Dead and Gone

by Tina Glasneck

  In passing, it was noted that Detective Daniel Kane had been cleared of any wrongdoing, and that Internal Affairs Group was dropping its inquiry into his alleged use of excessive force.

  Although I subsequently learned that my unauthorized investigation of Dr. Krüger had been retroactively “approved” by Chief Ingram, I was still uncertain what the long-term result of my insubordination would be. In the meantime, I had received heartfelt messages of appreciation from the families and teammates of the murdered SWAT officers.

  And for me, that was enough.

  For their work on the case, Lieutenant Nelson Long and Detective Paul Deluca received Meritorious Service Medals. Special Agent Sara Taylor was honored by the Bureau for outstanding initiative displayed during the course of the investigation, along with a bump in pay.

  And I was good with that, too.

  On another positive note, I had heard that Brian Shea would be petitioning for a retrial in the murder of Darlene Mayfield. Detective Aken and I assured Brian’s new attorney that we were both more than willing to testify on Brian’s behalf.

  “You okay, Dad?”

  I turned, finding Allison regarding me with a look of concern.

  “I’m fine,” I replied. “Just thinking . . .”

  “Thinking, huh? By now you should have learned your lesson on that,” Allison joked, shifting Katie in her arms. “Here, take your granddaughter.”

  “With pleasure,” I replied. “Hey, you gorgeous little bundle of joy,” I murmured, smiling as Allison handed Katie to me. “Are you going to give your mom as much grief as she gave me?”

  Though Katie was barely months old, I swear she smiled back.

  “Let’s hope not,” Allison laughed. Then, glancing around at the party preparations, “Thanks again for all this. It’s been a while.”

  “You’re welcome, Ali. And yeah, it has,” I agreed, returning my gaze to the beach.

  Travis, who had been invited to conduct a performance of the LA Phil’s Youth Orchestra the following week, had flown in early with McKenzie for Ali’s party. Wearing swimsuits, they were down by the water sailing a Frisbee back and forth with Nate and McKenzie’s younger sister, Nancy, and Christy White, my son Tommy’s girlfriend at the time of his death. Callie, racing along the ocean’s edge, was retrieving missed tosses and doing her canine best to join in.

  “I also appreciate your giving me that Magpie exclusive,” Allison continued. “It put me on the media map. Permanently.”

  “I’m glad, Ali. You deserve it.”

  “You heard about Krüger, right?”

  “I did,” I said, having listened to a news report that morning stating that Dr. Krüger had died the previous evening, succumbing to sepsis and multi-organ failure at the UCI Burn Center. “Nice of him to save us the cost of a trial.”

  “He won’t be missed,” Allison agreed. “All the people he hurt . . .”

  “Roger that.”

  Not all of Krüger’s Black Mountain Ranch property had been destroyed in the blaze. A number of items had eventually been recovered, including a computer server that fire crews managed to save. Bureau techs eventually broke Krüger’s security protocols, and the material contained on the hard drive proved both heartbreaking and chilling. In addition to chronicling the deaths of the seven “calendar girl” women who had died in Krüger’s basement since January, other videos detailed the torture and demise of thirty-one additional young women—all perishing at Krüger's hand. Though there may have been more, it was hoped their identification would bring the associated families some sort of closure, as painful as it might be.

  “I don’t know whether I told you, but Network offered me the New York anchor position—again,” Allison went on.

  “Huh. What did you tell them this time?”

  Allison smiled. “I told them I was perfectly happy being a working mom right here in L.A. Which I am.”

  “I’m sure that decision went over well with Mike.”

  “It did,” Allison replied. “Moving would be a mistake for him. His career in L.A. is really taking off. He’s going to be the director of photography on Tom Grant’s next feature,” she added proudly, referring to an Academy Award winning actor who was also a family friend.

  “That’s wonderful, Ali. I can’t tell you how happy I am that you and Mike and Katie will be sticking around. I’d have missed you if you left.”

  “Me, too.”

