Read Online Allison (A Kane Novel) by Steve Gannon - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Steve Gannon
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gate. “Detective Daniel Kane, West L.A. homicide,” he said, flipping out his ID.
The young officer checked Kane’s credentials, made an entry in his notebook, and waved him past. As Kane drove in, he noticed a heavy chain and a number of interlinked padlocks dangling from the gate.
The dirt fire road swung right, then steepened as it continued up the slope. Kane’s late-model Ford, one of several “city cars” assigned to the West L.A. homicide unit, began to strain, its wheels slipping on loose gravel. After several hair-raising curves, Kane surmounted a steep rise. There, the road forked. To the right it proceeded higher into the mountains. To the left, several hundred yards down a steep incline, lay the blue surface of Encino reservoir, enclosed within a second chain-link fence. Unlike the outer perimeter fence ringing several square miles of mountain hillside, the inner fence ran a mere twenty yards from the water’s edge. Within this secondary barrier Kane spotted three more patrol cars, two unmarked vehicles, and a gray van with a Department of Water and Power logo on the side.
Pumping the brakes, Kane eased his Ford down toward the reservoir. Finally reaching more level ground, he entered an open gate in the inner fence, arriving at a flat section of shoreline. There, beyond the parked cars and a loose knot of men, he saw the nude body of a young girl sprawled at the water’s edge.
Kane turned off the engine and stepped from his vehicle. One of the men in the group saw him and started over. As the man neared, Kane recognized the round face and bulldog bearing of Carl Peyron. The ranking detective for the West L.A. Major Assault Crimes unit, Peyron had drawn the Jordan French abduction case weeks before. Kane knew that for lack of evidence, Peyron had made little progress to date on the investigation. Kane also knew that situation was about to change.
“Morning, Kane,” Peyron wheezed when he arrived. “Make that afternoon,” he corrected, squinting at the sun.
“How’s it going, Carl?” Kane replied, noting beads of perspiration glistening on Peyron’s forehead, a faint trace of Maalox ringing his lips. “A bit far from home, aren’t you?”
Peyron, a stocky Hispanic in his late thirties, mopped his brow with a crumpled handkerchief. “Yeah. Now I recall why I transferred out of the valley.”
Kane smiled. “Me, too.” Then, his smile fading, “Is it her?”
Peyron nodded somberly. “It’s her. The body’s been in the water for some time, but you can still tell it’s Jordan French.” Peyron glanced toward the men assembled a dozen yards from the body. “The Van Nuys guys who first responded recognized her and contacted us, because they knew we were handling the abduction. Needless to say, they’re more than happy to let West L.A. take over, especially now that it’s turned into a homicide. Unless the parents want to involve the Feds, it’s all yours.”
Kane knew that although LAPD detectives had jurisdiction over the investigation of Jordan’s abduction and murder, the FBI could be brought in by request to assist in the kidnap portion of the case. It was an option that neither Jordan’s parents nor LAPD authorities had pursued to date, and that’s the way Kane wanted it to stay, having had problems in the past with what he considered unnecessary FBI interference.
Kane turned toward the shoreline. “Who found her?”
“DWP workers who were surveying for some water-quality improvement project. Seems they’re upgrading all open reservoirs in the system.”
“Make sure those guys stick around. I want to talk to them.” Kane thought a moment. “Where was she found? On the bank?”
“Floating a few yards offshore. One of the survey guys dragged her in.”
“Anybody else touch her?”
“According to the first officers to arrive, no.”
“The DWP crew had to unlock that gate at the street to
The young officer checked Kane’s credentials, made an entry in his notebook, and waved him past. As Kane drove in, he noticed a heavy chain and a number of interlinked padlocks dangling from the gate.
The dirt fire road swung right, then steepened as it continued up the slope. Kane’s late-model Ford, one of several “city cars” assigned to the West L.A. homicide unit, began to strain, its wheels slipping on loose gravel. After several hair-raising curves, Kane surmounted a steep rise. There, the road forked. To the right it proceeded higher into the mountains. To the left, several hundred yards down a steep incline, lay the blue surface of Encino reservoir, enclosed within a second chain-link fence. Unlike the outer perimeter fence ringing several square miles of mountain hillside, the inner fence ran a mere twenty yards from the water’s edge. Within this secondary barrier Kane spotted three more patrol cars, two unmarked vehicles, and a gray van with a Department of Water and Power logo on the side.
Pumping the brakes, Kane eased his Ford down toward the reservoir. Finally reaching more level ground, he entered an open gate in the inner fence, arriving at a flat section of shoreline. There, beyond the parked cars and a loose knot of men, he saw the nude body of a young girl sprawled at the water’s edge.
Kane turned off the engine and stepped from his vehicle. One of the men in the group saw him and started over. As the man neared, Kane recognized the round face and bulldog bearing of Carl Peyron. The ranking detective for the West L.A. Major Assault Crimes unit, Peyron had drawn the Jordan French abduction case weeks before. Kane knew that for lack of evidence, Peyron had made little progress to date on the investigation. Kane also knew that situation was about to change.
“Morning, Kane,” Peyron wheezed when he arrived. “Make that afternoon,” he corrected, squinting at the sun.
“How’s it going, Carl?” Kane replied, noting beads of perspiration glistening on Peyron’s forehead, a faint trace of Maalox ringing his lips. “A bit far from home, aren’t you?”
Peyron, a stocky Hispanic in his late thirties, mopped his brow with a crumpled handkerchief. “Yeah. Now I recall why I transferred out of the valley.”
Kane smiled. “Me, too.” Then, his smile fading, “Is it her?”
Peyron nodded somberly. “It’s her. The body’s been in the water for some time, but you can still tell it’s Jordan French.” Peyron glanced toward the men assembled a dozen yards from the body. “The Van Nuys guys who first responded recognized her and contacted us, because they knew we were handling the abduction. Needless to say, they’re more than happy to let West L.A. take over, especially now that it’s turned into a homicide. Unless the parents want to involve the Feds, it’s all yours.”
Kane knew that although LAPD detectives had jurisdiction over the investigation of Jordan’s abduction and murder, the FBI could be brought in by request to assist in the kidnap portion of the case. It was an option that neither Jordan’s parents nor LAPD authorities had pursued to date, and that’s the way Kane wanted it to stay, having had problems in the past with what he considered unnecessary FBI interference.
Kane turned toward the shoreline. “Who found her?”
“DWP workers who were surveying for some water-quality improvement project. Seems they’re upgrading all open reservoirs in the system.”
“Make sure those guys stick around. I want to talk to them.” Kane thought a moment. “Where was she found? On the bank?”
“Floating a few yards offshore. One of the survey guys dragged her in.”
“Anybody else touch her?”
“According to the first officers to arrive, no.”
“The DWP crew had to unlock that gate at the street to
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