by Steve Gannon
… if we located the Toyota. Otherwise, useless. Given the situation, I had begun to suspect that Berns was right. If we ever did find the killer, luck would undoubtedly play a part.
At last Catheryn’s phone began ringing. A sleepy male voice answered. “Hello?”
“Sorry,” I said. “Must have the wrong room.”
“Speak up. I can’t hear you. Whom are you calling?”
The connection had grown worse. I raised my voice. “Catheryn Kane.”
“You have the correct room. She can’t talk right now. Please call back.”
“What’s wrong? Is she okay?”
“Of course she’s all right,” the man answered, his muffled response barely audible. “She’s in the shower. Do you want to leave a-”
“Who is this?”
“A friend, if it’s any of your business,” the man responded testily. Despite the hissing on the line, his voice sounded familiar.
Arthur West?
“Listen, friend, ” I said, “I want to speak to Catheryn. Put her on.”
“No need to be boorish. As I told you, she can’t talk right now. She just got up and is in the shower.”
Definitely Arthur West. What was he doing in Catheryn’s room that early in the morning?
“Is there a message?” the man asked curtly.
“No.”
I slammed down the receiver, a nauseous feeling of betrayal churning in my stomach. I couldn’t believe it. Sure, things with Kate had been strained. But an affair? With Arthur West?
It wasn’t possible.
On the other hand, I knew what I’d heard. Slowly, a tarantula of suspicion began poisoning my thoughts with images of Catheryn and Arthur in each other’s arms.
How could things have come to this?
Minutes later I redialed the Amsterdam hotel and left a message at the desk for Catheryn, informing her that I’d be working on Sunday and wouldn’t be able to meet her at the airport.
After hanging up, I pulled on a jacket and descended to the beach. A biting wind had picked up. I lowered my head against a peppering of stinging sand and made my way to the water’s edge. Numbly, I shoved my hands into my pockets and started toward the lights of Santa Monica, wintry gusts plucking at my clothes, heart-wrenching thoughts of Catheryn coiling in my mind.
***
Barefoot and dripping, Catheryn stepped from the bathroom, a robe cinched at her waist, hair wrapped in a towel. “What are you doing here, Arthur?”
From his perch on the edge of Catheryn’s bed, Arthur West smiled apologetically. “Sorry if I surprised you.” He glanced at his watch. “The airport bus leaves in twenty minutes. When you didn’t meet me for coffee as planned, I rang your room. You didn’t answer, so I came up. You’re always so punctual. I thought something might have happened.”
“How’d you get in?”
Arthur feigned hurt. “The maid was in the hall. I had her open the door. When I heard you in the shower, I decided to wait. I hope you don’t mind.”
“I’m just surprised. Now, shoo. I have to get dressed.”
Again, Arthur glanced at his watch. “Do hurry. I’ll see if I can hold the bus, if necessary.”
“I’ll be there in five minutes.”
“Fine,” said Arthur, brightening. “I’ll be waiting.”
“Out, Arthur. Oh, who was that on the phone?”
Arthur headed toward the door. “I don’t know. I could barely hear him. He hung up before I got his name.”
“Someone from the orchestra?”
“I certainly hope not. He was extremely rude, to put it mildly. See you downstairs.”
After Arthur left, Catheryn puzzled over his departing statement.
Rude?
Catheryn finished drying her hair, then dialed her home number in Malibu. The phone there rang a number of times. Finally the answering machine kicked in.
She hung up without leaving a message.
37
Outside the Scotch ’n’ Sirloin, a steady rain that had begun Saturday morning continued to fall, flooding drainage culverts and triggering mud slides on Pacific Coast Highway from Santa Monica to Malibu. Not even January, and already it was shaping up to be a wet and miserable winter.