  Again glancing at the beach, I watched as McKenzie snagged a wild toss by Nate, diving to grab the Frisbee just before it disappeared in waist-deep water. Laughing, McKenzie backhanded the Frisbee to Travis, ducked under an approaching wave, swept back her hair upon resurfacing, and waded to shore.

  “Anything new on your novel?” I asked, gently rocking Katie in my arms.

  Allison brightened. “Mac sold it to one of the major houses. I’m going to be swamped with rewrites for the next few months. The publisher wants it out by Christmas, hoping to piggyback the book launch on my Magpie notoriety.”

  “Got a title yet?”

  “Nope.”

  “Well, good luck on that,” I said, noticing Taylor—who was carrying a towel, a large glass dish, and a beach chair—making her way down our side stairway. Smiling, I returned Katie to Allison, placing her back in my daughter’s arms. “See you in a bit. There’s someone I want to talk to.”

  Allison, who had also spotted Taylor, smiled back. “Say hi for me. Tell her I’ll look her up after I feed Katie.”

  “I will.”

  Wearing dark glasses, sandals, and a sundress that showed off her tanned legs, Taylor paused at the bottom of the stairs. Then, threading her way across the crowded deck, she began making her way toward the beach, turning male heads all the way to the seawall.

  Wading through a knot of LAPD officers struggling to tap one of the beer kegs, I intercepted her near the food tables.

  “Hey, Kane,” she said with a grin. “Glad to see the bandages are off.”

  “Me, too. Damn, Taylor, I almost didn’t recognize you in street clothes,” I noted as she raised on her toes to kiss my cheek. “You look like a movie star.”

  “High praise,” Taylor laughed, executing a coquettish twirl that exposed a brief flash of thigh.

  “Bring a swimsuit?”

  She nodded, adding her potluck offering to the dishes already present on the food tables. “Have it on underneath. Potato salad,” she continued, noticing my glance at her casserole. “My mom’s recipe.”

  “I’ll be sure to give it a try.”

  “You’ll love it, I guarantee.” Turning, Taylor surveyed the throng of partygoers already on the beach. “I didn’t realize the celebration was going to be this big,” she said, seeming surprised.

  I laughed. “Hell, this thing is just getting started.”

  Past the seawall, several of Trav’s friends were erecting our volleyball court—setting the posts deep in the sand and chaining down the corners of the boundary ropes—a summer task I had neglected during the investigation. Closer to the water, other celebrants were lounging on towels and beach chairs, while in a bid to escape the sizzling sand, a number of the younger attendees had swum to the raft. At least a dozen were crowded atop the ten-by-ten deck, with a half-dozen more hanging onto the sides, waiting their turn to board.

  “Volleyball, huh?” said Taylor, eyeing the court.

  “You play?”

  Taylor nodded. “A little.”

  “Good. See you out there later on the sand,” I said, noticing that the LAPD beer-tapping project was about to go terribly awry. “Right now I have a problem to attend to.”

  “A quick question before you go.”

  I turned back.

  “I have some time off next week, and I’m heading up to the Kern River with a few dirtbag friends,” said Taylor. “Get out of town, do some kayaking, camping, hanging out. Should be fun.”

  “Dirtbag friends?”

  Taylor smiled. “If you’re a kayaker, that’s a good
thing. Anyway, I thought Nate might want to get in a little more boating before school starts. There are several sections of whitewater I could guide him down, but I wanted to check with you before asking.”

  “If Nate wants to go, I’m all for it. Invite him.”

  “I will. Want to join us?” Sensing my hesitation, Taylor added, “No strings, Kane. If you want, I could find you a boat and some gear, maybe show you a few things on the river. Think about it.”

  “Thanks, Sara. I will.”

  Hours later, thanks to a steadily falling tide, a broad expanse of sand now extended to the water’s edge, and Ali’s party shifted into full swing. By then nearly two hundred additional guests had swelled our ranks, with a river of people still making their way down the outside stairway.

  Taylor’s claim that she played “a little” volleyball proved an understatement. It turned out she had competed in high school for the state-ranked Salmon River Savages, and together she and I held winners on the v-ball court for over an hour—finally getting knocked off by Travis and McKenzie.

