Read If Angels Fall Online

Authors: Rick Mofina

Tags: #Fiction, #Psychological, #Thriller, #Mystery, #Suspense

If Angels Fall (7 page)

BOOK: If Angels Fall
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Nathan suggested the studio. Gene and a policewoman in jeans helped
her upstairs, where she sat staring at the park.

The FBI agents talked to her several times. Did she know Angela
Donner? Franklin Wallace? No. Then the San Francisco detectives. Others came
later. Linda Turgeon, the policewoman in jeans, sat with her, silently drinking
coffee.

“It’s after Danny’s bedtime,” Maggie said.

Turgeon smiled, nodded. She was pretty.

Maggie watched the swans burrowing their heads under their wings.
Funny how dreams could be so real. Strange. But now it was time to wake up.
Time to put Danny to bed.

Someone entered—the big inspector again, the one in the tattered
sports jacket who smelled of Old Spice. He had soft gray eyes and seemed
understanding. He put his hand on Maggie’s shoulder. Maybe now she would wake.

“How are you doing, Maggie?” Sydowski asked.

She said nothing.

“It’s important we talk some more. Are you up to talking to me, to
helping us?” He sat beside her.

Maggie nodded.

She liked Sydowski’s reassuring presence.

“We’re doing everything we can to bring Danny home. Anything you can
remember that now you consider odd will help, okay?

“Uh-huh.” Her chin crumbled. “This is real, Inspector. Someone took
my baby. I’m not dreaming, am I?”

“No. You aren’t dreaming.”

She buried her face in Danny’s pajamas. Her body shook as she wept.
Turgeon held her. Sydowski waited. He offered to come back in a little while,
but Maggie wanted to go on. They had to find Danny.

He opened his notebook.

“Does Danny have any serious medical problems, allergies, does he
take any special medication?”

Maggie shook her head. “When he gets frightened, usually at night,
he’ll wet his bed. We’re seeing a specialist about it.”

“What kind of boy is Danny? Describe his personality.”

“A good little boy. Friendly. He likes helping with chores.”

“How does he get along with other people? Other children?”

“He likes to play with other children, likes to share his things.”
Maggie nodded with each point. “Gregarious, inquisitive, and he spills his food
all the time. You know how children can be.”

“Does he know his full name, his address, phone number, area code,
does he know how to call home?”

“He’s only three.”

Sydowski saw Maggie’s painting of the swans.

“That’s quite good. How long have you been painting?”

“Oh” –Maggie touched her nose—“as long as I can remember.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

“Sell many pieces?”

“About three dozen a year.”

“I’d like to have the names of the people who’ve bought one of your
works over the last three years as soon as possible. Do you have a favorite
artist supply store that you shop at?”

“Yes.”

“Do you take Danny with you?”

“Sometimes.”

“What are the names of the stores?”

“The Rainbow Gallery and Meuller’s Arts and Crafts.”

Sydowski wrote it down. “Do you take Danny to any groups, clubs,
classes, or local organizations?”

“I’m a member of the Community Association. I go to meetings once a
week and usually take Danny with me to the community hall. There’s a playroom
there and he plays with the other children while one of the parents supervises.
We all know each other.”

“Have you noticed any strangers hanging around your house in the
last little while? Anybody asking for directions?”

“No more than the usual.”

“Do you employ anyone, housekeeper, gardener...?”

“A neighborhood boy, Randy Anderson, does landscaping for us.”

“Who baby-sits for you?”

“Vicky Harris and Melanie Lyle. They’re teenage daughters of
friends. We seldom go out. Usually it’s the three of us at home.”

“Have you ever spanked Danny?”

“We’ve given him a tap on his bum—“ The tears started again. “When
he was bad.”

“About six months ago. We were grocery shopping and he smashed a
bottle of ketchup on purpose. I spanked him right there.” Her voice trailed
off. “But he’s a good boy, really. He was just tired that day and I was
impatient.”

“Have you and Nathan had any marital problems, have you been seeing
a marriage counselor, a clergyman?”

Maggie looked at him.

“No.”

“Have you or Nathan ever had an extramarital affair?”

“No.”

“I have to ask.” He made a note.

“Are you or Nathan under psychiatric care? Have you ever been?”

“No.”

“Anyone in your husband’s circles you think would do this?”

“No.”

“Has your husband ever used or dealt drugs?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Does he gamble?”

“No.”

“How are you set financially?”

“Comfortable, I guess.”

“No heavy debts, large loans?”

“No.”

“Do you know Angela Donnor or Franklin Wallace?”

“Only from the news last year.”

“Would you object to a polygraph test.”

“A lie-detector? My son’s missing and you think I’d lie to you.”

“It’s routine, but it will help. I am being straight with you.”

Maggie covered her mouth with her hands and nodded.

“Good. It really is routine,” Sydowski continued. “Can you think of
anyone in yours or your husband’s past who might hold a grudge, might have a
strong dislike for either of you?”

“No, I can’t.”

“Is there anyone in your families, or circle of friends or acquaintances,
who desperately want children, but can’t have any?”

“Just us. Before we had Danny.” Tears rolled down Maggie’s face.

Sydowski put his big hand on hers.

“Maggie, what we’re going to ask you is very important. As soon as
you can, we need you to write out a daily schedule, with a detailed hour-by-hour
breakdown of the entire family’s routine for the last month. What you do, where
you go, everything, with all the detail you can provide. Places, name,
everything. Inspector Turgeon can help you. It’s crucial. Can you do it?”

“I will do anything you ask of us, Inspector.”

