Rick Mofina - If Angels Fall

Maybe the Canadian faxes had arrived. “Sydowski.”

“Walt, it’s bad.” Turgeon said. “We’ve got anotherabduction.”

“Another one!”

“Five-year-old girl, from her mother in Golden GatePark. A man in a pickup. Bearded. Fits with the Becker case.”

“I’m on my way.”

Sydowski hit his emergency lights and siren.

“Gabrielle. The girl’s name is Gabrielle. Her mother kept screaming her name,”seventy-three-year-old Fay Osborne from Ottumwa, Iowa, said as Tom Reed wrotequickly in his notepad.

He had taken Fay and Arthur, her seventy-five-year-oldhusband, a retired farmer, aside.

“This is a son-of-a-bitchin’ thing to do to a littlegirl.” Arthur repositioned his John Deere ball cap each time he patted hissweating head with his handkerchief. Reed hid the Osbornes from the otherreporters who swarmed Golden Gate Park.

The Star had sent Reed, Molly Wilson, and twophotographers to the park. Other staff were en route. Wilson was at thecarousel with the two teenage girls who saw the kidnapper, getting theiraccounts just before police took them away for statements.

Reed was having trouble hearing Fay and Jack Osborneover the TV news helicopters and satellite trucks roaring into the parking lot.Local stations were taking the story live. Shielding her eyes, Fay regarded ahovering chopper. The cradle-to-grave tribulations of a life bound to Iowa soilwere written in her face, eyes, and sturdy hands. Probably attended churchevery Sunday, Reed figured.

“Her mother kept saying that it was all her fault fornot watching her daughter more closely,” Fay said.

“You see anything strange in the parking lot beforethe mother ran up to you?”

“No. But this man approached us after seeing herupset.”

“Where is he now?”

“Gone. After helping the mother, he ran back to hiscar phone, called the police, then drove off, trying to follow the pickup truck.”

“Did he say anything before he left?” Writingfuriously, Reed stopped looking at the Osbornes.

“He had been talking on his car phone when he saw alittle girl come into the lot, and trot up to a parked pickup truck and talk toa man who had a dog in the cab. They only talked for a few seconds, then shegot in and they drove off.”

Reed never took his eyes from his notes as he wrote.“Did he get the truck’s plate number?”

“I don’t think so.”

“What did he say this man in the pickup looked like?”

“He said he had a beard, light-colored hair. In hisforties or fifties.

Reed froze, and stared at the Osbornes. “A beard andlight hair?”

Fay Osborne nodded. Reed’s mind spun with suspicion.

Beard. Light hair. Like the guy who took Danny Becker.Like the born-again kook from Martin’s bereavement group. He had a beard andlight hair. Right. And so did 100,000 other men in the Bay Area. Slow down. Whydid he think he was a detective? Didn’t he learn from the Franklin Wallacefiasco last year?

Reed finished with the Osbornes, went to the carousel,and took Wilson aside. “What’d you get?” he asked.

“Great stuff.” She flipped through her notes. “Hername is Gabrielle Nunn. From the description I got from the two girls who sawher talking to a man before she went missing. I’d say he’s the same creep whograbbed Danny Becker from BART.”

“Me, too.”

“Gabrielle was here for a friend’s birthday party, ahuge one, something like thirty kids. She’s waiting alone outside the washroomwhen she talks to this man in a ball cap and dark glasses. Nobody remembers theguy’s face, only that he was bearded with blondish hair.”

“Just like Becker on BART. Ball cap and dark glasses.”

“Gabrielle talks to the man, follows him to the lot.Her mom, Nancy Nunn, comes out minutes later. Can’t find her. The teens tellher about the man. Mom runs frantically to the lot. And get this! The wholething may have been caught on amateur video!”

“No shit?” Reed checked to ensure no other reporterswere eavesdropping. “How did you find out?”

“I overheard a guy tell a detective that he wasvideotaping his kids on the carousel about the same time. He said maybe hecaught the guy on tape.”

“He give the tape to the detective?”

“Yes, he took it before I could interview him.”

“Good stuff. See if we can get a print from it. Myguess is they’ll release it anyway.”

“Right. You get anything?”

Reed told her about Fay Osborne and the businessmanwho followed the pickup. Suddenly, Wilson remembered something and reachedexcitedly into her purse, pulling out a snapshot.

“One of the mothers from the party gave me thispicture of Gabrielle. Taken an hour ago. What an angel. Five years old. Herbirthday is next week. Her mother was freaked over Becker’s kidnapping, andwith Donner being found here, she was afraid to bring Gabrielle to the partytoday. Her mother made that dress. What a little angel, huh?”

“She’s cute all right. Anybody say anything about adog?”

“Yes, hold on.” Wilson handed Reed the snapshot andflipped through her notes. “Here, Jackson, Gabrielle’s cocker spaniel pup. Ranoff or something from their home about a month ago.”

“It fits.”

“What fits?”

“That this could’ve been premeditated. The guy tookher dog, then uses it today to lure her away.”

“Yeah, that would work.”

“Call the desk. We should send someone to the Nunnshome in the Sunset, talk to the neighbors.”

“Your house is in the Sunset, Tom.”

“Yeah, but I’ve never heard of this family.”

“Excuse me!” A grim-faced SFPD officer was unreeling ataut yellow police line around the carousel area, as other officers clearedpeople from the scene. The plastic ribbon sealed off the carousel enclosure,then stretched along the path Gabrielle had taken to the parking lotencompassing the lot itself, protecting the entire scene.

“Shit, Tom. They usually do this for homicides.”

“Likely a grid search, in case the bad guy droppedsomething.”

Drew Chapman, one of the Star’s photographers,joined them, clicking off a dozen frames.

“Chappy. Where you been?” Wilson said.

“Deep in the west end. A group of suits were pokingaround the scene where they found the murdered baby last year. The Examiner and Merc were there, too. Not bad for pix.”

“Cops put on the white gloves?” Reed asked.

Drew shook his head. “I don’t think they found dick.”Drew nodded to a group of detectives nearing the area and raised a camera tohis face. “Those guys there.”

Reed recognized Rust and Ditmire, along with Turgeonand Sydowski, walking outside the tape at the far side, stopping to talk withthe uniforms, instructing them to do something.

Drew fired off a few frames. “We overhead them saysomething about a press conference at the hall later. I don’t know about youguys, but I think it is all linked. I think we got some twisted, fucking,serial, child-killer.”

Maybe, Reed thought, considering the names as a connection.Danny Raphael Becker. Gabrielle Nunn. What an angel. Raphael. Gabrielle.The Angel Gabrielle. Gabriel. Raphael. Angels.

In Room 400 at the Hall of Justice, a funeral mood descended upon those watching GabrielleNunn’s abduction over and over again. In color, slow motion and reverse. Theysaw it on the same big-screen TV the homicide dicks used to watch ball games, DirtyHarry movies, and Dragnet reruns.

Vaughan Kreuger, a mechanic from Buffalo, wasvideotaping his four-year-old twins on the carousel with their mother whenGabrielle was taken from the playground. He volunteered his tape to a detectiveat the scene. Given the circumstances, the Kruegers didn’t want it.