Rick Mofina - If Angels Fall

“How long can I run with it?”

“Forty, fifty inches. Put the footage of the bad guyup high.”

“No problem.”

“I’ve got Molly camped out on the Nunns’ doorsteptonight, in case of a ransom call, or the family talks to the press. We’ll sendthe night guy to relieve her later.”

“What else have we got going?”

“A Jack Thorne column. It captures the mood: nervousparents keeping their children close, city sharing the Beckers’ and Nunns’anguish. Color on Gabrielle, her family, the dog connection, the suspect’spsych profile, a summary of the three cases, that sort of thing.” MacCrimmonadjusted his glasses. “Anything you think we should add?”

Reed noticed a back issue nearby with his feature onthe bereavement group. Again, he thought of Edward Keller. Maybe he should tellMacCrimmon about his hunch, ask to be freed to quietly investigate Keller. Thenagain, maybe not.

“You have something on your mind, Tom?”

“No. Sounds like a solid package.”

“Story’s drawing global interest. Other papers inBritain, Japan, and Canada are sending staff here.” MacCrimmon checked hiswatch, then patted Reed’s shoulder. “Better get busy.”

Reed’s story came together smoothly. After proofingit, he sent it to MacGrimmon’s computer desk.

Reed massaged his neck and looked at Molly Wilson’sempty chair. Tomorrow was going to be another long day with follow-up stories.The mayor was holding a don’t-worry-the-city-is-safe press conference.Exhausted but satisfied, Reed considered leaving to get some sleep, butadrenaline was still coursing through his system. Something hideous had hit thecity and he was part of it, secretly experiencing the macabre thrill everycrime reporter knew, loathed, and would never truly comprehended. From Salinasto Ukiah, wherever the Star went, people would devour his work, gasp andshake their heads-in office towers, restaurants, airports, malls, schools andkitchens.

Reed knew this and it excited him. It always did.

Reed checked his watch. It was not that late. He shouldcall Ann and Zach just to hear their voices. They hadn’t been together sincetheir lunch in Berkeley. Reed smiles at how Zach was giddy with the good news.

“Soooo?” Zach’s eyes ping-ponged between his parentsas he sucked up the last of his strawberry shake. “What’s taking so long?”

“What are you talking about?” Reed said.

“Us getting back together. I told Gordie we’re movingback.”

Reed exchanged a glance and a smile with Ann.

“We haven’t heard back from Mr. Tilley,” she said.

“You mean the Okie guy who’s renting our house withhis wife?”

“Watch your manners, Zach.” Reed said.

“The nice businessman from Tulsa.”

“It’s going to take some time for Mr. Tilley toarrange to find another place before we can move in,” Ann said.

“A couple of months at least,” Reed added.

“A couple of months? Well okay.” Zach burped. “Excuseme.”

“And you are going with me on my business trip toChicago,” Ann said.

They were putting the pieces back together. Once theyreturned to their house, regrouped as a family, he would request a leave andtake a crack at his novel and they would put what had happened behind them. Itwas all they could do. For the rest of their lunch, he stole glances at Ann andZach, loving them and wondering if the fractures would ever fade. That was afew days ago.

Tilley told them moving out of their house wouldn’t bea problem. He was supposed to get back to Ann with a date.

Reed picked up the phone to call her, but it was late.Zach was likely asleep. He snapped off his computer, slipped on his jacket, andwaved to the night desk. Leaving the newsroom, he decided to call Ann and Zachtomorrow. Maybe they’d get together after their shift. He could put somedistance between himself and the story.

Reed would be in his lonely bed and asleep withinforty-five minutes, and without the help of Jack Daniel’s. He hadn’t touchedthe booze for five nights now. He did it by focusing on his priorities. Ann andZach. That’s all he had to do, he told himself, stopping at the bank ofreporters’ mail slots, where he found something in his box. What’s this? Anancient Star article taken from a microfilmed back issue with a notefrom Lillian Freeman, the newsroom librarian. The article was short. No byline.The head was:

THREE S.F. CHILDREN DROWN IN BOATING ACCIDENT

There was a note with the article:

“Tom: I know you wanted this a long time ago but Ijust found it. Apparently this happened twenty years ago, not ten. Hence thedelay. We had little on it. You could check the Chron and the Exam .I left some material marked for you in the reading corner. Hope it still helps.Lillian.”

Reed read the story of how Edward Keller’s childrendrowned in the Pacific. He was transfixed. He got a steaming mug of blackcoffee and headed for the newsroom library.

Two hours after she had given an emotional news conference on her front lawn, Nancy Nunnwas in her bedroom, sedated. Turgeon was still on the phone. Sydowski set hiscoffee aside, as he steadied himself to see Gabrielle’s brother, Ryan, aftersomebody told him the eight-year-old had questions.

Ryan was downstairs with Nancy Nunn’s friend WendySloane and her daughters, Charlotte and Elaine. The family room had therequisite paneling and indoor-outdoor carpeting. A small bar with three swivelstools stood empty at one end, with a Giants’ pennant and a neon beer signglowing from the wall behind it. Closed tonight. There was a well-worn couchand loveseat set before a big-screen TV. It was a room where a family couldsnuggle up in front of a movie, or play monopoly, or laugh, or be happy, oranything safe and mundane.

But not tonight.

Tonight it was a sanctuary for the three childrenhuddled on the floor watching a movie. The children were sitting on sleepingbags. Plastic bowls overflowing with popcorn were next to them, untouched.Wendy Sloane was on the sofa, dabbing her face with a crumpled tissue. She sawSydowski, then looked away. She had seen enough of police to last her the restof her life; moreover, she would never forgive herself for teasing Nancy abouther fears.

Sydowski grunted amicably as he sat with the childrenon the floor, introduced himself, and invited them to ask any questions thatmight be on their minds.

The girls were silent, watching the movie.

Ryan turned to Sydowski, his eyes cold and dry.

“Is my little sister dead?”

“We don’t know, Ryan. We just don’t know.”

“How come? You’re a detective right? You’re supposedto know.”

“We haven’t found anything, not a single piece ofanything you could think of that would prove Gabrielle has been hurt.”

“But the news said you found her hair and stuff.”

“We think the stranger cut her hair so people wouldn’trecognize her from her picture. We’re going to make a new picture of her. Itdoesn’t mean she has been hurt.”

Ryan’s face brightened a bit. “That means she couldstill be all right somewhere?”

“Exactly, but with shorter hair.”

“And that’s really why there’s going to be moresearching tomorrow with a helicopter and dogs and everything? Not becauseyou’re looking for her dead body, like the TV news said?”

“That’s right. We’re looking everywhere for yoursister and for anything to help us figure out what happened to her, so that wecan find her. So far, no matter what anybody else tells you, there is nothingto prove Gabrielle has been hurt. You got that straight from me. That’s my wordas a San Francisco Police Inspector. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Excuse me, Walt.” Special Agent Merle Rust took Sydowskiaside. “IDENT’s finished with her bedroom. Came up with nothing, zip. WE shouldgive it a quick once-over.”