If Angels Fall (tom reed and walt sydowski)

by Rick Mofina

  And there was Zach, a lamb tied to the stake, staringat Reed now from the morning newspapers scattered around the Homicide room.Zach’s picture, Keller’s, those of Danny Becker, Gabrielle Nunn, and himself,all tormenting him with the truth.

  Zach was gone. Gone.

  And the headline haunting him.

  THIRD CHILD ABDUCTED IS SON OF REPORTER

  WHO INVESTIGATED KIDNAPPER

  “Dammit! These press calls are supposed to be screened!”Ditmire hung up angrily. “That was the fourth fucking TV network asking if theycan land their helicopter on the roof!”

  Overnight the task force tip line lit up with calls asthe story grew. Word leaked from the White House that the President and FirstLady were following it. The national press were hitting it hard. So were thetabloid TV shows. More news outlets in London, Paris, Stockholm, Sydney, Tokyo,and Toronto were flying in reporters. Network breakfast shows insisted on aninterview with Reed and Ann, promising exposure. Reed held off.

  “Look outside,” Turgeon said. A dozen news trucks werelined up along Bryant, deploying satellite dishes.

  “This is nuts.” Ditmire shook his head.

  “The attention could help us, Lonnie,” Rust said.

  Sydowski finished a call to Ann’s mother’s house inBerkeley and somberly went to Reed.

  “Ann’s awake now, Tom. I just spoke with her.”

  “How is she?”

  “Holding up.” Sydowski’s gold crowns glinted as he puthis hand on Reed’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, but she did not want to talk to you.”

  Reed understood.

  “Tom, she insisted on being here for the newsconference. We’ve got people driving her across the Bay.”

  Reed nodded. He was starting to get the shakes fromtoo much caffeine, no food, no sleep. He craved the taste, the sensation ofJack Daniel’s on his tongue, rolling down his throat, warming him.

  “If either of you get second thoughts about making apublic appeal, just say the word.”

  “No, no. We have to do it. We have to.”

  Sydowski ran his gaze over him, thinking. “We got acouple of rooms around here with sofas. Want to grab some rest? You’ve gotnearly two hours until the press conference.”

  No. Reed could not be alone with his fear. Was Zachdead? He forced his thoughts away from children’s corpses, caskets, andcemeteries. He could not be alone, he told Sydowski.

  “Okay, well I’ve got an electric razor, cologne, andstuff if you want to spruce up a bit.”

  “Thank you, but I’d just like to wait here for Ann.”

  “Sure, Tom.” He stood to leave.

  “Walt?” Reed’s eyes were brimming. “Is my son dead?”

  Sydowski looked at him for a long, hard moment,searching for the right words, deciding on the truth. “We just don’t know, Tom.You must prepare for the worst, but never give up hope.”

  “But today’s the anniversary of the drownings. And yousaid if Keller’s going to do anything, he’ll do it today.”

  “Yes and we are doing everything we can, we’re chasingdown every lead. You’ve got to hang on.”

  “What does your gut tell you, huh? He’s beaten youguys three times now.”

  “I don’t know. What do you think?”

  “He’s either very lucky, very smart, or both.”

  “In Danny’s Becker’s case, he left us with nothing. InGabrielle Nunn’s case, we got his blood, got him on a piece of video, then afingerprint and a name. In Zach’s case we have more video and, thanks to you,his motive.”

  “So, what does that mean?”

  “We’re gaining on him.”

  Ninety minutes later, a female FBI agent arrived atthe Homicide Detail with Ann Reed, who was dressed in a white blouse, a darkblazer, and slacks. No makeup. Reddened eyes, taut jaw, betrayed a heart thathad stopped beating. When Reed moved to embrace her, she was unresponsive. Thedoctor had given her two Valium before she left Berkeley. She looked as thoughshe was going to a funeral.

  No one moved until Rust said, “Let’s get going.” Heand Sydowski escorted Reed, while the others took Ann to the elevator, all ofthem riding together to the press conference. In the elevator car, Annapologized for being late.

  “Not a problem,” Rust said respectfully.

  “I was trying to decide what to wear.”

  No one spoke as the elevator hummed.

