Kane (56 page)

I briefly considered calling Arthur’s house.  Deciding against it, I dialed the beach house instead, hoping to get one of the kids.  When the machine picked up, I disconnected without leaving a message, remembering that on occasion Catheryn and I, like other parents caught in the holiday babysitter crunch, had brought our children with us to various New Year’s parties—including a past one at Arthur’s.  Not an ideal solution but better than none, with older kids watching their younger peers in a room stocked with cookies, soft drinks, and videos.

As a precaution I contacted the Malibu sheriff’s station, identified myself, and requested that local units keep an eye on the beach house.  Afterward boredom set in once more.  Idly, I spent the next ten minutes calling friends in the department.  Not surprisingly, everyone was out.  I finally reached Paul Deluca on his cell.  He, along with several members of the OC sheriff’s surveillance unit, was spending the evening in a van across from Carns’s estate.

“Anything happened recently?” I asked once Deluca had completed a colorful complaint about working on Christmas Eve.

“Naw,” Deluca answered.  “He left for a couple hours.  Gave the mobile guys something to do,” he added, referring to the six-car surveillance team stationed at various points around Coto to pick up Carns whenever he left.  “Otherwise, things have been quiet.  After doing some shopping, he came home, made a fire, and stayed in the rest of the day.  Lights are on in all the windows.  No movement inside.  No calls, either.”

“You guys get a GPS transmitter on his car?”

“Yeah.”

“Did the van or the Toyota show up?”

“Nope.”

I thought a moment.  “A fire, huh?  It had to be seventy, seventy-five out today.”

“Closer to eighty down here.  Maybe he has air conditioning.  We sure as hell don’t.”

“Tough,” I said.  “Listen, I’ll let you get back to whatever it is you’re not doing, but I just found out that Kate and the kids have returned to the beach house.  If there’s any change in the situation at Carns’s, I want to know.”

“Kane, I hate to bring this up, but you’re no longer on the case.  Snead made a big deal outta nobody talkin’ to you.  If he finds out you’ve been checking up like this, he’s gonna—”

“I’ll handle Snead.”

Deluca hesitated, probably realizing that wasn’t an answer.  “No problem,” he said anyway.  “Say hi to Kate for me when you see her.  And Happy New Year.

“Thanks, Paul.  You, too.”

*       *       *

Allison sat up in bed.  Her throat burned; her head throbbed; her entire body ached.  She felt terrible.  With a pang of self-pity, she realized she hadn’t had the flu this bad in years.  But something had roused her from the medicine induced lethargy that had kept her under the covers most of the evening.  What?

Callie?

No.  She’s at the vet’s.

She glanced at a clock on her night table.  The numerals were out.  Puzzled, she reached over to turn on a bedside lamp.  She froze as she heard a thump downstairs.  A prickle shivered up her spine.

Someone was in the house.

*       *       *

I had been chewing on it for the past twenty minutes.  My mind kept coming back to it, wouldn’t let it go.

Eighty degrees out, and Carns makes a fire?

Finally I dialed Deluca’s cell phone again.

Deluca answered on the second ring.  “What’s the matter, Kane?  No parties to go to?”

“Listen, Paul.  This may be important.  Are you sure about his making a fire?”

“I’m sure.  Smoke was pouring out one of the big brick chimneys for most of the afternoon.”

“Anything unusual about it?  The smoke, I mean.”

“It
was
kinda dense part of the time.  Like whatever he had in the fireplace wasn’t burning right,” Deluca answered.  A long pause.  “Different colors, too,” he added quietly.  “Gray, white, black.  Come to think of it, when the wind changed I caught a whiff.  Smelled like burning plastic.”  Another long pause.  “He made us, didn’t he?”

“Yeah.  I don’t know how, but he did.  He got rid of his souvenirs.”

“Damn.  What now?”

“It’s not up to me.  I’m off the investigation.”

“Wait a minute.  What the … ?”

“What happened?”

“The lights just went off.  Every single one.  Hold on.”

