by Steve Gannon
“So tell me.”
Nate was crying openly now.
“Talk to me, Nate.”
“I didn’t feel bad about shooting him,” Nate sobbed. “When I saw him hurting Ali, I wanted to.”
My brow furrowed. “So what’s the problem?”
“Are you going to arrest me?”
“Arrest you?” I stared at Nate, beginning to understand. “You think because you wanted to shoot that dirtbag that you’re a killer? Is that what this is about?”
Nate nodded, tears streaming down his cheeks.
“You’re not a criminal, Nate,” I sighed. “You’re an eleven-year-old boy.”
Still sobbing, Nate wiped his nose on his sleeve. “But you said it was natural to feel bad about killing someone, and I-”
“Back up a minute,” I said, still holding his hands in mine. “I know what I said. I was wrong. Taking a life is a terrible thing, and there’s no natural way to feel about it. But there’s a big difference between killing and murder. What you did was not murder. You killed a piece of trash who threatened your life. Yours, and Allison’s. Now you’re choking on guilt because you don’t feel bad about it. That’s just your conscience working overtime. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“I… I think so,” Nate sniffed.
“Good. Another thing. Ever since it happened, I’ve been searching for the other guy who was there that night. I finally ran him down. He’s serving a twenty-year sentence in Folsom Prison on another charge. I’m watching his case closely. If he ever gets out, I’ll make him wish he were back in. Neither of you kids has anything to worry about from him. Okay?”
Nate nodded dully.
“Now, I know you’re confused about what happened, but things will seem clearer as time goes on. You’re a fine kid, Nate. A good person. Remember that.”
I turned to Allison, finding her regarding Nate with an expression of guilt and shame. “I’m sorry, Nate,” she said softly. “I didn’t know.”
“Allison, how could you not know that hiding something like this would hurt your brother?” I asked. “Why’d you lie and say it was you who did the shooting?”
“I was trying to protect him.”
“Bull! There’s more to it than that.”
“You’re the detective, Pop. You tell me.”
I moved forward. “You’re walking a thin line here, princess. I want some answers.”
“You already know,” yelled Allison, resentment and anger suddenly boiling to the surface. “Don’t pretend you don’t. You know what happened. You knew it then and you know it now. You just don’t want to face it. Or maybe you just don’t care.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, shocked by her fury.
“Sure you do, Pop,” she spat. “You’ve known all along.”
“Allison, if you don’t-”
“You were there,” she screamed, a storm of tears gathering in her eyes. “You saw. What did you think they were doing to me?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Money wasn’t the only thing they wanted, Dad.”
The pieces suddenly fell into place. “Oh, Lord,” I whispered, feeling as if I’d been punched.
“You had to know. You had to.”
“Ali, I swear I didn’t,” I said, my mind reeling as it traveled back to the night I had returned home to find a trail of blood in the entry, the smell of gunpowder in the house. Bruised and beaten, Allison had been kneeling in the living room, working with a bucket and sponge to clean the blood-soaked carpet. One of the intruders had fled. I discovered the other one dead on the beach. I recalled a suspicion I’d had at the time that Allison and Nate were hiding something. Granted, there hadn’t been time to pursue it before the sheriffs from the Malibu station arrived, but why hadn’t I followed up later? Could it be that I hadn’t wanted to face the truth?
“Why didn’t you say something?” I asked at last. “Why’d you keep it a secret?”
“What good would telling have done?” Allison shot back. “The guy who attacked me was dead. There was nothing more anybody could’ve done to him. Not even you,” she added bitterly. “I just wanted it all to go away.”
I knew the statistics. For whatever reason, crimes involving rape and sexual assault are the most under-prosecuted in the country, with nearly sixty percent of all victims never reporting their attack. But my own daughter…
“You must have known something like this couldn’t stay buried forever,” I said.
