spoke. “We miss him, too,” she said softly.
Later that evening I stood at the kitchen sink, washing the last of the dinner dishes. Arnie had dropped by around seven with his girlfriend, Stacy. Christy had joined us for dinner as well. I’d prepared a lot of food, including a rum-cake dessert, so there was plenty to go around, and the gathering turned into an enjoyable family meal with a lot of give-and-take table talk-reminding me of better times. Even Allison seemed to enjoy herself for a change. Catheryn called around nine, just after Arnie and Stacy had left. My conversation with Catheryn was brief-most of her phone time being spent talking with the kids. During the minute or two I did get with her she sounded tired and distant, but she said that the tour was going well and that she was enjoying her stay.
As it was a school night, Nate went to bed a little after that. Allison followed shortly afterward, but twenty minutes later a sliver of light still leaked from beneath her door down the hall, and I could hear the staccato clicks of a computer keyboard coming from her room. Travis and Christy were talking on the lower deck, sitting on the swing. After putting away the final pots and pans, I knocked on the door to Trav and Nate’s room.
“Nate? You still awake?”
“Yeah, Dad.”
“Can I come in?”
“Sure.”
When Travis had left for college, Nate had moved from a small bedroom loft above the entry into Trav’s room, and he was sleeping in Tommy’s empty bed. I entered without turning on the light. “How’s it goin’, squirt?” I asked, sitting on the edge of Trav’s mattress
“Fine,” Nate answered sleepily from the adjacent bunk.
It hadn’t been that long since Nate had moved in with Trav, and I was struck by how small Nate looked in Tommy’s former bed. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about the other night,” I said.
“You mean about my nightmare? What about it?”
“I don’t know, kid. You tell me. Your mom thinks there’s more to these dreams of yours than you’re letting on. She’s concerned about you. So am I.”
“I’ll try not to do it anymore.”
“You can’t decide not to have nightmares,” I said. “Do you remember what your dreams are about?”
“No,” said Nate.
For better or worse, one of the things I’ve learned from my years on the Force is how to tell when someone is lying-or at least holding something back. I’m not sure how I do it, but I’m never wrong. With a feeling of sadness, I realized that Nate wasn’t being truthful. I didn’t know why, and I didn’t know what to do about it. “Is there anything you want to tell me?” I asked.
“No.”
“Your mom thinks maybe you should talk to somebody.”
“A shrink? I’m not crazy.”
“I know, kid. Having you go to a psychiatrist wouldn’t be my first choice, either. But if something’s bothering you, it might help to get it out.”
“Nothing’s bothering me.”
“Okay. But if there is, I want you to feel that you can come to me with it. I want to help. Sometimes things that seem like a big deal to somebody your age turn out to be not so bad when viewed in the light of day. You know what I’m saying?”
Nate remained silent for several seconds. “I understand what you’re saying,” he answered at last. “I just don’t think you’re right.”
“Aw, hell, Nate. You’re eleven years old. Whatever problems you have right now are going to seem like nothing in a couple of years.”
Nate didn’t respond.
“That came out wrong,” I backtracked. “I don’t mean that life is going to get worse as you get older. Things do tend to get more complicated as you grow up, but there are plenty of good parts, too. Falling in love, for instance. And having a family, and making your way in the world, and going to college-things like that.”
“I’ll be fine, Dad.”
“Okay, Nate,” I sighed, again wishing Catheryn were home. “Get some sleep.”
21
During the following week, driven by the inertia of men and money delegated to the task force, the investigation plodded forward. In my opinion, however, it moved no closer to finding the murderer, so upon arriving downtown at LAPD headquarters the following Friday it was with a sense of amazement that I noticed a long line of news vans again crowding the street, the lobby once more jammed with reporters. Forcing my way through the throng outside, I joined Deluca near the first-floor civic auditorium. “What’s going on?” I asked.
“Immigration picked up Domingos crossing the border last night,” Deluca informed me tersely. “Snead called a news conference to make the announcement.”
“So much for putting our one-and-only suspect under surveillance.”
“Yeah. C’mon, let’s go in and find out what kinda heroes we are.”
As I entered the auditorium, I noticed that temporary banks of auxiliary spotlights had been added to each side of a raised platform at the front. In addition, since I’d last visited some months back, a thicket of microphones had sprouted like weeds from a podium in the center of the stage.
“Kane! Deluca!”
I turned, spotting Barrello and several other task force members sitting in the back. Following Deluca, I joined them, slumping into a seat beside Barrello. “When’s this thing supposed to get under way?” I asked.
“Any time now.”
