Kane (49 page)

“It doesn’t matter now,” said Catheryn.

“Hey, Mom, here’s one to you from Dad,” said Nate, still rummaging beneath the tree.  He handed a small box to Catheryn.  Encouraged by his success, he continued to search for other missed items.  “All right!” he exclaimed seconds later.  “There’s another from Dad for each of us, too!”

Instead of opening her package, Catheryn placed it in her lap, watching as Nate distributed my final gifts to the children, each flat, identical package tightly encased in layers of my characteristically clumsy wrapping.

“They’re something I had made up,” I said.  “This may not be the best time to open them.”

“You want us to wait?  Are you nuts?” laughed Nate, ripping the paper from his present.  “Hey, it’s a picture.”

“So’s mine,” said Travis, unwrapping an eleven-by-fourteen oak frame.

“Mine, too,” said Allison, inspecting an image of herself that I had captured several summers back.  It showed her stepping from the ocean, a pair of swim fins in one hand, a gigantic wave rising behind her in the background.  The shot had been taken during a storm-surf day when even most of the strongest swimmers had remained on the sand.  Overcoming her fears, Allison had accompanied Tommy and me into the churning swells.  For over an hour she’d taken off on waves few others had dared.

I’d exited the water minutes earlier and had knelt to take the photo of her from a low angle, lending the shot an air of heroic proportion.  My lens had caught her unaware as she waded ashore, glancing up as she stood in the swirling backwash.  She had a light in her eyes that I knew she hadn’t seen in the mirror for quite some time.  She looked … strong.

“Hey, I remember this,” said Travis, grinning at his photo.  It had been taken during a period years back when my two older sons and I had been spending every free weekend rock climbing in the Sierras, Joshua Tree National Monument, and the San Jacinto Mountains near Idyllwild.  The picture depicted a younger Travis perched beneath a granite overhang—climbing rope trailing from his harness, his eyes searching the face above.  “Tahquitz.  Right, Dad?  You, me, and Tommy on ‘The Innominate.’  I didn’t know you brought the camera that day.”

“’Course I brought the camera.  That was your first big lead.”

Neither Travis nor I had climbed since Tommy’s accident.  Even the topic had seemed off limits, and my unexpected gift clearly caught Travis off guard.  “Man, was I scared,” he said quietly.

“That climb definitely had a high sphincter-factor,” I agreed.  “But you did it, and made a damn fine job of it, too.  Hell, I’d never made it past that overhang.”

“Are we talking about the same route?  You said The Innominate was a piece of cake.”

“I never said it was
my
piece of cake.  Anyhow, you found a way.  That was one heck of a lead, Trav.”

“Yes, sir.  It was.”

“Maybe we ought to break out the climbing gear next summer, knock off a few routes,” I suggested, carefully watching his reaction.

Travis didn’t respond.  Instead, he continued to gaze at his photo.  “I think I’d like that,” he said at last.

“What’s your picture, honey?” asked Catheryn, pulling Nate up beside her on the couch.

“It’s me and Callie when she was a puppy,” Nate answered, holding the oak frame in his lap.  “Look how small she was.”

I looked over Catheryn’s shoulder as she examined Nate’s present.  In the photo, Nate and Callie were sitting on the downstairs swing.  Laughing, eyes squeezed shut in boyish delight, Nate was holding the exuberant three-month-old Labrador in his arms, vainly trying to keep her from licking his face.  “Kindred spirits,” Catheryn said.

“What’s that mean, Mom?” asked Nate.

“It means you’re alike.”

“Me and Callie?”  Nate studied the picture.  “That’s not a bad thing, is it?”

Catheryn smiled.  “No, Nate, it’s not.  It’s a good thing.  I love you for it.”

Nate slid closer to his mother, still staring pensively at his photograph.  Across the room, Allison and Travis were each also contemplating my gift.

Finally Allison turned to me.  “This is the way you see us, isn’t it?”

“It’s the way you
are
,” I answered.  “All three of you.”

Abruptly, Travis realized the intent of my gift.  I could see it in his eyes.  All at once Nate did, too.  Lost in thought, all three children again lapsed into silence, staring mutely at the images I had given them.

“Why do I get the feeling I’m missing something?” asked Catheryn.

No one answered.

Finally I spoke, but not to Catheryn.  “Ali, you and Nate haven’t told her yet, have you?”

Not looking up, Allison shook her head.

“Why not?  We had a deal.”

Allison glanced at Nate.  “We wanted to wait till after Christmas.”

“Tell me what?” asked Catheryn.

Again, no one answered.

More curious than ever, Catheryn turned to me.  Before she could speak, the telephone rang in the next room.  Shaking her head, she left to answer it, returning a moment later.  She handed me the phone.  “It’s for you,” she said, her voice flat.

I raised the receiver.  “Hello?”

“It’s me.”

I strode from the room.  “Damn, Van Owen,” I hissed once I’d reached the kitchen.  “Why are you calling?”

“I’m sorry to bother you at home, but something important has come up.  I know it’s Christmas, but I need to talk with you right away.  Can you come over?”

“You’re kidding.”

“Please,” Lauren begged, her voice sounding close to panic.

“What’s wrong?”

“I … I need to talk with you about that publicity idea you came up with.  The one your superiors liked so much.  You know, having a Channel Two camera team in the task force briefings.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m referring to
your
idea of embedding our news team in the task force meetings, that’s what,” said Lauren, an undercurrent of panic rising again in her voice.  “I just got approval from our bureau chief.  But if we’re going to start coverage tomorrow, there’re still a number of things we need to work out,” she rushed on.  “Right now, as a matter of fact.  I don’t like it any better than you, but that’s the way it is.  Do you understand what I’m saying, Kane?”

