If Angels Fall (tom reed and walt sydowski)

by Rick Mofina

  The last thing he touched.

  Suddenly the model fighters suspended from the ceilingbegan trembling, the shop windows vibrating. Quake? No. A chopper was circling.Reed overheard someone say they had a partial description of the suspect’s vanfrom a clerk at the bakery nearby. The pounding intensified when the dooropened. Merle Rust and a posse of FBI agents arrived, flashing ID’s, assumingcommand, from Berkeley PD, going to Dempsey’s video. Sydowski, Turgeon, and afew others dicks from the task force were with them. Sydowski put his large,warm hand on Reed’s shoulder, just like Reed’s old man used to do whenever Reedlost a little league game.

  “Hang in there, Tom. We’re going to need your help.”

  Reed swallowed, then told them. “It’s Edward Keller.It’s been him all along. I met him for a story” — Sydowski and Turgeon triedto interrupt him, but he continued — “his three children drowned. He’s areligious psychotic — thinks he can resurrect them. I was secretly researchinghim. My paper found out before I was finished and fired me. Keller asked if Ihad a son. I never suspected. I–I - I think he’s going to drown … theFarallons where he lost his kids!”

  “Tom, Tom, Tom!” Linda Turgeon’s compassionate eyesoffered comfort. “We know it’s Keller.”

  “We found out this morning. I called you,” Sydowskisaid. “We need you to help us get him.”

  “Martin! Dr. Kate Martin, did you try — ”

  Sydowski nodded. “She told us everything she knew.Tom, what did you find out? Addresses? Relatives? Anything?”

  “Okay,” Rust said from the counter where the FBI andSFPD people huddled around the video monitor. “It’s ready.”

  Reed watched the videotape again. Then FBI SpecialAgent Rust turned to him. “You’re certain that man is Edward Keller?”

  “Yes,” Reed said. “All the information I have on himis at the paper. Keller lost his kids near the Farallons and made pilgrimagesthere from Half Moon Bay with a guy named Reimer.”

  “The Coast Guard’s been alerted. They’re watching theislands. We’ve got a team going to Half Moon Bay now and local people therehave been alerted,” Sydowski said. “Let’s go, Tom. Merle, we’re going to the Starnews department.

  “Okay, first, Tom, give us all the addresses Zach knows,so we can put people there in case he escapes or tries to call.”

  Their home in the Sunset, his room in Sea Park, Jeffand Gordie’s houses, Ann’s mother’s on Fulton, Rust wrote it down.

  “Let’s get going, Tom.” Sydowski took his arm.

  “I have to talk to Ann.”

  Dempsey’s back room was a moldy storage closet. Boxesof ancient model cars, planes, and ships teetered near the ceiling. There was acoffee-stained sink, a hot plate, a small table, and a door to a toilet. Theair reeked of cardboard, cigarettes, and loneliness. Ann sat at the tableacross from Pender staring at pictures of Zach.

  “Ann,” Reed said.

  She did not acknowledge him. The floor creaked when hesquatted down and took her unresponsive hand.

  “Ann, I have to go with the police. I have informationthat could help us find Zach. It’s at the paper. Ann?”

  She was not there.

  Watching her and Reed, Pender said, “Crisis people arecoming.”

  “Ann, I’ll bring him home, I swear. I swear to you.”

  Reed tried to hug her, but it was awkward. She did notreact until he started to leave. She lunged from her chair at him, crushing hisneck in her arms, filling him with pain, love, and courage.

  ***

  Sydowski and Turgeon shielded Reed from the tangle ofreporters and photographers waiting outside the hobby shop. He recognized someof them and instinctively stopped. Sydowski pushed him into the backseat of anunmarked Caprice. Familiar voices hurled questions.

  “C’mon Reed, just give us something!”

  “Tom, please just make a statement.”

  “Is it really your son? Give us a break.”

  One guy smacked the car in frustration. Reed imaginedhim returning to the newsroom, telling editors, as he himself had done manytimes, “I couldn’t get anything good — the father wouldn’t talk to us.”Cameras pressed against the glass, their eyes probing, invading.

  Wait until it happens to you.