As if on cue, Mayor Fitzpatrick swept down the aisle, Chief Ingram, Sheriff Baskin, and Lieutenants Huff and Snead close behind. The group mounted the stage single-file. Once there, the mayor moved to the podium and proceeded with a preamble of predictably self-serving remarks. Chief Ingram and Sheriff Baskin followed suit, each praising the spirit of cooperation the other had shown during the interagency effort. Finally Snead stepped to the microphones.
I shifted in my seat, thinking that if this kept up much longer, everyone present was going to need hip boots.
Smiling with satisfaction, Snead glanced ar
ound the room. “Good morning,” he said. “I’m pleased to announce that at two-twenty AM this morning, members of the LAPD/Orange County Sheriff’s Department interagency task force, acting in concert with INS officials at the Mexicali border, took into custody a man we consider to be our prime suspect in the Candlelight Killer murders. At this point we’re withholding information on the individual now in custody, except to say that at present he has refused to make a statement. Nonetheless, we hope to conclude our investigation in the near future. Questions?”
As Snead started fielding queries from the floor, Barrello leaned toward me. “We have Domingos in the lockup downstairs,” he whispered. “Collins and Shanelec are doin’ the interrogation, but some public defender hump assigned to the case won’t let Domingos say a word. The douche-bag lawyer probably plans on making a name for himself-high-profile trial and all that. Personally, I don’t think it’ll get that far.”
“Me, neither,” said Deluca. “I talked to Collins. He didn’t come right out and say it, but I get the impression that the chances of Domingos being our guy are about as likely as my ex-wife mailing back my alimony payments.”
“Did we run his prints against the crime-scene unknowns?” I asked.
Barrello nodded. “No matches.”
I shook my head. “Without prints, we have nothing. I doubt any judge will grant a warrant to search Domingos’s house, let alone procure hair samples and bite impressions. Even if Domingos is our killer, he’s going to walk.”
“Looks that way,” Barrello agreed glumly.
“At least there’s one bright spot,” I noted.
“What?”
“The way Snead has screwed things up, be thankful we’ve probably got the wrong guy.”
Upon exiting the auditorium, I found Lauren Van Owen waiting for me outside. “Good morning, Detective,” she said.
“Van Owen,” I replied curtly. “I’m getting a real bad case of deja vu here. If you’ll excuse me-”
“You don’t seem too enthusiastic about the arrest.”
“Nothing gets by you, does it?”
“Nope. So what’s up?”
“Not a thing. My face always gets like this when I find myself in a roomful of reporters,” I answered, attempting to push past.
Lauren moved to block me. “C’mon, Kane. Give me thirty seconds. I smelled something fishy in there. No name, no confession, vague statements concerning physical evidence-”
“I can’t talk to you, Van Owen. You got your story at the press conference, just like everybody else.”
“I’m not buying it. And I know you well enough to tell you’re not buying it, either. What’s going on? The mayor demanded action, so the unit hauled in the first suspect they found?”
“No comment.”
Lauren frowned. “Domingos isn’t the guy, is he?” she said, studying my reaction.
“No comment,” I repeated, again starting for the security checkpoint at the rear of the lobby.
“Give me something off the record,” Lauren begged, tagging along behind. “Domingos didn’t do it, did he?”
“Off the record?” I said, still irritated by Snead’s ill advised press conference. “Let’s just say I consider the arrest premature.”
“That’s what I thought. Thanks, Kane.”
I scowled, wishing I had kept my mouth shut. “Van Owen? In the future, I’d appreciate seeing a lot less of you.”
Lauren smiled. “Anything you say, Detective. I’ll go on a diet.”
22
T hirty-five miles south, Victor Carns stared at the television screen in his office, watching the thin-faced LAPD lieutenant behind the podium. “That’s correct,” the man said, responding to a question from a reporter in the second row. “Certain forensic evidence, the nature of which is currently being withheld, led to the arrest of the man we now have in custody. At present, however, the task force still considers the case to be ongoing,” he cautioned, his tone saying otherwise.
The coverage ended minutes later. Carns turned off the set. But instead of returning to work, he sat staring at the blank screen, his lips compressed in a thin bloodless line, his eyes gleaming like gunsights.
23
My phone rang late that night. Rolling over in bed, I fumbled in the darkness, finally finding the receiver. “Kane,” I said.
“Sorry, Dan,” said Catheryn. “Did I wake you?”
Immediately alert, I glanced at the clock beside the bed: 1:45 AM. “Not really. What’s up?”
“I didn’t mean to call so late, but I just saw the news on TV. You caught the killer. Congratulations.”
