Tom Reed Thriller Series

by Rick Mofina

  “You understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you ever lost a child?”

  “No”

  “You have children?”

  “A son, Zach. He’s nine.”

  Keller pondered this information. “My eldest boy was nine when he died. It was a boating accident.” Keller’s eyes were cold, dry.

  Reed prompted him. “You lost all of your children?”

  “Yes. All three of my children. Pierce was nine, Alisha six, and Joshua was three. I was with them. Just the four of us. I rented a boat to the Farallons. A storm hit as we neared the islands.”

  Keller stopped cold. Reed looked at Martin for a cue. She shrugged. Lois Jensen and Angela Donner were sniffling.

  “What happened?”

  “It hit us hard. Rain, thunder, violent winds, wild swells cresting at seven, maybe eight feet. We were tossed like a toy. A whale came up under us and split the hull. We took on water. I failed to get life jackets on the children. We ended up in the ocean. Stay near me, I told them. It was impossible. They drowned calling for me. I survived. They never found their bodies. My wife blamed me and left me shortly after.”

  Keller stared at Reed. “It was God’s will. I was being punished.”

  “For what.”

  “Living a lie.”

  “You believe this is the reason your children drowned?”

  “I know it’s the reason.”

  “I see. What do you mean by that--you were living a lie?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  Reed said nothing.

  “What my valiant brothers and sisters here have tried to convey tonight is the universal truth that when your child dies, you die, too. You become something else.”

  Reed waited for the religious kicker.

  “When my children died, I died, but was born again.”

  Bingo.

  “I didn’t realize at the time. It was a very slow process. It was an awakening followed by a revelation.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  Keller’s eyes went to Martin, then to Reed.

  “With all due respect to the professor’s fine work, she has only touched the surface. The truth is that if a parent comes to terms, accepts their child’s death, they are destroyed. They have lost.”

  Martin leaned forward slightly. Reed sensed she was hearing this for the first time. Keller continued.

  “They must accept the divine truth. It was revealed to me.”

  “What is the ‘divine truth’?” Reed said.

  “We will be with our children again if we are true believers. If we don’t accept the divine truth, our children are lost forever. You can rescue them if you truly believe you can.”

  Looney tunes, Reed thought, making notes to hide his reaction.

  “Lois Jensen witnessed God’s work on the face of her son. I told her she is on the brink of her revelation. That is why I participate. To help the group realize the divine truth.”

  “You say you can rescue your children. From where?” Reed said.

  Keller closed his eyes. “I know that soon I will be with my children again. That I will deliver them from purgatory. God in His infinite mercy has revealed this to me. Every day I give Him thanks and praise Him. And every day, I wage war against doubt in preparation for my blessed reunion.”

  What the hell was going on here? Was this some sort of bizarre grief cult? Reed knew stranger things had happened in San Francisco. But why would Martin want publicity? No, it had to be that Keller was one sandwich short of a picnic. How could Martin tolerate him? Something about him was out of sync. Reed couldn’t put his finger on it, but it troubled him.

  “You don’t believe a word I’ve spoken, do you?” Keller said.

  “I believe that you believe that what you’ve experienced is true,” Reed said. “How long ago did the accident happen?”

  “Look at you. Sitting there, so smug. I’ve read your stories about Danny Becker and Angela’s little girl.”

  Reed sighed.

  “It’s the devil’s work, what you do!”

  Reed closed his notebook.

  “You’ve got all the answers, don’t you?” Keller said.

  Martin intervened. “Edward. Edward, please. Tom’s our guest.”

  “I know why he’s here.” Keller stood.

  “Mr. Keller, I apologize if my being here upsets you.”

  “I think I’ve said enough.” Keller headed for the door.

  “Edward, please, don’t leave,” Martin pleaded.

  “Good night, everyone,” Keller said over his shoulder as he left.

  “I feared this would happen.” Martin was deflated. “I’m sorry he reacted to your presence the way he did, Tom, Henry.”

  They waved it off.

