If Angels Fall (tom reed and walt sydowski)

by Rick Mofina

  “I held off because of the Donner fiasco.”

  Sydowski wanted to tell him everything about FranklinWallace and Virgil Shook, but decided it wasn’t the time. “Go home and be withyour wife, Tom. She needs you. If something pops, I’ll call you. We’ll bemoving everything to the Hall of Justice very soon.”

  “Walt?”

  “Yes?”

  “He’s our only child. He’s all we have.”

  “I know.” Sydowski patted Reed’s shoulder. “Be strongfor him,” he said, then left.

  Reed rubbed his thumb over his son’s picture, pickedup a phone, and called his mother-in-law’s house in Berkeley.

  Ann’s mother answered, her voice quavering.

  “It’s Tom, Doris. Is Ann there?”

  “She’s resting. A doctor from the university came overand gave her a sedative. There’s lots of police here — Oh, they’re signalingnot to tie up the line.”

  “I’ll be there soon.”

  “Tom, I’m praying for everybody.”

  “I’ll bring him home, Doris. I swear I’ll bring himhome.”

  Reed covered his face with one hand. His life wasslipping away, slipping through his fingers and there was nothing he could do.The eyes of the whole newsroom were on his back. He heard a familiar tinkle ofjewelry and knew Molly was near. She touched his shoulder.

  “Molly, I don’t know what to do. Talk to me, aboutanything.”

  “Go home to be with Ann, Tom.”

  “I don’t know if I can face her. She blames me.”

  “Tom, no one on this earth can think clearly whensomething like this happens. No one.”

  Reed turned to the window. “Thanks for gettingTellwood.”

  “Benson’s a vampire. He sent me to Berkeley. I don’tthink you saw me in the pack.”

  Reed looked at her.

  “He went crazy when he heard Keller’s name over thepolice scanners. He grabbed your file, pulled up the Keller feature you wroteyesterday, and said he was going to turn it into a Pulitzer. Planned to keepyou out by saying you were too distraught to be reached but your exclusive Starprobe led to Keller, who retaliated by taking Zach before police could catchhim.”

  “What?”

  “It’s true.”

  “He’s diseased.”

  “Tom…” Wilson’s voice broke. “Tom, don’t hate me,but what’s happened is news. I’ve got to write a story, Tom.” She glanced atthe news desk and swallowed. “They want me to interview you.”

  Disgusted, he shook his head. But he knew the truth,better than anyone. From across the newsroom, a telephoto lens was aimed athim.

  He had become the carrion and the ants were coming.

  SEVENTY

  Zach Reed stared into his hand before closing his fingers around their ticket out of thisrat hole.

  Squeak-creak. Squeak-creak.

  Zach crouched at the bottom of the basement stairs,primed to make his move. It was all planned. Gabrielle and Danny had goneupstairs to the bathroom. They were going to flush a whole roll of tissuepaper, plugging the toilet, then call the man.

  Squeak-creak.

  A TV was blaring upstairs. Good, that would help. Thetoilet flushed, gurgled. It flushed again.

  “Mr. Jenkins!”

  Good, Gabrielle. Good.

  The squeak-creak stopped. Someone walked fromthe TV to the bathroom. A man’s voice over loud, rushing water cued Zach. Hepadded up the stairs, breathing quickly, panting. Had to be brave. Only gonnaget one shot at this. Adjusting to the light, his eyes widened at what he saw.Nothing had prepared him for this.

  Enlarged pictures of Gabrielle and Danny covered theliving room wall. A worktable was cluttered with a computer, books, and papersthat had cascaded to the floor. The paint was peeling, blistering. Ignored.Windows were sealed with ragged sheets. The place was desolate. Something icy,something decomposing, reeking of death dwelled here. He spotted the threebinders, the printed names of Joshua, Alisha, and Pierce, paired with Danny,Gabrielle … and Michael.

  Michael? How did he know his middle name?

  Pasted to one wall were news clippings about the babygirl they found last year in Golden Gate Park. Some of them were his dad’s.Zach’s stomach knotted.

  He’s going to kill us!

  His eyes stung. The faces of his mother and fathercircled him. He was going to collapse. The ceiling was coming down on him. Stopit! Stop it! Stop it! Nobody’s gonna get you outta here but you. Quit being ababy. Quit it! Hurry up!

