“You know damn well what it’s about,” Snead snarled. “I checked to see who extended the surveillance on the Baker residence. Guess what, hotshot? The request came from Nelson Long, y our lieutenant over in West LA. Odd, don’t you think?”
“What I think is odd is that the stakeout was about to get canceled in the first place. It was our best shot at catching that dirtbag.”
Snead’s face mottled with rage. “You’re missing the point. You had no right to sidestep the chain of command. Aside from making everybody appear incompetent, your interference resulted in the death of a police officer.”
“If Metro hadn’t been there, the Bakers would be in body bags right now.”
“That’s not what we’re discussing.”
“It should be, Snead. You’re more concerned with appearances than-”
“That’s Lieutenant Snead.”
“Fine, Lieutenant. What I’m saying-”
“I don’t think you realize your role in this conversation, Kane. It’s to shut up and listen. The media haven’t connected the task force with the Sherman Oaks fiasco yet. But if they do, they’ll crucify us. And if that happens, I guarantee that you’ll take your full share of the blame. Which brings us to your friend, Ms. Van Owen, and her mysterious sources inside the department. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
“Why ask me?”
“Because over the past month, you’ve repeatedly been seen talking with her. Do you and Van Owen have something going, Detective? A little nookie on the side, maybe?”
“Are you accusing me of being the media leak?”
“Not yet,” Snead replied. “You’ll know when I do.”
“With all due respect, Lieutenant, go pound sand.”
Snead’s eyes narrowed. “Keep messing with me, Kane, and I’ll make your life a godforsaken misery.”
“Thanks, Bill, but I’m a married man. Glad to see you finally busted out of the closet, though.”
“You’ve always got something smart to say, don’t you?”
“It’s a gift.”
Snead glared. “I’ve got a gift too, hotshot. I can predict the future, and I predict that one of these days your luck is going to run out. And when it does, I’m going to be there, sitting in the front row.”
35
Fortunately, traffic had been light. Staying within the speed limit, Carns made it back to Orange County without incident, arriving at his Mission Viejo storage garage in under ninety minutes.
He still couldn’t believe he had escaped. Obviously, the house had been under surveillance. They’d suckered him, played him for a chump with that phony broadcast.
Kane? he wondered once more.
He remembered the first time he had seen Kane on the news. “We’ll get this maggot,” he’d said. Insulting right from the beginning. But there had been something besides anger in his eyes, something calculating. It had been Lauren Van Owen who had interviewed him then, too.
Could Kane have been using the media for his own purposes as far back as then?
As he stepped from his car, Carns again recalled the surreptitious meeting he had witnessed at the health club. The blond reporter may have mouthed the lies that inspired his monumental blunder, but Carns knew her source.
Working quickly, he opened the door of the rental garage, drove the Toyota inside beside the van, and shut the door. Wearing gloves as always, he switched plates on the blue import, replacing the ones he’d stolen in Arcadia with the originals that had come with the car. The pilfered plates went into a plastic trash bag, along with the magnetic signs he’d purchased years before in Colorado. His knapsack and its contents went into a second bag; his jacket, baseball cap, and tennis shoes into a third. As a precaution, he wiped everything including the bags themselves, making sure there was no chance of a stray print.
He kept the camera and tape recorder, deciding they couldn’t be traced. Otherwise, everything went. In a few months, when things settled down, he would get rid of the cars as well.
Carns stopped on his way home, making deposits in several local Dumpsters. Two hours from the time he’d escaped the trap in Sherman Oaks, everything that could place him at any of the recent murder sites ceased to exist. Almost. There was still the garment he had taken from Julie Welsh’s hamper. And what about the rest, his precious mementos? Would everything have to go?
In the end he resisted the temptation to dispose of it all-slides, tapes, clothes, clippings, videos, digital recordings-reasoning that if the police knew his identity, they would already have come. There would be time enough to get rid of his souvenirs later, but only if necessary. And with attention to detail, that day would never come. His carelessness had been a fluke, a onetime mistake. He had grown overconfident and allowed himself to be tricked.
It wouldn’t happen again.
Still, the incident disturbed Carns more than he wanted to admit. In all the years he had been playing the game, no one had ever come this close. No one.
After returning home, Carns showered and taped his swollen ankle. Favoring his injured leg, he limped downstairs. In the living room he poured himself three fingers of Scotch, downing the drink in one shuddering gulp. After refilling his glass, he retired to his office. There he sat at his research station and booted up his Lexis-Nexis software. Once the familiar blue screen appeared, he entered his seven-digit PIN and hit transmit, tapping his fingers impatiently as the computer logged on.
Accessing thousands of databases, the Nexis international information service was a vital information source that was essential to Carns’s work. The inquiry he currently planned, however, did not involve business. A moment later the research display popped up. Carns selected the Nexis news library, major papers file, and typed in his search request: “Kane, Daniel.” Seconds later a response came back: 1,964 hits.
Carns focused his inquiry by adding the letters “LAPD.” This time the total proved considerably smaller: nineteen. Still, a healthy number for a homicide detective. Kane had been a busy boy.
Carns downloaded the files, then spent several minutes perusing Kane’s career as chronicled in the Los Angeles Times, The Orange County Register, the Long Beach Press-Telegram, and various other news services. The results were disturbing. In every article Kane came across as a dangerous adversary: five shootings (three fatal), heated but unresolved scrapes with LAPD Internal Affairs, and an unparalleled reputation for closing cases. A maverick, and an unpredictable one as well. Studying the articles, Carns recognized something in Kane’s persona that struck a familiar chord. Although Carns hadn’t been able to pinpoint it earlier, he had sensed it from the beginning. Now he realized what it was: Kane was willing to play outside the rules.
Carns hit the print button. As copies of the documents began dropping into the tray, he switched to the Lexis public records library. Selecting the CAPROP assets file, he again typed “Kane, Daniel,” searching for California real estate owned by anyone with that name. Nine hits this time. A manageable number. Carns scrolled through.
Four of the California real estate parcels belonging to individuals named Daniel Kane were located in the San Francisco area, two in San Diego, another in San Bernadino. These Carns rejected, leaving a twelve-unit apartment building in Pasadena (unlikely on a policeman’s salary) and an owner occupied, single-family residence in Malibu.
Seconds later Carns had Daniel Thomas Kane’s street address, the annual property tax, lot size, number of rooms, assessed value, parcel number, square footage, and current mortgage. He also discovered a second individual listed as an owner: Catheryn Ellen Kane.
Kane’s married?
On a whim, after downloading the CAPROP information, Carns scrolled back to the Nexis library and hunted for articles on “Catheryn Kane,” “Catheryn E. Kane,” or “Catheryn Ellen Kane.” By progressively limiting his search, he pared the number of hits to two: mention of a cellist in a string quartet that had performed at Pepperdine University three years ago, and an article on a longtime Malibu resident who had recently become the associate principal cellist for the Los Angeles Philharmonic. The latter, a short bio that had appeared in the Los Angeles Times, mentioned a photograph not available through Nexis.