by Steve Gannon
“That may be—”
Ingram raised a hand to silence me. “I did some research on you, Dan. Among others, I spoke with your detectives’ commander, Lieutenant Long. He speaks extremely well of you. In fact, Long says you are one of the few detectives he’s ever worked with who is capable of actually detecting anything. Bottom line, you get things done. In the process, you also piss off a lot of people, including Captain Snead. I suppose you can now add Assistant Chief Strickland to the list.”
When I didn’t respond, Ingram went on. “I also know that Snead’s success on his previous task-force investigations were due in large part to your efforts, which is undoubtedly why he requested your presence on this one.”
“Not going to happen,” I said.
“I know that.”
Surprised by this admission, I hesitated, suspecting that we were finally getting to Ingram’s real agenda.
“So I’m going to suggest a compromise,” said Ingram. “As I noted earlier, the FBI is claiming precedence on the investigation. Nonetheless, even though LAPD will be taking a back seat, we intend to maintain as much autonomy on the case as possible. But in addition to our own investigative efforts, we’re going to be tasked with doing a lot of legwork for the Bureau, which pisses off plenty of people at PAB, including me. So here’s what I want. I want to know what’s going on at FBI headquarters at all times. I need an inside connection, someone who knows how things work, and I want that someone to be you. I want you to act as our liaison with the Bureau.”
“Sir, I—”
“Hear me out before you answer,” Ingram interrupted. “You would report on a regular basis directly to me, or to someone in my office. You would have only minimal contact with Snead.”
“What about Strickland?”
“You would report directly to me,” Ingram repeated. He wrote a phone number on the back of a business card and passed it to me. “Written reports weekly; daily updates by phone. I, or someone in my office, will pass along any Bureau requests relayed by you to Snead, and vice-versa. What do you say?”
I pocketed Ingram’s card. “Can I think about it?”
Ingram’s face closed like a fist. “Not for long. I’ll need your answer by the end of today,” he said, his friendly manner suddenly evaporating. “I suggest you visit the scene and then talk with FBI Assistant Director Shepherd before coming to a decision.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Fine,” said Ingram. “By the way, I already took the liberty of speaking with Shepherd. He remembers you from your task-force work with Snead. Shepherd signed off on your acting as our liaison, and he’s willing to team you with a Bureau agent for the duration of the investigation. He’s expecting you in his office this afternoon.”
“Shepherd’s a good man. I look forward to talking with him, whatever my decision.”
“Fine,” Ingram repeated, still clearly irritated that I hadn’t immediately accepted the liaison position. “I’ll require your answer by five o’clock. One more thing. If you do decide to accept the liaison position, and I strongly encourage you to do so, I’ll have your back . . . within limits. It’s a card worth having, especially for someone like you. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” I replied, realizing from Ingram’s tone that if I didn’t accept, Strickland’s threat would probably be back on the table. Either way, one thing was becoming increasingly apparent. If I wanted to keep my LAPD job options open, I needed to carefully consider Ingram’s proposal.
Chapter 7
Sitting at her Channel 2 News desk in Studio City, bureau chief Lauren Van Owen regarded Allison with a look of skepticism. “Are you certain this is what you want?” she asked.
“Heck, yes,” Allison replied, her eyes lighting with excitement. “News stories like this don’t come along every day. Mike and I can jet off to Costa Rica later. Covering the Bel Air murders is way more important than any honeymoon.”
“To you, maybe. What about Mike?”
Allison shifted, uncomfortable with the question. “Well, when this story came up, I did sort of decide to postpone things without consulting Mike. He was disappointed . . . but I’m certain he understands.”
“Uh huh,” said Lauren. “You’re certain he understands. Listen, Ali, I’m probably not one to be handing out advice, but you remind me of myself at your age.”
“Thanks,” said Allison.
“I don’t necessarily mean that in a good way,” Lauren corrected. “Sure, I admire your drive. It’s exactly what someone like you needs to succeed in broadcast news. On the other hand, this business can be tough on relationships. I couldn’t figure out how to get my career to work within my own marriage, let alone with my being a mother . . .”
“Don’t worry about me,” said Allison, a hand absently traveling to her abdomen. Though she was still barely showing, she knew that wouldn’t be the case much longer. Fortunately, her expanding middle wouldn’t be visible during her on-air reporting from behind the Channel 2 News desk. “Mike understands this could be the chance of a lifetime. We’ll be fine, but thanks for your concern.”
Lauren shrugged. “Whatever you say.”
“So the story is mine?”
“On one condition. I want you to talk with your father and see whether you can get his unofficial cooperation, like before.”
“I don’t know how comfortable I am doing that,” Allison hedged. “Besides, he’s on leave from the department. What makes you think he’ll be involved on the case?”
“One of our reporters saw him this morning at PAB. I don’t think he was there making a social call.”
“Huh,” Allison mused. Although encouraged by the prospect of her father’s finally returning to work, she wondered why he hadn’t mentioned it earlier. “Well, if that’s the case, I’ll talk to him. No guarantees, but I’ll talk to him.”
