If Angels Fall (tom reed and walt sydowski)

by Rick Mofina

  “We’re at Mom’s. Call me.” The temperature of hervoice dropped. “If you have the time.”

  FIFTY-SIX

  The new white minivan parked in the shade of a eucalyptus grove on Fulton inBerkeley near the university was a rental from San Jose. For two days now ithad been an innocuous fixture across the street, three doors down from DorisCrane’s home. Her two-story house was framed perfectly in the van’s rearviewand driver’s side mirrors.

  Edward Keller watched it with the vigilance of astatue.

  Occasionally he would study his reflection. He hardlyrecognized himself-clean shaven, his pale skin was tanning. The dye he hadselected worked well, darkening his short, neat hair. He no longer saw himself.He had been transformed. He had been ordained, enlightened to show the worldthe wonder of God’s Love.

  I am cleansed in the light of the Lord.

  After his divine work in obtaining the address fromthe hillbilly living in the Angel’s house in San Francisco, Keller went to thepublic library, and scoured the directories and other registries, learning muchabout Doris Crane in a short time.

  She was widowed in 1966 and lived alone in the house,working part-time as a secretary in Berkeley’s law department. Doris had onedaughter, Ann, who had one son. He was nine years old.

  Pierce Keller was nine years old.

  Ann owned three children’s clothing stores in the BayArea. Keller suspected her marriage was troubled, because she and the Angelwere renting their home and living with Doris Crane. A blessing that had kepther loathsome, arrogant husband out of the way.

  Keller had already met him.

  Thomas the doubter.

  The oaf could not grasp the meaning of his mission: helping the bereaved through the valley of the dark sun. At first, Keller didnot know Reed’s role, believing he was sent to destroy his work.

  But the truth was revealed.

  It was destined that they should meet.

  Reed was the signpost to the third Angel. It wasrevealed to him in Zach Reed’s birth announcement. Keller found it in thepublic library’s newspaper archives, Zachary Michael Reed.

  It was destined. His middle name was Michael. He wasZachary Michael Reed. Zachary, father of John the Baptist, who’s birth wasforetold to him by an Angel. John the martyred prophet who baptized Christ.

  Michael the Archangel.

  Finding Michael was challenging. For the past twodays, Keller saw nothing at the house, except for Doris Crane’s comings andgoings. Although he tried to remain calm and trust in the Lord, he worried. Solast night he took Doris Crane’s garbage. He probed it, finding a copy of atravel company’s itinerary for Ann reed. She had two round-trip plane ticketsto Chicago. The tickets were for A. and Z. Reed. She was attending a conferenceat the Marriott. They were scheduled to return this morning. Keller checked hiswatch. The plane had landed in San Francisco two hours ago. He was convinced hewould see the third Angel today. For Heaven continued to shower him withprotection.

  Virgil Shook was the latest miracle. His arrest and shootinghad dominated the front pages of this morning’s papers. Shot him dead, somereports said.

  In a church. It was preordained.

  Sanctus. Sanctus. Sanctus. Keller’s mission was divine.

  He was invincible.

  Soon police would learn that the repulsive child abuserwas not the enlightened one. The incident was divine intervention, designed toshield Keller long enough to complete his work. He was so close to thetransfiguration.

  Keller’s body tensed.

  A cab stopped in front of Doris Crane’s house.

  A woman got out of the rear passenger’s side, whilethe driver unloaded luggage from the trunk. The woman was in her earlythirties, attractive, very business-like.

  Ann Reed.

  She was tired, angry, as she rummaged through herwallet and called into the cab.

  “Come on, Zach, wake up, we’re home.”

  Keller held his breath.

  Michael. The third Angel.

  The drowsy boy dragged himself out of the car. He waswearing a Chicago Bulls T-shirt, baggy jeans, new sneakers. As his motherslapped bills into the cabby’s hand, the boy wearily grabbed a canvas travelbag and trudged into the house.

  Keller watched.

  His heart nearly tore free from his body.

  Sanctus, sanctus, sanctus. Dominus Deus sabaoth.

  Michael.

  Commander of Heaven’s army! Conqueror of Lucifer!

  Behold!

  A prince in God’s celestial court!

  Keller had gazed upon Michael the Archangel.

  And he shone with the light of one million suns.