Unable to return to the beach after work on Sunday because of closures on the coast highway, I had been forced to weather the storm that evening at Arnie’s. Earlier I’d phoned home and made arrangements for Allison and Nate, along with Callie, to spend the night at Christy’s condo in Malibu-assuring them that the highway would probably be open the next morning and I’d see them on Monday following my shift. After work I drove to Westwood for dinner with Arnie, who for a change wasn’t spending the entire weekend with Stacy. During dessert, to Arnie’s obvious surprise, I suggested that we head over to the Scotch ‘n’ Sirloin for a nightcap.
By ten that evening the bar at the Scotch had begun filling up-restaurant patrons sipping after-dinner drinks, a nightclub crowd materializing as soon as the weekend jazz combo started its first set. At that point Arnie and I were comfortably encamped at a table in the back. My choice for the evening was Jack Daniel’s, straight up. And I wasn’t sipping.
Arnie took a pull on his Coors, drinking from the bottle. “Maybe you oughtta slow down a bit, amigo,” he advised. “You’re not in drinkin’ shape anymore.”
“Go screw yourself.”
“Just makin’ a suggestion.”
“If I want a nursemaid, I’ll hire one.”
“Right, partner. You want to tell me what’s bugging you or not?”
“Not.”
“Fine. Look, I’m heading over to Stacy’s before long. She has a big opening tonight at her studio. Watercolor exhibit, something like that. Why don’t you join me?”
“No way, pal. I break out in hives whenever I get around too much culture.”
“It should be over about twelve. Afterward, we’re going out for ice cream. C’mon, Dan. Let’s get out of here.”
“I like it here,” I said gloomily. “Besides, I’ll be getting my full dose of sophistication soon enough. Kate’s arriving home tomorrow, and I promised to accompany her to some Music Center fundraiser tomorrow night.” Earlier that evening Catheryn had left a brief message that her flight was being delayed in Dallas, and she wouldn’t be arriving home until late Monday morning.
Arnie grinned. “Black tie, limos, champagne?”
“Yeah,” I said, adding, “I’ve always been glad to accompany Kate to these things because they’re important to her, but I can definitely think of better ways to spend an evening.”
“I can just picture you rubbing elbows with LA’s movers and shakers,” Arnie snorted. “But don’t they usually hold those shindigs in the summer?”
“They didn’t have them at all for a while, which was okay with me,” I answered. “They’re throwing this one to celebrate the Philharmonic’s return from Europe.”
“Kate’s been gone, what-almost six weeks now? You must be looking forward to seeing her.”
I didn’t answer.
Arnie regarded me closely. “Everything okay between you two?”
“None of your business.”
“Sorry.”
I finished my bourbon and signaled the waitress for a refill. “Arnie, lemme ask you something,” I said. “You were married to Lilith for what, twenty years? Either of you ever have an affair?”
“Not me,” said Arnie. “Not that with my good looks and charm, I didn’t have plenty of opportunity.”
“Yeah, sure. How ’bout Lilith?”
“She was too busy working to make time for me, let alone anybody else. At least as far as I knew. Toward the end when she took up with that real estate asswipe, it was pretty much over between us.” Arnie’s brow furrowed as he backtracked on my train of thought. “Is that what this is about? You stupid Mick, are you steppin’ out on Kate?”
“Not me.”
“You think Kate’s got something going on the side?”
; I scowled at my empty glass. “Damn, what’s it take to get a drink around here?”
Arnie stared across the table. “Listen, Dan. I know Kate. Whatever’s going on, she’s not being unfaithful.”
“Hey, Arleen. How ’bout gettin’ us another round?” I called to a passing waitress.
Arnie shook his head. “Not for me.”
“One more, partner,” I insisted. “For old times’ sake.”
“Can’t. Dan, about Kate-you’re screwing up, amigo.”
Again I remained silent.
Arnie shook his head. “Listen, I’ve gotta go. You comin’?”
“Nope.”
“Suit yourself,” Arnie sighed. “I’ll be staying at Stacy’s tonight, so make yourself at home. See you tomorrow?”
I nodded glumly.