“Fine. Then the story’s yours. I want you on it full-time, starting now.”
“Yes!” Allison exclaimed, pumping a fist. Then, her smile fading, “What about Network? Are they going to send out one of their big guns to take over when things heat up? Like our old pal, Brent Preston?”
“I can’t make any guarantees either, Ali. I can say that I’ve already talked with Network, and they agreed to leave the story with our Los Angeles Bureau for the time being. Just so you know, Network plans to take the story national tonight on CBS Evening News. They’re also planning a media blitz if the killings continue, or if the Muslim backlash continues to heat up. If either of those things happen, all bets are off.”
“Fair enough,” said Allison. “With the caveat that if I do come up with an exclusive, I get to report it first, national coverage or not.”
“Allison, I can’t—”
“That’s the deal, Lauren.”
Lauren shook her head. “You really do remind me of myself at your age. Okay, depending on what you dig up, I’ll see what I can do. Now, you need to get in touch with your dad.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Allison, shooting Lauren a sloppy salute.
“One more thing, Ali. I probably shouldn’t discuss this with you, but when I talked with Network, they also mentioned that if you continue to do well here in L.A., there might be an on-air spot opening up for you in New York.”
“New York? Oh, my God, really?” said Allison, barely able to believe her ears. “That would be a huge step up!”
“For you.”
“What do you . . . oh,” said Allison, looking away. “You mean, what about Mike?”
Lauren nodded. “And your new baby. Something to think about.”
Chapter 8
On my way out of PAB, I decided to stop by the third-floor HSS offices and visit some friends in Robbery-Homicide. As Deluca had been one of the first investigators at the Bel Air crime scene, I knew that he had subsequently been detailed to Snead’s HSS task force, and I expected to see him there as well. The one officer I didn’t want to run into, namely the recently promoted Captain Snead, was of course the first pe
rson I encountered.
“Kane,” said Snead upon spotting me, a feral grin splitting his hatchet-thin face. “Welcome back. I knew you couldn’t resist working another high-profile case.”
“Sorry to disappoint you,” I said, “but I turned down your task-force job. In fact, I won’t be working for you again—ever. To tell you the truth, I’d rather poke out my eyes with a rusty fork.”
Snead’s grin froze. “But . . . then, why are you here?”
“I dropped by to visit friends,” I answered, glancing into the third-floor conference room. Several detectives were still present, apparently having just completed their initial task-force briefing. “By the way, congratulations on your promotion. You must be so proud.”
“Did you talk with Chief Ingram?” Snead demanded, ignoring my sarcasm.
“I did. He suggested that I act as our LAPD/FBI liaison on the investigation.”
“Fine. I’ll expect daily reports, more if necessary. And your paperwork had better be current at all times. You can start by—”
“That’s not the way it’s going to work,” I broke in. “If I take the liaison position, which I haven’t accepted yet, I’ll be reporting directly to the chief.”
“We’ll see about that,” Snead snapped, his eyes hardening.
“Yeah, we will,” I said, pushing past him into the conference room. “Now, if you’ll excuse me . . .”
“Watch yourself, Kane,” Snead warned. “If you cross me on this investigation, even one bit, I’ll have you up on charges.”
“You’ll have to get in line for that, but thanks for the warning,” I said over my shoulder, thinking that was the second time I had been threatened since arriving at PAB. The third, actually, if I included Ingram’s not-so-friendly insistence that I accept the liaison position.
“Hey, Kane!” Deluca called from across the room as I entered. “What are you doing here?”
“Slumming,” I joked. “Actually, I thought I’d drop in to witness firsthand you fine detectives wasting taxpayer money.”
“You going to be joining us?” asked Peter Church, a Robbery-Homicide detective with whom I’d worked a previous case.
“Not this time, Pete.”
“Won’t be the same without you,” chimed in Evan Nolan, another detective friend from Robbery-Homicide. “Although things will definitely be a lot more tranquil.”
“Tranquility is overrated,” I laughed. Then, to Deluca, “Have time to grab a cup of coffee?”
Deluca shook his head. “We’re due downstairs in a couple minutes for the Mayor’s press conference.”
“Been there, done that,” I said.
“Yeah,” Deluca grumbled. “Fitzpatrick just gave us an abbreviated version of his upcoming press-conference speech. Our task force will have every resource available; the entire city will stand behind us one hundred percent; every detective present is there because he’s the best of the best; and so on,” Deluca continued, doing a passable imitation of Mayor Fitzpatrick.
“Well, don’t let the mayor’s speech go to your head,” I advised with a smile. “Speaking of which, how’s the task force shaping up?”
Deluca glanced around before answering. Then, lowering his voice, “Not good,” he sighed. “I swear, with his recent promotion, Snead has turned into even more of an ass than ever. Making matters worse, we now have guys from Homeland Security and CTSOB sitting in the back taking notes. And as usual, Snead thinks the case is going to be closed by establishing organizational protocols, keeping the paperwork straight, and waiting for some magical hotline tip to come in.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“Yeah. Me, too.”
“You coming, Deluca?” one of the other task-force detectives called from the doorway.
