“Having a husband doesn’t seem like something you take too seriously these days,” I said.
“You don’t own me,” Catheryn retorted. “I’ll be with whomever I want.”
“With whomever you want, huh?” I said, reeling with surprise at her tacit admission. I had expected an excuse, a denial… something. Anything but this. “Fine. You want to be with that narcissistic bastard, suit yourself. But tell Arthur if he ever lays a hand on one of my kids again, tonight was just a prelude.”
Catheryn’s lips set in a hard, thin line. “I don’t want to see you for a while, Dan,” she said.
“No problem. I’ll be staying at Arnie’s.”
“You do that.” Eyes brimming with anger and hurt, Catheryn turned and disappeared into the crowd.
Following a sleepless night of self-recrimination and regret, I telephoned home early the following day. Allison answered. “Hi, Pop,” she said somberly. “Where are you?”
“Work, where else? Listen, kid, put your mom on.”
“I mean where did you go last night?”
“I stayed at Arnie’s. I’m bunking back there again. Is your mom around?”
“No. What’s going on, Dad? Mom wouldn’t tell me what’s wrong, but she was really upset. Why are you being so nasty?”
“Where’s your mom? I need to talk to her.”
“Answer my question first,” Allison said obstinately.
“You’re treading on thin ice, princess. Get your mom.”
“What’s that, Pop? You’re breaking up. There must be something wrong with the phone connection.”
“Damn it, Ali…”
“Hold on.” Apparently Allison slammed the receiver on the table several times, causing me to pull the phone from my ear.
“Allison?”
“That’s better,” said Allison, coming back on. “Now, where were we? Oh, yeah. The fight between you and Mom.”
“I swear, when I get my hands on you, Ali…”
“You’re breaking up again, Pop. If it continues I’ll have to hang up.”
A long silence.
“Dad?”
“I’m still here.”
“I can’t believe you’re doing this. Especially your timing. Mom just got home yesterday, and Christmas is tomorrow. At this rate the holidays are going to be just peachy.”
“Your mom and I are having a disagreement that doesn’t concern you or your brothers.”
“You’re jealous of Mr. West, aren’t you?”
“Did Kate tell you that?”
“I was there last night, Dad. Only someone with a room temperature IQ could’ve missed what was going on-which probably explains why Nate and Travis are still in the dark.”
“I’m sorry you kids saw that,” I said guiltily. “This may be hard for you to swallow, but my actions occasionally fall short of perfect. And maybe sometimes your mom’s do, too. That’s all I’ll say, except that your mother and I have some things to work out. Okay?”
“Okay, Pop,” said Allison reluctantly.
“Now, where’s Kate?”
“The Music Center.”
“What’s she doing there this early? The concert’s not till tonight.”
“She’s in a special rehearsal with the music director.”
“What for?”
“Well, Pop, that little handshake you gave Mr. West put a crimp in his playing. The doctor says he’ll be out for a couple of days. In case you don’t know, it’s tough putting on a cello concerto without a cello soloist. The Philharmonic tried to get a virtuoso substitute, but on short notice they didn’t have any success.”
“So?”
“So Mom has the Dvorak in her repertoire,” Allison continued excitedly. “She’s never performed the solo part with the orchestra, but Mr. West has heard her play it, and he thinks she’ll do great. Plus, she accompanied every one of his performances in Europe, so it’s not as if she’s going into it cold.”
“Kate’s going to be the soloist tonight?”
“Uh-huh. Isn’t that exciting?”
“It is,” I said sincerely. “I’m happy for her.”
“Me, too. Mom was so nervous when she left. I’ve never seen her that flustered.”
“She’ll get over her butterflies once she gets up there and starts playing. I’ll bet she knocks them dead.”
“I hope so.”
“Any chance of getting tickets?”
“No way, Dad. This thing’s been sold out for weeks.”
Another long pause. “Is Travis around?” I asked, changing the subject.
“Why? Already tired of conversing with the only one of your offspring who can form a declarative sentence of more than four words?”
“Yeah, as a matter of fact. And don’t start in again, Ali, or I really will wring your neck the next time I see you.”
“When will that be?”
“Christmas, I suppose,” I sighed. “If I don’t get ahold of her, tell your mom I’ll be by tomorrow to cook. Can’t have the whole family starving because we’re…” My voice trailed off. Sadly, I found myself unable to put into words what was going on between Catheryn and me. “Anyway, put Travis on,” I finished lamely.
“He’s out on the beach taking a walk.”
“Well, when he gets back, ask him to throw together some clothes for me and drop them by Arnie’s.”
“Please get things straightened out with Mom soon, okay?”
“I’ll try, kid. I want to. I really do, but things aren’t that easy.”
“Yes, they are, Dad. Like you always tell us: Figure out what you want, then do whatever it takes to get it.”
41
After talking with Allison, I spent the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon interviewing various males between the ages of twenty and sixty who had made the mistake of attending one of the police-sponsored “killer awareness meetings” in Pacific Palisades, Mission Viejo, and Newport Beach. Though I conceded that the job needed doing, I held little hope of its bearing fruit, concurring with Dr. Berns’s assessment that the killer was far too careful to make that type of mistake. Nonetheless, other developments in the investigation had recently begun to appear more promising-talking with employees of the law firm of Donovan, Simon, and Kerr, for instance-although lately those assignments had all been funneled to other members of the unit besides me.
I knew that keeping me out of the loop was no coincidence. Following the killer’s escape from the Bakers’ house, Snead had done his best to keep me off the front line. Nonetheless, things could have been worse. Hotline calls had tripled after Lauren Van Owen’s on-air revelation of the FBI profile, and in response to increased demand, a number of task force members had been relegated to permanent phone duty. At least my current assignment got me out of the office.
Later that day, upon returning to task force headquarters, I found several message slips on my desk. One was from a woman who had refused to leave her name. Curious, I dialed that number first, waiting impatiently as the phone rang. As I was about to hang up, someone answered.
“Van Owen.”
“Damn,” I said, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. “Why did you call me here?”
“This is important. Can you meet me in an hour?”
“No.”
“Later?”
“What’s this about?”
“I can’t talk over the phone. Please, Kane?”
I hesitated. “After work,” I said tersely.
“When do you get off?”
“Late.”
“Drop by when you’re done.” Lauren rattled off an address and hung up before I could object.
At a little past eight that evening, after stopping at a market for several items I still needed to cook Christmas dinner the following day, I drove to Brentwood, took a right off San Vicente Boulevard onto Westgate, and stopped three blocks down. I sat for a moment, inspecting a string of gray condos across the street. When Lauren had given me the location, I’d thought it sounded like a residential address. Now I was sure.
I climbed out of the Suburban and crossed the street, wondering what I was doing. I knew I had to see Lauren at least once more, but I would have preferred neutral territory for the meeting. Still, I went.