“One more thing. If you’re gonna keep drinking, fork over your keys. I’ll give ’em back tomorrow morning.”
I glared, then slid the keys to my Suburban across the table. “Don’t trust me, huh? I’m not stupid, pard. I already decided that if you left me for greener pastures, as it appears you’re doing, I’d be taking a cab.”
Arnie pocketed my keys. “Fine. At least you’ve got one neuron up there still firing.”
“I don’t drive when I drink, pal.”
“Now we don’t have to worry about it, do we?”
“Thanks, Mom.” Impatiently, I glowered across the room, checking the status of my next drink. “Aw, hell. Look who just came in.”
Arnie turned, groaning when he spotted Lauren Van Owen standing by the bar. Dressed as though she’d just come from the theater, Lauren had on a short woolen skirt and matching jacket, and for the evening she had twisted her long blond hair in a French braid. A petite, exotic-looking woman accompanying her wrinkled her nose, inspecting the noisy room with obvious distaste. Lauren looked our way, then leaned closer to her friend to say something. The woman shook her head.
“That’s the broad from Channel Two,” said Arnie. “The one who carries a pair of pinking shears in her purse. Lauren something?”
“Van Owen. Damn, she spotted us.” I watched Lauren bid good-bye to her friend, who’d evidently decided to leave. A moment later Lauren started across the room.
With a crooked grin, Arnie rose from the table. “I would love to stick around, amigo, but I prefer my gonads right where they are. See you, pal.”
Lauren nodded to Arnie as he passed, then continued on. “Hello, Detective,” she said upon arriving at my table. “Again, a pleasant surprise.”
“For you, maybe.”
“Hope I didn’t chase off your friend.”
“He had to leave anyway. You following me, Van Owen?”
“Definitely not.” Lauren paused, listening for a moment to the jazz trio. “You were right. The music here is terrific.” She glanced at the empties lined up on the tabletop before me. “What’s the occasion? Celebrating something?”
“None of your business.”
The waitress to whom I’d spoken earlier delivered my latest refill. “Something for you?” she asked Lauren.
Lauren’s eyes made a circuit of the crowded bar, then returned to me. “Mind if I join you?”
I shrugged. “It’s a free country.”
“Thanks.” Lauren slipped into a chair across from mine. Then, to the waitress, “I’ll have a white wine.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The waitress turned to go.
“While you’re at it, bring another one of these and keep ‘em coming,” I added.
“So,” Lauren said, struggling to fill the ensuing silence. “What’s new on the task force? Anything come of my releasing that psychological profile?”
“Nope,” I lied.
Lauren leaned forward. “Then there’s nothing to the rumor about that shooting in Sherman Oaks-”
“You want to talk shop, take a hike,” I said.
“But-”
“I’m serious. Talk about somethin’ else. Anything else.”
“Okay. You married, Kane?”
“Anything but that.”
Lauren nodded knowingly. “Difficulties in the relationship department? Not surprising. Most cops I know have trouble at home.”
“What about you?” I countered. “Have a little spat with your girlfriend?”
“Melanie’s a friend from work. I’m not gay, if that’s what you’re insinuating. It would solve a lot of problems, though.”
“Glad you think so,” I said. “By the way,” I added grudgingly, “I know you’ve been under a lot of pressure to reveal your source on the profile stuff. Thanks for keeping your mouth shut.”
“I honor my word,” said Lauren. “How about you? Did you follow through on the ideas we discussed?”
“The supercop thing?”
“And getting me into one of the task force briefings.”
I tossed down half of my bourbon. “I brought up your supersleuth idea. It got kicked around, then finally dropped.”
“What about the other?”
I finished my drink in one more swallow. “Nope,” I answered, absently noting that the evening had progressed to the point where I had to speak deliberately to avoid slurring. “Didn’t even bother. No way in hell they were gonna buy it.”
“But-”
“It’s not even an option. End of discussion.”
“Then let’s talk about something else. What’s your wife do?”
“You can be real irritating, you know that?”