“At the time I was so shaken up, I wasn’t thinking too clearly,” Allison answered with a sad lift of her shoulders. “Like I said, the guy who attacked me had already paid for what he did. And after I lied to the sheriffs about what happened, things just snowballed.”
“And later?” I asked. “Why didn’t you come forward then?”
“What for? How would that have made things any better? I got myself checked out at a clinic in Santa Monica. No STD’s, no pregnancy. As far as I was concerned, it was over.”
“But-”
“Look, for my entire life I’ve been trying to live up to your expectations,” Allison interrupted, her voice trembling. “Yours, and Mom’s. Kane kids are the best, the smartest, the toughest. Kane kids excel at sports, get the best grades, never lie, never cheat, never steal. Kane kids kick butt while other kids are still sucking their thumbs. Bottom line, it’s been hard enough being the only girl in our family without becoming ‘the little sister who got raped.’ I couldn’t have lived with everyone’s pity.”
“You should have told us, honey,” I said.
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, I do.” I paused, sensing she was still holding something back. “There’s more, isn’t there?”
Allison didn’t respond.
“Please, Ali. Tell me everything. I want to hear it all.”
After a slight hesitation, Allison shrugged. “Why not? You know something, Dad? The old saying, ‘What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger,’ is wrong. Some things make you weaker.”
“What do you mean?”
Allison took a long, shuddering breath. “I learned something about myself that night,” she said, wiping her eyes with the back of her fist. “Along with feeling weak, I also learned that I’m a coward. I tried to fight him, but he was too strong. He kept hurting me and hurting me and… and in the end I just gave in. I was so afraid, I just quit fighting and did what he said. I’m not tough, Dad. I’m not tough at all.”
“Ali, I’m so sorry.”
“Guess I’m not a real Kane, huh?”
“You’re a Kane, all right,” said I numbly, thinking that of all my children, in many ways Allison was the strongest. I recalled the day she had come into the world, wishing I could somehow turn back the clock. With a flash of shame, I also remembered that after having two sons in quick succession, I had initially been disappointed to learn that my third child would be a daughter. Boys, in my mind, were a known quantity-sturdy, strong, malleable. Girls, on the other hand, constituted a mystery. Nonetheless, months later when I stood in the delivery room and held the tiny bundle we’d named Allison, my reservations had evaporated. And as the years had passed, my daughter had surprised and pleased and puzzled and enriched me in ways I could never have predicted. Unexpected, for example, was Allison’s unswerving resolve to best her senior brothers in every contest, substituting determination and strategy for any lack of physical strength. Unexpected too was the barrier she erected around herself, especially over these past years, using words as lances and reason as armor, cloaking herself in a mantle of humor and intellect and wit.
As Allison grew older, although remaining as prickly as a roll of barbed wire, she had increasingly come to resemble her mother. I saw it not only in her appearance, but also in her gestures, the tilt of her head, her flashes of impatience followed by equally abrupt reversals, her quick intelligence, and a hundred other things. And as she’d grown older, although part of me had taken pride in her stubborn c
ore of self-reliance, another part had hoped she would someday soften. It had never happened. Until now.
I felt my heart swelling with sadness as I gazed into Allison’s eyes, eyes brimming with confusion and doubt, her spirit sullied by a tragedy I was powerless to erase. “For better or worse, you’re a Kane,” I repeated. “And a lot tougher than you think.”
Allison looked away. “So now are you going to tell me everything is going to be all right, like in the movies?”
Actually, that’s exactly what I wanted to do. More than anything I wanted to wipe away her tears and hold her close and tell her everything would be all right. Unfortunately, I knew that wouldn’t work, because it wasn’t true. Some things will never be all right. “No, I’m not going to tell you that,” I said. “I only know that there’s no shame in what happened to you. You’re no coward. Everyone has a breaking point, and you’re no less of a person for what that scum did to you. If anyone should be ashamed, it’s me for not seeing what you were going through. I’m sorry, Ali. You, too, Nate. I’m truly sorry.”