  “What do I wear to plead for my son’s life?”

  It seemed to take forever to arrive in the basementwhere the Hall of Justice cafeteria had again been transformed into apressroom. Some two hundred newspeople were waiting there.

  Reed and Ann were isolated, each alone with theirpain. He was at the bottom of a well, blurry faces peering into it. Microphonesand camera lights made the packed room hot, but he was shivering, his stomachseething. Copies of The San Francisco Star were everywhere. Facesstaring at him. Reed was the man who allowed his son to be kidnapped, andpushed an innocent man to suicide. Reed was on trial.

  The FBI agent in charge of the San Francisco office,flanked by San Francisco’s police chief, stood before a half-podium placed on acafeteria table. He led off with a summary of the abductions, promising to takequestions after Zach’s parents spoke. He turned to the Reeds. Ann went first,her voice no more than a murmur.

  “At the podium, please, Mrs. Reed!” Reporters urgedher.

  Reed helped her here, standing behind her as sheclutched a folded note bearing her elegant handwriting on her store’sstationery.

  Ann began: “Edward Keller. I am Zachary Michael Reed’smother. He is my only child.” Her monotone voice was alien to Reed. It was asif he was hearing a Jaycees address. “I want my son back and I am begging youto return him. I have spoken with the families of Danny Becker and GabrielleNunn. Please, let the children go safely.”

  Camera flashes rained on her.

  “We’ve done nothing to hurt you and understand youmust be suffering terribly, as we are suffering now. Our hearts are linked inour pain. Only you can end it safely. The children are innocents. Zach, Danny,and Gabrielle have done nothing to you. Please, please, I beg you to find it inyour heart to let the children go.”

  Ann finished, declining to answer questions as sheleft the cafeteria with the help of two FBI agents. Cameras trailed her as Reedstood alone, unprepared, gripping the edges of the podium. The attention turnedto him. He cleared his throat.

  “Edward, if you are watching us, I’m sure you rememberme, Tom Reed. Our understanding is that no one has harmed the children. I knowyou are a good man, Edward. Please release the children. The city, the entirecountry, now knows your tragedy, knows your pain. Do not extend it to otherswho have never harmed you. Release Zach, Danny, and Gabrielle, anywhere safely.By doing that, you will prove to everyone that you are the good man I know you are,Edward. You are a smart man, who means no harm to anyone. You have alreadyproven so much, now is the time to let — ” Reed stopped, ran a hand over hisface. “Please, let the children go. Please.”

  The reporters opened fire.

  “Tom, do you think Keller took your son because youwere getting close to learning he had kidnapped the other children?”

  “I don’t know, it’s possible. I — ”

  “What kind of man is Edward Keller, Tom?”

  “I — Well, I only met him briefly, so it’s hard todescribe — ”

  “Today being a tragic anniversary for Keller, do youthink he is going to reenact some fantasy with the children?”

  “I fear that might happen, but I hope not.”

  “What about Franklin Wallace and Virgil Shook, Tom?”

  “What about them?

  “Both are dead. You reported last year that Wallacekilled Tanita Donner. You still think so, or do you feel he died innocently?”

  “I don’t see what this has got to do with — ”

  “What I’m wondering is if there is a chance policeshot the wrong guy in the Donner case. That maybe here’s a connection to EdwardKeller and the unsolved abductions
?”

  “The Donner case is still under investigation,” SanFrancisco’s police chief interjected. “We have nothing linking it with thekidnappings of Danny Becker, Gabrielle Nunn, and Zach Reed.”

  “Have you ruled out the possibility of a connection?”

  “Our focus is on the children, who we believe arestill alive and being confined somewhere by Edward Keller.”

  “That’s right,” the FBI agent in charge of the SanFrancisco office added. “I think we’re getting off track. Now, we havesomething to show you. If you’ll just watch the monitors.”

  He signaled to begin. Clear security video from theBerkeley hobby store rolled, showing Keller approaching Zach and leaving thestore with him. It silenced the conference for half a minute.

  “We’ve made copies to distribute and we’ve enhancedthe suspect’s face in still photos. We have a news release detailing the factsof the case. I want to reiterate the enormity of the investigation and that thereward for information leading to an arrest in this case now stands at$300,000.”