“It’s a gift.”
Despite my ill humor, I cracked a smile, recalling that recently I had said something similar.
“C’mon, what’s she do?” Lauren persisted, encouraged by the break in my mood. “I’m interested in knowing what type of woman would put up with you.”
“She’s a musician. Plays cello for the Los Angeles Philharmonic.”
Lauren raised an eyebrow. “Impressive. You’re full of surprises. Any children?”
“Three. They all adore me.”
“I’ll bet,” Lauren laughed. “I have a daughter myself.”
“Nine years old.”
“How’d you know that?”
“You told me that day you were spoutin’ off in the parking garage. You said you were a single mother with no social life and a few more wrinkles than you had last year, a three-bedroom condo with a leaky roof and a big mortgage, and a nine-year-old daughter you don’t have time for.”
Lauren’s mouth dropped open. “That sounds verbatim.”
“It is.”
“How…?”
I shrugged. “I have a good memory.”
“You remember conversations word-for-word?” Lauren asked dubiously.
“And a lotta other things I’d rather forget.”
“Really? What else did I say?”
“You said that sometimes you wake up in the morning and wonder what you’re doing with your life,” I answered without thinking. “You asked if it sounded familiar.”
“And what did you say?”
“I didn’t.”
Lauren stared. “You’re a strange man, Kane.”
“So I’ve been told.”
The waitress returned with our drinks. After she departed, Lauren picked up where she’d left off. “How’d you and your wife get together? I mean, there’s quite a difference between you. She plays with the Philharmonic, while you’re out there on the streets…”
“… wallowing in the gutter?”
“I was about to say making the city safe for the rest of us.”
“Sure you were,” I said. “And as a matter of fact, Kate would like nothing better than for me to quit the Force. I’m thinkin’ about it, too. Maybe I’ll take an early-out.”
“What would you do then?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. If I quit, I’d probably just sit around somewhere in a rocker drooling on myself.”
“With your pecker hanging out because you can’t remember to zip your fly,” Lauren noted somberly. “A pathetic im
age.”
“That’s some mouth you’ve got on you, Van Owen. Ever consider working for Hallmark?”
“I grew up with two older brothers,” Lauren replied with a smile. Then, “So how did you get into law enforcement?”
“My dad was a cop.”
“Was? Is he retired now?”
“He died in the line of duty.”
Lauren’s smile faded. “Sorry. I didn’t-”
“It’s okay. It happened a long time ago.”
“Your mom still alive?”
“Yep. She remarried. Still lives in Austin.”
“A Texas boy. I should have known.” Lauren gazed at me pensively. “Tell me something, Kane. And tell me the truth. You love being a police detective, don’t you?”
I thought a moment. “The truth? Except for putting up with the bullshit that probably goes with any job, yeah. I do.”
“So keep doing what you’re doing.”
“Odd advice, coming from you.”
“Not really,” said Lauren. “To people like you and me, careers are more important than family relationships or a good love life. You’re a cop because you’re good at it and that’s what you want to do. And no matter what you say, you’ll keep doing it as long as you can. Hell, I don’t blame you. Although you may not think so, I have a lot of respect for you guys in blue.”
“About as much as I have for the media.”
“That’s not fair,” Lauren retorted. “Whether you approve or not, the public has a right to know. Besides, television news isn’t all ‘murder and mayhem at eleven.’ Granted, we often deserve criticism, but there are a lot of good things happening in broadcast journalism, too.”
“Name one.”
Lauren bristled. “Despite your uninformed opinion, it’s obvious to any thinking person that broadcast journalism has a pervasive influence on society. We have the power to inform, enlighten, and empower. And I believe we’re working toward doing all those things, and improving as time goes on.”
“Right.”
Ignoring my cynicism, Lauren continued. “The world’s shrinking, Kane, and we in the news media are playing a part. As we become a global community-”
“So how are things better now that we can get live shots of bombs dropping in the Mideast and tanks rolling into undefended cities?”