“Do you have to tell Mom?” asked Allison.
“Of course I have to tell her,” I answered.
“When?”
I hesitated, realizing what Ali was getting at. “Well, I suppose there’s no point in ruining her trip with this, but when she gets back-”
“Please, Dad,” begged Allison. “Does she have to know? I mean… how will I ever explain keeping this from her?”
“You’ll find a way. This won’t get fixed in a day. But telling me was a start, and bringing in your mom is absolutely the next step. And whatever she wants us to do-be it sending you to a counselor, talking to a priest, whatever-that’s what we’ll do. That goes for you as well, Nate. But first she has to know. Agreed?”
“Will you let us tell her?”
“Ali, this is-”
“Please, Dad?”
“Provided you do it as soon as she gets back,” I conceded reluctantly.
“Promise?”
“Allison, don’t you think your promises have already caused enough hurt?”
“Please, Dad.”
After another hesitation, I nodded. “All right. You have my word. But do it the minute she returns.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
I ran my fingers through my hair, knowing there was more to say but not certain how to proceed. Struggling for words, I recalled my discussion with Travis in the music annex. Although again feeling inadequate, I pushed on nevertheless. “Despite the mistake you two made by not being truthful about what happened and coming to your family for help, I think you’re the finest children a father could ever want,” I said. “Maybe I don’t act like it sometimes, but I’m more proud of you than I can say. It kills me to see you doubting yourselves like this.”
When neither of them responded, I continued. “Unfortunately, at some point or another, along with all the good things in life, bad things are going to happen, too. Terrible things are going to happen to me, and to you, and to everyone on the face of the planet before we all eventually get planted in the ground. That’s the way life is.”
“Gee, I feel better already,” sniffed Allison.
“I don’t want to sound overly pessimistic,” I said, trying to soften things. “I suppose there’s a chance that someone could lead a charmed life and then die peacefully in their sleep like your mom’s granddad… and not like the five screaming people with him in the car he was driving.”
Allison and Nate both smiled fleetingly at my attempt to lighten the mood.
“But here’s what I’m getting at,” I went on more seriously. Years back my dad told me something that’s seen me through more than a few tough times. He said that to make it through the rough spots in life-along with relying on family and those who love you-you have to know who you are. When things go bad, really bad, just remember who you are… and hold to it.”
“You mean like looking at a picture of yourself?” asked Nate.
“Sort of. Only it’s one you keep inside-an image of yourself that nothing and no one can take from you. Do you understand?”
“I… I think so.”
“Ali?”
“I know what you’re saying,” Allison answered somberly. “I just don’t happen to like my picture any more. Can we go now? I’m getting cold.”
“In a minute,” I said, realizing that I hadn’t reached them-at least not Allison. “There’s one more thing I want to discuss before we head home. It’s about your mom and me.”
Both children regarded me in surprise.
“I’m sure you know that Kate and I have been having difficulties. Even though we love each other, when two people have been together as long as your mom and I, sometimes problems arise.”
“Could the problem that’s been arising possibly have your name on it?” asked Allison.
“More than possibly.”
“Are you and Mom getting divorced?” asked Nate.
“You asked me that a couple weeks ago, kid.”
“Are you?”
“I don’t know what’s going to happen,” I sighed, for the first time admitting to myself that things between Catheryn and me might have gone too far. “I’m hoping we can straighten things out, but-”
“If you try, you can always straighten things out,” said Nate. “Right, Ali?”
“Absolutely,” affirmed Allison.
“I’ve always believed that, too,” I said, feeling a tightening in my throat. “And I still do. But whatever happens between Kate and me, I’m still your father. I know I’ve made mistakes, a lot of them, and I know that recently I’ve been a disappointment to the whole family. And for that I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry. But if it’s not too late, and if you’ll let me, I want to start over. I’m asking you to give me another chance. Will you?”