Ten seconds later Deluca came back on.  “I checked with the guys on the other side.  They say the same thing.  All the lights went off at once.”

“Probably on a timer.  Call him.”

“Are you serious?”

“If he’s there, say you got a wrong number.”

“What are you talking about—
if
he’s there?  He’s gotta be there.”

Suddenly I remembered the shooting tunnel in Carns’s basement.  At the time I had sensed something odd about it.  Now I knew what it was.  Even with the tunnel light bulbs off, there had still been a faint glimmer coming from the far end.  “He’s out.”

“No way.  We’ve been sitting on the house all day.”

“He got out a tunnel in the basement,” I explained, trying to recall which direction the shaft ran.  “Check the bushes in the vacant lot behind the house.  There’ll be a vault of some kind.  Search for a metal hatch, a manhole cover, something like that.”

“Shit.  If you’re right—”

“Call him.  If you don’t, I will.”

“I’ll get back to you.”  An instant later the line went dead.

As I waited for Deluca to ring back, I phoned the beach house again.  Still no answer.  Next I dialed Catheryn’s cell phone.  Same result.  Finally I tried Arthur West’s number.  Someone finally picked up.  Arthur.

“Hello, Arthur.  Is Catheryn there?”

Party noise blared in the background.  “Sorry.  You’ll have to speak up,” Arthur yelled.

“Is Catheryn there?” I repeated, raising my voice.  “This is her husband.”

“Oh.”  Arthur’s tone frosted noticeably.  “Detective Kane.”

“Is she there?”

A hesitation.  “She and the children left early.  Something about Allison being home sick with the flu.”

“Allison didn’t come to the party?”

“No.  Travis and Nate did, but not her.”

“Damn.”

“Is something wrong?”

“I’m not sure.  Thanks, Arthur.  I owe you one.”

“Anytime,” said Arthur, his voice tinged with sarcasm.

“How’s the hand?”

“Better.  No thanks to you.”

“Listen, Arthur.  I was out of line at the Music Center.  I’m sorry.  If it’ll square things, you’re welcome to take a free poke at me anytime you want.”

“An interesting proposal,” said Arthur, thawing slightly.  “One day I may take you up on it.”

*       *       *

Victor Carns stood in the darkened living room.  Fighting to control his growing excitement, he checked the glowing numerals on his watch:  12:31 PM.  He was certain they would be home before long, returning from whatever celebration they’d attended.

As he waited, he reflected on his escape from the police cordon, surprised at how easy it had been.  Out the tunnel, a crawl through the bushes to Via Pajaro, across several backyards, and a jog to the west gate.  Once past the gate he’d met a taxi summoned earlier using one of his untraceable cellular phones.  Twenty minutes later he had disembarked near the Mission Viejo rental garage.  Simple.  And returning would be just as easy, provided he got back before dawn.

He had driven the van to a number of disposal sites, getting rid of everything, even the spectrum analyzer.  He saved only the few items he would need for this final encounter.  As with the mementos burned at his estate, he regretted losing the playthings stored in his garage.  His souvenirs from previous games often came in handy, like the police ID he had used to enter the reporter’s condo.  Still, it had to be done.

And anyway, it was time to move on.

Afterward he drove to Malibu and stopped across the highway from the house, inspecting the weathered structure.  No lights.  No cars in front.  Again using his stolen phone, he dialed the number he’d copied from the phone book.  No one answered.  Satisfied, he proceeded several hundred yards north, parked his car, and walked back along the highway.

He found the electric meter in a service niche near the front door.  After turning off the power, he made his way down the side of the house.  The flimsy lock on the back door yielded easily.  A quick search revealed the residence to be deserted.  Nothing to do now but wait.

As Carns savored thoughts of what was to come, a telephone on the coffee table jangled to life.  He let it ring.  Finally a machine in another part of the house picked up.  “Kane residence.  Leave a message and we’ll get back to you,” a woman’s voice said.

A beep sounded, then nothing.

