Rick Mofina - If Angels Fall

“Look at the old stories Tom. Gabrielle will be six bythe anniversary of the tragedy, the twenty-first.”

“That’s right.”

“Something else. These names”-Wilson circled Raphaeland Gabrielle-“these are angels’ names.”

“I thought that too. Are you sure?”

“I’m lapsed Catholic. I wrote a high school paper onangels.”

Reed studied the names, thinking.

“Angels. Maybe to him the kids are angels orsomething.”

“Maybe guardian angels?”

“Maybe. It would fit with the profile. I mean we’vegot him on the traumatic cataclysmic event with children.”

“Right, the drownings.”

“And we’ve got him on religious delusions.”

“Church building, Scripture spewing, grief-strickennut who is stealing kids with angel names who are the same age as his deadchildren.” Wilson shook her head.

“What?”

“I don’t know, Tom. It’s just so incredible.”

“Not really, Molly. Look, remember I did that featureon the woman who posed as a maternity nurse and walked out of an East Bayhospital with a newborn?”

“It was a good piece.”

“Well, the FBI’s research showed that a key motivatorfor child abductors-and it’s mostly women who do newborn hospital abductions-isthe need to replace a child. So it’s not unreal. And I’m thinking, this couldbe the same thing Keller is going through.”

“Yeah, but for twenty years, Tom? We’re making a leaphere.”

“Stranger things have happened.”

“Okay, so it fits. So why not go to the police? Whynot tell Sydowski about your theory? Let him check it out.”

Reed stared at her, saying nothing. Her suggestionmade perfect sense, but he couldn’t do it. Wilson knew.

“It’s because of what happened last time you playedyour hunch, right? You’re a little gun-shy?”

“Something like that. What if I tell Sydowski, and hegoes to Keller and it turns out he’s not the bad guy at all? Keller’s in acounseling group, the anniversary of his kids’ deaths is coming. What if thepolice spook him and he loses it or-“

Reed couldn’t finish the thought.

“You don’t want another suicide.”

Tom rubbed his face. “I may have been wrong aboutFranklin Wallace, Molly. It’s been haunting me. I just don’t know.”

“I don’t think you were wrong there. Wallace hadsomething to do with Tanita’s murder. Maybe it was a partner crime.”

“Okay, say I was right about Wallace. But I wentthrough so much shit with that. It cost me so much. I’m torn up with this.”

“But what if Keller is the one? There’s so much atstake here. The kids could be alive.”

“I know.” Exhausted, he placed his face in his hands.

Wilson bit her lip and blinked. Her bracelets tinkledas she brushed her hair aside. She tapped a finger on the table thoughtfullybefore turning to him.

“I’ll help you, Tom.”

“What are you talking about?”

“There’s only one thing you can do.”

“What?”

“Check Keller out yourself, quietly. Take a few days,dig up everything you can about him, then decide whether or not to pass it tothe police. That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?”

It would be risky. The paper would fire my ass if itfound out what I was doing.”

“Nobody would have to know. I’ll cover for you. I’llhelp you.”

Sydowski was wide awake. The numbers of his clock radio blazed 3:12 A.M. fromhis night table. He tugged on his robe, made coffee, and shuffled to the aviaryto be with the birds.

He deposited himself into his rocker, a Father’s Daygift from the girls, running a hand over his face, feeling his whiskers as hesat in the dark, listening to the soft chirping.

Turgeon had volunteered to stay with Mikelson,Ditmire, and the crew keeping an all-night watch at the Nunn home. For all thesleep he was getting, he might as well have stayed, too. He fingered hisbeeper. Linda would page him if anything popped.

Damn. This was a ball-breaker.

The out-of-focus video footage was good, but it wasn’tenough. They had squat. No good calls. No solid leads. Virgil Shook’s file wassupposed to arrive today. That should help. They had zip on Becker and Nunn.DMV was working up a list of all Ford pickups and the California partial tag.They were certain the severed braids they found were Gabrielle’s. Beyond thatand the footage, they had no physical evidence on Becker and Nunn.

IDENT would hit the Nunn house and neighborhoods atdaybreak, concentrating on the dog’s pen, comb it for anything. More than twodozen detectives were dissecting each family’s background for a commondenominator. Why were these children selected? Was it random? Becker was stalked;Nunn was lured in a calculated plan. But the guy risked getting caught. If hewas fearless, he was on a mission, and when there was a mission, delusionfueled it. What kind? Nothing surfaced to lead them to terrorists. Nothing tolead them to a cult, or human sacrifice, according to Claire Ward with SpecialInvestigations. The families’ religious backgrounds varied. Angela Donner wasBaptist, the Beckers were Protestant, the Nunns, Anglican. No common thread,except their Christianity. And those faces.

Angels faces.

Tanita Marie Donner. Peering into that bag. What hedid to her was inhuman. Was it Shook? Was he their boy? Was he now out ofcontrol? Tanita may have been stalked. Taken in broad daylight. But he killedher, left a corpse, left pictures, left his mark, and called the press. Why? Tomock the police? Was he just practicing with Tanita?

Practice makes perfect.

Sydowski was alert now. Might as well go to the hall.

In the shower, he thought of the children. What abouttheir birth months? Signs of the Zodiac. The Zodiac? He patted Old Spice on hisface after shaving, pulled a fresh pair of pants over his Fruit of the Looms.He chose the shirt with the fewest wrinkles, a blue Arrow button-down, ploppedon his bed, and laced up his leather shoes. The Zodiac had taunted police withhis mission. Sydowski took a navy tie from his rack, knotted it, then strappedon his shoulder holster, unlocked his Glock from the safe on the top closetshelf. He checked it, slipping it into his holster. He hated the thing, it wasso uncomfortable. He put on a gray sports coat, rolled his shoulders. Gave hishair a couple of rakes with a brush, reached for the leather-encased shield,gazing at his laminated ID picture and his badge. A lifetime on the job.Twenty-six years of staring at corpses. He looked at the gold-framed pictureson his dresser-his girls, his grandchildren, his wedding picture. Basha’ssmile. He slipped the case into his breast pocket and left.

On the way to the hall, he stopped at his neighborhoodall-night donut shop. A few nighthawks huddled over coffee. Jennie, themanager, was wiping the counter with an energy that, at 4:30 A.M., was painfulto witness. Her face told him he looked bad. “You’re working too hard, Walt.You getting enough sleep? A growing boy needs his sleep.” She poured coffeeinto a large take-out cup. “You need a woman to take care of you.” She spoonedin sugar, a couple of drips of cream, snapped on a lid.

“You think so?”

“I know so. You’re early today. Bert ain’t made nochocolate yet. I’ve got some fresh old fashions though. Warm from the oven.”

“Fine.”

She dropped four plain donuts into a bag. Rang up theorder. “It’s a shame about them kids, Walt.”

A moment of understanding passed between them.

“You’ll crack it, Walt. You’re a wily old flatfoot.”

Sydowski slid a five toward her. “Keep the change,Jennie.”

At the Hall of Justice, in the fourth-floor Homicidedetail, three faces watching him from the mobile blackboard in the middle ofthe room stopped Sydowski in his tracks. Poster-size blowups of Tanita MarieDonner, Danny Raphael Becker, and Gabrielle Michelle Nunn.