“As you can imagine,” she was telling him, “we’re in a state of complete numbness and disbelief around here. To say nothing of the personal devastation. None of us can understand how this could have happened, the random killing of such a wonderful man. Nobody who knew him could have wanted to do anything to harm Dominic. It’s just such a loss.”

“That’s what I’m hearing from everybody,” Mickey said.

“I’m not surprised. That’s what I told the police when they came by. It must have been a random thing, a mugging maybe. It couldn’t have been someone he knew, who knew him.”

“Do you know who he was going to meet?”

“No. He never told Al. Mr. Carter. His driver.”

“I thought Alicia Thorpe was his driver.”

Hess made a little moue. “Ms. Thorpe was one of several daytime drivers. That shift ends at three. Al Carter drove the rest of the time. In any event, you were asking if I knew who Dominic was going to meet, and the answer is no. Al just let him off early near his house and that was”-she swallowed against her emotion-“that was the last time anyone saw him.” She removed her glasses, rubbed her eyes, then replaced them, now looking at Mickey as though she were seeing him for the first time. “I’m sorry. You said you were with a private investigating firm? Is there something you came here to tell me, or any way I can help you?”

“Well, as a matter of fact…” And Mickey went into his prepared pitch on the reward, ending by telling her that Wyatt Hunt had cleared the idea with Len Turner, who would manage the reward fund.

“You mean you’ll be working with Mr. Turner as well as the police?”

“Yes, ma’am. That’s kind of the plan. We’re assuming that once the idea gets out into the nonprofit community, the reward might become fairly substantial, and we’d then serve the purpose of evaluating the information received and passing the legitimate stuff along to the police. We’re hoping to elicit information from people in the community who might not normally cooperate much or willingly with law enforcement. At the same time, we’d screen calls from cranks and publicity seekers, since we know there’ll be some of them as well. Basically, we’d be acting as a clearinghouse. And of course validating the claimants for the reward, if any.”

“But won’t the police be investigating as well?”

“Sure. But Mr. Turner agrees that we could provide a valuable service by being a conduit to a community that doesn’t always willingly interact with law enforcement. Even if they have very persuasive stuff. That’s why you offer a reward. It’s a little more proactive. And, as of last night, the police had no active leads they were working on.”

Hess made no real attempt to disguise the stress and fatigue of the days since Como’s disappearance. Now she leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes briefly, and let out a deep sigh. “And you’ve come to us, I presume, to sort of get the ball rolling?”

“Yes, ma’am. Mr. Turner recommended that you call him if you have any questions or misgivings. We’re offering our services, that’s all. We’re trying to coordinate and facilitate the reward. But it’s entirely your call.”

“Well,” Hess said, “I appreciate that, but I don’t know if I have the authority to make that decision. As you know, with Dominic gone, we’ve got a huge vacuum at the top right now, and…” Again, she closed her eyes, shook her head wearily, brought them back to Mickey. “On the other hand, if Mr. Turner says… I know we want to do all we can, as soon as we can, to find out who could have been responsible for this. How much money were you thinking you’d need to start?”

“That would be entirely up to your discretion. But enough to incentivize somebody who otherwise might not be inclined to come forward. And as I’ve mentioned, Mr. Turner wasn’t thinking you’d be in this alone. He told us that Mr. Como was on several other boards. Maybe you’d want to set an example for them to follow.”

“I would have to go to our board, but-” Suddenly, she seemed to come to some decision. A bit of color came back into her cheeks and she slapped her palm down on her desktop. “Hell, at least we’d be doing something instead of just sitting here waiting for the police and twiddling our thumbs. Do you think twenty thousand would be enough? I’m sure I could go to the board with that much in mind. I could reach them all this morning by phone.”

“I think that might be a good start,” Mickey said, restraining an urge to let out a war whoop. In fact, he knew that this was about the maximum total reward that most professionals advised be offered. It was one thing, he knew, to offer $100 million for bin Laden, and another thing to dangle such a vast amount of money in a local case that it would serve as a distraction, attracting so many tips as to drown out any actual leads. But in this case, the idea was to generate every conceivable tip. Even paranoids have enemies, he knew, and even psychos sometimes possessed real information. But he kept his reply low-key. “That would give me something to go to the other charities with.”

“Not till you hear back from me, though,” Hess said. “I’ll need the approval of our board.”

“Absolutely,” Mickey said. “If you’d like, I could wait.”

It looked like a school because it still was a school, K through eight Sunrise School.

He got outside onto the asphalt yard just as the recess bell sounded. As the kids came flying out all around him, he let himself through a small gate in a fence, turned the corner of the building, and found himself in the small parking lot he’d noticed from across the street.

A tall, rangy, middle-aged black man was leaning back against the building, arms crossed over his chest, watching in a supervisory way as two other young men went over the limousine with sponges and hoses. On a hunch, Mickey sidled over to the area and caught the man’s attention. “Excuse me,” he said, “are you Al Carter?”

With a questioning expression, the man straightened away from the wall. He exuded authority. Except for a well-buzzed tonsure, he was bald, and the high, clear forehead spoke of intelligence and patience. His voice, when he spoke, was low-pitched, unhurried, educated. “I have that name,” he said. “And you have the advantage of me.”

Mickey extended his hand and introduced himself. “You don’t know me,” he went on, “but maybe you knew my grandfather, Jim Parr?”

At that name’s mention, the closed-up face relaxed somewhat. “I certainly did know your grandfather. Is he still among the quick?”

“I don’t know about that,” Mickey said. “He’s slowed down a little, but-”

Carter chuckled, shaking his head, cutting him off. “The quick, young man,” he said, “in contradistinction to the dead. The quick and the dead. I was asking if Jim were still alive.”

“As of this morning.”

“Well, that’s wonderful news. Tell him hello for me.”

“I will.” Mickey gestured toward the car. “So what are these guys doing?”

Carter cast a throwaway glance in their direction. “We call this washing the limousine. It’s one of their tasks.”

“Are they being punished for something?”

A little half-laugh. “Punished? To the contrary, they’re being rewarded. These two young men were handpicked by Mr. Como to do this job and if they continue to do it effectively, they’ll be promoted to more responsible and important jobs.” Now his expressive face did cloud over. “Or they would have been.” Suddenly the eyes focused and he raised a finger in Mickey’s direction. “You’re the young man who found him.”

“I am.”

“And you are Jim Parr’s grandson as well?”

“Right.”

“That’s an extraordinary coincidence.”

“Yes, it is,” Mickey said.

“So how is it,” Carter asked, “that you’ve stayed involved in matters surrounding Mr. Como’s death?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you found his body. Your grandfather used to be his driver. Now”-he gestured to include their surroundings-“you’re here. The connection eludes me.”