If Angels Fall

SIXTEEN

Dr. Kate Martin sat in the reception area of The San Francisco Star,twisting her briefcase strap. She looked at her watch again.

Relax. Relax. Relax.

She expected to see Mandy Carmel, the Star’stop feature writer. Her articles on SIDS babies and Bay Area children with AIDSwere so well written, so compassionate.

Still, waiting here, it was difficult to put herselfat ease.

Twice before coming she had picked up the phone tocancel. She didn’t do it. Despite all the risks, her blatant violation ofuniversity policy and the potential harm a story could have on the volunteers,she was determined to see this through. She had tried in vain to find thefunding needed to extend her research. The university, thanks to Levine, hadrejected her. The state denied grant money. Corporations politely refused her.And national victims’ support and lobby groups, which applauded her work, werecash strapped. Press attention was her last hope.

A sensitive article by Mandy Carmel would either savethe program or bury it.

She took in the crisp current edition of the Staron the table before her. The latest on the kidnapping screamed from the frontpage: WHERE IS DANNY? She thought of his parents, of his abduction, and thequestions it raised about Tanita’s murder. It underscored how imperative herresearch was. She had to do this.

“Dr. Martin?”

She looked up. “Yes?”

“Tom Reed.” He held out his hand to greet her as shestood.

Tom Reed!

She recognized him from the face-slapping footagewhich TV news stations had recently replayed. Her skin prickled withapprehension.

He was about six foot. His khaki pants, pinstripe,button down shirt, and tie complimented his medium, firm-looking build.Mid-thirties. His tan set off his smile. His short brown hair was a littleunruly. Behind wire-rimmed glasses were intense, blue eyes.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“I assumed I was to meet with Mandy Carmel?”

“Mandy’s been on a leave to Europe and won’t be backfor six weeks. Your letter was passed to me.”

“To you? But why? I thought-“

“We can talk in there.” He nodded to the boardroomnearby.

The room barely contained the mammoth table andleather executive chairs. The walls featured the Star’s three Pulitzersand framed news pictures. The earthquakes, the Oakland Hills firestorm. Amother giving birth. A weeping cop cradling his dead partner.

Reed slapped his notebook on the table. Martindeclined coffee.

“Be blunt, Doctor. You’re upset that I’ve beenassigned to this?”

“To be blunt, yes.”

“Why?”

“Your part in the Donner case and the suicide concernsme. An article about my research might be best suited for a reporter accustomedto handling sensitive issues. It involves parents who’ve lost childrentragically. You’re just a crime reporter.”

“Just a crime reporter? Sensitivity is a quality aliento people like me, is that what you mean?”

“No, I mean, I-“ This was not going well. “I thinkI’ve made a mistake coming here.” She stood to leave.

“Your work deals with victims of tragedy, itssurvivors. Right?”

“It’s somewhat more complex than that, but yes.”

“I deal with victims, too, and probably in greaternumbers than you’ve ever experienced. So I resent having to prove to you that Iam qualified to write about your work.”

“I am protective of the sensitive nature of myresearch.”

“But the bottom line here, Doctor, is you want tomanipulate us.”

“Excuse me?”

“Set aside your work. You need us to keep your programafloat. That’s why you’re here. It’s obvious from your letter. It dictates thetype of story you want us to write, in accordance to the conditions you’velisted.” He withdrew the letter from his breast pocket, unfolded it, and read:“You may interview only the subjects I’ve selected and I have editorialapproval.” Reed stared at her. “What do you think this is, the churchbulletin?”

Martin closed her eyes. Leave. Leave now, she toldherself.

“I don’t know who in the business you’ve dealt withbefore, but it just does not work this way.” He let her letter fall on thetable.

“And just how does it work, Mr. Reed?”

“If we do a story, we’re going to examine your groupand your research, not promote it. You say your work is valid. How do we knowthat? You could be with a corporation poised to establish such programs in achain of clinics and are looking for a story as a source of advertising. Thathappens. You could simply be seeking personal glory in your field. We don’t know.You came to us.”

“I resent what you’re implying. You don’t know me ormy work.”