“In a minute,” Deluca called back. Then, again lowering his voice, “What are you really doing here, partner?”
“I just had a meeting with the chief,” I replied. “He wants me to act as our LAPD/FBI liaison. I’d report directly to him. No contact with Snead.”
“Are you going to do it?”
“I don’t know. But Strickland made it abundantly clear that if I don’t, I won’t be coming back to the department . . . ever.”
“Screw him.”
“My sentiments exactly.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“I promised Ingram I’d check out the crime scene and talk with Assistant Director Shepherd before deciding. I have till five p.m. to make up my mind.”
“Shepherd is an okay guy, for a feeb,” Deluca noted doubtfully.
“Yeah,” I agreed. Both Deluca and I had worked with Shepherd on a previous task-force investigation, and like other LAPD officers on the case, we had been impressed by his professionalism. That said, Shepherd was still a member of the FBI, with loyalties and objectives that didn’t always coincide with those of the LAPD.
“Still, Bureau guys aren’t to be trusted.” Deluca hesitated, seeming about to add something else.
“What?” I asked.
“Dan, I would like nothing better than to see you back on the job,” Deluca replied. “I also understand why you needed some time off, and maybe you still do. I just hope that if you take the liaison job, you’re not getting in over your head.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“I hope so,” said Deluca. “This case is already shaping up to be a snake pit, not to mention that Snead is still looking for any excuse to go after your badge. If you decide to get involved, watch your back.”
Chapter 9
Though not yet noon, on the drive to Bel Air I encountered more than my share of freeway traffic, and I wound up spending half the commute stuck behind a semi with a bumper sticker that read, “How’s my driving? Call 1-800 Eat Shit.” Reading that, I smiled, deciding that humor, however coarse, was wherever you found it—even if on the freeway.
Despite efforts to the contrary, on the cross-town journey my thoughts kept returning to Deluca’s warning. On the one hand, I was tired of sitting around. I missed being a cop, and I wanted to keep my job options open. On the other hand, I was concerned about returning to work on a high-profile investigation. From what I knew so far, the Bel Air murder case was exactly the type of investigation that had previously caused me trouble. Nevertheless, were I to take the liaison job, serving in that position rather than as an investigator would limit my exposure.
At least in theory.
After hitting the West L.A. interchange and taking the 405 Freeway north, I exited on Sunset and headed east, deciding to wait until I had more information to make a decision. I still had plenty of time before Ingram’s 5 p.m. deadline, and by then maybe I would learn something that might make a difference. I had just wheeled onto Bellagio Road and passed beneath the metal arch guarding the estates of Bel Air when my cellphone rang.
“Kane,” I said, setting my iPhone to speaker mode and placing it on the dashboard.
“Dad? It’s Allison. Do you have a minute?”
“I’m kind of busy, Ali. What’s up?”
“This won’t take long. Are you going to be working on the Bel Air investigation?”
“Where did you hear that?”
“One of our reporters saw you at police headquarters this morning. So are you?”
“Am I what?”
“C’mon, Dad. Are you going to be working on the case or not?”
“I haven’t made a decision on that yet,” I answered. “As if I didn’t know, why do you ask?”
“Two reasons. First, if you’re thinking about going back to work for the department—which would be great, by the way—you should know what you’re getting into.”
“Everyone has been telling me that lately.”
“I’m not surprised. The story is showing signs of turning into a media firestorm, and Lauren says Network is planning a blitz if there are any new killings. Plus there’s a growing Muslim backlash, which could become an even bigger story than the murders. In the words of one of our news
anchors, this has the makings of a real shitstorm.”
“Nice talk, Ali. Thanks for making my day,” I added, deciding I now had one more reason not to get involved.
“A murder video was posted on the internet this morning, along with a list of demands,” Allison went on.
“Yeah, I heard that.”
“Have you watched it?”
“The video? Nope.”
“Take my advice. Don’t.”
“You said you had two reasons for calling?” I said, attempting to change the subject.
“Right,” Allison pushed ahead, sounding excited. “If you do get involved, I’m hoping that we could maybe cooperate a little, like before—without crossing ethical lines, of course.”
“Of course,” I said dryly.
“It’s worked for us in the past, Dad. And remember, cooperation can go both ways. It wouldn’t be the first time having a friendly ear in the media came in handy for you.”
“Ali, I haven’t decided yet whether I’m going to get involved, or if I do, to what extent. Can we talk about this later?”
“No problem. See you tonight at dinner?”
“You’re coming to the beach?” I asked. By then I had nearly reached the crime scene, and I started looking at street addresses.
“Mike left this morning for the shooting location in Vancouver. Grandma Dorothy took pity on me and invited me for dinner.”
“Okay, I’ll see you tonight,” I said, feeling a renewed surge of disapproval at Allison’s decision to cancel her honeymoon. I still thought she was screwing up, but as Catheryn used to say, at some point you have to let your kids ruin their own lives. “No promises, though,” I added. “We’ve had our problems with this ‘cooperation’ issue of yours in the past. We can talk, but one more screw-up from you—”