  “If no one minds, I’d like to end the session. It’s been memorable,” Martin said. “Thanks, everyone. And thanks Tom and Henry. We look forward to the article.”

  “Thank you,” Reed said.

  As group members collected jackets and tidied up, Martin took Reed aside. She was concerned about Keller.

  “It was a disaster with Edward. Is he going to be in the story?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I should have prevented him from talking.”

  “Why?”

  “The anniversary of the drownings is coming up.”

  She smiled across the room at Angela, waiting in the chair, twisting her hair. “That, along with Christmas and birthdays, is an extremely bad time.”

  “No promises. His words were on the record, but I’ll keep this in mind, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Reed approached Angela. “Thanks for waiting,” he said.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Keller returned to his house in Wintergreen Heights, deactivated the alarm, unlocked the locks, went to his bedroom, took the silver crucifix from his nightstand, and slipped it around his neck. In the living room, from the cluttered worktable, he removed a huge worn Bible. It was two centuries old. The pastor at his children’s memorial service had given it to him.

  “God’s love never dies. Accept it and your children shall always be with you.”

  He plopped in his rocking chair, Bible on his lap, and read, reflecting on his clash with Tom Reed. The fool. Mocking his revelation. But it didn’t matter. He had succeeded in battle. Passed another test, abided in the Lord, and emerged triumphant. It was the Will of the Creator.

  Not the Reverend Theodore Keller’s version, but the true Divine Will revealed in the purifying flames of his burning church. God had pulled back the curtain of Edward’s destiny that night, whispering revelations in his young ears.

  His father’s congregation couldn’t afford to rebuild, forcing the Reverend to move down the highway and down in stature to a smaller California town where they existed on handouts from the faithful. It was humiliating for Edward, going to school, knowing the clothes he wore and the lunch he brought were not provided by God, but by farmers, merchants, widows--the parents of his classmates.

  Edward’s loathing for his father festered and he vowed not to follow his impoverished, sanctimonious life. At seventeen, he discarded his parents and up and left. He hitchhiked to San Francisco and he put himself through college, working nights at a bookstore, weekends at a contracting firm in North Beach. He studied philosophy and business, graduating near the top of his class, not knowing what he would do with his life.

  One day, he returned to the overgrown site of his father’s razed church. Amid the weed-entombed foundation, he realized his ambition. He would build churches. Many of California’s churches were aging. A market existed.

  Keller obtained a loan and was soon offering poor parishes new churches with long-term payment plans. His pitches were attractive. His knowledge of theology, philosophy, and his son-of-a-preacher approach ingratiated him with church leaders.

  It also captivated Joan Webster, t
he only daughter of a minister in Philo. She astounded him, distracting him during his first meeting with Reverend Webster. She possessed a celibate air of fresh-scrubbed wholesomeness. He wanted to be with her. He gave her father a ridiculously good deal and personally supervised the construction of the new church so he could be near her.

  Joan thought he was intelligent, handsome, unlike any of the local young men. He was a builder, a dreamer who could sweep her away from dusty old Philo to the lights of San Francisco.

  They courted for a year, then married and moved to a bungalow in Oakland. Joan was loving, fulfilling her role as duty-bound wife and mother, bearing them Pierce, Alisha, and Joshua.

  Keller’s business flourished, becoming one of the state’s largest church-building firms. They bought a huge Victorian in San Francisco with a postcard view of the Golden Gate bridge. There, they lived behind a deteriorating veneer of happiness. Keller preoccupied himself with making money, renegotiating contracts, making most congregations beholden to him for decades. He was addicted to the power. His passion for his business overshadowed his love for his family.

  Whenever Joan tried talking to him, he stifled her with a Biblical proverb. As time passed, she urged him to take one of the children with him on business trips. He rejected the idea. They would be in the way. Jeopardize a contract. Their discussions evolved into prolonged, late-night arguments, with Joan insisting he spend more time with the children, or there was no point in maintaining the façade of a family. She would leave him.

  Resentfully, Keller acquiesced.

