If Angels Fall (20 page)

“We’re doing the right thing. We’ve all been doing
well. Even Keller. Is he coming? Is he aware the
Star
is going to be
here?”

“I couldn’t reach him. The number he gave me didn’t
work. He’s never missed a session. I’ll alert him at the door.”

“Most of us supported this step, Kate. It’s necessary.
At worst, you’ll reach others who need help and they are out there. Especially
now with another child kidnapped.”

“But I fear the potential damage. Some of the group
didn’t want to participate tonight. I’m getting cold feet.”

“We’ve all lost a child. Telling a reporter about it
is not tantamount to the experience. If the university revokes your tenure, you
can always set up your own shop, underwritten by a tissue company. I’ll be your
first client.”

They were still laughing when Tom Reed arrived with
another man who had a camera around his neck and a bag over his shoulder.

“Right on time, Tom,” Martin greeted them.

“Dr. Martin, this is Henry Cane, a photographer with
the
Star
.”

Martin introduced Lois. They talked over coffee until
others arrived, then Martin took Reed aside.

“Four have decided not to come. Three will be here,
but won’t speak. Six will talk and allow their names and pictures to be used.”

“Including Angela Donner?”

“Yes.”

“Is that her?” Reed indicated a young woman, whose
thighs stretched her brown slacks. Her white blouse had a large bow at the
neck. Her stringy dishwater-blond hair was pinned up with two pink barrettes
that looked familiar to Reed. She was at the refreshment table.

“How’s she doing?”

“Good days and bad days. The Becker abduction is a
setback. Coming up on Tanita’s anniversary. Opens a lot of wounds. Especially
when the press links the cases. She still lives with her father.”

Reed contemplated Angela Donner. If he could her story
in the paper, it would break the city’s heart. Tanita’s case still held compelling
elements: grandfather dying of cancer, while her mother copes on welfare and
her killer walks free.

“Poor Angela.” Martin blinked. “Tolstoy couldn’t have
dreamed of a more tragic figure. Well, there’s Edward Keller...”

Oh...?”

“I couldn’t reach him. He doesn’t know about tonight.
I don’t how he’ll react because-“ Martin Stopped. “Off the record?”

“Sure.”

“He’s an eccentric.”

“This is San Francisco.”

“He’s an eccentric’s eccentric.”

“I see.”

“Oh there he is. Excuse me.”

Reed looked across the room at Keller. Late forties,
early fifties, about six feet, firm, lean build. His beard and thick
salt-and-pepper hair did not hide the lines etched in his face. Dressed in
faded jeans, a navy pullover sportshirt, and a worn, gray sports jacket, Keller
had an air of ardent independence, as if a dark fire raged inside. Reed
recalled that the suspect in Danny Becker’s kidnapping had light hair, a beard,
and a slim build, according to the new composite drawings the cops were on the
brink of releasing. Reed stopped himself with a warning: you are not playing
that game again.

Listening to Martin, Keller was concerned and looked directly
at Reed. Keller nodded, then said a few words. Martin returned.

“Edward does not want to be identified for the
article.”

“That’s fine.”

Keller took a seat, regarding Reed suspiciously.

Martin took a deep breath. “Time to get started.”

She introduced Reed and Cain, reminding the group of
their presence, and offering anyone who’d had a last minute change of heart to
back out. Reed and Cain requested that those consenting to be identified sit
together. Reed jotted down their names.

“Lois, you volunteered to go first.” Martin smiled.

Lois nodded, hesitated, then laughed. “I’m sorry.”

“Ease into it.” Martin nodded.

Lois collected her thoughts. Her face was placid,
intelligent.

“It was a gorgeous day and I was making Allan’s lunch
when he insisted on riding his bike to the park-you know how children can be.
His friend Jerry had found a sparrow’s nest. I said, you’ve got ten minutes.
Sure, Mom, he said. I’ll be right back. I’ll be right back. I knew he would
keep his word. So after, oh I guess about half an hour, I was getting a little
peeved. That’s when Jerry came to my door. He was covered in dirt and looked
frightened. And I thought, gee, he must’ve had a bad fall. I looked for Allan,
but I didn’t see him. Then Jerry’s mouth started to move, but nothing came out.
I realized that he was actually covered in blood.

“I looked for Allan. Didn’t see him. I demanded that
Jerry tell me where he was. Poor Jerry couldn’t speak. He started to cry,
pointed to the park. He got on his bike, rode to the park with me running
behind him. We arrived. I saw some children standing over another child who was
lying on the ground, twisted in his bike. As I ran, I knew that the bike looked
like Allan’s, but I couldn’t see Allan among the children, so I thought that he
must have run to get help for this fallen child. I was starting to mentally to
go through my first aid training, I still had a dish towel in my hand, when I looked
down on the child, a boy. I knew he was dead, I-“

She wept. Reed made a note. Cain’s camera clicked.

“I’m okay.” She smiled. “When I saw that it was Allan,
something happened.”

Reed noticed Keller nodding emphatically.

