“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.
FIFTY-THREE
Molly Wilson stood at The San Francisco Star Building’s side entrance,tapping her notebook against her thigh, watching the parking lot until shespotted Reed and ran to him.
“Tom! Don’t go upstairs! It’s Benson.”
“What about him?”
“I’ve never seen him like this. He’s pissed at you.”
“Where’s the news in that? The man hates me.”
“He’s white hot like he was last year over Donner.”
Reed stared at her. “What going on up there, Molly?”
“He wants to know what you are working on, where youare.”
“You didn’t tell him, did you?”
“No. I did the best I could to cover. I told him youwere checking a lead on a suspect in the kidnapping. It seemed to work. Henever asked about you after that. That was yesterday.”
“You didn’t mention Keller?”
“No, I told you.”
“Okay, then what?”
“Today the rumors are flying from the hall that thetask force definitely has a suspect and Benson asked me about it. I didn’t knowanything, nobody at our place knew anything. You know anything?”
Reed knew nothing new. He was busy chasing EdwardKeller.
“When I told Benson we didn’t know about the suspectrumors, he went ballistic. He was furious that no one knew where you were. Hetried to find you, started calling people. When he got nowhere, it wasstraitjacket time. He wants to see you.”
Reed swallowed.
“Tom, I did the best I could. I’m sorry.”
“Where are you going now?”
“He’s kicked me over to the hall to chase the suspectrumors.”
Wilson removed her keys from her bag, then touchedReed’s shoulder. “Remember, Tom, he’s not like us. He’s not human. Keep repeatingthat to yourself and don’t let him get to you.”
Reed glanced up at the building. “He wants me fired,Molly.”
Myron Benson gestured sharply at Reed through theglass walls of his office. He wanted Reed to enter.
“Shut the door.” Benson said.
Reed sat at the round polished table across fromBenson. The table, like Benson’s office, was clutter free. He was studying afile, his clean-shaven face was like silly putty, and his fine web of vanishinghair accentuated his huge ears. The edges of his mouth curled into a smirk ashis rodent-like eyes fixed on Reed.
“Your recent personnel file is a horror story. You arejust not the reporter you used to be, Tom.”
Benson’s condescending tone brushed over Reed’spent-up animosity, like a hair caressing a detonator.
Benson was bureaucratic ballast who, years ago, walkedinto the Star off the street and passed himself off as an up-and-comingreporter to an old editor, who hired him and died two weeks later. Benson hadto ask other reporters how to spell words like “sheep”, “equal”, and “idiot”.One day he could not find Seattle on a U.S. map and wondered aloud if anyoneknew San Francisco’s area code.
Facts that could never be confirmed began surfacing inBenson’s copy. When he learned the paper was going to fire him, he stole a tipcalled in for another reporter and broke a major story about police corruption,to which the other reporters were assigned to help. The Star’spublisher, Amos Tellwood, congratulated Benson personally on his “fine, finework”. Benson parlayed the old man’s favor and was soon a regular guest at theTellwood estate in Marine County. He began dating Tellwood’s only child andheiress, his daughter, Judith. She was an awkward woman, so neglected by herfamily that she immediately fell in love with Benson. He acknowledged herexistence and she guaranteed his at the Star by marrying him. He hadthree children and several promotions by her.