  Fist balled, he found the kitchen, scoured it until hefound the phone. A wall phone with a long cord and the dial pad in the handset.He reached it easily, scanning the filthy counter for a magazine, a phone bill,anything with an address. Nothing. He swallowed.

  The splash of water on linoleum echoed from thebathroom.

  Hurry!

  He couldn’t stop shaking. He sniffled, stretching thecord from the kitchen to the rear entrance. Wait! He tried the door. Nope.Locked solid. From the inside. Try the front door? No. No time. The cord waslong, allowing him to hide in the rear closet. Leaving the folding door openslightly, he opened his fist and by a shaft of light read his father’s businesscard.

  TOM REED

  STAFF WRITER

  THE SAN FRANCISCO STAR

  415-555-7571

  It was his dad’s direct line.

  Zach pressed the buttons for the number, shaking sobadly he misdialed. Please, he sniffed and redialed. There. He put the phone tohis ear, the line clicked, and began ringing.

  Squeak-creak. Squeak-creak.

  Keller sat before the TV news coverage of Zach Reed’sabduction, his finger unconsciously caressing the body of Christ on the silvercrucifix around his neck.

  They have not died. I can bring them back.

  “…it is unbelievable what has happened…”

  Skip Lopez, a green reporter for Channel 19’s ActionNews team gripped his microphone.

  “Zach Reed, the nine-year-old son of Tom Reed, areporter with The San Francisco Star, was abducted this afternoon fromthis hobby store in Berkeley. Reed had been covering the earlier kidnappings oftwo other San Francisco children, Danny Becker and Gabrielle Nunn, when thislatest abduction occurred…”

  Squeak-creak.

  W-what was — Keller heard little voices. Water? Thebathroom?

  “Mr. Jenkins, sir.” Gabriel was calling.

  Keller left the living room and found Daniel andGabriel in the bathroom, fearful. “What is it?” Water cascaded from the toilet,puddling on the floor. Obviously it was backed up. He found a plunger under thesink.

  “Step away,” he told them. A few solid churns clearedthe blockage. “Use the towels,” he pointed to the spilled water. Returning tothe news, he stopped in his tracks.

  Michael?

  He hurried back to the bathroom.

  No sign of Michael.

  SEVENTY-ONE

  Sydowski shouted Reed’s name again.

  Why was he yelling his name, holding up his phone?

  “Tom! Tom, it’s Zach!”

  Zach?

  But Zach’s kidnapped, how could he be calling? … Zach!

  The impact of the call hit Reed like a bullet, nearlyshort-circuiting his brain. He flew across the newsroom, seizing the phone fromSydowski.

  “Zach!”

  “Dad?” He was crying.

  Reed lost his breath. Had to think clearly.

  “Zach, where are you?”

  “I don’t know. I think we crossed the Bay Bridge.”

  “Are you hurt?

  “No, but I think he wants to do something bad to us.”

  “Us?”

  “GET A NUMBER, ADDRESS, AREA CODE,” Sydowski scrawledon the note he thrust into Reed’s face.

  “Zach, is there a number — ”

  “The other kids are here too, Dad. Gabrielle andDanny.”

  “Zach, is there a number on the phone? Something withan address? Can you see any buildings you know? Run to a neighbor?”

  Zach l
eft the line and Reed heard him moving thehandset.

  “We’re locked in and all it says on the phone is4-1-5.”

  “4-1-5? That’s all it says?” Zach was in the city.

  “We don’t have a tap up yet! He’s in the city. Tellhim to hang up now and dial 9-1-1. An address will flash for the dispatcher.”

  “Daddy, I don’t know what to do.” Zach was whimpering.

  “Zach, son, listen to me carefully — ”

  “Tom, do it now!”

  “Dad? He tricked me, Dad, he tricked me so good. Hesaid Mom was hurt and — ”

  Reed gulped. “He lied. Listen — ”

  “Now, Tom! Tell him to call 9-1-1 now!”

  “Zach, listen to me. Hang up now and — ”

  “Hang up! Dad, no! You come and get me!”

  “Son, listen, hang up and dial 9-1-1! We’ll get theaddress!”

  “Dad, you have to come get me, please!”

  “Zach, listen to me! Do as I say!”

  “Dad, don’t yell at me.”