Carns reached out with a gloved hand and lifted the receiver.  Gently, he placed it on the floor and covered it with a cushion from the couch.

There would be no more distractions.

*       *       *

When Deluca phoned back, his voice sounded strained.  “You were right,” he said.  “There’s a vault hidden in a hedge that runs all the way to the street.  The metal cover was off.  We contacted local cab companies.  Two hours ago A-1 Taxi picked up somebody at the west gate matching Carns’s description.”

“Two hours ago?  And none of our guys at the gate noticed anything?”

“One of the units saw a taxi picking up a jogger but didn’t give it a second thought.  We located the cab driver.  He said he dropped his fare in an industrial section near Alicia and Fabricante.  He thought it was strange, there bein’ no residences down there and all.  One of the Orange County deputies thinks there are some self-service garages in that area.  Maybe that’s where Carns stashed his cars.”

“Maybe,” I said, feeling my throat tighten.  I recalled Berns’s statement regarding the killer’s willingness to strike at anyone he considered a threat.  I paused, asking myself what
I
would
do if I were Carns.

A game.

Thrust, parry.  Move, countermove.

Suddenly I knew.

“Listen, Dan,” Deluca continued, “I’ve gotta bring Snead in on this.  Other people down here know you’ve been calling.  I can’t keep you out of it.”

“Do whatever you have to,” I said.  “Thanks for your help.”

I hung up and redialed Catheryn’s cell phone.  No response.  Again I called the beach house.  This time the phone was busy.  Fighting panic, I dialed the operator, identified myself, and requested an emergency interrupt.  What seemed an interminable pause followed as she checked the line.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she said at last.  “That number is out of order.”

52

A
llison heard the intruder moving through the music room downstairs, then the thump of heavy footsteps ascending the stairs—slow and deliberate, definitely those of a man.  With a plunge of panic, she slipped from her bed and flipped the comforter over her still-warm covers.  She quickly smoothed the bedspread as best she could, hoping whoever it was wouldn’t notice.  Without making a sound, she crept into her closet and hid behind a long woolen coat.

She heard the man stop briefly at the top of the stairs, then move to the kitchen, his weight creaking the old floorboards.  As if no time had passed in the interim, the paralyzing helplessness she had felt at the hands of another man years before came flooding back.

Can’t let him find me.  Out the front door?  No time.  He’ll be on me before I get it unlocked.  The phone in the kitchen?  Too far.

Minutes later the beam of a flashlight stabbed into her bedroom.  She held her breath as the light swept toward her hiding place … hesitated … and flicked to another part of the room.  The intruder moved on.  She heard him searching her brothers’ room, then Nate’s former bedroom in the loft above the entry, and finally her parents’ room down the hall.  Next he made his way to the living room.  She heard a squeak from the couch as he sat, then the clump of feet on the coffee table.  Soon another sound drifted through the darkness.  At first she couldn’t identify it.  Then she had it.

Humming.  He’s humming.

Huddled in her closet, Allison swallowed hard, desperately trying to stifle the cough that had plagued her since Christmas.  Any sound, even the slightest, would surely reveal her presence.

What time is it? she wondered, forcing her mind from the burning tickle in her throat.  Midnight?  One o’clock?  They’ll be home soon.

She had to warn them.

But how?
 
She dared not move.  Even raising her bedroom window and escaping to the street was out of the question.  There has to be a way, she thought.  I have to do something.

But when she heard Catheryn’s car pull to a stop out front twenty minutes later, she still hadn’t decided on a course of action.  Instead, hating herself for her cowardice, she remained hidden, listening with horror as the front door clicked open.  She heard muffled voices.  Her mother said something about the party.  Nate mumbled a sleepy response.  Suddenly Travis called out in surprise.  A heavy thud.  Screaming.  Guttural commands.  Then the sounds of struggle as one by one her family’s cries were silenced.  Next she heard dragging noises, followed by footsteps as the man returned.  More humming from the next room.  Nate’s room.  Slapping sounds, muffled sobs.