  Turgeon drove. The dash-mounted cherry blazed, and shegave a few blasts of the siren, inching through crowd. The Chevy partedtraffic, gliding, speeding through Berkeley, Oakland. All the while, Sydowskiand Turgeon said nothing, allowing Reed his privacy, never once capitalizing onthe chance to ask him how it felt to be in the spotlight. They were above that.

  Sydowski broke the silence as they sailed through thetolls of the Bay Bridge to San Francisco.

  “Tom, I don’t think we have much time to find Keller.Tomorrow’s the anniversary of his children drownings. If he’s going to doanything, I think he’ll do it then.”

  Reed looked at the Bay, remembering the time Zach wasa year and a half old and toddled into his study where he was working. Histiny, determined hands grabbed and tugged at him as he scaled his way to hisfather’s lap, where he went to sleep, sucking his bottle. How Reed leaned backin his chair, savoring his warmth, his sweet smell, and vowed to keep him safefrom all the bad things in this world.

  SIXTY-EIGHT

  Zach Reed’s heart hammered in his chest as he ascended from sleep to consciousness, racingthrough a mental systems check. It was all coming back to him, bubbling to thesurface.

  He was not dreaming. He was waking to the nightmare.

  He was kidnapped.

  His mouth tasted salty. Kidnapped by some religiouscreep who talked about God. And this dungeon stunk big time. Oh boy, he was indeep trouble. Mom and Dad were going to kill him because he ran away, becausehe got sucked in by a weirdo. He had to get himself out of this mess becauseDad was going to kick his butt.

  Squeak-creak.

  What was that? Sounds of a TV somewhere. Where was he?He was lying on a bed. He opened his eyes. Two faces swam into focus, joltinghim alert. Kids.

  These kids were familiar for some very bad reason.Zach heard the rocking noise above them.

  Squeak-creak. Squeak-creak.

  “Who are you?” he said.

  “Who are you?” the girl asked.

  Zach went numb, like the time he was five and sawlittle Luke Petric get run over by an eighteen-wheeler, mowed down like a ragdoll, and all Zach could do was stand there screaming, his scalp tingling likeas if he’d been electrocuted.

  The kidnapped kids, the ones everybody was lookingfor: Danny and Gabrielle.

  Squeak-creak. Squeak-creak.

  That was him! Above them. The man who took them wasupstairs. What was going to happen? It was getting hard to breathe. Somethinginside was overwhelming him, on the verge of breaking. Hang on. Calm down. Takeslow breaths. Just be cool. He wanted to cry for his parents.

  He was only nine.

  But he was the biggest kid in this place.

  The boy and girl looked different from their happy,smiling pictures. Zach wanted to cry, but Danny and Gabrielle were looking athim. Like he was supposed to save them or something.

  “Who are you?” Gabrielle repeated coldly.

  “Zach Reed. How do we get out of here?”

  Squeak-creak. Squeak-creak.

  “We can’t. Mr. Jenkins has got everything locked up.”

  “Who?”

  “Mr. Jenkins.” Gabrielle pointed at the ceiling.

  “Well don’t worry, that doof is not going to hurt us!”

  Danny started to whimper. “Can you take me home, now?I want to go home.”

  Zach put his arm around him. “Don’t worry, Danny. It’sgoing to be okay. I’m gonna fix it so somebody comes for us.”

  Garbage covered the floor — fast food bags, wrappers,and containers. The basement’s only window was barred and covered withnewspapers. Zach noticed the door was wide open.

  “Where are we Gabrielle? San Francisco? You know whatstreet?”

  Gabrielle shrugged.

&
nbsp; “And are there any other people here?

  “Just Mr. Jenkins. My dog Jackson was here, but Mr.Jenkins said he ran away. Did you see him? He’s a blond cocker spaniel.”

  “No.”

  Squeak-creak. Squeak-creak.

  Gabrielle burst into tears, triggering Danny’s sobs.

  Zach didn’t know what to do, so he hugged both ofthem, fighting his own tears. “It’s gonna be fine. Shhh-shhhh. It’s okay.”

  “He’s a crazy man!” Gabrielle sobbed. “He killed a ratand he’s always praying to us on his knees! He calls us by other kids’ names,shows us old movies of them and makes us wear their old clothes! I’m so afraid!We tried to run away, but he’s got us locked up, and he keeps making ussleepy!”

  “Does he hurt you?”

  “Gabrielle shook her head. “He just baptizes you.”

  “What?”