  Reed covered his face with his free hand.

  If only he could reach through the Pacific Bell cablesand pull him to safety. If only he could touch him. He didn’t want to lose himthis time, this was his last chance. His only chance.

  Sydowski was talking softly, forcefully, to someone onanother line then turned to him. “Goddamnit, Tom, do it now!”

  “Zachary, you do as I tell you! Hang up and dial 9-1-1now!”

  “Daddy, I’m afraid.”

  “Do it, son, I’m going to hang up!” Reed sniffed.

  “Dad, don’t. Daddy! Don’t, please!”

  “I love you. Call 9-1-1 now!”

  “Dad, he scares me, he going to do something to us!”

  Reed squeezed the phone, clinging to the fiber-opticthread connecting him to Zach. The plastic handset cracked under his grip.

  “You call 9-1-1 now, or I’m going to kick your butt.Do it!”

  Reed slammed the phone down, his heart breaking as heburied his face in his hands. The newsroom was silent, except for a camera’sclicking, and Molly Wilson’s tape recorder being switched off. People hadgathered around Reed’s desk; men muttering curses, women covering their mouths.The lifeline to Zach had slipped through Reed’s fingers, paying out deeper intoan abyss with each second.

  Wait until it happens to you.

  Sydowski remained on his open line to the 911 supervisor.A minute passed, two, five. The newsroom had caller ID, but Zach’s call hadcome up blocked. Finally ten full minutes ticked by with no 911 call to theemergency line from Zach. It should have come within thirty seconds.

  Something had happened. Something went wrong. It wasin Sydowski’s face.

  “Tom.” Sydowski squeezed his shoulder gently. “Tom,the fact that Zach called is a good sign for many reasons.”

  Reed waited to hear them.

  “He’s alive. He’s thinking. And he got to a phone.”

  “Why didn’t he call 9-1-1?”

  Sydowski shook his head. “It might not have been safefor him to call again.”

  “He could make that call in two seconds. I’ll tell youwhat happened — Keller caught him on the phone!”

  “You don’t know that and you’re gonna eat yourself upplaying the worst case scenarios, so shut it off.”

  “You tell me how.”

  “Go home to your wife.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You can’t?”

  “She blames me for this and she’s right.”

  “Tom, don’t beat each other up over this. It won’thelp.”

  “I can’t go home without Zach. I promised I’d bringhim home.”

  Sydowski’s eyes met Reed’s, acknowledging the unspokentruth. Given what they both knew about Edward Keller, the children had lessthan twenty-four hours.

  “I’ve got to stay, in case he calls me again. I’llstay here all night and the next night, if that’s what it takes.”

  “Okay. Just remember, he hasn’t defeated us. We’re notout of this, not by a goddamn long shot.” He patted Reed’s knee, then left himat his desk.

  Molly Wilson approached Reed to console him, but Reedwaved her away. After that, no one dared go near him. He sat alone, waiting forhis phone to ring.

  SEVENTY-TWO

  “Where’s Michael?” Keller demanded.

  “I think he’s still in the room.” Gabrielle sniffled.

  Keller rushed down the stairs and searched thebasement in seconds. Michael was not there. Keller bounded up the stairs.

  “Michael!”

  He searched the main floor. Not a trace. His eyeslocked on to the phone in the kitchen. It was off the hook! The cord stretchingout of sight!

  He was on the fucking phone!

  Keller smashed it from the wall, then grabbed Zach,who was cowering in the closet.

  “Please, mister. Don’t hurt me. Please.”

  “Who did you call?”

  “No one, I — ”

  “Who did you call!”

  “I–I. Hospitals, my mom. I have to know if she is- ”

  “Liar!”

  “I swear, I was asking the number for hospitals. I …I …”

  “You are lying to me!”

  Rage darkened Keller’s face. “Satan is near. The Fallen angel isamong us, the Father of Lies! King of Whores!”

  Keller hoisted Zach over his shoulder and hurried to the bathroom.Gabrielle and Danny screamed and scattered. Zach’s struggling was futile.Keller laid him in the tub, and opened the faucets.

  “Let me go, you sick freak!”

  “I will not drink from the cup of devils! You cannot thwart thatwhich is preordained!”

  “Let me go!”