“Don’t answer your phone without us knowing.”

Maggie nodded.

“You were very helpful. We’ll talk again later.”

“Is my son dead, Inspector?” Her voice became ragged. “I know what
happened last year with that little girl at Golden Gate Park. I know you and
Linda are homicide police, so you tell me right now if you think my boy is
dead. You tell me.”

Sydowski stood, remembering Golden Gate. The rain. Tanita Marie
Donner’s body in the garbage bag. Her killer may have just claimed another
victim, Maggie Becker’s boy. What could he tell her?

“We don’t know if Danny’s dead. We have no evidence to suggest it.
All we know right now is that a stranger took him. Maybe he just wants him for
a little while and will let him go. That happens.”

Maggie’s eyes searched his for a trace of deception until she was
satisfied there was none.

“Please. You have to bring him back. He’s all I have.”

“We’ll do everything in our power to bring Danny home. You have my
word on that.”

Sydowski patted her hand, then returned downstairs.

SEVEN

“We’ve got to stop
meeting like this, Walter.” FBI Special Agent Merle Rust implanted a chew of
Skoal between his right cheek and gum. “How’s your old man keeping these days?
Down in San Mateo, isn’t he?”

“Pacifica. Got a garden, he’s fine. And you, Merle?”

“Thought I’d hang it up this year, but the job has a way of
interfering with your life sometimes, doesn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t know.” Sydowski sipped his coffee. “I have no life.”

They were in the Beckers’ kitchen with Ditmire, Turgeon, Mikelson,
and Ray Tilly from General Works, who had the lead on the case.

“Let me introduce my new partner,” Sydowski said. “Inspector Linda
Turgeon. Joined Homicide today from Vice.”

“Turgeon, Turgeon?” Rust was remembering. “You Don’s girl?”

Turgeon nodded, helping herself and Ditmire to coffee.

SFPD Officer Don Turgeon was working Chinatown twenty years ago when
he was shot and killed shielding a tourist in the cross fire of a gang war.
Linda, his only child, was ten years old at the time.

She decided at his funeral to become a police officer.

“I knew Don. He was a good cop,” Rust said.

“From vice,” Ditmire said. “Then you don’t know the Donner file?”

“I haven’t read it yet, I just—“

Sydowski moved toe-to-toe with Ditmire. “What do you know about anything,
Special Agent Ditmire, three years out of Club Fed?”

Ditmire stood his ground with Sydowski.

“I know the press is outside, probably chanting your name.”

Sydowski inventoried Ditmire top to bottom. “Picking up where you
left off, huh, voychik?”

“Fuck him, Walter,” Rust said. “Lonnie, don’t irritate the
inspector. I told you he killed a man for doing that.”

Killed a man. Turgeon looked at Sydowski. Mikelson and Tilly
chuckled. Rust sent a stream of brown tobacco juice down the garbage disposal.
“Now that we can feel the love here, let’s get humpin’:”

Mikelson had arranged through Pacific Bell to run a tap on the
Beckers’ phone to immediately give them the address of any in-coming calls.
Mikelson’s crew would also record all conversations. A phone tap was also set
up at Nathan Becker’s Nor-Tec office in Mountain View where an FBI agent waited
to answer any calls. And Angela Donner, Tanita Marie’s mother, allowed police
to put a tap on her phone in Balboa, in case she received any suspicious calls.

The security cameras on the BART system did not keep tapes, so
detectives were interviewing BART station workers and BART Police from every
stop from the Coliseum to Balboa. They had dozens of witness statements from
passengers to go through. The FBI was running down everybody at Nor-Tec, along
with family friends, acquaintances, checking histories, criminal records. They
had searched the house and yard three times using canine units. Alerts with
Danny’s picture went to Bay Area airports, bus and train depots, cab companies,
and police departments. U.S. Postal inspectors monitored the Beckers’ mail and
boxes in key areas. Bay Area courier services were alerted. Garbage pickup in
Balboa and Jordan Park was halted. Summaries of abductions around the Bay and
across America over the last year were ordered.

After several separate interviews with Maggie and Nathan, they were
convinced Danny had been taken by a stranger.

“Do you think Donner and Becker are linked?” Turgeon asked.

“It’s too soon to think anything,” Sydowski said.

“If nothing comes tonight,” Tilly said, “the Beckers will make a
plea for Danny in a news conference tomorrow. The mayor’s office is considering
a reward. So is Nathan’s company. We’ll give the TV people some recent
home-video footage of Danny. It may kick something out for us.

The sketch artist arrived. Mikelson and Sydowski took him to the den
where Nathan was waiting. Sydowski sat at the edge of Nathan’s oak desk, next
to a small, gold-framed picture of Danny on his mother’s lap. Both were laughing.
Sydowski set it aside gently, then checked his watch. For more than an hour
Nathan Becker struggled for the sketch artist, trying to describe the face of
the man who kidnapped his son. So far, it had been fruitless. Nathan was
growing angry.

“Try to relax, Mr. Becker,” Mikelson said.

So many faces. They flowed together. Nathan remembered few details
other than the beard. The BART people hadn’t seen the man as clearly as Nathan
had. The kidnapper likely knew about BART’s security cameras and avoided them,
Sydowski reasoned. He suspected that he was a stalker who had waited for his
golden opportunity But why Danny Becker? From Nathan Becker’s account, everyone
concluded that his glimpse of his son’s kidnapping had lasted half a second. It
was a needle in a haystack. Nathan’s frustration and anguish increased.

BOOK: If Angels Fall
11.67Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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