  As shadows lengthened, Travis, Ali’s husband Mike, my cold-case pal Jerry Aken, and Jerry’s daughter Madison started tending the barbeques—grilling a savory assortment of chops, ribs, steaks, burgers, and chicken. Meanwhile, upstairs in the kitchen, Dorothy, Allison, and Taylor began overseeing the heating of enough casseroles to feed an army. In addition, the serving tables on our deck were overflowing with salads, fruits, melons, corn on the cob, and a selection of cheesecakes, pies, brownies, and tarts.

  At that point most of my LAPD associates had shown up, including Deluca, Banowski, and Lieutenant Long—the only member of the brass who had been invited. My ex-partner Arnie and his longtime girlfriend, Stacy, also joined our ranks. Even Lou Barrello, a retired detective friend from Orange County, motored down in his charter boat from Oxnard, tying up to the raft and swimming ashore to join the festivities. With considerable effort, I dragged several of the rowdy police group away from the beer kegs long enough to have them assist in setting up the tables and folding chairs on the sand.

  Many of Catheryn’s LA Phil associates, among them fellow cellist Adele Washington and family, Trav’s first piano teacher Alexander Petrinski, and a score of Philharmonic musicians joined the party as well, gathering in sedate groups beneath the upper balcony. Mike’s L.A. film crew, including cinematographer friend Don Sturgess and actors Tom and Rita Grant, laid claim to a spot near the sea wall, joined there by Roger Zemo, who would be directing Tom’s next movie. Also adding to our group as dinner hour approached, a number of Allison’s CBS associates, including bureau chief Lauren Van Owen and others, assumed a strategic section of deck near the bar. And finally, near the water’s edge, a troop of youngsters—their tireless ranks accompanied by a sandy, scruffy, joyous Callie—still splashed in the shallows.

  As I stood surveying the party, I spotted Taylor across a throng of partiers crowding the deck. Holding Katie in her arms, she was standing with Dorothy and Allison, laughing at something Ali had just said. I caught Taylor’s eye and smiled. Raising a hand to her hair, she lifted her head and smiled back. And as she did, I was struck by the unexpected thought that I was intimately connected, in some way or another, with almost everyone present that day. They were an important, integral part of my life, as I was of theirs.

  Nevertheless, until then the celebration had seemed a bit fragmented, with various groups sequestered in separate enclaves here and there. With a late-hour influx of neighbors from the beach suddenly ballooning our ranks, the party abruptly coalesced, with celebrants now jammed shoulder-to-shoulder into one huge, homogenous organism. And that organism was hungry.

  It was time to eat.

  Later, with dessert and the appearance of Allison’s birthday cake, came an endless round of toasts. I stood on an ice chest and added to them, wishing both Nate and Allison a happy birthday and many more to come, as well as thanking Ali for giving our family a grandchild. Last, Coke in hand, I asked everyone to raise a glass with me to the next generation, expressing the hope that we might turn over the world to them in better shape than we had found it.

  Afterward, as was usual for me at parties like that, the remainder of the evening flew past in a blur, with there never seeming to be enough time to talk with everyone.

  Our last guest departed around 1:00 a.m. Dorothy and I were the last ones up. Leftovers stowed in the fridge, we were spending a final few minutes picking up trash on the beach before the dogs and birds could spread it around the following morning.

  With the final garbage bag filled, I took a break before going to bed. To the east, rising above the glow of Santa Monica, a waning moon was illuminating the ocean in shimmering flashes of silver. Sitting on the seawall, I stared into the coals of a fire guttering in a pit several yards distant. I had purposely skipped building a bonfire for the celebration, having experienced enough blazes over the past month to last a lifetime. Nevertheless, following dessert Travis and several of his friends had gathered driftwood and built one anyway—claiming that a beach party without a bonfire was just plain wrong.

  “Great celebration, Dan,” said Dorothy, joining me on the seawall.

  “It was. I think Ali really enjoyed it,” I replied. “Nate, too.”

