Kennedy loosened his tie. “So what have we got on Mr.B Positive? We’ve got a blurry video of him stalking Gabrielle Nunn in GoldenGate. We have a composite, but it is still too vague. What else we got?”
“We know he stalked Gabrielle and took her dog, whichhe used later to lure her away,” Turgeon said.
“Right, and we’ve got a partial plate on the truck, anold Ford with a California tag beginning with “B” or “8”, something like that.”
“And there’s the meat tray found near the yard.”Ditmire added.
“How’s Rad Zwicker doing in Records with that poolbased on the partial?” Roselli wanted to know. “Anything that ties Shook to thetruck or any vehicle?”
“Nothing yet.” Gonzales flipped through his reports.“We don’t have a specific year on the truck. We do have the first threecharacters on the tag: ‘B75’. That gives us a pool, of what? Something over athousand. They’re being checked individually.”
Sydowski had an idea. “Did we check parking ticketsfor all Ford pickups with the partial at Golden Gate the day Gabrielle wastaken?”
Gonzales nodded. “Zwicker did that, through traffic.Zip, Walt.”
Turgeon thought of something else. “Did we check for ticketsfor all pickups with that partial in and around the Nunn home in the Sunsetprior to her abduction, say for the past six months? Because he was stalkingher, he would have spent time in her neighborhood.”
“I don’t think we did it specifically with thatpartial tag, Linda. Hang on.” Gonzales reached for a phone and punchedZwicker’s extension, and ordered the check done immediately then hung up.“He’ll get back to us,” he said.
Roselli rolled up his sleeves. “We could try runningdown names of all Caucasian males with B-positive blood between thirty andsixty years old in mental institutions and Bay Area hospitals. We could do thesame with recent releases from county, state, and federal jails. Garrett andMalloy, you take that,” Notes were made.
Using the bar code from the meat wrapper, InspectorMarty Baker came up with a list of eighty stores where the meat could have beenpurchased. He narrowed the purchase time line to four days prior to the dogsnatching.
Kennedy liked that lead. “Work up a hot info sheet.We’ll get uniforms and anyone we can spare to canvas the stores and the‘hoods.”
Gonzales turned to Inspectors Gord Mikelson and HalZolm from General Works. After Shook died, they went to the parents of DannyBecker and Gabrielle Nunn to assure them no concrete evidence had surfacedsuggesting Danny and Gabrielle had been harmed, that police suspected Shook wasinvolved in the abductions only because he claimed he was. It was not unusualfor people like Shook to make such claims. The task force was working to verifytheir validity.
“How did it go, Gord?”
“Not good.”
“The parents believe their children are dead and theyblame us for not keeping Shook alive to get information.”
Gonzales nodded. He had no quarrel with the familiesright to be outraged.
The meeting stretched into a two-hour affair.
“We should check every death — criminal, accidental,or natural, involving children of the same age and gender as Danny andGabrielle.” Sydowski said. “Call Sacramento and do it through vitalstatistics.”
“How far back?”
Sydowski did some quick math. “Twenty years ago.”
“Do you know how many you’re talking about for theentire state?” Ditmire said.
“Narrow it to the Bay Area. If he’s taking kids fromhere, the tragedy likely happened here,” Sydowski said.
“Could check with mental hospitals, private clinics,and psychiatric associations for any cases that might fit with what we’ve gothere,” Rust said, tapping his canister of chewing tobacco on his chin.
Kennedy wanted the streets sifted for anything on new kiddie porn operations inthe west. Rust pledged the FBI’s help on that front.
Roselli and Kennedy decided on releasing a short pressstatement saying they believe Virgil Lee Shook was responsible for the murderof Tanita Marie Donner, but they had nothing to confirm he is linked to theBecker/Nunn kidnappings, only that vigorous investigations by the task forceare ongoing. It would go out at three that afternoon.
The meeting was ending when the phone rang forGonzales. Gonzales said nothing, took notes, then slammed the phone down with agrin.
“Son-of-a-bitch! We got a hit on a 1978 Ford pickuptagged for parking near a hydrant three blocks from the Nunn home in theSunset. It was one week before the dog vanished. Brilliant work, Turgeon! Theold Son of Sam parking ticket probe. Son of a fucking bitch!”
Kennedy looked at the address Gonzales had taken forthe pickup. “Let’s move on this now!”
FIFTY-EIGHT
Sitting on Grandma’s front porch steps, Zach Reed could hear his mom on the phone to hisgrandmother. She was pissed, big time.
“I refuse to accept him treating us like this-Mom-no.”Grandma was working at the university. “I am not taking any more of this!”
Hearing his mom talk this way hurt. Everything wasbreaking, spoiling his dream of living together again in their home.
“Mom, I’ve given him a lifetime of chances-No! He wassupposed to pick us up this morning at the airport. He wasn’t there. No sign ofhim. Not a word. I know it’s a little thing but it always starts with thelittle things!”
His mother listened, then said: “I checked with theairline message center, our hotel in Chicago, and his place. Absolutely no wordfrom him. This is how he treats us! This is how committed he is!”
Zach hated this. Just chill, Mom, he pleaded silentlyfrom the steps, driving his chin into his forearm which rested on his knees. Hestared at his sneakers, new Vans, Tempers. He had tried to calm Mom down at theairport, where she sat steaming for an hour. Maybe Dad was on a story becauseof the missing kids?
“I don’t care, Zach,” she hissed as they waited on anairport bench. “That’s not the point. The point is he is supposed to be here! Apromise is a promise! That was how you measured a person’s worth, by the numberof promises they broke,” she said, blowing her nose into a tissue.
A few hours earlier on the plane, everything wasgreat. Mom was happy, telling him the surprise: Dad was picking them up at theairport. Maybe they would have lunch, talk about being together again, maybedrive by their house. Man, it was heaven. Soon he would be back with Jeff andGordie, catch up on things.
But it all fell apart when they came down at SanFrancisco International. No trace of Dad. Mom had him paged. Three times.
Now, sitting on Grandma’s porch, with everythingbreaking into a million pieces, he didn’t know what to do. He fished for hisfather’s business card from his rear pocket. It read: TOM REED, STAFF WRITER,THE SAN FRANCISCO STAR, and bore an address, fax number, and his directextension. It was a cherished possession. One Zach carried everywhere. Hestudied the blue lettering, stroking the embossed characters, as if the cardwere a talisman that could summon his dad.
Zach hated this separation cooling off crap. He hopedhis friends were wrong about your folks never getting back together once theysplit. Please be wrong. He looked hopefully up and down the street. Traffic waslight. All he saw was some doof by a white van a few doors down. Was he staringat him? Zach wasn’t sure. The guy was checking the air pressure on the tires.
The rumbling of a broken muffler cued him to hisfather’s old green monster stopping in front of the house.
“Mom! It’s Dad!”
Zach catapulted to the driver’s door, and gripped thehandle.
“Hey, son!”
“Dad, Chicago was a blast! We went up in the Sears Towerand I got to go in the cockpit on the flight home! Are we gonna drive by ourhouse? Are we gonna have lunch? And look, Mom got me new Vans, Tempers!” Zachopened the door for his dad.
“Hold on there, sport.” Reed climbed out of the car.
Zach threw his arms around his father, his smilemelting when he smelled a familiar evil odor. Zach stepped back, noticing hisdad’s reddened eyes, his whiskers, and the lines carved into his face.