“And you don’t know me, or mine. You send us ablueprint of what you want and glide in here on a cloud of academic arrogance.You see me and your jaw drops like you’ve stepped in something disgusting.”

This was a disaster. Martin sat down and consideredcanceling everything. She had handled this poorly. The program was doomed nomatter what she did. She cupped her chin in one hand, studied the dramatic newspictures, then Reed. He had a dangerous, exciting air. Judging by his passion,he was likely as committed to his work as she was to hers. She drummed herfingers against her cheek. “Perhaps I’ve become too comfortable in the ivorytowers of academe, Tom.”

He chuckled. “If we had a couch in here…” Reedscanned the room.

“Yes?”

“I’d tell you my miserable problems. The last fewweeks have been tough ones for me, Doctor.”

“Kate. Call me Kate. How about that coffee?”

“Then we’ll rewind the tape and take it from the top?”

“Agreed.”

Reed returned to the room with coffee in two ceramicmugs bearing the Star’s logo. “Today was supposed to be my day off,” hesaid. “I apologize for being so hard on you.”

She sipped, waving away his apology. “I’m the one whoshould apologize.”

“I checked you out with our education reporter. I readyour biographical notes in the university directory. You’re well respected inyour field and certainly didn’t deserve the grilling I gave you. Your letterhit a nerve. Being suspicious comes automatically.”

She gave him another appraisal. Maybe he wasn’t such aself-important ass after all.

“I want to do a story about your work. I’m just notsure what shape it will take. Tell me about it.”

Martin explained her bereavement research, what thegroup was, how it functioned, and how her study differed from others in theobservations she was able to make.

Reed asked questions and made notes.

“I’m wondering, why did you choose this field,psychiatry?”

She tugged at the cuffs of her blazer. “That’ssomething I’d prefer not to discuss, if you don’t mind. It’s personal.”

“I see.”

“The real inspiration for the study came when I wasasked to help the two girls who found Tanita Marie Donner last year.”

“That was you?”

“Yes. It was then that I asked police if any help hadbeen offered to Tanita’s mother. I began seeing her and the idea for the groupand the research was born.”

“What about Angela Donner? What’s happened to her?”

“She’s a participant in the group.”

“Really?”

Martin nodded.

“Your letter says fourteen volunteers participate insessions.”

“Yes.”

“Are they aware of your coming to us for a story?”

“Yes. Most of them support it.”

“Tell me something about the deaths of the childrenhere.”

Martin removed a file from her briefcase and beganrecounting fourteen tragedies. In some instances, the children had been killedin front of relatives, or died in their parents’ arms, or their bodies had beendiscovered by them. When she was finished, Reed was engrossed.

“I’d like to sit in on the next session and profilesome the parents. The program is about them. Their stories would convey theimportance of your work and its impact on their tragedies.”

“I’ll start making calls tonight,” Martin said,passing Reed a page with the time and place of the next session. “Goingdirectly to press, as I am doing, is a violation of the department’s policy.I’ve put my job at the university on the line.”

Reed’s eyebrows shot up.

“This program is invaluable and I’m determined to saveit. Not for me-for the people who are being helped by it.”

“I understand.”

They shook hands. Martin snapped her briefcase closed,smiled, and left. Reed sat alone in the room, thinking.

He removed his glasses, rubbed his eyes. His headached. Yet things were brighter with Ann. And he was sure he had inadvertentlyfound Tanita Donner’s mother.

Last year, after Tanita’s murder, her mother haddropped out of sight. Now, with the anniversary of Tanita’s murder coming up,the press would be looking for her. In the wake of Danny Becker’s kidnapping,they’d be more determined. But he knew where Angela Donner was. And soon, witha little luck, he would be talking to her. Martin’s work was secondary.Angela’s story juxtaposed with Danny Becker’s case, would make a great read.

And, there was more.

He had covered many of the cases Martin described,reciting the names he knew. He’d get the library files before he went to thesession. The guy whose kids drowned before his eyes had to be one of the worse.Reed couldn’t recall it. He’d do some digging on that one.