Free Allison (A Kane Novel) by Steve Gannon Page A

crime-scene van inching down the steep hillside.  Standing, he shoved his hands into his pockets.  Though his exam of the body had just begun, he was already certain of two things.  First, the killer had stored the body for some time before disposing of it.  Second, rather than simply burying the corpse, the killer had gone to great lengths to submerge it in water, most probably to ensure that no external physical evidence—hair, fibers, latent fingerprints, tissue under the fingernails, and so forth—remained to tie him to his victim.
    Kane knew he would spend the next hours with the SID crime unit and the coroner’s investigator directing a detailed examination of the corpse and coordinating a ground search of the reservoir area.  Everything would be done by the book.  That notwithstanding, he expected to find nothing useful.  And unless he were lucky, he knew that the autopsy would most likely prove useless too—which left canvassing the surrounding neighborhoods as the most promising avenue of investigation.  Given the concern for eliminating evidence that the killer had shown in disposing of his victim, Kane suspected that approach would also prove futile.
    As the SID van reached the bottom of the incline, Kane returned his gaze to the dead youngster, a child whom someone had abducted, murdered, and dumped like a sack of garbage.  Sickened by the sight, Kane’s thoughts turned inward, traveling back to the death of his oldest son in a rock-climbing accident several years past.  Tommy’s death had been a paralyzing, crushing, heartbreaking loss that Kane had eventually learned to accept, but one that he had never been able to reconcile.  Again, he wondered how anyone could treat a child with such malice.
    Though the odds were against him, Kane reaffirmed the vow he had made earlier, this time speaking aloud.  “Whoever did this to you, kid,” he promised softly, “I’m going to find him.”
     
    *        *        *
     
    CBS bureau chief Lauren Van Owen looked up at me from her desk.  “I’m happy to finally meet you, Allison.”
    Not trusting myself to speak, I glanced around the bureau chief’s office, struggling to control a rising tide of animosity.  Flanking Lauren’s desk, a rack of TV monitors, each tuned to a different station, covered an entire wall.  A large bulletin board took up another.  Beside the door, a narrow couch blocked part of a window that looked out into the newsroom.
    “I wasn’t sure you’d come,” the attractive blond seated behind the desk continued.
    “When I made the appointment, I didn’t know I would be seeing you,” I said, finally finding my voice.
    Lauren raised an eyebrow.  “But once you found out, you bulled ahead anyway.”
    “Something like that.”
    “You’re like your father in that respect.”  Lauren motioned with a hand toward the couch.  “Please sit down.”
    At the mention of my father, I felt a renewed rush of hostility.  “I didn’t come here to discuss my father.”
    “No.  You came here to confront the hussy who almost came between your parents—and possibly give her a piece of your mind.”
    I squared my shoulders.  “As a matter of fact, you’re right.”
    “Fair enough,” said Lauren, holding my eyes with hers.  “I don’t blame you.  I’m sure that like most young people, you see things only in black and white, with no confusing shades of gray.  So if that’s what you want, fine.  But first let me say that I’m not defending myself for what happened.  Back then I was a hungry reporter, and your father was . . . getting into a lot of trouble at work.  They were tough times for both of us, and what took place between us was a mistake.  A big mistake.  God knows we paid for it.”
    I hesitated, disarmed by Lauren’s candor.  The words I’d planned to spit at the woman who had carried on a brief but deeply hurtful affair with my father suddenly seemed inappropriate.  “I . . . I’m