Rick Mofina - If Angels Fall

A wolf among the lambs.

Sydowski sat down and reread the entire file.

Trauma as a child. Religious overtones. Need tore-offend. Fantasy fulfillment. A pattern of crime that fit with the Donner-Becker-Nunncases. Shook was lighting up the FBI profile like a Christmas tree. Sydowskireached for his phone and punched the number for Turgeon’s cell. They wouldbring the task force up to speed on Shook at the eight-thirty meeting.

“Turgeon.”

“It’s Walt, Linda.”

“You’re up early.”

“Get down here to 450 as soon as possible. We’ve gotShook’s file.”

“Is it him, Walt?”

“It’s him, Linda, and guess who his hero is?”

“I couldn’t begin.”

“The Zodiac.”

At dawn, awhite van squeaked to a stop at Gabrielle Nunn’s home and four sober-facedmembers of the San Francisco Police Department’s IDENT detail got out. Dressedin dark coveralls, they talked softly, yawning, finishing off coffee, andtossing their cups into the truck. A second van arrived with six more officers.They went to homes on either side of the Nunn’s, waking owners, showing themsearch warrants. Yellow plastic tape was stretched the length of seven houses,sealing front and backyards with the message: POLICE LINE — DO NOT CROSS. TheNunn home was the middle house. Before the day’s end, every inch in thesectioned-off area would be sifted, searched, and prodded for anythingconnected to the case.

It was no ordinary Sunday morning here. Something hadbeen defiled in the inner Sunset, where less than twenty-four hours earlierGabrielle had skipped off to Joannie Tyson’s birthday party, radiant in her newdress.

Her neighbors knew the nightmare.

They had seen the news crews, gasped for reporters,watched TV, and read the papers. This morning, they stared from their doors andwindows, shaking their heads, hushing their children, drawing their curtains.“I hope they find her. Her poor parents.” Something had been violated,something terrifying had left its mark, now manifest in yellow policetape-America’s flag of tragedy and death.

Ngen Poovong knew death intimately. But you couldn’ttell by looking at the shy eleven-year-old, standing at the tape with the usualcluster of gawkers and children. The horrors of Ngen’s life were not evident inhis face, his T-shirt, shorts, and sneakers. His secrets never left his home,which was two doors down from Gabrielle’s. Ngen did not know Gabrielle and Ryanwell. He had difficulty making friends, his English was so poor. His family hadbeen in San Francisco a short time. He watched the men in coveralls. Police.Never talk to police. He knew what the excitement was all about, but he wasfrightened. He glanced over his shoulder to this house and saw Psoong watchinghim from the window.

Do not tell them what you know.

Ngen said nothing. Just as he had done last night whenpolice came to their door, followed by the TV people. He remembered Psoongpeeking through the curtains, then turning to Ngen and his older sister, Min.“Something is wrong,” Psoong told them in their own tongue. “Police are goingto every door.”

Ngen and Min had not seen him this worried since theblack days when they were crammed on the boat, drifting hopelessly in the SouthChina Sea. “They are going to every house taking notes. They will be here soon.”

“Maybe they know?” Min said, pulling Ngen close.

“We must make no mistakes. Remember the rules.”

The rules were simple: Listen to everything. Watcheverything. Know everything. Say nothing. You are ignorant. Trust no one.Without the rules there was no survival. And Psoong Li, and Min and NgenPoovong were survivors.

Their families had met on a smuggler’s trawler,crammed with one hundred other people who paid 1,000 U.S. dollars a person forsafe passage from Laos to Manila. Four days out, pirates attacked. Ngen’sfather and mother were killed. So were Psoong’s parents. Min was raped. Psoongwas stabbed, but survived. Ngen wanted to jump to the sharks. Min became muteand stared at the sea. Psoong comforted the survivors, organizing the rationingof the little fresh water and rice that were left. He was especially kind toMin and Ngen, urging them to be strong to honor the memory of their families,to believe in their rescue. Psoong, Min, and Ngen became friends, forming asmall family, and Psoong shared the secret that his father had wisely sent hissavings to Psoong’s uncle in California, who had written that the bestcandidates for immigration to the United States were families with relativesliving there. Psoong had a plan.

He proposed that Min act as his wife and Ngen as theirson. Psoong was thirty-one, Min was twenty. With no documentation on theirages, they would lie to make it work. Afterward, they could go their separateways, if they chose, but for now it was a matter of survival. Min stared at thesea and agreed. There was no other choice.

“Good,” Psoong said. “No one will ever learn the truthif we follow our rules.” Failure would mean deportation and death.

“Remember the rules,” Psoong whispered to Min and Ngenthree days later when a Hawaii-bound Swedish freighter picked them up. Aftereleven months in a refugee camp, an American official granted them life when hestamped his approval on their applications to enter the United States.

In San Francisco, they lived in the basement ofPsoong’s uncle’s house for several months, maintaining their secret, remainingfamily. Then they bought an old two-story house in the Sunset with Psoong’sfather’s savings and the money they earned as office cleaners. They livedquietly in fear-fear that intensified when police came to them last night.

Remember the rules. We cannot go back. No one mustknow.

The two detectives were not in uniform, flashed theirbadges and Psoong let them in. They did not stay long after Psoong explained infaltering English that they knew nothing about the missing American girl. Whenthe detectives left, Psoong thought that was the end of it and managed a smile.His relief vanished less than an hour later when one of the officers returnedwith an Asian woman. She was fluent in five Asian languages, including theirs.

She was a pretty, young university language professorfrom Berkeley who could not be fooled. Right off she explained how the policewere not the slightest bit interested in them, only their help, which theycould give confidentially. After listening to her warm, friendly assurances,Ngen immediately wanted to tell her what he had seen.

The woman asked if they remembered seeing anything oddin the last month or so. Psoong and Min shook their heads. The woman showedthem a picture of Gabrielle. Yes, Ngen knew her and talked to her once ortwice. She was a friendly little girl who loved her dog.

“How do you know she loved her dog?” the detectivesaid.

The professor translated.

Ngen shot a look at Psoong. Remember the rules. The professorcaught the communication and placed herself on the couch between Psoong andNgen, showing Ngen an enhanced picture of Gabrielle’s kidnapper. For amicrosecond, recognition flickered in his eyes.

“Have you seen anything like this man around here before?”

Ngen swallowed and shook his head.

The professor knew the truth. “Are you certain?” Herpretty eyes held him prisoner. She would not let him look at Psoong.

“No,” Ngen lied.

The woman asked Min and Psoong a few more questions,then cards were left and requests made for calls if anything was remembered.This was a very serious case. A little girl’s life was in danger. Ngen noticedhow the tall detective searched his eyes for something.

Now, watching the police scrutinizing Gabrielle’syard, Ngen struggled to understand what was happening. More than twentyofficers in white coveralls, with radios crackling, were investigating theneighborhood. The enormity of Gabrielle’s disappearance hit Ngen. He could nolonger stand it. He hurried home and pleaded with Min to allow him to tell thepolice what he had seen. What if the kidnapper had stolen him? Wouldn’t Min andPsoong want help? This was the United States, people helped people here. Mincalled Psoong, who was at work. He came home, worry etched in his face.