  “You’re going to get it soon.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “He puts you in the tub and dunks your head. Afterthat, he starts to call you by another kid’s name. He told us you’re the lastone he was looking for.”

  “The last what?”

  “Angel.”

  Squeak-creak. Squeak-creak.

  Zach saw the door and thought. “Does he always leavethe door open?”

  “Uh-huh. So we can go upstairs to the bathroom.”

  Zach looked around for something, anything that mighthelp him try to escape. He was surprised to see a corner of his backpackprotruding from the stinking garbage. He fished it out.

  The creep had never touched it. Zach dumped thecontents, grabbed his father’s business card, his cash, his portable videogame, then his tiny Swiss army knife. He opened it and ran his finger over thethree-inch, razor-sharp blade. He folded it and stuffed it in the crotch of hisunderwear. Bad guys always frisked you, but a guy never checked another guythere. He was not supposed to. It was like a world rule, or something.

  “Does this house have a phone, Gabrielle?” Zach said.

  “In the kitchen, on the wall.”

  Squeak-creak. Squeak-creak.

  “All right.” Zach glanced at the ceiling and sniffed.“I’ve got a plan to get us outta here.”

  SIXTY-NINE

  Reed pushed his way through the throng of reporters, photographers, and TV crews waiting inthe lobby of the ancient fourteen-story Star Building in downtown SanFrancisco.

  “Reed, is it true you know the kidnapper from a story?

  This was real. It was happening.

  “Has there been a ransom demand?”

  Something was roaring in his ears.

  “Did this guy take your son because you weresuspicious he abducted Danny Becker and Gabrielle Nunn?”

  He couldn’t concentrate clearly.

  “Any connection to the Donner case and Virgil Shook?”

  His only thought was of his son.

  “Can we have a picture of Zach?”

  “I can’t talk now,” Reed managed.

  Cameras flashed and TV lights burned as he shoulderedhis way in. Sydowski, Turgeon, Rust, and a half-dozen other police, shieldshanging from pickets and neck chains, surrounded him, ensuring no one else goton the elevator with them. It was closing when a security officer wedged hisarm between the doors.

  “What the hell you doing, Butch?” Reed demanded.

  The plump, gray-haired guard felt the hard glare ofthe detectives and he cleared his throat. “Uhmm, sorry, Tom. But orders are thatyou’ve been terminated. Barred from the building. Mr. Benson’s orders.”

  “Back off,” Sydowski growled.

  “Just doing my job. Good luck, Tom.” Butch saluted.

  As Reed and the police swept through the newsroom,heads snapped around, conversations stopped and people gaped. By now, theentire department knew Zach had been abducted. And everyone knew Reed had beenfired.

  He hurried to his desk, whispers following his wake.

  His only crystalline thought was for Zach. Finding hisson. Ann was right. It was his fault, and if it was the last thing he did, hewould find Zach. Alive. Nobody would stand in his way. Every molecule of hisbeing was focused on his son.

  Everything remained on Reed’s desk exactly the way heleft it yesterday when he was still employed. He rifled his paperwork: hisyellow file on Keller was gone. Sydowski and the others encircled his cubicleas he searched in vain.

  “It was right here, a yellow legal-size folder!”

  “Tom?” Molly Wilson materialized, her teary voicethickening. “I know everything. What Benson did. Zach. I’m so sorry, Tom.”

  “I need help, not sympathy, Molly. Where’s my Kellerfile?”

  “I’ll help you, Tom.” She sniffled, eyes going toBenson’s office. He was on the phone, reading from a yellow file folder. “I’llhelp you right now!” Wilson ran off, bracelets chiming.

  Reed burst into Benson’s office, snatched the Kellerfile, and returned to his desk to show Sydowski and the others.

  Benson leapt after him. “What do you think you’redoing, Reed?” Benson grabbed the file back.

  “Give me that file, Benson!” Reed spat.

  “Tom, I’m terribly sorry about what’s happened.Really. But you have to calm down and think rationally. This file is theproperty of the newspaper and you, as a former employee, are trespassing.”

  “What?” Reed was incredulous. “What did you say?”

  “I’m afraid the only way to take this file is with awarrant.”

  Sydowski said, “We’ll get one right away. Linda.”

  Turgeon picked up a phone. “What number to get out?”