  Reed worked his way out of the room while theconference continued. But he wasn’t free. With reporters in tow, he tried tofind Ann. He caught up with her outside in the Hall of Justice parking lot asshe was getting into a car with the FBI agent. Three camera crews were on her.

  “Ann!” Reed called.

  Reporters were shouting, jogging after Reed as he ranto Ann. He turned to them. “I just want a private word with my wife, so give usa break. Can you do that, please?”

  “Come on,” the agent to the reporters, “back off!”

  Reed slid into the backseat with Ann and rolled up thewindows.

  “Tom, I just want to go home to wait at my mother’shouse.”

  “Ann, I — please — ”

  “I have nothing to say to you right now, and it’s bestwe leave it that way. I have no time for you. Every fiber of my being isfocused on my son.”

  “Our son, Ann. Our son.”

  “He’s my son, he’s your story.”

  Reed absorbed the blow.

  “Ann, I swear, I’ll bring him ba-”

  “Get out of the car. I want to go.”

  “Ann.”

  “Get out, now!”

  In the Hall of Justice, four floors up in the smallwaiting area of the Homicide Detail, San Francisco cabbie Willie Hampton washolding up his cap, watching live coverage of the news conference on the littleTV at the desk of Homicide Detail’s secretary.

  “Like I said, I don’t know if that’s the dude on theTV there,” he repeated. “I just got back from Hawaii and seen this tragedy allover the news. Sorrowful thing.”

  Willie hung his head and shook it.

  “I’m catchin’ up on the news an’ somethin’ specificcatches me ‘bout that little Danny, the boy got stolen from BART at Balboa.Something’s ticklin’ my memory sayin’ ‘Willie, you got to check this here,’see. So I get my calendar, check my ride sheet for that day. Sure enough I wasworkin’ around Balboa Park when that boy got taken.”

  Willie leaned forward, dropping his voice: “Betweenyou an’ me, my last fare was a curbside, off the books, right ‘fore I left onmy vacation.” His tone rose back to normal conversation. “Picked up a dudecarryin’ a kid near Balboa same time they say Danny got taken. Somethin’strange ‘bout the man. The kid was a girl, maybe five, but I recollect her hairlooked kinda phony, like a wig maybe. I dropped them at Logan and Good, nearWintergreen. Somethin’ funny ‘bout it all. Somethin’ not right. That’s all I’msayin’, see.”

  Willie examined his cap for a moment.

  “Miss, how much longer you figure ‘fore someone talksto me?

  Turgeon took notes as Willie Hampton told her andSydowski about his strange fare to Wintergreen. This was it, the real thing.Sydowski felt it in his gut as Willie recounted how he got lost on the dead-endstreet, turned around to find his way out, then saw his fare walking with thechild over his shoulder before entering the broken-down house. When Willie finishedhis story, Sydowski had one question.

  “Can you take us to this house now, Mr. Hampton?”

  “Well, yes, sir. I think I can.”

  Half an hour later, Sydowski, Turgeon, and WillieHampton sat in an unmarked police car, a few doors down the street from EdwardKeller’s house.

  SEVENTY-FOUR

  Dispatches about the break in the case sizzled on police scanners. Reporters whocovered that morning’s new conference scurried to Wintergreen. Local TVinterrupted network shows with live reports from the curb. The house and entireyard were sealed. Identification experts from the FBI and SFPD, clad in whitehairnets, surgeon’s gloves, and coveralls — “moon-walking suits” — dissectedthe scene. The feds took the inside and the city team took the garage and yard.An FBI chopper equipped with Forward Looking Infrared able to trace body heat,even that of corpses, hovered overhead. The city guys covered every square footof Keller’s yard, using a probe and vapor detector, which picks up the presenceof body gases from decomposition. Military camouflage canopies were erectedover the area to hamper news helicopters from broadcasting the excavation ofbodies, should the task force find any.

  The scene inside the house was chilling. Nothing couldhave prepared Sydowski for it as he suited up with Rust to go in.