  Dorothy kicked off her sandals, digging her toes into the cool sand at the base of the wall. “I know they did. We all did.”

  With the setting of the sun, the offshore breeze had died. The air was now still, with the lapping of waves against the shore the only sound in the night. “I don’t think I’ll ever eat again,” Dorothy continued with a grin.

  “I hear you,” I laughed, once again struck by how much Dorothy reminded me of Catheryn, especially when she smiled.

  “That was a nice toast you made to Ali.”

  “A little more upbeat than the one I gave at her wedding.”

  “Yes, it was.”

  “Times have changed.”

  Dorothy turned toward me. “For the better?”

  I hesitated, realizing that for the first time since Catheryn’s death, I felt at peace. “For the better,” I said.

  “Good.” Dorothy paused. Then, “Dan, the last time we talked seriously, I pushed you pretty hard. I did it for a reason.”

  “I know.”

  “You were choked with guilt over what happened to Catheryn. I told you it wasn’t your fault, remember?”

  “I do. And I said that that if it hadn’t been for me, she would still be alive.”

  “You did. I let that go because at the time I didn’t think you were ready to hear what I had to say.”

  “And now?”

  “Now I think you are.” Dorothy found my eyes with hers. “Of course Catheryn’s death was because of you—at least to some extent. It was a result of your job. You didn’t pull the trigger, but you inadvertently put Catheryn in the line of fire. There’s no getting around that. But that’s something for which everyone has forgiven you, if they ever blamed you at all. Now you need to forgive yourself.”

  “I’m not sure I can.”

  “You have to, Dan. Otherwise it will consume you.”

  “What about you, Dorothy? Do you forgive me?”

  “There is nothing to forgive. It was just life. And if Catheryn were here, she wouldn’t blame you, either, not even a little—nor would she change one minute of her time spent with you. What’s more, now that she’s gone, she wouldn’t want you to be so alone. That’s the truth in all this.”

  I looked away, gazing out over the moonlit beach. “So where do I go from here?”

  “I told you earlier, but you couldn’t hear me then,” Dorothy replied. “Maybe now you can. Your guilt over Catheryn’s death will never go away. Never. Nor will the pain of losing Tommy. Those feelings will always be with you, Dan. In time, they will simply become a part of who you are.”

  I nodded, remembering that at Catheryn’s grave, I had once said something similar to my children.

  “I also told you that the imp
ortant thing for you now is to find hope and meaning and possibly even joy in life, even when things go wrong,” Dorothy continued. “Can you do that?”

  “I want to,” I said.

  “Then that’s a start,” said Dorothy, again finding my eyes with hers. “While we’re on the subject, you made me a promise.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you remember what it was?”

  “I promised to take a long look at my life, decide what was truly important, and commit to it.”

  “And have you?”

  Again I nodded, realizing that during my last visit to Catheryn’s grave, I had.

  Dorothy smiled. “Good,” she said. Then, placing her arms around my neck, she gave me a hug.

  “Aren’t you going to ask?”

  “About how you’re going to go on with your life, and what you plan to do concerning your career, and how you’re going make everything all right?” Dorothy shook her head. “No, Dan, I’m not. After all these years, I don’t need to ask.”

  “Why not?”

  Still holding my eyes with hers, Dorothy smiled. “Because after all these years,” she said gently, “I already know.”

  The End

  Want to visit some more with Detective Daniel Kane and family? Read A Song for the Asking, the breakout bestseller that launched the Kane Novel Series.

  To contact Steve Gannon, read his full bio, receive updates on new releases, or to check out his videos and blogs, visit Steve’s website at stevegannonauthor.com

  About the Author

  Steve Gannon is the author of the bestselling Kane Novels, which launched with A Song for the Asking, first published by Bantam Books. Gannon divides his time between Italy and Idaho, living in two of the most beautiful places on earth. In Idaho he spends his days skiing, whitewater kayaking, and writing. In Italy Gannon also continues to write, while enjoying the Italian people, food, history, and culture, and learning the Italian language. He is married to concert pianist Susan Spelius Gannon.