If Angels Fall (12 page)

The TV and the
squeak-creak
grew louder as
Danny entered the living room.

“...here’s the pitch; it’s a slider inside. Strike!”

Fifty thousand fans at Dodger Stadium roared. Danny
turned and took in the room. It was barren. Torn rags and soiled sheets and
towels covered the windows. No Mommy. No Daddy.

The walls were filthy. A large table, cluttered with a
big computer, papers and maps was pushed to a corner.

Squeak-creak. Squeak-creak.

“...the Giants are looking good here in Los
Angeles...”

Baseball. The TV was on a tall stand in the middle of
the room.

Squeak-creak. Squeak-creak.

A strange man faced the set, rocking back and forth in
a rocking chair. His back was turned to Danny.

“I want my mommy and daddy,” Danny said.

The stranger ignored him.

“...but so far they’re giving L.A. a drubbing
today...”

Squeak-creak. Squeak-creak
.

Strewn on the floor beside the man were newspapers.
Seeing something familiar. Danny inched closer.

Squeak-creak. Squeak-creak.

Danny saw his own picture in one paper. He saw Daddy’s
picture too—he looked worried and sad. Danny shuddered.

Who was that man in the rocking chair? He took half a
step backward.

“Home field isn’t helping the Dodgers, Frank...Excuse
me, Billy. We’re going to the network’s San Francisco affiliate for an update
on the kidnapping of Danny Becker.”

Danny’s mouth dropped when he heard his name. His eyes
were rived to the set. What was happening?

A man on the TV said, “Good afternoon. I am Peter
McDermid with an EyeWitness News special update.” Danny blinked, staring at
himself on TV.

Squeak-creak. Squeak-creak.

“Three-year-old Danny Raphael Becker was kidnapped...”

What is kidnapped?

“...from his father yesterday while they were riding
home on San Francisco’s Bay Area Transit System subway from a baseball game at
Oakland’s Alameda County Coliseum. It is believed a man abducted the boy from
the Balboa Park BART Station. Danny is still missing. Police say his family has
received no ransom calls and that they have no suspects, no useful description
of Danny’s abductor. Today they are intensifying their investigation. One
hundred additional police and one thousand volunteers are helping in the search
for Danny. He is the only child of Nathan and Magdalene Becker.”

Squeak-creak. Squeak-creak.

The picture of a little girl appeared beside Danny’s.
He knew her. It was the girl he saw on the subway. The one who never smiled.

“A disturbing aspect in Danny’s case is that it
happened nearly one year later, and in almost exactly the same area where
two-year-old Tanita Marie Donner was taken from her home. She was murdered
three days later in Golden Gate Park.”

Murdered? Is that when you are dead? Is that murdered?

Squeak-creak. Squeak-creak.

“An unprecedented investigation involving the FBI and
San Francisco police has yet to find Tanita’s killer. Police refuse to say if
Tanita Donner’s murder and Danny Becker’s abduction are linked. But EyeWitness
News has learned the FBI’s Behavioral Science Unit, expert in profiling serial
criminals, is again assisting.”

“There has been an outpouring of support for the
Beckers. We go now to a news conference called by Nathan and Magdalene Becker.
EyeWitness News reporter Jennie Duffy is there. Jeannie, give us a sense of the
impact the Becker abduction has had.”

Jennie Duffy stood before a row of TV cameras. Beyond
them, a table with a small mountain of microphones and portable tape recorders
rose before two empty chairs.

“Peter, the people I’ve talked to are horrified. The
abduction of Danny Becker is every parent’s nightmare. They say this kind of
thing isn’t supposed to happen in their neighborhood. It’s something that
happens in the movies, but not here. They’re taking precautions. Neighborhood
watch parties are being formed, children are not allowed anywhere alone, and
strangers are regarded with suspicion. A blanket of fear has fallen over San
Francisco.”

“I talked to a relative of the Beckers’ and he told me
Danny’s parents will offer a substantial reward for Danny’s safe return. And
the family just released to reports a home video of Danny at his cousin’s
birthday party. Taken two weeks ago. Here’s a bit of that now. Danny’s the
smaller boy wearing a red shirt.”

Danny’s cousins, Paul and Sarah appeared on TV with
him. Paul kicked a soccer ball to Danny. Sarah was skipping.

The man in the chair stopped rocking, and turned his
head slowly to Danny, allowing him to see only half of his face.

Danny took another step backward and searched the room
for a door. He wanted to leave.
Now.
The man resumed rocking.
Squeak-creak.

On TV, a man and a woman seated themselves before the
microphones. Transfixed, Danny clasped his hands together, blurting, “Mom, my
mommy!”

Squeak-creak.

The press conference room was electric with emotion
under the lights. Silent, except for the soft flashes of still cameras and the
whir-click
of their rapid-fire motor drives. Nathan and Maggie held hands, sat with their
heads bowed, struggling to begin. Maggie brushed her eye. No makeup. Nathan was
unshaven. They had not slept.

“I’m sorry,” Nathan said. “This is difficult.”

They faced some one hundred reports, photographers,
and camera crews. Relatives, friends, and police officials lined one wall.

Squeak-creak. Squeak-creak.

“Take your time,” somebody said.

Nathan nodded. The cameras flashed and whirred.

“Danny is all we have” Maggie began. “To the person
who has our son, we say please bring Danny back, please let him go, that’s all
we ask. We beg you. Please.” Tears streamed down her face, making it shiny. The
cameras flashed, reporters made notes.

