Gonzales helped reposition the board so everyone couldsee. Then Hill took a finger of chalk, and summarized the profile.
“Based on our reading of everything so far, you have aprofoundly wounded Caucasian, late forties, early fifties, traumatized by somehorrible life-altering event involving children. He either caused it, witnessedit, or was close enough to it to be affected. We could assume it involved hischildren. And given his age and the ages of the kidnap victims, it likelyhappened twenty to twenty-five years ago. He has likely sought some kind oftherapy, or help which failed to ease whatever psychological pain he hassuffered.”
A detective had a question. “Could this guy have beensexually abused as a child, and is grabbing the children as a form of payback?”
“Traditionally, that is the case inabduction-sexual-homicides with children. In fact, based on what we know of theDonner-Shook matter, I would say that’s what happened there. Predatory pedophilesusually seize their prey when no one is watching. Tanita Donner was stolen fromher home when nobody was around to see. But what you have with Becker and Nunnis rare, bold daylight abductions of young children from their parents incrowded, public places. Your guy is on a mission, he feels protected. He’s sofar gone in his fantasy that he thinks nothing can touch him. Andrei Chikatilo,the Russian serial killer who murdered fifty-three boys, girls, and young womenbetween 1978–1980, told police after his arrest that during his killing spree,he felt at times that ‘he was concealed from other people by a black hood.’Well, I believe our guy here is similar in that he thinks he is on a righteousmission.”
“What kind of mission?” someone asked.
“A religious one.”
“What makes you think so?”
“A couple of things. What we heard today from the manwho sold him the pickup and boat.” Hill glanced at his file folder of notes.“Mr. Urlich described the buyer as a ‘holy man’ who muttered about it being‘destiny’ that he found the boat, and rambled about ‘life, death andresurrection.’ That he needed the boat to ‘find his children.’”
The room fell quiet.
“And there is one other element that may or may not beanother indicator of your guy being driven by a religious fantasy and that’sfound in the full legal names of the children.” Hill printed them on thechalkboard: Daniel Raphael Becker and Gabrielle Michelle Nunn. “Raphael andGabrielle, if spelled this way” — Hill printed “Gabriel” on the board — “arethe names of angels.”
“Angels?” someone repeated.
Hill heard the comment as he placed the chalk in thetray.
“In Christian theology, angels are supernaturalintercessors for God. Our guy may think the children are angels of some sort. Ibelieve he looked for these children because they have ‘angel’ names, that hismission is directly connected to his personal tragedy, which he has eitherrelived or plans to relive with Becker and Nunn.”
Hill brushed chalk dust from his hand.
“If you find out who this guy is and learn hisbackground, you have a shot at learning what he has done, or plans to do.”
At that moment the elusive lead hit Sydowski fullforce.
You know, Inspector, I’ve been participating in theuniversity bereavement group.
Reed wrote about it in the Star. And Reed cameto him after the press conference on Gabrielle’s abduction, after seeing theblurry video!
Walt what if I recognize this guy? He looks likesomeone I met.
Reed had met Angela Donner’s study group, but no onein the task force had thought to investigate those people — people who hadsuffered traumatic psychological pain involving children!
SIXTY-TWO
“Zach?”
Why didn’t he answer her? Ann Reed pulled herselftogether, taking stock of the woman staring back from her dresser mirror.Tousled hair, tearstained eyes, the lines of her face.
“Zachary?”
She concentrated on hearing a response. Nothing. Giveit time.
What a pathetic sight she was. A grownthirty-three-year-old woman, mother of a nine-year-old son, a universitygraduate with her own business. And where was she? Living in the same roomwhere she played with Barbie dolls, looking into the same mirror she lookedinto when she was a child, dreaming of how perfect her life would be.
How had this happened? How had it all turned to shit?
“Zach, please come in here, we have to talk.”
No answer. Must be angry at her and his father. Couldshe blame him? They had put him through hell. Maybe he was jet lagged afterthis morning’s flight from Chicago and was napping. That was fine. She cravedsleep herself. But she had too much to do. She had to put this mess on a backburner and check her stores. She needed a shower.
Her mother was right, she thought, as the hot watersoothed her. She came down hard on Tom. She had overreacted. He was workinghard. The kidnappings were a big story, out of the ordinary. And the paperputting him on probation didn’t make it any easier for him.
The taps squeaked as she turned off the water.
Tom must be in agony.
Let him stew for awhile. She would call him tonightand they would decide where to go from here. She still loved him and waswilling to attempt a salvage operation. If he was.
“Zachary?”
Ann pulled on a pair of blue jeans, a fresh T-shirt,brushed her hair, then knocked softly on her son’s bedroom door.
No answer. Ann opened the door.
“Zach — ” Ann stopped dead. He was gone. “Where ishe?”
Calling his name, she searched upstairs, thebathrooms, the other bedrooms. Not a trace. Strange. He must’ve slippeddownstairs. “Zachary!” Where the hell could he be?
Ann stomped through the house. “Zachary Michael Reed!”He hated his middle name. She only used it to telegraph anger to him. No Zach.
She went outside, slamming the door behind her. He wasstarting to piss her off. Didn’t she tell him to go upstairs and stay in hisroom? She checked the garage. His bicycle was untouched. The front andbackyards. Nothing. Hands on her hips, she exhaled her irritation. She didn’tneed this. Not now.
Zach wasn’t in the street, or at the corner store withthe pinball machines he loved, or in the small vacant lot where theneighborhood kids played a half-block away. Two boys there, about twelve,clothes streaked with grease, were struggling to replace a chain on anoverturned bike. “Hi fellas.”
They traded glances, then sized her like she was an invader. Parents neverentered this realm looking for kids. Beckoning was done by little siblingmessengers. Reading Ann’s face, defense shields went up. Whoever Zach was, hewas in serious shit. One of the pair moved his foot stealthily, nudging a packof Lucky Strikes under a jacket lying on the ground. Ann pretended she didn’tnotice.
“You sure you haven’t seen him a little while ago,guys? His name is Zach Reed. He’s nine-years-old, blondish hair, wears newsneakers, uh, Vans, and a Giants ball cap, uhmm — ”
“Zach? The little kid from across the Bay living withGranny down the street?” asked the bigger kid. He possessed the aura of abully.
“That’s right! Did you see him?”
“Yesterday, but not today.”
She studied these boys — strangers to her but known toher son, realizing she had opened a secret door to Zach’s life, that she nolonger knew every detail of the child she had brought into this world. Nineyears old and he knew older boys who smoked, boys who were practiced liars. Itscared the hell out of her.
The smaller boy squinted up at her. “Is he in bigtrouble?”
Ann covered her mouth with her hand, eyes watering.
“No. I just want to find him.”
After calling his name and searching a three-blockradius around the house, it enveloped her: the cold fear that Zach was missing.
Ann grabbed the phone and began punching the numbersfor her mother at the library. No. She sniffed and hung up. He didn’t know hisway on campus. But maybe he did? But Mom would call if he suddenlymaterialized. Ann returned to his room. Maybe he was back?