Kane (37 page)

“Was it serious?”

“It was, but not as serious as it could’ve been.  Listen, Ms. Lemon, rather than place an officer in your lobby to watch for this guy, which frankly we don’t have the manpower to do, I want to leave this drawing with you to show to all your employees.  I’ll swing by in a day or so, but let me know right away if someone’s seen this guy.  Can you do that for me?”

“I’ll have to ask the owners,” said Ms. Lemon, adding, “But I’ll make sure there won’t be a problem.”  She considered a moment.  “Actually, we have a membership database, with a digital image of every member attached to his or her account.  I could go through the database and see whether I can find your guy.”

“Thanks, Ms. Lemon,” I said, realizing that with what we had so far, getting a warrant to do so would have been impossible.  “I appreciate your cooperation.  Contact me immediately if you find a match.”  I wrote my number at task force headquarters on the bottom of the sketch.  “One more thing.  Don’t post this drawing on a bulletin board or whatever.  If the guy shows up, we don’t want to spook him.”

After leaving the manager’s office, I returned to the reception desk.  Pulling another drawing from my pocket, I asked the kid behind the counter, “Have you seen this guy?  I know this picture isn’t much to go on, but concentrate.  He was here around two weeks ago.  He’s white and about your height, maybe one hundred and eighty pounds, mid- to late thirties, dark hair, wiry build.”

The youth inspected the sheet.  “I can’t say for sure.  A lot of people come through.”

“I’ll leave this with you,” I said.  “If you see him, or even think you see him, call the manager.  And keep this drawing out of sight, okay?”

“Sure.”  As the young man slipped the drawing into a drawer, a familiar voice floated across the lobby.  “Detective Kane.  What a surprise!”

I turned.  To my amazement, I saw Lauren Van Owen crossing the lobby, her blond hair clasped in a ponytail.  She had on an abbreviated, tight-fitting gym outfit that made her long legs seem even longer.  A workout towel hung loose around her neck, a sheen of perspiration glistening on her face and shoulders.  She smiled archly when she arrived.  “Almost didn’t recognize you without your foot in your mouth, Kane.  Making any progress on the candlelight killings?”

“You never quit, do you?”

“Nope,” Lauren laughed, obviously amused by my discomfort at our chance meeting.  “Same as you.  Always on the job.  Which brings up my next question.  What are you
doing here?”

“Running down some routine leads.”  I shot a glance toward the exit.

“What was that paper you just handed the receptionist?”

“None of your business.”

“I think it is,” said Lauren.  Then, to the young man behind the desk, “What did he give you?”

“Don’t answer that, kid,” I ordered.  “Anything I said to you was part of a confidential police investigation.”

“That’s crap and you know it,” said Lauren.  “Last time I checked, this was still a free country.”  Again turning to the receptionist, “I’m Lauren Van Owen from Channel Two News.”

The boy’s eyes widened in recognition.

“You want to be on TV?”

“Keep your mouth shut, kid,” I warned.

The youngster’s gaze swiveled indecisively between Lauren and me.  “It was a drawing of some guy he’s looking for,” he said.

Lauren smiled triumphantly.  “I knew it!  Let’s take a look.”

Before the youth could produce the sheet, I took Lauren’s arm and began marching her toward the far side of the lobby.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Lauren snapped, her cheeks flushing with anger.

“You and I are going to have a private little conference,” I said, not slowing my pace.

Apparently deciding that resistance was futile, Lauren accompanied me as gracefully as possible to a secluded table at the club grill.  “A private conference, huh?  Thought you’d never ask,” she said as I deposited her in a rattan chair.  “Don’t ever change, Kane.  You’re perfect the way you are.”

I took a place across from her at the table.  “For once we agree.”

“I was using a new form of speech.  It’s called sarcasm.  Perhaps you’ve heard of it?”

“Yeah.  I’ve always found it especially unattractive in a woman, by the way.”

About to respond in kind, Lauren stopped as a waitress approached.  “Would either of you care for something from the grill?” the woman asked.  “The specials today are—”

“Nothing,” I interrupted.  “We’re fine.”

“I’ll
have a peach-banana smoothie, the smoked salmon and avocado salad, and a dry English muffin,” said Lauren, glaring at me defiantly.

“Fine,” I said.  “Bring me some coffee.  Make sure it’s hot.”

After the waitress departed, Lauren folded her arms.  “You said you wanted to talk,” she said crossly.  “So talk.  Or do I go back to the kid at the desk and have him Xerox me a copy of your drawing?”

“You’re not going to let this drop, are you?”

Lauren shook her head.  “I told you three weeks ago that the candlelight killings were my ticket to network.  I’m not letting it go, but since we last talked it’s become even harder for me to stay in the game.  The only reason I’m—”

“Cue the violins,” I said.

“The only reason I’m getting any air time at all on the case,” Lauren continued stubbornly, “is that I keep coming up with things the network guys don’t have or can’t get.”

“Like the plastic ties at the crime scenes?” I asked, referring to an on-air disclosure she had made recently regarding one of the crime-scene descriptors we had withheld from the media.  “How’d you get that, anyway?”

“You’d be surprised.”  Refusing to elaborate, Lauren paused, then seemed to come to a decision.  “Let me ask you something, Kane.  Do you ever run into politics on the job?”

“You know the answer to that.”

“Well, that’s exactly my situation at Channel Two.  Network wants me to turn over my sources and let their anchors report my material.  Until now my news director has run interference for me, but serious pressure is coming down from the top.  If I cooperate, I’m cutting my own throat.  The big boys say they’ll remember who helped them, but you know how that goes.  On the other hand, if I don’t play their game, I’m making enemies in the very ranks I want to join.”

