If Angels Fall (56 page)

Sydowski’s eyes met Reed’s, acknowledging the unspoken
truth. Given what they both knew about Edward Keller, the children had less
than twenty-four hours.

“I’ve got to stay, in case he calls me again. I’ll
stay here all night and the next night, if that’s what it takes.”

“Okay. Just remember, he hasn’t defeated us. We’re not
out of this, not by a goddamn long shot.” He patted Reed’s knee, then left him
at his desk.

Molly Wilson approached Reed to console him, but Reed
waved her away. After that, no one dared go near him. He sat alone, waiting for
his phone to ring.

“Where’s Michael?”
Keller demanded.

“I think he’s still in the room.” Gabrielle sniffled.

Keller rushed down the stairs and searched the
basement in seconds. Michael was not there. Keller bounded up the stairs.

“Michael!”

He searched the main floor. Not a trace. His eyes
locked on to the phone in the kitchen. It was off the hook! The cord stretching
out of sight!

He was on the fucking phone!

Keller smashed it from the wall, then grabbed Zach,
who was cowering in the closet.

“Please, mister. Don’t hurt me. Please.”

“Who did you call?”

“No one, I -- ”

“Who did you call!”

“I -- I. Hospitals, my mom. I have to know if she is
-- ”

“Liar!”

“I swear, I was asking the number for hospitals. I ...
I ...”

“You are lying to me!”

Rage darkened Keller’s face. “Satan is near. The Fallen angel is
among us, the Father of Lies! King of Whores!”

Keller hoisted Zach over his shoulder and hurried to the bathroom.
Gabrielle and Danny screamed and scattered. Zach’s struggling was futile.
Keller laid him in the tub, and opened the faucets.

“Let me go, you sick freak!”

“I will not drink from the cup of devils! You cannot thwart that
which is preordained!”

“Let me go!”

“The Lord is my sword and my shield.” Keller seethed. It was bad
enough that the dog somehow got away last night. Now this. A phone call. Keller
realized he was being challenged by powerful forces. But God was his shield.

“It is time,” he said. “Time to come to Him and receive His light!”

Zach writhed, kicked, and pounded the tub, still clutching his
father’s card, aware of his knife hidden in his underwear as water gushed from
the tap, dampening, soaking his clothes. Keller’s crucifix raked across Zach’s
face as Keller’s large, powerful hands seized Zach’s head in a viselike grip.

“Reborn of water and the Holy Spirit in the sacred font…”

He pulled Zach’s head under the running water.

“By the mystery of your death and resurrection, cleanse this child
in Your celestial light! Make his life anew!”

D--dad, help me, Dad, he--help!”

Keller closed his eyes. Above the water’s rush, the thunder, the
storm, Pierce was calling from the darkness.

Daddy!

Holding Zach’s head under the flowing water, Keller lifted his own
face to heaven.

“This is life’s eternal font,

water made sacred by the death of Christ,

cleansing all the earth.

You who are bathed in this water

are received in heaven’s kingdom.

Suddenly it was over.

Zach sat up in the tub, coughing and gasping after Keller released
him, shut off the water, and fetched him a large dry towel.

“Come with me.”

Zach followed Keller into Keller’s bedroom, watching him pull out a
big cardboard box marked “Pierce,” filled with boys’ clothes that looked about
his size.

“Find some dry clothes right away.”

Zach sniffed, but didn’t move, dripping water with the towel cloaked
around him.

“Do as I say! We’re leaving!”

Reed spent
the night in the
Star’s
newsroom, praying for Zach to call. Every half
hour, he phoned Ann’s mother’s house in Berkeley, on the safe phone the FBI had
installed, to see if Zach called there.

“Still nothing, sir,” the agent assigned to the line
told him.

“May I speak with my wife, or her mother?”

“I’m sorry, sir. They’re still sleeping. The doctor
says the sedative should wear off by mid-morning.”

Reed said nothing.

“Mr. Reed, we fully understand your concerns and we
will get you the instant we have something at this end.”

“Yes, thank you.”

“But sir, please check with us as often as you wish.”

“I will.”

Reed did not keep his vigil alone. Molly Wilson was
among the newsroom staffers who waited with him, comforting him, assuring him
Zach would be found safe with the other children, although she dozed off a few
times. She was sleeping with her head on her folded arms on the desk next to
Reed, when Myron Benson appeared, briefcase in one hand, jacket draped over his
arm.

“Tom” -- he nearly looked him in the eye -- “I know
you won’t believe this coming from me, but I apologize and hope with all my
heart it works out well for you.”

Reed suspected Tellwood had put him up to this, but
said nothing.

“I never liked you, Tom. I knew you resented me for
lacking talent and I resented you for having an abundance of it. I was wrong.
Anyway, you have more important things to deal with here. Good luck.”

Benson extended his hand. Reed contemplated it for a
moment before deciding to accept it.

“What did the old man have to say to you, Myron?”

