“Soooo?” Zach’s eyes ping-ponged between his parentsas he sucked up the last of his strawberry shake. “What’s taking so long?”
“What are you talking about?” Reed said.
“Us getting back together. I told Gordie we’re movingback.”
Reed exchanged a glance and a smile with Ann.
“We haven’t heard back from Mr. Tilley,” she said.
“You mean the Okie guy who’s renting our house withhis wife?”
“Watch your manners, Zach.” Reed said.
“The nice businessman from Tulsa.”
“It’s going to take some time for Mr. Tilley toarrange to find another place before we can move in,” Ann said.
“A couple of months at least,” Reed added.
“A couple of months? Well okay.” Zach burped. “Excuseme.”
“And you are going with me on my business trip toChicago,” Ann said.
They were putting the pieces back together. Once theyreturned to their house, regrouped as a family, he would request a leave andtake a crack at his novel and they would put what had happened behind them. Itwas all they could do. For the rest of their lunch, he stole glances at Ann andZach, loving them and wondering if the fractures would ever fade. That was afew days ago.
Tilley told them moving out of their house wouldn’t bea problem. He was supposed to get back to Ann with a date.
Reed picked up the phone to call her, but it was late.Zach was likely asleep. He snapped off his computer, slipped on his jacket, andwaved to the night desk. Leaving the newsroom, he decided to call Ann and Zachtomorrow. Maybe they’d get together after their shift. He could put somedistance between himself and the story.
Reed would be in his lonely bed and asleep withinforty-five minutes, and without the help of Jack Daniel’s. He hadn’t touchedthe booze for five nights now. He did it by focusing on his priorities. Ann andZach. That’s all he had to do, he told himself, stopping at the bank ofreporters’ mail slots, where he found something in his box. What’s this? Anancient Star article taken from a microfilmed back issue with a notefrom Lillian Freeman, the newsroom librarian. The article was short. No byline.The head was:
THREE S.F. CHILDREN DROWN IN BOATING ACCIDENT
There was a note with the article:
“Tom: I know you wanted this a long time ago but Ijust found it. Apparently this happened twenty years ago, not ten. Hence thedelay. We had little on it. You could check the Chron and the Exam.I left some material marked for you in the reading corner. Hope it still helps.Lillian.”
Reed read the story of how Edward Keller’s childrendrowned in the Pacific. He was transfixed. He got a steaming mug of blackcoffee and headed for the newsroom library.
FORTY
Two hours after she had given an emotional news conference on her front lawn, Nancy Nunnwas in her bedroom, sedated. Turgeon was still on the phone. Sydowski set hiscoffee aside, as he steadied himself to see Gabrielle’s brother, Ryan, aftersomebody told him the eight-year-old had questions.
Ryan was downstairs with Nancy Nunn’s friend WendySloane and her daughters, Charlotte and Elaine. The family room had therequisite paneling and indoor-outdoor carpeting. A small bar with three swivelstools stood empty at one end, with a Giants’ pennant and a neon beer signglowing from the wall behind it. Closed tonight. There was a well-worn couchand loveseat set before a big-screen TV. It was a room where a family couldsnuggle up in front of a movie, or play monopoly, or laugh, or be happy, oranything safe and mundane.
But not tonight.
Tonight it was a sanctuary for the three childrenhuddled on the floor watching a movie. The children were sitting on sleepingbags. Plastic bowls overflowing with popcorn were next to them, untouched.Wendy Sloane was on the sofa, dabbing her face with a crumpled tissue. She sawSydowski, then looked away. She had seen enough of police to last her the restof her life; moreover, she would never forgive herself for teasing Nancy abouther fears.
Sydowski grunted amicably as he sat with the childrenon the floor, introduced himself, and invited them to ask any questions thatmight be on their minds.
The girls were silent, watching the movie.
Ryan turned to Sydowski, his eyes cold and dry.
“Is my little sister dead?”
“We don’t know, Ryan. We just don’t know.”
“How come? You’re a detective right? You’re supposedto know.”
“We haven’t found anything, not a single piece ofanything you could think of that would prove Gabrielle has been hurt.”
“But the news said you found her hair and stuff.”
“We think the stranger cut her hair so people wouldn’trecognize her from her picture. We’re going to make a new picture of her. Itdoesn’t mean she has been hurt.”
Ryan’s face brightened a bit. “That means she couldstill be all right somewhere?”
“Exactly, but with shorter hair.”
“And that’s really why there’s going to be moresearching tomorrow with a helicopter and dogs and everything? Not becauseyou’re looking for her dead body, like the TV news said?”
“That’s right. We’re looking everywhere for yoursister and for anything to help us figure out what happened to her, so that wecan find her. So far, no matter what anybody else tells you, there is nothingto prove Gabrielle has been hurt. You got that straight from me. That’s my wordas a San Francisco Police Inspector. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Excuse me, Walt.” Special Agent Merle Rust took Sydowskiaside. “IDENT’s finished with her bedroom. Came up with nothing, zip. WE shouldgive it a quick once-over.”
Sydowski agreed, patted Ryan’s shoulder, then leftwith Rust.
It was like walking into the bedroom of a doll’shouse. The two men dwarfed it, casting huge shadows on the walls.
Rust squatted, examining the contents of Gabrielle’sdresser, while Sydowski sat on her bed. Soft pastel, patterned wallpaper withtiny bouquets covered the walls. The ceiling borders were painted a lilacshade. Beautiful, Sydowski thought. A framed piece of embroidery reading:“Gabrielle’s Room” hung above the bed. A multicolored crayon drawing of Jackson,Gabrielle’s puppy, hung on one wall. This was the room of a happy child, likethe rooms of Tanita and Danny.
As Rust sifted gingerly through Gabrielle’s dresserdrawers, Sydowski ran his fingers over the flowers printed on her comforter.She had been here hours ago. Sleeping, dreaming. Safe. He touched her pillow,traced the frills of the cotton pillow case, and picked up a stuffed pink bear.
“Snuffles,” Rust said.
“Huh?”
“Snuffles, Walt. According to her dad, it’s herfavorite possession, after her pup.”
Sydowski touched Snuffles to his nose, inhaling asweet child’s scent. Rust opened Gabrielle’s closet, crouched down, andinspected the items jammed into it, starting with Gabrielle’s shoes.
“Why in hell are you doing that?” Paul Nunn asked fromthe doorway. “What could you possibly hope to find?”
Rust and Sydowski exchanged looks.
Nunn’s eyes were still wet and he was exhausted fromhaving endured hours of police interviews. Rust stopped, but remained crouched.
“Paul,” Sydowski began, “everybody has secrets. Evenchildren.”
“Secrets? What secrets?”
“Gabrielle may have been approached by her abductorbefore. He may have tricked her into keeping it secret. He may have given hersomething, a little gift.” Sydowski nodded to Gabrielle’s drawing of her dog.“Maybe she hid a drawing, or wrote something.”
Nunn absorbed Sydowski’s rationale. “But we’ve toldher and Ryan never to talk to strangers.”
“He may not have been a stranger to her. He may havelearned something about you and Nancy to trick her. If he took her dog, thenhe’s working from a plan.”