  “The Lord is my sword and my shield.” Keller seethed. It was badenough that the dog somehow got away last night. Now this. A phone call. Kellerrealized he was being challenged by powerful forces. But God was his shield.

  “It is time,” he said. “Time to come to Him and receive His light!”

  Zach writhed, kicked, and pounded the tub, still clutching hisfather’s card, aware of his knife hidden in his underwear as water gushed fromthe tap, dampening, soaking his clothes. Keller’s crucifix raked across Zach’sface as Keller’s large, powerful hands seized Zach’s head in a viselike grip.

  “Reborn of water and the Holy Spirit in the sacred font…”

  He pulled Zach’s head under the running water.

  “By the mystery of your death and resurrection, cleanse this childin Your celestial light! Make his life anew!”

  D-dad, help me, Dad, he-help!”

  Keller closed his eyes. Above the water’s rush, the thunder, thestorm, Pierce was calling from the darkness.

  Daddy!

  Holding Zach’s head under the flowing water, Keller lifted his ownface to heaven.

  “This is life’s eternal font,

  water made sacred by the death of Christ,

  cleansing all the earth.

  You who are bathed in this water

  are received in heaven’s kingdom.

  Suddenly it was over.

  Zach sat up in the tub, coughing and gasping after Keller releasedhim, shut off the water, and fetched him a large dry towel.

  “Come with me.”

  Zach followed Keller into Keller’s bedroom, watching him pull out abig cardboard box marked “Pierce,” filled with boys’ clothes that looked abouthis size.

  “Find some dry clothes right away.”

  Zach sniffed, but didn’t move, dripping water with the towel cloakedaround him.

  “Do as I say! We’re leaving!”

  SEVENTY-THREE

  Reed spent the night in the Star’s newsroom, praying for Zach to call. Every halfhour, he phoned Ann’s mother’s house in Berkeley, on the safe phone the FBI hadinstalled, to see if Zach called there.

  “Still nothing, sir,” the agent assigned to the linetold him.

  “May I speak with my wife, or her mother?”

  �
�I’m sorry, sir. They’re still sleeping. The doctorsays the sedative should wear off by mid-morning.”

  Reed said nothing.

  “Mr. Reed, we fully understand your concerns and wewill get you the instant we have something at this end.”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “But sir, please check with us as often as you wish.”

  “I will.”

  Reed did not keep his vigil alone. Molly Wilson wasamong the newsroom staffers who waited with him, comforting him, assuring himZach would be found safe with the other children, although she dozed off a fewtimes. She was sleeping with her head on her folded arms on the desk next toReed, when Myron Benson appeared, briefcase in one hand, jacket draped over hisarm.

  “Tom” — he nearly looked him in the eye — “I knowyou won’t believe this coming from me, but I apologize and hope with all myheart it works out well for you.”

  Reed suspected Tellwood had put him up to this, butsaid nothing.

  “I never liked you, Tom. I knew you resented me forlacking talent and I resented you for having an abundance of it. I was wrong.Anyway, you have more important things to deal with here. Good luck.”

  Benson extended his hand. Reed contemplated it for amoment before deciding to accept it.

  “What did the old man have to say to you, Myron?”

  “He fired me.”

  Reed was speechless.

  Benson managed a weak smile before leaving.

  An hour after sunrise, Reed was at the Hall ofJustice, fear twisting his stomach.

  Was Zach dead?

  He never made another call.

  The task force had nothing, nothing at all at HalfMoon Bay. The Coast Guard had nothing at the islands, nothing in the water. Noboat, no trailer on the coast, no van. Nothing!

  Reed was alone at an empty desk in Room 400, the SFPDHomicide Detail, watching Sydowski, Rust, Turgeon, Ditmire, and the othersstudying material on Keller. Rust and Bob Hill, the FBI’s profiler fromQuantico, were poring over Keller’s psychiatric records, preparing for theeight A.M. news conference at the hall. Reed had not slept and, betweenadrenaline rushes, was nearly drunk with exhaustion. Sitting there as theringing phones and voices faded, something triggered his memory, and thefragrance of baby powder, the feel of terry cloth, and the tenderness of Zach’sskin when he was six months old washed over him. Reed was holding him, watchinghim as he sucked down a warm bottle of milk, gazing upon him during thecommercial breaks of Monday Night Football with the sound off, knowinghe possessed one of the earth’s treasures.