The children, who had rarely heard me apologize for anything, especially to them, nodded somberly.
“Good,” I said. “Then I’ll make you a promise. In the future I’ll do my level best to never let you down again. Whatever happens, if you need me, I’ll be there.”
Silently, Nate slipped into my arms. An instant later Allison joined him. I held them tightly, shamed by the realization that somehow, while I’d been consumed by my own grief, the fabric of my family had nearly come unraveled… and would take more than words to mend.
29
Prunes, huh?’ the guy says to his elderly friend. ‘ That’s your cure for constipation?’” Deluca paused, as usual enjoying his own joke to a degree unwarranted by the material.
Concentrating on threading through Tuesday-morning freeway traffic, I edged into the right lane and took the Van Nuys Boulevard off-ramp, emerging on the surface street from beneath a concrete overpass.
“So the old guy nods,” Deluca continued. “‘Works for me,’ he says. ‘Since I started eating them, I’ve been regular as clockwork. Every morning at five.’ ‘Five AM?’ says his buddy. ‘Jeez, what time do you get up?’ The old guy shrugs and says, ‘Seven.’”
“Not bad,” I laughed. “Better than most of the stuff you usually pass off as humor.”
“All my jokes are gems,” objected Deluca. “Which reminds me. Have you heard the one about the-”
“Later,” I interrupted, turning south on Beverly Glen Boulevard. “What’s the street we’re looking for?”
Deluca squinted at a map of the San Fernando Valley he had folded in his lap. “Lacota Place. Hang a right on Valley Vista.”
“Got it.” I twisted the wheel, cruising a maze of residential streets I had first come to know while working patrol at the Van Nuys Division. Three blocks down I stopped before a two-storey stucco house. Sliding from behind the wheel, I surveyed the surroundings, taking in the well trimmed palms and a number of “For Sale” signs dotting the neighborhood. “What’s their name-Baker?” I asked, starting up the driveway toward the front door.
“John and Maureen,” answered Deluca, several steps behind. “Fairfield talked to their maid l
ast night at the hospital. She couldn’t remember shit.”
“She never saw her assailant?”
“Nope.”
At that point, the task force had investigated over sixty selected breaking-and-entering occurrences. Neither of the Bakers’ cars had been recently damaged, but because a physical injury had taken place and the other task force search criterion fit, Lt. Huff had decided to follow up. Deluca and I had drawn the assignment. Given the number of break-ins already investigated without success, it was without much hope that I climbed a final flight of steps and rapped on the Bakers’ front door. Seconds later I changed my mind.
“Mrs. Baker? Maureen Baker?” I asked the stunningly beautiful brunette who had answered the door.
The woman, who was extremely tall and possessed a flawless figure, nodded. “You’re the cop… the detective who called?”
I flipped out my shield. “I’m Detective Kane. This is Detective Deluca.”
“Under different circumstances, a pleasure,” said Deluca.
Mrs. Baker looked at Deluca, then back at me. “I told the other policemen everything I know, which isn’t much. I’m not certain why you want to talk to me. I wasn’t even here when it happened.”
“Yes, ma’am. We understand, but there are still some things we want to go over. May we come in?”
“Why not? Everybody else has.”
I pushed past her into the house. Deluca followed.
“Would… would either of you like something?” Mrs. Baker stammered as she closed the door, seeming uncomfortable with me towering over her in her entry. “Coffee, a Coke?”
“Not me,” answered Deluca.
“I’ve had my caffeine for the day,” I said, glancing into the living room. “How about if we talk in there?”
“All right.”
Deluca and I followed the woman into a large, elegantly furnished room with a leather couch and loveseat facing a rock fireplace. Withdrawing a pen and notebook from his jacket, Deluca took a seat on the couch. Mrs. Baker settled nervously on the love seat, her hands flitting like captive birds in her lap. I remained standing. “Take it from the beginning,” I suggested. “And don’t leave anything out.”