“That’s tough, but I don’t see where you’re going with this.  How about getting to the point?”

“The point is, I need something.  A bargaining chip, something to work with.  If I don’t get it soon, I’m off the story.  And in words even you can understand, I’d rather give birth to a burning porcupine.”

“Intriguing image,” I said, chuckling in spite of myself.

“Which brings us back to the drawing you left at the desk.”

“I don’t suppose you would believe it has nothing to do with the task force.”

“No.”

“As it appears I don’t have a choice, I’m going to trust you, Van Owen.”  I sighed, deciding damage control was my best course.  “On two conditions.  One is that you keep quiet concerning the drawing.  At least for now.”

“And the other?”

“I want total anonymity.  Agreed?”

“Deal,” said Lauren.  “I’m listening.”

I took a deep breath.  “We may have a line on the guy,” I said reluctantly.  “It’s shaky, but it’s the best we have.  We think he’s stalking his victims, finding women in markets, shopping malls, maybe even health clubs like this one,” I continued, skewing things a bit.  “We have a possible witness.  She worked with a police artist and came up with a composite sketch.”

“The drawing?”

“Right.”

“I’d think you’d want that plastered on every newspaper and TV in town.”

“Not yet.  If it
is
the guy, we don’t want to tip our hand before we’ve had a chance to locate him.”

“I’ll hold off on the picture till Monday.”

“Agreed,” I said.  I knew the task force would have completed its canvass by then, and if something hadn’t shaken loose at that point, inundating the city with the composite was the next step anyway.  In any case, unless I wanted to retrieve the considerable number of drawings currently being distributed to other clubs, I had no other option.  “Well, I have things to do, so—”

“I’ll need more than that, Kane.”

“Don’t push it, Van Owen.”

“Hear me out.  I have a couple of ideas that might help catch your murderer.”

“And further your career in the process?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

Before I could respond, our waitress returned.  Lauren and I lapsed into silence as the woman slid our orders before us.  With a rumbling of hunger, I glanced at Lauren’s lunch, belatedly wishing that I’d requested more than coffee.

Lauren dug in, noticing me eyeing her food.  “Mmm,” she murmured around a mouthful of salad.  “Want a bite?”

“No.”

“Suit yourself.”  She took a pull on her smoothie and continued.  “Here’s what I think.  You need to get the public involved to catch this guy, right?  Next week I’m starting an ongoing story on crime fighters in the LAPD.  How about getting me into one of the task force briefings?  If it works out, we’ll do a followup.  The station could offer a reward for information, and we—”

“You can’t be serious,” I snorted.

“What’s wrong?”

“For one, every other station would scream bloody murder.”

Lauren shrugged.  “So we make dubs for the other stations.  It would be a pain in the ass, but …”

“… you would control the coverage.  And be right in the center of things to boot.”

“You’ll suggest it?”

“Sure.  Right after I have my sex-change operation.”

“Okay, how about this?  We set up one of your task force investigators as some sort of supercop who always gets his man.  We’ll do a profile on him.  You know, laying down an unspoken challenge to the killer.  Maybe he’ll call in and make a mistake.”

“Now
that
actually might work,” I mused, surprised we hadn’t thought of it ourselves.  “Snead would love it.  With him as the supercop, of course.”

“You’ll bring it up to him?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Got a pen?” asked Lauren, setting down her fork.

I pulled a ballpoint from my pocket and passed it over, watching as Lauren scribbled a string of numbers on a napkin.  “This is my cell number, along with my phone number and extension in the newsroom,” she said, passing me the pen and napkin.  “If I’m not answering my cell, they’ll know how to contact me.”

“I don’t mind telling you, Van Owen, it’ll take a while getting used to the idea of hopping into bed with the media.”

Lauren grinned.  “You’ll live.  Who knows?  You might even like it.”

“I doubt that.”

“We’ll see.  By the way, your bedroom metaphor reminds me of something you said earlier.”

“What?”

“Intriguing image.”

At a table thirty feet away, Victor Carns sipped a steaming caffé latte.  Occasionally he stole a glance across the restaurant, watching the couple in the back.  It had taken a moment to recognize the large, rough-looking man as the detective he had seen weeks back on TV.  Although Carns had noted something disturbingly familiar about the man when he had first entered the lobby, he hadn’t put it together until he’d noticed the cop showing a sheet of paper to the boy at the reception desk.

Something unrelated?
he wondered.

No.  Too coincidental.
 
What was his name—Kane—had somehow discovered the health club connection.

Carns took another sip of coffee, wishing he could get a look at the sheet the detective had left at the desk.

Too risky.

Briefly he considered moving to a closer table and attempting to overhear their conversation.

Also too risky.

Carns chanced another furtive glance, finally placing the woman.  Lauren Van Owen, Action News at Five.  Puzzled, he watched a little longer to be sure, detecting something intimate in the way she looked at Kane when she thought she wasn’t being observed.

Why would a cop be having a private tête-à-tête with a reporter?  An affair … or something more?

Not coming up with an answer, Carns shifted in his chair, wondering where he had made his mistake.  He realized he was becoming more and more preoccupied with the game.  Had he grown careless?

Although certain the police couldn’t have much, Carns forced himself to review his actions over the past months, reassuring himself that he had been meticulous in every detail.  Nevertheless, the detective’s presence proved he’d missed something.

What?

Minutes later Carns watched as Kane left some money on the table and exited the club, leaving the reporter to finish her meal alone.  Carns pushed away from his table.  Grimly, he grabbed his gym bag and headed for the locker room, deciding that in the interest of safety, the time would soon come for him to change the game once more.