Rick Mofina - If Angels Fall

Outside, on the steps of the hall, Reed thought he’dbetter cool the Keller theory. Get a grip. He would never admit that in a darkcorner of his heart he nurtured doubts that Franklin Wallace was Tanita Donner’skiller. Now, in the span of minutes, he got some poor grief-stricken born-againpegged as a child-killer. Why?

Because he loathed religious extremists? Or was thegleam of self-righteousness in Keller’s eyes? Because he was pissed atSydowski? Because he was anxious about getting back together with Ann? Whoknew? But there was something about Keller. Reed wondered about Keller’s story.Was his tragedy true? Why would he lie about it? If it was true, it would makea good read, especially with the anniversary of the drownings coming up.Sliding behind the wheel of his Comet, studying his notes, Reed decided to dosome discreet digging on Keller, to see where it went.

Padding to the porch for her morning paper, Nancy Nunn looked for Jackson. Where wasthat dog? Reaching for her paper, she surveyed the street for her five-year-olddaughter’s cocker spaniel, hoping to spot him, snout to the ground, sniffinghis way home. Gabrielle yearned for him. She and Jackson had been inseparablesince the Christmas morning she found the blond, long-eared pup under the tree.Then one night last month he vanished from the backyard.

Gabrielle was shattered.

The next day the family plastered missing-rewardposters throughout the neighborhood. Nancy and Ryan, Gabrielle’s older brother,knocked on doors. Paul, Gabrielle’s dad, drove for blocks, with Gabriellecalling for Jackson from the car. Where was Jackson? Paul was not convinced heran off. But what else could have happened? Whatever, it didn’t matter. Theyhad to do something. Certain Jackson was not coming back, Nancy and Paulplanned to surprise Gabrielle with a new pup for her sixth birthday in twoweeks.

No fog this morning.

Nancy checked the street once more for Jackson,groaning at The San Francisco Star’s headline. It was CHILD ABDUCTOR MAYSTRIKE AGAIN, FBI FEARS with the kicker, “Man Who Took Danny PsychologicallyScarred.” She bolted her door and went to the kitchen.

Nancy rarely read news stories. Taking care of herhusband, a firefighter, and their two children while holding down a part-timejob left her no time to digest the pound of information slapped on her doorstepeach morning. She took the Star for the coupons.

Danny Becker’s kidnapping had made Nancy vigilant,especially when Paul was at work. She looked in on Gabrielle and Ryanfrequently while they slept, rechecked the locks of their house, remindingherself the Sunset was a safe neighborhood, the best place in the city to raisekids. She was coping as rationally as could be expected, remembering howearlier, talking to Paul about it, she sought something positive in DannyBecker’s abduction.

“Maybe now police will catch the killer. Maybe thisnew case gives them a lead and they’ll find Danny safe.”

“Police?” Paul scoffed. “Like with the Zodiac, Nance?The cops never caught him. Don’t hold your breath for the police to stop thisguy. A.45 in the head is what it’s going to take. And it won’t come from thecops, it’ll be some kid’s old man.”

Nancy was grateful Paul restrained himself from displayinghis Remington, out of respect for her abhorrence of guns. While the Sunset waslargely unscathed by crime, she now found comfort in the fact her husband, aformer U.S. Marine sergeant, still kept his gun.

This morning, in her kitchen, Nancy read the latestnews about the abduction. Offer more reward money, she thought. Somebody inthis city knows where Danny Becker is.

The kitchen phone rang. She got it.

“Hey there, Nance!” said Wendy Sloane, her neighborand best friend.

“Hey yourself.”

“They still haven’t caught the creep yet. The Chron figures he’s a parolee from a prison for child molesters. What’s the Star say?”

“He’s playing some kind of fantasy in his head andhe’ll strike again. Hi, handsome.” Ryan, Gabrielle’s eight-year-old brother,came yawing into the kitchen, pajama clad, and hugged her. “Can you start yourown breakfast while Mom’s on the phone?”

He pulled a box of cornflakes from the cupboard.

“Paul home?” Wendy asked.

“No. He’s working. What are your two up to, with noschool today?”

Wendy had two girls. Charlotte was nine and Elaine wasseven.

“Fretting about the birthday parties coming up.Joannie Tyson’s is in a few days and then Gabrielle’s because they think she isprettier than Joannie and Joannie’s party is going to be so big.”

“Lady, your daughters are cruel.”

“They’re running around deeply concerned about what towear and who’s going to be there to impress.”

“You’re raising a pair of debs. How proud you mustbe.”

Both women laughed.

“Nancy, you’re still taking Gabrielle to Joannie’sparty, right? You’re not going to overreact to this kidnapping crap?”

“I considered not going, but I don’t want to scare thekids. Besides it would be rude not to go to Joannie’s party, then expect her tocome to Gabrielle’s.”

“There you go, girl.”

Nancy could hear Wendy’s smile and it warmed her toknow they were friends. They had met at the Bette Food Value Mart inStonestown, where they were part-time cashiers. When they learned they livednear each other in the Sunset, they became pals. Wendy was a big-hearted Texanfrom Austin who adored country music and joked about writing her own tune,“Livin’ ‘n’ Lovin’ in the Fogbelt.” Her husband, Rod, was a welder who drank abit. But he did have two saving graces. He brought home a regular paycheck and hecould two-step. “I’ll hang on to him. Until a better dancer with a biggerpaycheck comes along.”

Nancy and Wendy chatted every day on the phone androutinely packed juice, snacks, a thermos of coffee, the kids, and walked thefew blocks to the playground between Moraga and Lawton. They gossiped whiletheir children played. Today was a playground day.

“Meet you there in an hour,” Nancy said.

“You got it.”

“Wendy…?”

“Yes?”

“Bring your copy of today’s Chronicle ?”

“Oh, you old worrywart! Sure, I’ll bring it.”

Don’t give in to a siege mentality, Nancy toldherself. Be realistic. Keep an eye on Gabrielle and Ryan. That’s all she had todo.

In the living room, Nancy inspected the newflower-print dress she had made for Gabrielle’s birthday party. She stayed up laterto finish it. It was draped over a sofa chair. Tracing her fingers over herfine needlework, she smiled, then returned to the kitchen where Ryan wasstarting on a second bowl of cornflakes.

“Can I join scouts today, Mom?”

“We’ll talk about it later, okay? Get dressed whenyou’re done. We’re going to the playground.” She kissed the top of Ryan’s head.

After showering, Nancy slipped on a pair of old Levi’sand a Blue Jays T-shirt. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail while herfull-length mirror reflected a figure women envied and men enjoyed.

Gabrielle’s room was the freshest smelling room in thehouse. At times Nancy was certain she detected the lingering fragrance of babypowder. Were her senses deceiving her? Or, was it merely part of the bittersweetexperience of watching her daughter grow up, knowing that one day she would begone? Nearly six years old and already peering over the edge of the next.Recently, a poster of Leonardo DiCarprio had replaced one of Big Bird. Taped tothe wall above Gabrielle’s night stand was a snapshot of her hugging Jackson.It broke Nancy’s heart.

Sensing a presence, Gabrielle stirred, then woke.

“Hi, sleepyhead.”