If Angels Fall

FIFTY-TWO

Some twenty-five miles south of San Francisco along Highway 1, Reed pulled into HalfMoon Bay, a drowsy hamlet caressed by the sea and sheltered by rolling greenhills, where farmers harvested pumpkins, artichokes, and lettuce. A brochurefor heaven, Reed thought, stepping from his Comet at the marina, the gullsshrieking in the briny air.

He strolled the docks, showing photocopied clippingsof Keller’s tragedy to locals. They looked at them, then shrugged and scratchedtheir heads. It was a long time ago. Nobody was around then. After half anhour, he decided to try the local paper, when a young, tanned woman he hadtalked to earlier jogged up to him.

“Try Reimer,” she said.

“Who?”

“He’s a relic. Been here so long, he ran charter fordinosaurs. If anyone would remember that story, Reimer would.”

“Where do I find him?”

She glanced at her watch.

“Gloria’s on Main Street. Go there and ask for him.”

“Thanks.”

Reed was optimistic. He had to be on to something withKeller. His instincts kept nudging him to keep digging. Before coming to HalfMoon Bay, he had driven to Philo, where Keller’s wife, Joan, had grown up.After checking the old Keller mansion on Russian Hill and reading Joan’s diary,he figured it was a logical place to go. But no one he talked to in townremembered her and he didn’t have the time to dig further. While eating a clubsandwich at a Philo diner, it struck him that before heading for Half Moon Bay,he should stop at the cemetery. Maybe Joan was buried there.

The groundskeeper was a helpful gum-snappinguniversity student. He listened to Reed’s request, then invited him into theduty office. “Keller, Keller, Keller.” The student’s fingers skipped throughthe cards of the plot index box. Except for Nirvana throbbing from his CDheadset, it was quiet and soothingly cool. “All right.” He pulled a card,bobbing his head to his music and mumbling. “Section B, row two, plot eight. Farnorthwest edge, lots of shade.”

Keeping a vigil at the Keller gravesite was a hugewhite marble angel. Its face was a sculpture of compassion, its outstretchedwings protecting the polished granite headstone. Over Joan’s name and those ofher children Pierce, Alisha and Joshua, their birth and death dates, theepitaph read:

If angels fall,

I shall deliver them

And together we will

Ascend to Heaven

An icy shiver coiled up Reed’s spine. Inscribed nextto Joan and the children’s names was Edward Keller’s. His death date remainedopen. A fresh bunch of scarlet roses rested at the base of the headstone with anote reading: “Forever, love, Dad.”

Reed swallowed.

The ages of Danny Raphael Becker and Gabrielle Nunnmatched the ages of Joshua and Alisha Keller when they drowned.

Raphael and Gabriel were angel names.

If angels fall, I shall deliver them and togetherwe will ascend to Heaven.

This supported Molly’s theory. Had Keller carved hisplan in their headstone? Did Keller think Danny and Gabrielle were surrogateshe required for some twisted mission?

If he could just find Keller. Talk to him. Size up hisplace. He grabbed his cell phone and punched Molly Wilson’s extension in thenewsroom. He got her voice mail. He left a message.

They had to find Keller. And they didn’t have muchtime. Reed traced the gravesite roses to a Philo flower shop where Keller paidfor them. He was pulling up to Jack’s on Main Street in Half Moon Bay when hisphone rang. It was Wilson.

“Tommy, where the hell are you?”

“Half Moon Bay.” Trying to find a guy who may knowKeller. You have any luck locating Keller?”

“Zero. You’d better get back soon-something’s up onthe case.”

“What?”

“Nobody knows. It’s just the buzz going ‘round.”

“Okay. Listen, I’ve got a small lead on Keller. Hebought flowers a few weeks ago for his family plot in Philo. He bought themthrough Elegant Florists in San Francisco. See if you can get an address forhim from the shop. Do it now, we’ve got to find him.”

“Sure, Tom. But you’d better get back here at warpspeed. The boss is wondering what you’re up to and I don’t think I can coverfor you much longer.”

“I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

Gloria’s was a postcard-perfect seaside diner.Red-checked gingham covered the tables; the aroma of home cooking filled theair. Only a handful of customers: two women, real estate agents judging fromtheir blazers, examined listings over coffee at one table; and a young coupleate hamburgers at another. Reed took the rumpled old salt, reading a newspaperalone at a window table, to be Reimer.