Squeak-creak. Squeak-creak.

Nathan looked toward his family and friends. “We want
to say to the person who has Danny, our only child, please don’t harm him. We
know you must be hurting to have taken Danny. Our son, Danny. We are now
suffering together and only you can make things better. We beg you. Danny is
just a little boy, please let Danny go. Please.”

Nathan brushed his eyes. “We are willing—“ he stopped.
With the help of our friends, we are willing to pay thirty-five thousand
dollars for information that brings Danny home safely. If the person who has
Danny finds it in his heart to return Danny to us, you will receive every
consideration. Please bring Danny back safely. Please.”

Several reporters started with questions. Nathan stopped
them.

“That’s all we can say. Thank you.”

“Mr. Becker, a few short questions?” implored one
reporter.

Squeak-creak. Squeak-creak.

“I’m sorry. Please, it’s all we can say now. Thank
you.”

“Waiiiittt!” Danny’s arms shot toward his mother and
father. “Come and get me please. I’ll be good. I promise. Mommy. Daddy.”

They left.

The chair stopped and so did Danny’s breathing.

The man stood, switched the set off. Danny scrambled
to his feet and hurried to the kitchen, afraid to look behind him. He heard the
paws of the dog, following him. He could see a door in the kitchen. He reached
up and grasped the handle. It wouldn’t move. He kept trying. “Home.” He pulled
mightily, and kicked the door for not cooperating. The dog yelped. What if he
asked the man nicely?

“Home. Please.”

Nothing happened.

Danny looked over his shoulder—the man was across the
room, leaning over the big table with all the papers.

“Home. Please!” Danny sobbed.

The man raised his head, as if hearing Danny for the
first time. He turned and faced him, smiling. He looked friendly. Danny noticed
a silver cross hanging from his neck. The man squatted, held out his arms,
inviting Danny to come to him.

Danny didn’t dare move. Something was funny about the
man’s eyes. They were big and wide the way Daddy made his eyes go when he was
Zombie Man. The man stepped closer.

“No! You leave me alone. Stop!” Danny shouted.

He ran for the basement stairs. The dog scampered
after him.

Too small to run down them, Danny sat and bounced
along each stair on his bottom as quickly as he could, racing to the room where
he woke, slamming the door behind him, hurrying to a corner. Nowhere to hide.

The door’s handle turned. The man entered and smiled.
Danny pushed himself against the corner. “Leave me alone! Go away!”

The man drew nearer, his black shadow looming against
the wall. Towering over Danny, gazing down upon him from a few feet away.

Danny wanted to push himself through the wall, balling
his hands into fists, clutching them together against his chest, terrified
something bad was going to happen.

“Go away! Go away!”

The man dropped to his knees, stretched out his arms.

“Oh Raphael! Holy Rescuer, Holy Guardian! Years I have
suffered. Years, I have atoned. Years I have waited and now you have come! You
have come!”

Edward Keller was enraptured, arms outstretched, palms
to heaven.

“Oh Raphael! The prophet’s words are true. ‘Through me
you enter where the lost are sent.’ Raphael. The resurrection has begun!”

Keller bowed before Danny.

Danny cried harder than he ever had in his life.

An hour
after Danny Becker’s mother and father pleaded for his safe return, San
Francisco’s top detectives gathered in Room 400 at the Hall of Justice on
Bryant. Over the years the room had sucked up the sweat, the fury, and the very
souls of investigators avenging the dead whose lives had been taken by evil,
perpetually manifesting itself in every wicked force imaginable from crack
cocaine to the Zebra, from the Dai Hen Jai to the Zodiac.

Enlarged photos of Danny and Tanita gazed from the
corkboard Inspector Gord Mikelson had wheeled into place. Beneath their faces a
city map was pierced with tiny flap pins. Pink for locations in the Donne case,
blue for Becker. Each had a related file. Notebooks were opened. Reports and
witness statements were circulated.

“Right off, we’ve got one unidentified suspect and
little else on Becker. No calls, letters, demands. No body,” Mikelson said.

“Not yet,” someone muttered, alluding to statistics
that show that if an abducted child was not found alive within forty-eight
hours, the child was likely dead.

“We will have none of that shit here. Understand? Or
tomorrow you are working a fucking koban giving directions to a hayseed from
Boise.” Lieutenant Leo Gonzales, head of the Homicide Detail, unwrapped an
imported cigar and squinted at the talent in the room. Among them were
Sydowski, Turgeon, and FBI Special Agents Rust and Ditmire. Gonzales made eye
contact with everyone, including Captain Miles Beck, Deputy Chief of
Investigations, Bill Kennedy, and Nick Roselli, chief of inspectors. Many in
the room were unfamiliar with the Donner case. Adhering to the city’s
no-smoking rule Gonzales did not light his cigar, though he yearned to.
“Although we’ve got no body, we are concerned with the obvious similarities to
Donner, Walt’s file. Now listen up.” Gonzales nodded to Mikelson. “Go, Gord.”

“We have nothing unusual in the twenty-four hours
before Danny Becker’s abduction. We canvassed their route. A couple of people
believe they saw a man follow Nathan and Danny onto the bus. Their descriptions
are vague, but generally fit with Nathan’s. But we really don’t have anything
strong in that department.”

“What about a composite?” Inspector Art Tipper said.

“The father got a glimpse of the bad guy at Balboa,
but his description is unclear. We’ve got the police artist and Beth at
Computer Enhancing working something up.”