  One at a time, he took the children on business trips, but he was so stern with their conduct that they dreaded going with him. Joan knew he was uncomfortable having the children with him, but she believed she was rescuing her family from disaster. Clinging to the hope he was a loving father imprisoned by his work, she suggested he spend a day alone with the children, away from business. Renting a boat to go bird watching and picnicking at the Farallons would be a memorable outing.

  That weekend, he loaded Pierce, Alisha, and Joshua into the Cadillac and drove down the peninsula to Half Moon Bay.

  Keller rocked in his chair, Bible in his lap, stroking his beard.

  Squeak-creak. Squeak-creak.

  That weekend.

  His children. The storm. The whale. Sinking. Darkness swallowing the children. His children.

  Dawn, hugging a rock. Someone lifting him. Warmth. A motor droning. Antiseptic hospital smells. Someone calling him. Joan’s face. Edward! Where are the children? Telling Joan what happened. Her face. Breaking. Her broken face seared into his soul.

  My angels! My angels! Edward, where are my children, please!

  Squeak-creak. Squeak-creak.

  Keller set the Bible aside.

  Time to resume his work. He went to the basement.

  “Home. I want my mommy and daddy,” Danny Becker moaned from the floor where he was scribbling with crayons in a fat coloring book. The dog sat dutifully at his side. The room was foul. Danny’s clothes were soiled. He had wet himself. Keller went upstairs, ran a hot bath, pouring Mr. Bubble into the water.

  A watery death.

  Keller knelt at the tub. The cocker spaniel padded into the room, then Danny appeared, gazing longingly at the water. It was a sign. Keller smiled, began removing Danny’s clothes, then hoisted him into the water. He unwrapped a bar of soap. Danny was docile, enjoying the warm water and bubbles. Noticing Keller’s silver crucifix, he reached up and held it in his tiny hand for inspection.

  Jesus said to his disciples: You shall not despise any one of these little ones, for I say to you that in Heaven their angels see the face of my Father.

  Keller cleared a circle of water in the bubbles, cupped the back of Danny’s neck, and immersed his entire head. Fear leapt onto Danny’s face. Underwater his eyes widened. His hand shot up, seizing Keller’s crucifix in a panic-stricken grasp and he pulled. Keller closed his eyes and smiled.

  For since by mankind came death, by mankind came, too, the resurrection of the dead.

  “Pull, Raphael! Pull, sweet healing angel! I beseech you! Will you pull my Josh from the watery purgatory into which I cast him?” The crucifix chain sank deep into Keller’s neck. Danny’s breath escaped in a wild underwater scream boiling to the surface. Clutching the crucifix in a white-knuckled grip, he raised himself from the water, coughing, gasping for air. The dog yelped. Danny rubbed his eyes, his tiny body shaking as he cried.

  It was wondrous, like the sound of a newborn. Keller covered Danny with a towel, and lifted him from the tub. He had baptized him, readied him for the transfiguration. “It will be done! It will be done! Oh, thank you, Raphael! Thank you!” Keller’s voice trembled. He was tingling with exultation, eyes brimming with tears. He carried Danny to his bedroom and opened the closet. It was crammed with cardboard boxes.

  “I want my mommy and daddy.” Danny wiped his eyes, watching Keller slide a box before him.

  “Joshua” was written on the box in neat feminine script. It was jammed with children’s clothing--boy’s summer items, neatly folded and smelling powerfully of mothballs. Danny coughed. Rummaging, Keller found a set of pajamas, powder blue, dotted with tiny fire trucks.

  “These will be your new clothes.” Keller put the pajamas on Danny. “And there’s a special set for the transfiguration.”

  Danny didn’t understand.

  “It’s time for a story,” Keller said.

  Back in the living room, Keller selected a blue binder from the table. The dog followed them. Keller sat in his rocking chair with Danny on his lap and sighed.

  “Later, can I go home, please?” Danny said.

  Squeak-creak. Squeak-creak.

  The chair rocked. The binder marked, “Daniel Raphael Becker/Joshua,” cracked when Keller opened it.

  “This is the story of a little boy named Josh who has gone away.”