“Yeah, well…”
“I mean it. I’m happy for you. The other reason I’m calling… Dan, we arrived in Venice yesterday. We’re staying at the Hotel Luna. It’s right on the water. I know most of Venice is on the water, but this is special,” Catheryn went on, her voice colored with excitement. “You can hop into a gondola off the front steps. The floors and walls of the hotel are all marble, and the lobbies and dining rooms are filled with the most gorgeous antiques you’ve ever seen. And the Piazza San Marco is right around the corner. Arthur and I took a long walk when we arrived. You wouldn’t believe it here. There are outdoor cafes, art shops with absolutely amazing crystal sculptures and glassware, and marvelous twisted little streets where you can get lost and find yourself in the most wonderful places. Oh, Dan, I wish you were here.”
“I do, too.”
“Do you?”
“Of course I do. But I can’t leave at the moment.”
“Why not, now that your investigation is over? I spoke with my mother. She said she would still love to stay with the kids while you’re gone. Please?”
“The case isn’t closed.”
“But the news report said-”
“The news report was mistaken. Listen, Kate, the mayor’s been pressuring the department, and the brass evidently felt the need to show some progress. It isn’t going to pan out.”
“I take it that’s your own personal assessment.”
“So?”
“So maybe you’d rather not have your investigation be over.”
“That’s bull, Kate, and you know it.”
“I don’t know anything of the kind. What I do know is that, as usual, you seem to prefer work to spending time with me.”
“I thought we had put that subject to bed, so to speak, before you left.”
“That’s so typical of you. One evening together and you think everything’s fine. Things aren’t fine, Dan. One night can’t straighten out problems we’ve had brewing for years. You promised to take some time off, remember? This trip was supposed to be a new beginning for us.”
“Sugar, I know you’re disappointed, but I can’t leave right now.”
“Can’t? Or won’t?”
“Damn it, Kate-”
“Let me ask you something. Is it conceivable that the task force could get along without you for just a little while?”
“It’s not that simple.”
“For me it is. I’ll be here for a week. You have the number of the hotel. Call if you change your mind.”
“You’re being unreasonable.”
“I don’t care. It’s how I feel.”
“Fine,” I said. “You know, maybe these long distance calls aren’t such a hot idea.”
“Maybe not. Good-bye, Dan.”
24
Wes. Wake up.”
“Mmmm?”
Julie Welsh sat up in bed and quietly shook her husband. “Wake up,” she whispered again, her voice trembling.
With a sleepy sigh, Wes rolled over. “What the…?”
“Someone’s downstairs.”
“Go back to sleep.”
“Listen.”
A soaking November drizzle had started early Sunday morning, increasing to a steady downpour by evening. The staccato of rain beating against the windows carried into the room. Outside, a gust whistled in the trees, followed by a ragged scorch of lightnin
g. Loose on its hinges, a neighbor’s gate slapped in the wind. A creak sounded downstairs, then a muffled bump.
“Did you hear that?”
“It’s one of the kids. Go back to sleep.”
Julie twisted the switch on her bedside lamp. Nothing. Leaning across, she tried Wes’s light. Same result. With a sinking feeling, she noticed that the numerals on the alarm clock were out, too. “The power’s off.”
Wes pulled the covers over his head. “It’s the storm. They’ll get it back on.”
Julie heard another soft thump downstairs, like a cat dropping from a dresser. The family didn’t own a pet. “Wes… I’m scared.”
Irritated, Wes finally sat up. “Brian? Heather? I don’t know which one of you is up, but tomorrow’s a school day. Get back to bed right now!”
Silence.
“Did you hear me?”
A scuffling sound echoed from the first floor.
“I’m calling the police.” Julie lifted the bedside telephone. “The phone’s out, too,” she said, trying to remember where she had left her cell phone.
Wes swung his feet from the bed. “This has gone on long enough,” he said firmly. “I swear, those kids are getting too big for their britches. There’s no excuse for not answering when-”
All at once they heard footsteps rushing up the stairs. Heavy. Not one of the kids.
Julie gripped Wes’s arm.
An instant later their bedroom door burst open. A blinding beam of light stabbed in. “Police! Freeze!”
Wes raised a hand to shield his eyes. “Wha…?”
“Keep your hands where I can see them, Mr. Welsh,” a harsh voice commanded. “You, too, Mrs. Welsh.”
“What’s this all about? We haven’t done-”
“Do as I say and no one will be hurt. Hands up! Now!”
As if in a dream, Wes and Julie raised their arms. The beam played across their faces, traveling from one to the other. In the dimness, Julie could make out the snout of a pistol below the flashlight.
“Get out of bed, Mr. Welsh,” the voice ordered. “Slowly. Take two steps forward and turn around.”