A chill ran up my spine.  “I understand.  I’ll be right over.”

I hung up without saying good-bye.  Next I dialed the West Los Angeles station and requested that a patrol unit be dispatched to Lauren’s condo, advising that they take extreme caution.  I gave Lauren’s address from memory, a detail not lost on Catheryn, who had moved to stand behind me in the kitchen.

As I hung up Catheryn regarded me coldly, still holding the unopened gift I had given her.  “Going somewhere?”

Hurriedly, I began pulling off my hodgepodge of sweaters and ties.  “I have to.”

“Why not let someone else handle it?”

“I can’t.  A woman’s in trouble and it’s probably because of me.”

I went to the bedroom and quickly strapped on my shoulder rig, checking the Beretta’s ammunition clip at the same time.  Catheryn was still standing in the kitchen when I returned.  “If I’m not back for dinner, eat without me,” I said.

Catheryn followed me out to the street.  “Dan, let someone else handle it,” she repeated.

“I can’t.”

“Can’t?  Or won’t?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I know who that call was from.”

I turned.  “I … I was going to tell you.”

“Do you love her?”

Impatiently, I shook my head.  “Can’t we—”

“—talk about it tomorrow?  That’s always your answer.”

“Kate …”

Catheryn stepped closer.  “All right.  As you won’t answer my first question, I’ll ask an easier one.  Do you still love
me
?”

“That sounds odd, coming from you,” I said bitterly.  “Love?  I’m not sure what that means anymore.  When I think of you and Arthur—”

Again Catheryn cut me off.  “There’s one thing we’ve always had between us, Dan.  We promised we would always be faithful.  You remember that promise, don’t you?”

“I …”

“Look at me,” Catheryn commanded.

I found her eyes with mine.

“There’s nothing between Arthur and me,” she said.

“But—”

“There’s never been anyone but you.  God help me, I’ve never loved anyone but you.”

I heard her words and knew them for the truth.  With a lurch of abysmal, unutterable shame, I lowered my head.  “Kate, I have to leave.  I think Lauren’s in danger.  When I get back I—”

“That’s not good enough this time.”  Staring coldly, Catheryn returned my present, thrusting the small package into my hands.  “Take your gift.  I don’t want anything from you anymore.  I never thought I’d say this, but right now I truly despise you.”

“Kate, please—”

“One more thing,” Catheryn continued, her voice turning hard as granite.  “When it’s over between you and her, don’t come back.”

*       *       *

Stepping back inside, Catheryn found her children gathered in the entry.  They had obviously been listening.  “I’m sorry you heard that,” she said numbly.

All three children remained silent.

Catheryn gazed at each in turn, Allison the longest.  Finally she spoke.  “I think it’s time we had a talk.”

Allison averted her eyes.  “About what?”

“I want to know why your father gave you those pictures.  And I want to know whatever it is you three haven’t told me.  I want to know what this … this thing is that you’ve been hiding.  I want to know everything.”

“Mom, I—”

“This isn’t up for discussion,” Catheryn said.  “I know that all three of you had a talk with your father while I was in Europe.  I want to know whatever it was you told him, and I want to know now.  Is that understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Allison quietly.

“And afterward, I’m going to ask something of each of you.”

“What?”

“I’m going to ask for your word on something.  And I want you to give it.  Will you do that?”

All three children nodded solemnly, sensing the gravity of their mother’s mood.  “What’s the promise, Mom?” Nate asked timidly.

“Simply this,” said Catheryn.  “I want each of you to promise that there will never be secrets between us.  Ever again.”

44

O
fficer James Odegard squinted at the line of condos sliding past his window.  “Hang a left and then pull into the next alley,” he instructed.  “There’s parking around back.”

“Right.”  Officer Donny Greenbaum accelerated to the corner and turned left.  Sure enough, there was the alley.  “You been here before?”

Odegard had worked the streets for thirteen years, and everything about him said he’d been there, seen it, done it.  “Yeah,” he said.  “Seems like I’ve been to every one of these places, one time or another.  Matter of fact, I was called to that one
last
Christmas,” he added, tipping his head toward a three-story apartment building on the right.  “Guy punched out his girlfriend.  Said she ruined his Christmas.”

“What’d she do?”

“Burned the mashed potatoes.”

Greenbaum slowed as he approached a parking area.  “Can’t say as I blame him.  What’s turkey without mashed potatoes?”

“That’s what
he
said.”  Odegard pointed past a cluster of detached garages to a walkway marked “No Parking.”  “There’s a spot over there.”

“I see it.  We’re sure gettin’ a lot of domestic calls this Christmas, huh?”

“Worst time of the year.”

Greenbaum pulled onto the walkway, parking beside a blue Toyota.  “Why’s that, do you think?”

“Who knows?”  Odegard glanced at the mobile digital terminal mounted below the dashboard, rechecked the call address, grabbed his baton, and piled out of the cruiser.  “C’mon, kid.  Let’s do it.”

“Right.”  Greenbaum grabbed his own baton and hurried after his partner.

Smart, willing, and physically fit, Greenbaum had graduated near the top of his academy class.  He was going to be a good cop—move up to detective in four or five years, maybe even eventually make lieutenant—but he knew he had a lot to learn.  In the time since he’d started riding patrol, his training officers had opened his eyes to a lot they didn’t teach in the classroom.  Some Greenbaum agreed with, some he didn’t, but he’d resolved to reserve judgment until he had the full picture.  Although he was only six months into his probationary boot year on the force, one thing he had already learned:  Things weren’t always as they seemed.

He caught up with his T.O. inside the complex.  “That’s it,” said Odegard, stopping in front of a two-story unit on the left.  “One fifty-seven.  You do the knocking.”  Without awaiting a response, he stepped into the shadows, moving behind a clump of palms.