  “Never seen anything like this,” an FBI agent mumbledto them as they entered. Huge surveillance photos of the children wereplastered on the living room walls, which bled with quotations from theScriptures. A claw of colored wires sprouted from the kitchen wall where thephone had been. It was a violent testament to the menace, thought Sydowski,deducing how Keller must have smashed it when Zach called for help. Thesolitary rocking chair before the TV underscored Keller’s insanity. Rust wentto the worktable and thumbed through Keller’s journals, reading the criteria heused to select the children: angel names, ages matching his dead kids at thetime of their drownings. How he sought them through birth notices, traced theirfamilies through public records, studied, and stalked them. IDENT detectiveswere going through his computer.

  Sydowski took the stairs to the basement room.

  As he stepped off the last step to Keller’s basement,Sydowski was assaulted by the stench of excrement, urine, and garbage, andpulled up his surgical mask. The children were gone, yet he braced himself forwhatever awaited him in the room. Two FBI IDENT experts were working there,breathing through gas masks. They nodded to Sydowski as he entered, watchinghim take in the scene, the knee-deep garbage of half-eaten fast food andwrappers, the soiled mattresses, the rats, the barred, papered window, and thebloodstained baseball bat.

  “It’s not human blood, Walt,” one of the IDENT guyssaid, his voice muffled from under his mask.

  Sydowski nodded, blinking quickly. It was Golden GatePark all over again — the rain, Tanita Marie Donner in the garbage bag, thestink, the maggots, flies, the gaping slash across her doll’s neck, nearlydecapitating her. Her snow-white skin, her tiny body on the slab, her beautifuleyes imploring him, beseeching him, reaching into him. All these fucking yearson the job. All the fucking stiffs. It was supposed to get easier. Why wasn’tit getting easier? Were three more child corpses waiting for him somewhere? Wasthat the way it was going to play out? His stomach was seething, his heartburnerupting. Give us a break here. We’re so close to this guy. Sydowski grittedhis teeth. So close.

  He returned upstairs to confer with Rust in the livingroom. A funeral atmosphere permeated the house. Everyone was working quietly,cataloging evidence, bagging and hauling it into a van which would deliver itto a plane waiting to fly it to the state forensic lab in Sacramento. Fewinvestigators spoke, those who did, used low, respectful tones. Rust was stillstudying Keller’s maps and binders, amidst the clutter. “”Are we too late,Walt?”

  “I don’t know, today is the anniversary. Seems he’sgeared up to it. You going to look downstairs, where he kept them?”

  “Right after we talk to Bill, here.”

  Bill Wright, the FBI’s IDENT team leader, sighed,removing his gas mask
, his reddened face damp with perspiration. “Well, we candefinitely put all three children in this house based on the stuff we’ve foundso far. Clothing. Hair. But the kids are gone. We’ve got nothing outside,nothing inside. We’ve gone through the attic, X-rayed the floorboards, walls.The last call made from this address was the one Zach Reed made to The SanFrancisco Star newsroom. The bills for the past three months show little.No receipts in his trash. We’re going to take the plumbing apart in case he flushedanything. But our guy’s fled, likely with the kids. I’d say last night, judgingfrom the oil and coolant stains in the driveway. We’ll keep the house for aslong as we need it to gather evidence for whatever comes up.”

  “Thanks, Bill.”

  Sydowski pulled Rust aside. “Keller lost his kids,late in the day, right?”

  “Late afternoon, evening. The file put it between fourand nine.”

  Sydowski checked his watch. “Gives us a couple ofhours, maybe.”

  “Maybe.”

  ***

  Outside, the air was electric with rumors that thepolice had found bodies. Reed was with the parents of Danny Becker andGabrielle Nunn, who also rushed to Wintergreen, jostled through the pressgauntlet, and converged on the police command center as TV news helicoptercircled overhead. Uniformed police had taken the parents aside to a secure areanear the bus to await some official word. Their perspective allowed them to seethe bagged evidence being removed from the house. Nancy Nunn sniffled,sharpening her focus on one clear bag. Gooseflesh rose on her trembling skin asshe recognized the flower print dress she had made for her daughter.

  Paul Nunn caught his wife and struggled to quell herchoking sobs, his own voice cracking. “Is somebody going to tell us what thehell is going on here!”