  He was overwhelmed in the presence of divine majesty.Soon, he would realize his exalted mission.

  The transfiguration.

  The reunification with his lost children.

  It was his destiny.

  Keller clasped his hands together tightly, bowed hishead, touching his lips to his whitened knuckles.

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  Sydowski kept his promise.

  Angela Donner cradled twelve white sweetheart roses inher arms, as if carrying a baby. Sydowski pushed her father, John, in hissqueaking wheelchair along the pebbled paths of the cemetery to Tanita Marie’sheadstone. Sydowski had vowed to make a pilgrimage to Tania’s grave with hermother and grandfather once her murder had been solved. It had. Her death hadbeen avenged. Her killer killed.

  When they stopped at Tanita’s marker, the earlymorning sun was hitting the polished granite. It was emblazoned in the light.The grounds were silent but for the distant traffic, and John’s soft moans.Sydowski patted his shoulder.

  Angela knelt, setting the flowers at the foot of thestone, kissing it as a breeze rolled through the oaks sheltering Tanita’s plot.Tears streaked her face as she caressed the epitaph tracing the sun-warmedletters of her daughter’s name. “You know, Inspector, I’ve been part of theuniversity’s bereavement group.”

  “I know.”

  “I have come to accept that my baby was a lambsacrificed for the sins of this world.”

  Sydowski nodded. Angela continued.

  “I see her everywhere in the faces of children. I achewhen I see mothers hug their daughters. I know my baby is with God. Probablymaking Him laugh. I have to carry that in my heart to survive.”

  “I understand.”

  “Thank you for working so hard. I know you reallycared. I just hope with all my heart you find the other children. Alive.”

  Sydowski swallowed hard and closed his eyes. Wouldthere be two more deaths? Two more funerals with little coffins? He needed alead. Something. Anything. Sydowski’s pager bleated.

  Clamping his teeth on his unlit cigar, Lieutenant LeoGonzales grunted angrily, seating himself with the detectives at the table inRoom 400 at the hall. By the grave way he was rearranging the fresh pages inhis hands. It was a safe bet something was fucked. Badly. This was the firststatus meeting of the Yellow Ribbon Task Force since Virgil Lee Shook waspronounced dead at San Francisco General sixteen hours ago. Papers and reportswent round the table. The cork and chalk boards bearing maps, notes, and photosof Tanita, Danny, and Gabrielle, Shook, the suspect’s composite, and a blurrystill of him from the home video, were again wheeled to one end of the room.

  “Listen up. It’s just like we figured. No way is thisover. We’ve got the serology tests. From the saliva on the envelopes of theintercepted letters to the families, we got an O-positive blood type. From thesemen in Tanita Donner’s homicide, we got an O-positive. Shook is O-positive.And we got one of Shook’s latent’s on the knife used in Donner. We put the labstuff, along Shook’s identification through his tattoos, the Polaroids, histaped confession, and we’ve got him for Donner, with Franklin Wallace asaccomplice. DNA will nail it.”

  “What’s the problem?” Lonnie Ditmire wondered.

  Gonzales halted the question with his hand. “Let mefinish.” He shuffled his papers. “The blood-typing tests on Gabrielle Nunn’ssevered braids found in the
Sunset were redone. We just got the results.Gabrielle is A-positive. Shook, O-positive. The problem is, the blood on herhair is B-positive, a male Caucasian.”

  “Just like we feared, we’ve still got another playerout there,” Turgeon said.

  “Exactly.” Gonzales dropped the pages, as the impactsank in.

  “Could we have some kind of pedophile ring goinghere?” asked Bill Kennedy, Deputy Chief of Investigations.

  “Could be,” Gonzales said.

  “What about Shook’s friend, Perry William Kindhart?”Nick Roselli, Chief of Inspectors, asked. “Have we leaned on him, Walt?”

  “We’ve leaned hard. He’s got a lawyer now. We’ve gotnothing on him. No leverage. He’s under surveillance.”

  “What about the taped confessions, Florence Schaferand the priest, people at the shelter, Shook’s past?” Roselli said.

  “Nothing substantial beyond what we’ve already got.”

  “What about Shook’s place in the Tenderloin?” Gonzalessaid.