“Excuse me.” He stood before the man, keeping hisvoice low. “I’m looking for a gentleman named Reimer, who runs charter.”

“You found him.” Reimer had a friendly face. Reedhanded him his card, and explained that he needed help with an old drowningcase. He showed the old clippings to Reimer just as the waitress set amushroom-smothered steak sandwich and fries before him. After reading thearticles, Reimer removed his grease-stained cap and ran a hand through hiswispy white hair. “I’m listening, lad.” Reimer cut into his dinner.

Reed sat and was careful not to mention theabductions, telling Reimer how he met Keller for the bereavement group piece,and that it was vital he find him again for another story he was researching.

“’Fraid I can’t help you.”

“You don’t know this case?”

“Oh, I know it.” Reimer chewed. “Was here when ithappened. Terrible thing. They never found the children’s bodies and old EdKeller never got over it. Wife killed herself, you know.”

“How do you know that he never got over it?”

“Well”-Reimer chewed some more-“he comes here andhires me couple times a year to run him to the Farallons, the spot where theydrowned.”

“When’s the last time you saw him?”

Reimer thought. “Couple months ago.”

“He say anything to you?”

“Never speaks.”

“Got any credit card receipts from him?”

“Always pays cash.”

“How long he been doing this?”

“Ever since it happened.”

“You know where he lives?”

Reimer shook his head.

“What does he do out there, when you get to the spot?”

“He drops a wreath of flowers and mutters to himself,things like how he’s going to bring them back. It’s sad.”

“What do you make of it all?”

Reimer scratched his salt-and-pepper stubble, hisleathery, weather-weary face creased. “Tom, I’ve run charter in the Pacific allmy life and I’ve seen a lot of strange things. But I never seen anything likeEd. Can’t let go of the past, can’t accept that what’s done is done and ain’tnothing he can do. But you know something?”

“What’s that?”

“He thinks otherwise. Thinks he can change history. Ithink he’s got some kind of plan percolating in his mind.”

“What makes you believe that?” Reed’s cellular phonetrilled. “Excuse me.” He fished it from his pocket.

“Tom, hustle your ass back here!”

“Molly, did you get Keller’s address?”

“He bought the flowers with a check through a Fargobank. I’m outside the branch across from the paper. I went in, said I was hisdaughter, making a fifty-dollar deposit into his account for his birthday. Theytook the money. I asked if their records showed his ‘new’ address. Teller saidthe address they had was a P.O. box.”

“Nice try.”

“Wait, the teller said I should check Keller’s branch,which is near Wintergreen Heights. At least we can put him there. But it mightnot matter now.”

“Why?”

“Rumors are flying that the task force has a suspect.”

“Is it our guy, Molly?”

“Damned if I know. No one has a name or anything. Justget back here! Something’s going to break on this, I can just feel it!”

“Okay. I’m on my way.”

“One more thing, your wife called from Chicago. She andZach are arriving earlier then she planned. She wants you to pick them up.American, ten A.M., tomorrow.”

Reed thanked Reimer as he slipped the phone into hispocket and stood to leave. Then he remembered something. He reached into hisbreast pocket for two small stills of the blurry home video of suspect inGabrielle Nunn’s abduction.

“You recognize that guy?”

“These are from those kidnappings in the city. Seen‘em on TV.”

“Look like anybody you know?”

Reimer studied the pictures, shaking his head.

“Does it look like Keller?”

“Could be anybody.”

Reed nodded and took the pictures back. “I’m sorry,you mentioned something about Keller having a plan.”

“Right, well, Ed is drowning in his grief and guilt.It’s obvious. Well, when we return from the charter, he told me the time hadcome to buy his own boat.”

“Why?”

Reimer sucked through his teeth and shrugged. “Ifigured it was so he could take himself out there whenever he wanted like Itold him. You know, he’s never driven a boat since that night?”

“That’s it?”

“I guess. ‘Cept he kept muttering about destiny.”

“Destiny?”

“Yup. Said he needed a boat for destiny.”

“That’s all he said?”

Reimer nodded, staring hard at Reed. “You think hegrabbed those kids from the city, don’t you?”

Reed put two five-dollar on the table. “Who knows?Thanks for your time. I’ve got to get going.”

Reed barely noticed the drive to downtown SanFrancisco. The epitaph from the Kellers’ headstone was stuck in his head, likea nursery rhyme…If angels fall.