If Angels Fall (15 page)

“I guess.” Zach looked at them. “But someone’s in our
house.”

Ann touched Zach’s hand. “A nice businessman from
Tulsa and his wife. They are only renting. It’s still our house.”

Zach looked at his father. “Dad, is there another
killer out there killing little kids?”

A curve ball.

“Nobody knows, but the chance of it happening to you
is like being hit by a golf ball. That’s why it’s such a big deal. Know anybody
who’s been hit by a golf ball?”

“No.” Zach giggled.

Ann smiled. “Didn’t you have something else you wanted
to ask?”

“About the
Kitty Hawk
?” Zach wanted a model of
the carrier.

“No, the other thing.”

“Oh, yeah. Dad, can I sit at your computer.”

“Sure, come with me.”

“All right!”

***

Bending over his terminal, Teed typed a quick command
on his keyboard, clearing his screen. Zach plopped into his father’s chair and
watched.

“Yo, yo, handsome.” Molly Wilson glided around the
cubicle and crouched beside Zach. “Haven’t seen you in awhile. You’re getting
to be a big guy. How’s school?”

“Okay.” Zach liked Wilson. She smelled good.

“Molly, Zach wants to hack around on the machine,”
Reed said. “Could you please watch him so he doesn’t crash the newsroom?”

“That’s a pretty big assignment, but I think I can
handle it, Dad.” She offered her perfect-teeth smile, then stood and, while
glancing toward Ann alone in the interview room, whispered, “You’re looking
dominated, Tom.”

How dare she say that with his son present? She loved
to rile him, loved to tease. “I’m going to the FBI in a few minutes,” she said.

“We’ll be done before the. Behave yourself and have
fun, son.”

“Okay.”

Wilson bent over Zach, her nails clicking on the
computer keyboard. “Want to surf the Internet?”

Reed returned to Ann, shutting the door behind him.

“Molly’s very pretty.”

“She’s a flirt, Ann. And I’m a married man.”

“You’ve lost weight.”

“Well, wallowing in self-pity has its benefits.”

“How’s work going here?”

“I’m getting by, but they’ve got me on a short leash
these days. How’s the business?”

“We’re getting more orders. My loan is almost paid
off. I think I’m going to have to hire another part-time clerk.”

“I brag about you to the people here who’ll still talk
to me.”

Ann blushed a little. “Why?”

“I don’t know, it’s something I should have told you.
I just...I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, Ann.”

“Have you?”

“I realize what a jerk I’ve been. I was wrong about a
lot of things. I can’t explain it, but I know I’m not the same guy.”

“How do I know that, Tom?”

“You don’t.” Reed stared at his hands, debating with
himself as he twisted his gold wedding band. Ann still wore her diamond.

“I took a walk at the Golden Gate one night, a few
weeks after you left. Let me tell you, when you’re on the threshold of losing
everything, when your feet are dangling over the abyss, life’s priorities
become clear.”

“You were going to kill yourself if we didn’t get back
together, is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

“No, I was speaking metaphorically.”

“Were you?”

“I am not that much of a coward. I am telling you that
you did the right thing, forcing me to live alone with the bad guy. Now, I...I
want to, I am hoping we can try again.”

She regarded him for a long time. “I don’t know if I
should believe you.” She pressed her hands flat on the table.

“You damn near destroyed me. The way you treated us.
It was as if we were nothing to you, like this place was the universe and you
were its self-righteous self-centered king. Never wrong. I loathed you for it.
I am so confused and scared. You’re telling me things, but it could be your
self-pity talking. Are you still drinking?”

“Alone in my room at night. It fills the void, helps
me sleep.”

She wanted to believe him, he could read it in her
eyes.

“We can’t go on like it was before. I refuse to accept
you back if nothing’s changed.”

“I’ve never stopped loving you. And this job”—Reed
nodded at the newsroom—“it’s no longer my life.”

Ann said nothing.

“I’ve given a lot of thought to something you wanted
me to do.”

“I’ve wanted you to do a lot of things.”

“I’ve been thinking that maybe I would take a leave
from the paper, stay home and work on a novel.”

“You’re serious?”

“Yes.”

They watched Zach playing on the computer.

“He misses you,” she said.

“I miss both of you.”

Reed looked at his wife.

“I have to think, Tom. I have to think about
everything.”

Reed squeezed her hand and nodded.

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’s
top feature writer. Her articles on SIDS babies and Bay Area children with AIDS
were so well written, so compassionate.

Still, waiting here, it was difficult to put herself
at ease.

Twice before coming she had picked up the phone to
cancel. She didn’t do it. Despite all the risks, her blatant violation of
university 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 the
funding needed to extend her research. The university, thanks to Levine, had
rejected her. The state denied grant money. Corporations politely refused her.
And national victims’ support and lobby groups, which applauded her work, were
cash strapped. Press attention was her last hope.

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

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

“Dr. Martin?”

She looked up. “Yes?”

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

Tom Reed!

She recognized him from the face-slapping footage
which TV news stations had recently replayed. Her skin prickled with
apprehension.

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 little
unruly. 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 back
for six weeks. Your letter was passed to me.”

“To you? But why? I thought—“

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

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

Reed slapped his notebook on the table. Martin
declined coffee.

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

“To be blunt, yes.”

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am protective of the sensitive nature of my
research.”

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

“Excuse me?”

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

Martin closed her eyes. Leave. Leave now, she told
herself.

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

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

“If we do a story, we’re going to examine your group
and your research, not promote it. You say your work is valid. How do we know
that? You could be with a corporation poised to establish such programs in a
chain of clinics and are looking for a story as a source of advertising. That
happens. 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 or
my work.”

“And you don’t know me, or mine. You send us a
blueprint 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 considered
canceling everything. She had handled this poorly. The program was doomed no
matter what she did. She cupped her chin in one hand, studied the dramatic news
pictures, 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 her
fingers against her cheek. “Perhaps I’ve become too comfortable in the ivory
towers of academe, Tom.”

He chuckled. “If we had a couch in here...” Reed
scanned the room.

“Yes?”

“I’d tell you my miserable problems. The last few
weeks 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 ceramic
mugs bearing the
Star’s
logo. “Today was supposed to be my day off,” he
said. “I apologize for being so hard on you.”

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

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

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

“I want to do a story about your work. I’m just not
sure what shape it will take. Tell me about it.”

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