  Sydowski, Turgeon, Ditmire, Rust, and several othersfrom the task force had scoured Shook’s room overnight and into the earlymorning hours.

  “More pictures of Shook with Tanita,” Rust said. “Adiary detailing his desires. He mentions Wallace, taunting the police withconfessions, and he wrote that whoever took Becker and Nunn was making it hardfor him to ‘go hunting’. At this point, it looks like Donner and the recentabductions are unrelated.”

  “What about Kindhart?” Roselli Said. “Is hementioned?”

  “In passing,” Sydowski said. “Other than the cameralink to Donner, we got nothing that puts him with any of the cases.”

  “Claire”-Gonzales turned to Inspector Claire Ward, theexpert on cults-“you went to Shook’s place. Anything there to suggest a cultconnection?”

  “Other than the fact we maybe have a minimum of threepeople involved in the abductions, absolutely nothing.”

  Kennedy loosened his tie. “So what have we got on Mr.B Positive? We’ve got a blurry video of him stalking Gabrielle Nunn in GoldenGate. We have a composite, but it is still too vague. What else we got?”

  “We know he stalked Gabrielle and took her dog, whichhe used later to lure her away,” Turgeon said.

  “Right, and we’ve got a partial plate on the truck, anold Ford with a California tag beginning with “B” or “8”, something like that.”

  “And there’s the meat tray found near the yard.”Ditmire added.

  “How’s Rad Zwicker doing in Records with that poolbased on the partial?” Roselli wanted to know. “Anything that ties Shook to thetruck or any vehicle?”

  “Nothing yet.” Gonzales flipped through his reports.“We don’t have a specific year on the truck. We do have the first threecharacters on the tag: ‘B75’. That gives us a pool, of what? Something over athousand. They’re being checked individually.”

  Sydowski had an idea. “Did we check parking ticketsfor all Ford pickups with the partial at Golden Gate the day Gabrielle wastaken?”

  Gonzales nodded. “Zwicker did that, through traffic.Zip, Walt.”

  Turgeon thought of something else. “Did we check for ticketsfor all pickups with that partial in and around the Nunn home in the Sunsetprior to her abduction, say for the past six months? Because he was stalkingher, he would have spent time in her neighborhood.”

  “I don’t think we did it specifically with thatpartial tag, Linda. Hang on.” Gonzales reached for a phone and punchedZwicker’s extension, and ordered the check done immediately then hung up.“He’ll get back to us,” he said.

  Roselli rolled up his sleeves. “We could try runningdown names of all Caucasian males with B-positive blood between thirty andsixty years old in mental institutions and Bay Area hospitals. We could do thesame with recent releases from county, state, and federal jails. Garrett andMalloy, you take that,” Notes were made.

  Using the bar code from the meat wrapper, InspectorMarty Baker came up with a list of eighty stores where the meat could have beenpurchased. He narrowed the purchase time line to four days prior to the dogsnatching.

  Kennedy liked that lead. “Work up a hot info sheet.We’ll get uniforms and anyone we can spare to canvas the stores and the‘hoods.”

  Gonzales turned to Inspectors Gord Mikelson and HalZolm from General Works. After Shook died, they went to the parents of DannyBecker and Gabrielle Nunn to assure them no concrete evidence had surfacedsuggesting Danny and Gabrielle had been harmed, that police suspected Shook wasinvolved in the abductions only because he claimed he was. It was not unusualfor people like Shook to make such claims. The task force was working to verifytheir validity.

  “How did it go, Gord?”

  “Not good.”

  “The parents believe their children are dead and theyblame us for not keeping Shook alive to get information.”

  Gonzales nodded. He had no quarrel with the familiesright to be outraged.

  The meeting stretched into a two-hour affair.

  “We should check every death — criminal, accidental,or natural, involving children of the same age and gender as Danny andGabrielle.” Sydowski said. “Call Sacramento and do it through vitalstatistics.”

  “How far back?”

  Sydowski did some quick math. “Twenty years ago.”

  “Do you know how many you’re talking about for theentire state?” Ditmire said.

  “Narrow it to the Bay Area. If he’s taking kids fromhere, the tragedy likely happened here,” Sydowski said.

  “Could check with mental hospitals, private clinics,and psychiatric associations for any cases that might fit with what we’ve gothere,” Rust said, tapping his canister of chewing tobacco on his chin.