  “Nine,” someone said.

  FBI Special Agent Ditmire rolled his eyes. “I don’t believethis. This is a hot pursuit. Can’t we charge this man with obstruction, Merle?”

  Reed thrust his face to within an inch of Benson’s.“The clock is ticking on my son’s life! If you don’t give me that file now, itstarts ticking on yours.”

  Benson blinked.

  Reed continued. “Give me that file now or I hold anews conference outside and every parent in the Bay Area will know what MyronBenson at the Star is doing! Then I’ll join the Beckers and Nunns to sueyou for the wrongful deaths of our children.”

  “Myron, give Tom his file, now.” It was Amos Tellwood,the publisher. Molly Wilson stood beside him. Newsroom activity ceased.

  “I’ve just been fully enlightened. Tom, you have thepaper’s unbounded support.” Tellwood turned to Sydowski. “I am the publisher andyou have full access to anything we have that will expedite finding Tom’s son.We shall not lose another second debating it. Tom, you remain a Staremployee. Myron, in my office. Now.”

  Reed opened the folder. Sydowski and the others tooknotes, and went off to the telephones. Tom told Sydowski and the others aboutKeller’s pilgrimages to the drowning spot at the Farallons. Sydowski told himKeller had bought a boat.

  The hunt for Zach Reed, Gabrielle Nunn, and DannyBecker intensified. The FBI double checked with the US Coast Guard. Yes, theFarallons had been sealed. And the FBI and California Highway Patrol each putchoppers up, searching for a new white van, possibly with rental plates, oranything trailing a boat like the one Keller had bought in Calaveras County.They had a team of police at Half Moon Bay, and alerts to all marinas.

  Statewide bulletins with photos and more informationwere continually broadcast. Police stationed at every known point in Keller’spast were watching for him and the children. Detectives went to the homes ofDanny Becker, Gabrielle Nunn, and Reed’s mother-in-law in Berkeley, where aphone trap was being set up. They were setting up a trap on Reed’s newsroomline.

  The SFPD tightened its surveillance of William PerryKindhart, and undercover cops turned their radar for any street talk on thekidnappings. Detectives questioned other members of Keller’s bereavement group;others canvassed every car rental and leasing outlet in the Bay Area. The FBI’spsych profiler pored over Reed’s file on Keller and discussed it with Dr.Martin. The photo department k
icked out three clear pictures of Keller takensecretly when Reed had sat in on Martin’s research group and duplicated Reed’swallet snapshot of Zach. It was more recent than the framed one on his desk.Other newsrooms were calling the Star for Reed — for quotes, forphotos.

  Reed found a moment’s sanctuary at an empty cornerwindow desk, where he had a partial view of the Bay Bridge between the officetowers. In his hand he held a picture Ann had snapped on a cable car a monthbefore the breakup. He traced Zach’s face with his finger.

  He remembered Nathan Becker, sitting in that boutiquein Balboa, drowning in fear, clutching Danny’s picture, and Nancy Nunn pleadingbefore news cameras for Gabrielle’s life, and how he thought it was sad forthem, but a dynamite news story.

  What had he become?

  Wait until it happens to you.

  Sydowski rolled up a chair beside him. They werealone. “How you doing, Tom?”

  Reed shook his head, unable to answer.

  “Hang in there. If we have anything going for us, it’sthat we know more about the bad guy than we ever did, thanks to you.”

  “Do you think Zach’s dead?”

  The two men searched each other’s eyes.

  “No.” Sydowski gave him the truth. “Not yet.”

  Reed turned to the window.

  “Tom, I think whatever he’s going to do, he’ll dotomorrow on the anniversary.”

  Reed agreed.

  “Look, Tom, you met the guy. What does your gut tellyou?”

  “He’s a madman.”

  “You know we’re doing everything conceivable to findhim. Right now we’ve got nothing — no driver’s license, no record with PacificBell, utilities, voter’s registration, taxes, credit cards, nothing. On paperhe doesn’t exist. We’ve got people dealing with Fargo, following the bill hepaid for the flowers on his family’s grave. We may get a lead there. It’s aquestion of time.”

  Reed nodded.

  “Tom, this is the guy you wanted to tell me aboutafter the Nunn case, after you met him at Martin’s group, and saw the roughhome video we had from Nunn’s party?”