  Keller turned to the first laminated page. It was a color portrait of the little boy Danny saw the other night riding the rocking horse in the movie on the wall. In the picture, the boy’s eyes danced with happiness. His hair was parted neatly, his hands were clasped together in his lap in a well-directed studio pose.

  “Who’s that?” Danny touched the page.

  Keller hesitated.

  “My Josh. He’s waiting in a cold dark place for me to get him. Only you can go there. That’s why you’re here. I sent for you. And this is how I found you.” He turned the page to a photocopy of a microfilmed newspaper clipping of a birth announcement. It was placed under the words: IT’S A BOY! And a graphic of a smiling stork, wings extended, a baby suspended in a bundle swinging from its beak.

  Keller read aloud:

  BECKER Magdalene and Nathan are proud to announce the birth of their first child, Daniel Raphael, who arrived March 14, weighing 8lbs, 7oz.

  Raphael and the month were circled in red. Joshua Keller had been born in March.

  Keller turned to an enlarged shot of Danny chasing the swans at the pond behind his house, then to a section of a city map with the Beckers’ street circled. Next, there was a photocopy from the San Francisco city directory listing Magdalene and Nathan Becker, their Jordan Park address, and Nathan’s job as an engineer with Nor-Tec, then the Backers’ municipal tax and land title records. The next pages were printouts of data on the Beckers and their property taken from municipal, county, state, and federal websites. Keller then reviewed some pages of the Beckers’ family history that he had purchased from a genealogy service on the internet. Then he turned to credit bills, bank statements, a wedding invitation, a doctor’s appointment notice for Danny, a grocery list, telephone bills, utility bills, and community newsletters. All were stained, creased, and torn. Keller had retrieved them from the Beckers’ garbage. Then there were some snapshots of Danny’s home, taken from the front, sides, and rear.

  “That’s my house!” Danny slapped the pages.

  Pictures of Maggie Becker walking with Danny, helping Danny from the car in t
heir driveway, were on the next page. Then pictures of Nathan walking with Danny in the neighborhood, in the BMW, Nathan entering Nor-Tec, then at Candlestick, and walking in Golden Gate Park.

  Then came Keller’s notes.

  FATHER: Mon to Fri, 6-6:30 a.m. goes downtown and catches CalTrain for Mountain View. Home by 7-9 p.m.

  MOTHER: 7 a.m., rises with A. Breakfast. Morning errands. Groceries on Thursday. Mon-Wed-Fri afternoon paints in studio loft while child is in local day care.

  WEEKENDS: SAT: father takes A on Sat. outing. Eves. parents go out and sitter watches A at Becker home.

  SUN: mother and child attend church in morn. AFT: all three go for excursion.

  The notes were meticulous, his work precise. He had reaped success.

  He had prepared, responded, and prevailed. He followed the sign and was rewarded.

  Poor Nathan Becker. Surely, his heart was broken. But he had let Danny wander on the train that day, had rested in the devil’s arms, cloaked in the shadow of a deadly sin: avarice. His failure to be vigilant over Danny was testament to the value he placed on his worldly pursuits. But that was not Keller’s concern. His work was his concern. And so much remained.

  The Angel would help him.

  It was preordained. Raphael was his name.

  Keller closed the binder and looked upon the Angel, shifting drowsily on his lap. He had arrived the same month Josh was born and was the same age as Josh when he was lost. Keller had recognized the signs. The Truth was revealed to him. His children were not dead. They were waiting to be reborn in celestial light.

  Squeak-creak. Squeak-creak.

  Only God’s Angels could rescue them, transfigure them.

  Raphael was the first. One of the Powers. Chief of the guardian angels. Guardian of mankind. Protector of children.

  Kelly reached for a second binder, a thick pink one bearing the title “Gabrielle Michelle Nunn/Alisha.” He turned to a portrait of a six-year-old girl. Her shimmering chestnut hair was a halo in French braids. Her radiant eyes. Her emerald velvet dress, delicate lace trim... “Alisha. My beautiful Alisha.” Keller caressed the picture, sniffed, and turned to another birth announcement: