Dead and Gone

by Tina Glasneck

  Settling into his leather armchair, Dr. Krüger flipped through the channels, as usual selecting CBS Evening News. On the screen, anchor Brent Preston was recapping the day’s events.

  “ . . . in the wake of an emotional plea made earlier today at the Crenshaw Christian FaithDome by LAPD Captain William Snead,” said the foppish blond anchor. “Captain Snead’s appeal was later rebroadcast throughout the day in an exclusive interview with CBS correspondent Allison Kane. Ella Snead’s badly beaten body was subsequently discovered in the seaside town of Del Mar, California. Ms. Snead has been missing for the past twenty-three days, purportedly abducted by a serial killer known as The Magpie. Following this morning’s gruesome discovery, another woman was reported missing from the nearby city of Encinitas. The woman, Ms. Lisa Brady, is assumed to be The Magpie’s latest victim.

  “In a related story, today police raided the home of Dr. Erich Krüger, prominent author, teacher, and expert witness in the field of criminalistics and forensic science. Sources inside LAPD revealed that Dr. Krüger is currently considered a person of interest in The Magpie murders. The result of their search is still pending.”

  With a practiced turn to a new camera angle, the self-absorbed correspondent replaced his somber expression with a banal smile. “In other news today—”

  Dr. Krüger thumbed the screen to darkness.

  The police had discovered nothing in his home, his vehicle, or at his office that could link him to his recent murders—or any crime, for that matter.

  How could they? Everything that could incriminate him was elsewhere.

  The authorities had nothing.

  Now that a new Magpie murder and abduction had turned up, the weekend surveillance of his home provided unassailable proof of his innocence. The authorities knew that—yet still they called him a person of interest?

  Dr. Krüger decided that someone would pay. Tomorrow morning he would file a multi-million dollar defamation lawsuit, in the action naming the San Diego Sheriff’s Department, the Los Angeles Police Department, and in particular, Detective Daniel Kane. Better still, he would file a second complaint citing police misconduct and the use of undue force, naming Detective Kane in that action as well.

  Still, Dr. Krüger’s reputation had been sullied. Money wasn’t enough.

  Pressing his palms to his temples, Dr. Krüger fought to control his anger. He couldn’t afford to succumb to it. Not now. Later, maybe . . . not now.

  Now, he had to think.

  How had they found him?

  With a shrug, Dr. Krüger decided for the moment to put aside that particular question. In time, the answer would come. For the present it was enough to know that it wasn’t a faceless organization that was tracking him. It wasn’t “they” who had found him.

  It was Kane.

  And somehow, Kane knew.

  Dr. Krüger returned to the bar and freshened his drink. Then, after turning off the house lights, he stepped outside to a large terrace overlooking the canyon. Sitting in the darkness, he thought long into the night, using a cold, detached logic that had served him well in times of crisis. And in the end, abandoning all pretense, delusion, and wishful thinking, he arrived at two pivotal realizations.

  The first was accompanied by the admission of an error. It had been a mistake for him to take a new victim. To establish his innocence, dumping Ella’s body during the period he was supposedly under surveillance would have been adequate. Abducting another woman had been unnecessary, and now she presented a problem: With the possibility of further surveillance, how to get rid of her?

  Before doing anything, of course, he needed to ensure he was no longer being watched.

  With any luck, his lawsuits would accomplish that.

  Nevertheless, Dr. Krüger realized he was now at risk. Kane knew. He might not be able to prove it, but he wasn’t going to give up, either. Despite Dr. Krüger’s triumph earlier that day, the time was quickly approaching when he would have to take corrective measures, and there was little time in which to decide what to do.

  A few days at most.

  Dr. Krüger’s second realization of the evening was of a considerably more pleasurable nature. Over the past hours, as he sat alone in the darkness, one thing had become increasingly clear: Kane was the source of his problems—all of them.

  And for that, Detective Kane would pay.

  Not right away. No, for now Dr. Krüger would have to satisfy himself with legal action. That, and disgracing Kane in the media.

  But later, when the dust had settled . . .

  And with that thought, Dr. Krüger felt the throbbing in his temples beginning to abate.

  But was killing Kane enough?

  Weeks ago Dr. Krüger had seen Kane’s news-correspondent daughter on television, and again today when she was interviewing Captain Snead.

  What was her name?

  Allison?

  That was it.

  Allison Kane.

  Dr. Krüger suddenly realized how best to extract his revenge.

  36

  Finish It

  Dorothy turned to me from the kitchen sink, where she was busy rinsing our dinner dishes. “So what are you going to do?” she asked.

  I was sitting at our kitchen table, staring glumly out the window. For the first time in recent memory, I wished I still drank. “I honestly don’t know,” I sighed.

  After the discovery of Ella’s body, the next morning had begun badly, starting with an emergency meeting at PAB. With the exception of Captain Snead, everyone involved in the investigation and the ill-fated search of Dr. Krüger’s residence had been present in Chief Ingram’s office. The meeting started promptly at 8:00 a.m., after which it had quickly degenerated into a free-for-all of accusation and finger-pointing.

  Needless to say, many of those fingers were pointed at me.

  Ella’s nude corpse had been discovered in the oceanside city of Del Mar, her arms and legs wired to a nature-sanctuary fence. Earlier, a photo of Ella had been posted on the web, uploaded from an internet hotspot in nearby Encinitas. Across the bottom of the picture, the killer had added the words, “Miss July.” Although the photo hadn’t shown Ella’s badly beaten face, her body was displayed overlooking a well-known section of beach in North Bluff Preserve, which had eventually led to her discovery.

  In addition, following a midnight screening of The Rocky Horror Picture Show at the La Paloma Theater in Encinitas, a young woman working there as an usher had gone missing. Unfortunately, the police surveillance of Dr. Krüger, the estimated time of Ella’s death, and the early-morning posting of the internet photo in Encinitas provided the good doctor with an unassailable alibi.

  Nevertheless, I knew that wasn’t the case.

  About halfway through the PAB meeting, Strickland turned to me and demanded, “Kane, what the hell were you thinking? You were supposed to be investigating cold case strangulations, not a homicide that was closed decades ago—a murder for which someone had already been convicted and is now serving time. Care to explain yourself?”

  “Yes, sir,” I began. “Working under the assumption that the killer might have left evidence in an earlier murder, I contacted Detective Aken and began examining previous strangulation cases that might be related. Even though the murder of Darlene Mayfield was closed years back, Dr. Krüger’s DNA turned up on the necktie garrote found around Darlene’s throat.”

  “He was her graduate advisor, Kane. They passed papers back and forth, she touched the doorknob to his office, and so on. She could have transferred traces of his DNA to her own throat in a hundred different ways. That evidence would never stand up in court.”

  “But coupled with the connection to Krüger’s textbook—”

  “Bullshit. The killer could have intentionally left the textbook trail for us to follow, just like the voice-changer lead that drew us into a firetrap at Trabuco Canyon. Plus, do I really need to point out that Dr. Krüger was under airtight surveillance for the entire time the real killer was d
umping Ella’s body and abducting another victim?” Strickland glared at Aken, then back at me. “It’s clear where your off-the-reservation thinking got us. Both of you. And to top things off, Kane—you assaulted Dr. Krüger. Jesus.”

  Earlier that morning, Krüger’s attorney had called a press conference, announcing that Dr. Krüger was filing a multi-million dollar defamation and unreasonable search-and-seizure lawsuit against the LAPD, the San Diego County Sheriff’s Department, and in particular, Detective Daniel Kane. The attorney had added that Dr. Krüger would also be filing a criminal complaint against the same Detective Kane, citing police brutality and the use of excessive force.

  “That dirtbag is our guy,” I muttered.

  “And you’re basing that on what? Your gut, again?”

  “Sir, Dr. Krüger could have slipped the Sheriff’s surveillance. There’s a trail—”

  “—down the back of Krüger’s residence and into the canyon below,” Strickland scoffed. “Then what? Krüger hitchhiked to his next murder?”

  “Maybe he has the van stashed nearby.”

  “But he doesn’t, does he? DMV records show that Dr. Krüger owns only one vehicle, and it isn’t an Astro van.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Another thing. If Krüger is ‘our guy,’ as you claim, where was he holding Ella? It sure as hell wasn’t in his house. Your search there and at his office didn’t turn up one piece of usable evidence, did it?”

  I didn’t have an answer for that, at least not one I liked.

  At that point I noticed Strickland glance toward Chief Ingram. Tipping his head, Ingram nodded. I would like to think that he did so reluctantly. Either way, the result was the same.

  “Detective Kane,” Strickland continued, “pending the outcome of an Internal Affairs investigation into the excessive-force complaint filed by Dr. Krüger, you are confined to desk duty until further notice. Also effective immediately, your participation in The Magpie investigation is terminated. RHD will assume responsibility for your involvement in the case.”

  “But—”

  “Kane, shut the hell up and consider yourself fortunate not to be on disciplinary suspension as well. That goes for you too, Detective Aken.”

  “Sir, can we at least maintain some surveillance on Krüger?” I suggested. “Maybe another week? I’m telling you, that mutt is our guy.”

  Strickland shook his head. “And have the highly respected Dr. Krüger file an additional lawsuit for police harassment? Not going to happen.”

  And from there, although I didn’t think it possible, things at the meeting got worse.

  Later, upon exiting PAB, I was confronted by a horde of reporters yelling questions I couldn’t answer. “How do you respond to the charge of police brutality, Detective Kane?” yelled one. “When will LAPD find the real Magpie, Detective Kane?” called another. “Detective Kane, as lead detective on the UCLA murder, did your errors on the case contribute to the death of Ella Snead?”

  To all, I gave the same response: “No comment.”

  But now, as I thought back over the day, it was the final question that had bothered me the most. If I’d acted sooner, maybe Snead’s daughter would still be alive.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” asked Nate, regarding me from across the kitchen table.

  “Thanks, kid,” I said, attempting a smile. “I wish there were, but I have to handle this on my own.”

  “You’re not, uh . . .”

  I shook my head. “I’ll be fine, Nate. Don’t worry, I’m not going to do anything stupid.”

  “Good. One emotionally disturbed family member is enough,” said Nate. Although he smiled when he said it, I knew he sensed how far I had slipped.

  “Speaking of which, don’t forget our appointment with Dr. Berns on Wednesday. Maybe we can get a two-for-one,” I suggested, trying to lighten the mood.

  “Maybe,” Nate chuckled. Then, yawning, “Well, time for me to hit the sack. Hang in there, Dad, okay?”

  “I will. ’Night, Nate.”

  “Goodnight, Dad. ’Night, Grandma.”

  After he had left, Dorothy said, “Nate is certainly becoming a fine young man.”

  “He is,” I agreed.

  “Catheryn would be proud of him.”

  “She would. By the way, has he said anything to you about skipping college?”

  “And applying to the police academy? Yes, he has.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I told him that if he were serious about a career in law-enforcement, he would be better served by first getting a college education. I also told him he needed to discuss it with you.”

  “Good. I’ll straighten him out on that.”

  “Remember it’s his decision, Dan.”

  “I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

  Dorothy paused. Then, “Even with all that’s going on, Catheryn would be proud of you, too,” she said. “You know that, right?”

  I felt a lump rise in my throat. I looked away, not trusting myself to speak.

  “You were mentioned in the news today,” Dorothy pushed on. “Regarding your involvement in the investigation.”

  I looked away. “Grim.”

  “It wasn’t fair of your superiors to throw you under the bus like that.”

  “The brass will always do what’s best for the department. Always have, always will.”

  “I suppose,” said Dorothy. “Nevertheless, it’s surprising how quickly things can turn. Two months ago you were a hero.”

  “Those days seem to be gone. Now I have an appointment to appear with my Police Protective League attorney at an Internal Affairs inquiry.”

  “Is that what has you down?”

  “Not really. I can handle Internal Affairs. I just keep thinking about Ella Snead and what she went through.”

  “That poor girl. I can’t imagine what this must be doing to her family.”

  I stared at my hands. “If I had acted sooner, she might still be alive.”

  “You can’t think that way, Dan.”

  “I can’t help it. Making things worse, I know who killed her—and I can’t do a damn thing about it.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m off the case and riding a desk. Maybe the time has finally come for me to turn in my shield.”

  “After more than twenty years on the force, would you really just quit?”

  “I’ve thought about it, Dorothy. I have. But the truth is, I’m not certain I could.”

  “Because this is more than just a job for you, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, it is,” I admitted. “I can’t let this thing with Ella stand. What that monster is doing, all the people he’s hurt . . . I can’t just walk away.”

  For a long moment, Dorothy remained silent. Then, “Have you thought about your promise to me?”

  “About what to do with my life?” I shook my head. “Sorry. I’ve been kinda busy.”

  “Then tell me this. What are you going to do now?”

  I hesitated. “I already told you. I’m not sure.”

  Dorothy regarded me closely. “When you started this investigation, you committed to finishing it, didn’t you?”

  I nodded.

  “No matter the cost?”

  I nodded again. “No matter the cost.”

  “Even if it meant ending your career?”

  “That, too.”

  “Then finish it.”

  37

  War Council

  The next morning, upon arriving at the station, I found Taylor, Deluca, and Lieutenant Long already present in the squad room.

  “Rough night?” asked Taylor as I dropped into a chair at my desk.

  “Didn’t get much sleep,” I admitted wearily, running my fingers through my hair. “Is it that obvious?”

  “Stay away from mirrors, paisano,” advised Deluca. “Actually, you might want to avoid watching the news, too.”

  On the drive in from Malibu, I had caught some of the latest coverage
on the radio. My name had been prominently mentioned, and not in a good way. Worse, a knot of reporters had been camped out in front of the station when I arrived—undoubtedly bursting with questions designed to add to my disgrace. Cursing under my breath, I had dodged them by parking in a gated lot behind the building.

  “We need to talk,” said Long. “Let’s take it someplace private.”

  We followed Long into his office. After he had closed the door, I sat at a table opposite his desk. Taylor and Deluca joined me. Dropping into a swivel chair behind his workstation, Long regarded me for several seconds. “I know you, Kane,” he said. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

  “Krüger killed Ella Snead. He’s not going to get away with it.”

  “You’re sure it’s Krüger?”

  “I am. I’m not certain how he pulled it off, but Ella’s blood is on his hands, along with the blood of a lot of others, including our SWAT officers. I’m absolutely sure of it.”

  Long hesitated another moment. Then, seeming to come to a decision, “Dan, I trust your instincts. Where do we go from here?”

  “Thanks, Lieutenant, but there’s no ‘we’ in this. Just me.”

  “Wrong, partner,” said Deluca. “I’m in.”

  “Paul, running a parallel investigation on RHD’s case is grounds for censure, maybe even dismissal. I have to do this on my own.”

  “Wrong,” said Taylor. “I’m in, too.”

  “Taylor, you don’t want to screw up a promising Bureau career by—”

  “We talked about this before you arrived,” Long broke in. “Like I said, I trust your instincts. We all do, and we all want the man who killed our officers and murdered Snead’s daughter as much as you do. The way things are looking, I don’t think our guys downtown are going to get him.”