Angel Interrupted by Chaz McGee Page B

small table by a window through which sunshine flooded almost obscenely. Such beauty to illuminate such sorrow. “I don’t have anything to tell you, really. We believe this little boy was taken by someone who took advantage of the distraction caused by another crime nearby. We have no idea whether this is a repeat offender or someone who just took advantage of the situation. I am afraid it is very unlikely it’s the same man who took your son. Your son’s abductor was probably a transient.”
    “I know,” Mrs. D’Amato said. “But I owe it to him to ask.” Her hands were clenched into tight fists and she could not lift her eyes from them; it was as if those fists were her anchors and without them she might float away.
    “I understand.” Maggie took Rosemary D’Amato’s hands and unfolded them gently, then held them in her own. I had never really seen this side of Maggie before. She often only showed her determined side to the public, as if she knew the families of the victims needed the strength of her anger to get them through the unthinkable. But with Mrs. D’Amato, she was infinitely kind.
    “I have lost people who were my whole world,” Maggie said to the downcast woman. “I understand how hard it is to let go. And I would never ask you to break your promise to your son.”
    Mrs. D’Amato looked up, searching Maggie’s face.
    “I know you promised to protect him,” Maggie said. “And I know you will never stop trying to find him so you can keep your word. I give you my own personal word that if I get even an inkling that these two cases are connected in any way, I will let you know. But you must promise me in return that you will call me anytime you need to. I’m going to read over your son’s file, and if I see anything that’s been missed, I promise to follow up.”
    Mrs. D’Amato began to cry. Morty arrived with a cup of hot tea for her. He had remembered she took two sugars with her tea, and when he set the packets next to her cup, Mrs. D’Amato cried even more. I understood then that the hardest thing in the world was to depend on the kindness of strangers when that was all you had.
    “That poor woman whose son was taken this morning?” Mrs. D’Amato said through her tears. “She doesn’t know what it’s going to be like. What each day will bring.”
    As if on cue, the doors to the parking lot slid open and the missing boy’s mother entered, supported by a friend on each side. She had aged fifteen years in six hours. Her face was splotchy from crying, her hands shook, and her eyes had the glazed look of the sedated. I didn’t think she was fit to be at the station, but my guess was Gonzales wanted a first go at her before the feds took over. Either that or she was here of her own accord, desperate for news of her son.
    Rosemary D’Amato stared at Callie Matthews as she shuffled across the lobby, supported by her friends. She had to look away. “I can’t bear to,” she whispered. “That poor, poor woman.”
    Anxiousness radiated off Maggie, and I knew why. She wanted to help Rosemary D’Amato, but she wanted to head off Callie Matthews even more, especially since the only thing that protected her from Calvano’s ineptitude was a short elevator ride.
    “Go,” Morty told her, reading her face.
    “Yes, please go,” Mrs. D’Amato echoed. “I know you can help that woman more. I’ll be okay. I just had to come by and check. I know it doesn’t do any good, but I have to.”
    Maggie gave her a business card. “Call me personally, anytime. And make sure Morty knows how to get in touch with you. Will you do that?”
    Mrs. D’Amato nodded and wrapped her hands around her tea, finding a new anchor.
    “I’ll see she gets home,” Morty promised.
    As Maggie hurried after the trio of women struggling toward the elevator, Morty pried off the top of Mrs. D’Amato’s tea for her and poured both sugars into it. “You’ll feel better after a cup of tea,” he said. “I know I