“He fired me.”

Reed was speechless.

Benson managed a weak smile before leaving.

An hour after sunrise, Reed was at the Hall of
Justice, fear twisting his stomach.

Was Zach dead?

He never made another call.

The task force had nothing, nothing at all at Half
Moon Bay. The Coast Guard had nothing at the islands, nothing in the water. No
boat, no trailer on the coast, no van. Nothing!

Reed was alone at an empty desk in Room 400, the SFPD
Homicide Detail, watching Sydowski, Rust, Turgeon, Ditmire, and the others
studying material on Keller. Rust and Bob Hill, the FBI’s profiler from
Quantico, were poring over Keller’s psychiatric records, preparing for the
eight A.M. news conference at the hall. Reed had not slept and, between
adrenaline rushes, was nearly drunk with exhaustion. Sitting there as the
ringing phones and voices faded, something triggered his memory, and the
fragrance of baby powder, the feel of terry cloth, and the tenderness of Zach’s
skin when he was six months old washed over him. Reed was holding him, watching
him as he sucked down a warm bottle of milk, gazing upon him during the
commercial breaks of
Monday Night Football
with the sound off, knowing
he possessed one of the earth’s treasures.

And there was Zach, a lamb tied to the stake, staring
at Reed now from the morning newspapers scattered around the Homicide room.
Zach’s picture, Keller’s, those of Danny Becker, Gabrielle Nunn, and himself,
all tormenting him with the truth.

Zach was gone. Gone.

And the headline haunting him.

THIRD CHILD ABDUCTED IS SON OF REPORTER

WHO INVESTIGATED KIDNAPPER

“Dammit! These press calls are supposed to be screened!”
Ditmire hung up angrily. “That was the fourth fucking TV network asking if they
can land their helicopter on the roof!”

Overnight the task force tip line lit up with calls as
the story grew. Word leaked from the White House that the President and First
Lady were following it. The national press were hitting it hard. So were the
tabloid TV shows. More news outlets in London, Paris, Stockholm, Sydney, Tokyo,
and Toronto were flying in reporters. Network breakfast shows insisted on an
interview with Reed and Ann, promising exposure. Reed held off.

“Look outside,” Turgeon said. A dozen news trucks were
lined up along Bryant, deploying satellite dishes.

“This is nuts.” Ditmire shook his head.

“The attention could help us, Lonnie,” Rust said.

Sydowski finished a call to Ann’s mother’s house in
Berkeley and somberly went to Reed.

“Ann’s awake now, Tom. I just spoke with her.”

“How is she?”

“Holding up.” Sydowski’s gold crowns glinted as he put
his hand on Reed’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, but she did not want to talk to you.”

Reed understood.

“Tom, she insisted on being here for the news
conference. We’ve got people driving her across the Bay.”

Reed nodded. He was starting to get the shakes from
too much caffeine, no food, no sleep. He craved the taste, the sensation of
Jack Daniel’s on his tongue, rolling down his throat, warming him.

“If either of you get second thoughts about making a
public appeal, just say the word.”

“No, no. We have to do it. We have to.”

Sydowski ran his gaze over him, thinking. “We got a
couple of rooms around here with sofas. Want to grab some rest? You’ve got
nearly two hours until the press conference.”

No. Reed could not be alone with his fear. Was Zach
dead? He forced his thoughts away from children’s corpses, caskets, and
cemeteries. He could not be alone, he told Sydowski.

“Okay, well I’ve got an electric razor, cologne, and
stuff if you want to spruce up a bit.”

“Thank you, but I’d just like to wait here for Ann.”

“Sure, Tom.” He stood to leave.

“Walt?” Reed’s eyes were brimming. “Is my son dead?”

Sydowski looked at him for a long, hard moment,
searching for the right words, deciding on the truth. “We just don’t know, Tom.
You must prepare for the worst, but never give up hope.”

“But today’s the anniversary of the drownings. And you
said if Keller’s going to do anything, he’ll do it today.”

“Yes and we are doing everything we can, we’re chasing
down every lead. You’ve got to hang on.”

“What does your gut tell you, huh? He’s beaten you
guys three times now.”

“I don’t know. What do you think?”

“He’s either very lucky, very smart, or both.”

“In Danny’s Becker’s case, he left us with nothing. In
Gabrielle Nunn’s case, we got his blood, got him on a piece of video, then a
fingerprint and a name. In Zach’s case we have more video and, thanks to you,
his motive.”

“So, what does that mean?”

“We’re gaining on him.”

Ninety minutes later, a female FBI agent arrived at
the Homicide Detail with Ann Reed, who was dressed in a white blouse, a dark
blazer, and slacks. No makeup. Reddened eyes, taut jaw, betrayed a heart that
had stopped beating. When Reed moved to embrace her, she was unresponsive. The
doctor had given her two Valium before she left Berkeley. She looked as though
she was going to a funeral.