“My child, my only child was lying there on the grass,
his eyes closed as if he were asleep. He looked so at peace. He had been shot,
here.” Lois touched the right side of her head about an inch above her ear. “He
was shot and his blood was everywhere, spreading on the ground under his head
in a widening halo, a perfect halo. The most brilliant red I’ve ever seen. I
knelt beside him. The children were saying something to me, but their voices
were distant. That’s when the miracle happened. Before my eyes, I saw Allan’s
face change. I swear it changed there as he lay on the grass, to the tiny
wrinkled expression that fused my heart the moment he was the born. Then it
changed to joy from the day he took his first steps, then fear from the night
he was convinced a monster lived in his closet. Happiness from the Christmas
Santa brought him his first bike, then shame from the day he came home from his
first and only school brawl. Embarrassment on the day I saw him holding hands
with a girl. Finally, it turned serene, showing perfect contentment. I cradled
him in my arms, and the next thing I remember a police officer was touching my
shoulder and the paramedics were trying to take my boy away from me.”

Lois paused.

Sniffles and coughs went around the group. Keller’s
head was bowed, his eyes were shut tight, his hands clasped. Praying? Reed
waited for Martin’s reaction. She wasn’t watching Keller.

“For about a year after that I went through the
motions of living. Bill and I retreated into ourselves. He didn’t want to talk.
I wanted counseling together. He didn’t. And I couldn’t go alone. I felt
bitter, angry for being punished unfairly, I felt abandoned, helpless,
worthless. I contemplated suicide, divorce. That’s when I saw Kate’s notice in
the
Chronicle
about her research. I decided to volunteer and told Bill I
had enrolled in a hobby course at the university. He thinks my ‘course’ has
done a world of good, It has. Tonight I’ll tell him what I’ve been doing.”

Reed knew the case. Bobby Ray Walker, a truck mechanic
with a history of mental problems, was the sniper who shoot Lois’s son. Walker
was serving a life sentence in Folsom for the murder.

Reed asked Lois how Martin’s research group had helped
her.

“It’s helped me come to terms with losing my child.
I’m able to function now. I’m able laugh at a good joke, eat a hearty meal,
sleep through the night. I certainly don’t tell every person I meet the details
I’ve told you, but I can deal with talking about it without falling to pieces.
I still feel uneasy seeing a funeral procession. I’ll never fully recover from
losing Allan. No parent is ever, ever the same after losing a child because a
piece of you dies, too. This group has helped me survive my loss. We’ve all
helped each other and Kate has been our guide. Some people cannot endure such a
blow alone. The feeling of guilt, rage, blame, loss, futility are overwhelming,
almost fatal. At times I thought I was losing my mind. Hearing my son’s voice
at night, smelling his scent, seeing him in malls, in my dreams, feeling his
kiss on my cheek.”

“How is this group different from others?”

“Some are politically motivated. Some seek vengeance.
Eye for an eye. There’s nothing wrong with that, if that’s what you feel in
your heart. I was a member of such a group during Walker’s trial. At the time I
was embittered. I believed Walker should be executed. I no longer feel
vengeance in my heart. Feeling that way won’t bring Allan back. This group is
different because it is not a public auction agency. It is research. The
objective is to study our bereavement, our pain and anguish with the aim of
understanding it, healing. We’ve been helped tremendously.”

The others followed with their stories, each account
as heart wrenching as the previous one. Reed’s eyes burned as he listened and
took notes. What was happening here? As a hardened crime reporter he had seen
enough tragedy for twenty lifetimes. This was getting to him. Why? Because he’d
researched most of these cases, or that he’d actually covered some? He didn’t
know. He questioned himself, what he did for a living. Fear of the pain he may
have wrongly caused Franklin Wallace’s wife and daughter gnawed at him. He
thought of Ann and Zach and what he had almost lost in his own life.
Self-loathing, self-doubt, and confusion haunted him in the eyes of these
grieving parents.

Sitting there, Reed felt sadden. Alone. Utterly alone.

He noticed Keller staring at him as he heard Martin
suggesting the group take a break.

“I think it’s going well, Tom. Don’t you?” Martin
smiled. He agreed, then excused himself to go to the washroom.

Relieved that
the washroom was empty, Reed positioned himself at the urinal.
Keller swung through the door and took the one next to him.

“Do you believe in God, Mr. Reed?”

Reed laughed. Given the circumstances, the question
was absurd. He shook his head.

“Is that your answer?”

“Pardon?”

“Do you believe in God, Mr. Reed?”

“Look, I know it may be awkward having me here. But
you should know that I appreciate the opportunity.” Reed washed his hands.

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“What I believe is irrelevant.”

“Lois Jensen believes. Some of the others are on their
way.” Keller bent over the adjacent sink, opening the faucets. “We try to help
each other in our assemblage.’

Assemblage? Was he going to break into Scripture now?

“I’m helping them spiritually through the pain. ‘Through
the valley of the dark sun.’”

The valley of the dark sun. Reed knew the old poem: “A
watery Death” by Ledel I. Zoran.

Keller splashed his face. “I believe you are here to
test me.”

“Test you? I’m sorry. I don’t know what you mean.”

Keller continued splashing his face. His voice had an
eerie resonance as he recited: “Between the dream and the day comes the
specter.” Tiny water rivulets slithered down his face. “Are you the specter,
sent to destroy my work?”

“Your work?” Reed was puzzled, somewhat uneasy. “No.
I’m not the specter. I’m afraid I can’t help you there. Excuse me.” Reed tossed
a crumpled paper towel into the trash.

Angela Donner spoke with a little voice, a child’s
voice.

“I gave birth to Tanita in the back of a bus in San
Mateo. I was seventeen, living by myself. But I was going to keep my baby. My
baby and me were going to make a better life for us together. I was going to
finish school, be a good mother.”

Angela pondered her clasped fingers and sniffled.