  Kennedy wanted the streets sifted for anything on new kiddie porn operations inthe west. Rust pledged the FBI’s help on that front.

  Roselli and Kennedy decided on releasing a short pressstatement saying they believe Virgil Lee Shook was responsible for the murderof Tanita Marie Donner, but they had nothing to confirm he is linked to theBecker/Nunn kidnappings, only that vigorous investigations by the task forceare ongoing. It would go out at three that afternoon.

  The meeting was ending when the phone rang forGonzales. Gonzales said nothing, took notes, then slammed the phone down with agrin.

  “Son-of-a-bitch! We got a hit on a 1978 Ford pickuptagged for parking near a hydrant three blocks from the Nunn home in theSunset. It was one week before the dog vanished. Brilliant work, Turgeon! Theold Son of Sam parking ticket probe. Son of a fucking bitch!”

  Kennedy looked at the address Gonzales had taken forthe pickup. “Let’s move on this now!”

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  Sitting on Grandma’s front porch steps, Zach Reed could hear his mom on the phone to hisgrandmother. She was pissed, big time.

  “I refuse to accept him treating us like this-Mom-no.”Grandma was working at the university. “I am not taking any more of this!”

  Hearing his mom talk this way hurt. Everything wasbreaking, spoiling his dream of living together again in their home.

  “Mom, I’ve given him a lifetime of chances-No! He wassupposed to pick us up this morning at the airport. He wasn’t there. No sign ofhim. Not a word. I know it’s a little thing but it always starts with thelittle things!”

  His mother listened, then said: “I checked with theairline message center, our hotel in Chicago, and his place. Absolutely no wordfrom him. This is how he treats us! This is how committed he is!”

  Zach hated this. Just chill, Mom, he pleaded silentlyfrom the steps, driving his chin into his forearm which rested on his knees. Hestared at his sneakers, new Vans, Tempers. He had tried to calm Mom down at theairport, where she sat steaming for an hour. Maybe Dad was on a story becauseof the missing kids?

  “I don’t care, Zach,” she hissed as they waited on anairport bench. “That’s not the point. The point is he is supposed to be here! Apromise is a promise! That was how you measured a person’s worth, by the numberof promises they broke,” she s
aid, blowing her nose into a tissue.

  A few hours earlier on the plane, everything wasgreat. Mom was happy, telling him the surprise: Dad was picking them up at theairport. Maybe they would have lunch, talk about being together again, maybedrive by their house. Man, it was heaven. Soon he would be back with Jeff andGordie, catch up on things.

  But it all fell apart when they came down at SanFrancisco International. No trace of Dad. Mom had him paged. Three times.

  Now, sitting on Grandma’s porch, with everythingbreaking into a million pieces, he didn’t know what to do. He fished for hisfather’s business card from his rear pocket. It read: TOM REED, STAFF WRITER,THE SAN FRANCISCO STAR, and bore an address, fax number, and his directextension. It was a cherished possession. One Zach carried everywhere. Hestudied the blue lettering, stroking the embossed characters, as if the cardwere a talisman that could summon his dad.

  Zach hated this separation cooling off crap. He hopedhis friends were wrong about your folks never getting back together once theysplit. Please be wrong. He looked hopefully up and down the street. Traffic waslight. All he saw was some doof by a white van a few doors down. Was he staringat him? Zach wasn’t sure. The guy was checking the air pressure on the tires.

  The rumbling of a broken muffler cued him to hisfather’s old green monster stopping in front of the house.

  “Mom! It’s Dad!”

  Zach catapulted to the driver’s door, and gripped thehandle.

  “Hey, son!”

  “Dad, Chicago was a blast! We went up in the Sears Towerand I got to go in the cockpit on the flight home! Are we gonna drive by ourhouse? Are we gonna have lunch? And look, Mom got me new Vans, Tempers!” Zachopened the door for his dad.

  “Hold on there, sport.” Reed climbed out of the car.

  Zach threw his arms around his father, his smilemelting when he smelled a familiar evil odor. Zach stepped back, noticing hisdad’s reddened eyes, his whiskers, and the lines carved into his face.

  “Guess you been working pretty hard on the bigkidnapper story, that’s why you missed us at the airport, huh?”