Robert paused momentarily. “Father Kevin recently reminded me of that, too.”

When the light laughter died down, Robert said, “As I'm sure you all know, more than two years ago, my wife, Beth, and our son, Ian, disappeared without a trace. Because I have unlimited resources, I was able to hire private investigators to search for them when the police came up dry. The fact that our local, state, and federal law enforcement agencies were unsuccessful doesn't negate the diligence of their work, but the reality is that, eventually, as every lead turned into a dead end, they had to turn their attention to other cases.

“Not too long ago, Father Kevin enlisted my assistance in finding two Conroy teenagers who'd also gone missing. I know that some of you covered the story of the successful return of these kids to their families. And once again, Father Kevin took the opportunity to remind me of that oath we'd made long ago.”

Robert cleared his throat before continuing. “There are countless people whose loved ones have disappeared. There are thousands of parents who go to bed each night wondering where their missing children are, whether they're dead or alive. Over time, their cases go cold, the police are pulled in other directions, and the investigations often cease, leaving the families praying for a miracle. Well, I'm here today to announce the formation of what I like to think of as a catalyst for miracles, the Mercy Street Foundation. Funded by me, the foundation will employ the best talent available from all avenues of law enforcement, and put them to work to try to solve those unsolvable cases. Missing persons and homicides will be our focus.”

A reporter in the back row raised his hand, and without waiting for acknowledgment from Robert asked, “Are you talking about a private police force?”

“More like a private investigative firm,” Robert told him.

“When you say this is funded by you, what exactly does that mean?”

“It means that I will be paying the investigators, whatever staff I have to hire, whatever expenses we incur to get the job done.”

“How is this going to work?” someone asked.

“Suppose you have a sister who's been missing for a couple of months-maybe even a couple of years-and the police are no longer actively looking for her. The trail is cold. You'd go to our website and you'd fill out a form. We've streamlined the process as much as possible. Answer all the questions about the case, tell us why we should choose your case to work on. You'd apply pretty much the way you would for a scholarship. You fill out the paperwork, then you wait for a response,” Robert said. “To start, we'll choose one case each month to work on. It'll be up to the applicant to convince us to choose his or her request. Each one will be evaluated. The one we feel we're most able to help is the one we'll choose that month.”

“Who's ‘we’?” someone asked.

“Right now, the evaluation committee consists of my assistant, Susanna Jones; Mallory Russo, a former Conroy detective who was the first person I hired; and myself.” He nodded in the direction of an attractive blond woman who stood close to the podium. “Mallory will be pretty much calling the shots on how the investigations will proceed, and since she has nine years of experience in law enforcement, her opinion will carry the most weight. She'll also be the bottom line on new hires. That's our committee.”

“A-hem.” Someone coughed nearby.

“Oh. Right. And Father Kevin Burch,” Robert grinned. “He doesn't have any law enforcement experience, but he'll be trying to channel some divine guidance.”

On the sidelines, Kevin laughed.

“You're saying you'll work on one case each month. Is that how long you're giving yourselves to solve a case? One month?” one of the local TV anchors asked.

“We will work each case until it's solved or until we or the applicant feels the investigation has run its course and is no longer productive.” Robert stacked the index cards containing his few notes on the podium. “Look, I of all people know that there are some cases that will never be solved. Some missing persons will never be found, some killers will never be brought to justice. But we'll do our best on every case. For some victims, there will be justice. For some families, there will be closure.”

“How much staff do you anticipate?”

“We'll grow as we need to. Right now, we have only one investigator, but she's going to have her hands full evaluating the submissions. We're going to have to hire at least one more immediately just to take on the first case.” He looked directly into the camera and added, “We're looking for law enforcement personnel with experience in all avenues. Crime-scene investigators, crime-scene analysts and reconstruction experts, criminologists, profilers-we'll need them all, sooner or later. I'm also hoping to set up our own lab within the next year so that we can analyze evidence on our own without being a burden to the state and county labs. So if you're tops in your field and you're looking for a real challenge, go to our website and fill out an application.”

“That's pretty ambitious,” someone in the crowd noted.

“Yes.” Robert smiled. “We know.”

“When will you start hiring?”

“We'll begin the interview process with our first strong applicant. We intend to be well on our way to being fully staffed within six to nine months.”

The conference lasted another half hour, with Robert fielding questions and repeating the website address several times for prospective applicants for the foundation's services as well as for potential employees. The young man from the PR firm passed out copies of the press release, and when the last question had been asked and answered, Robert waved to the crowd from the front porch before retreating into his house with his small inner circle.

“How soon do you think before we'll start hearing from people?” Mallory asked as she closed the door behind them.

“Before Trula gets the coffee made,” Robert replied. “You're going to be a very busy woman over the next few weeks.”

“Good.” She smiled and followed the others into the large kitchen at the back of the house. “I like busy. I need busy. I can hardly wait.”

“You won't have to,” Trula said. “I just heard a ‘ping’ on the computer over there on the desk. That's one of the computers Robert had set up to receive email only through the website.”

She pulled out a chair and gestured for Mallory to take a seat. “Make yourself comfortable, honey. I think you're going to be working late tonight…”

In Southern California, a woman leaned closer to her television and listened with great interest to the midday press conference she'd found by accident while channel surfing, wasting time until she had to pick up her daughter at preschool. Intrigued, she went to the Mercy Street Foundation website and read about Robert Magellan's latest brainstorm. Using Magellan Express, the Internet search engine he'd developed and later sold for a king's ransom, she typed in Conroy, PA, and found it to be a small, working-class city surrounded by farms and gently rolling hills. She studied the photographs and liked what she saw. Returning to the website for the foundation, she filled out the online application for employment, but hesitated when it came to submitting it.

A conversation she'd had in the wee hours of that morning came back to her in full force, a conversation that had set her on edge and had made the prospect of a change-one involving a quick relocation-more appealing than it might otherwise have been.

Fifteen minutes later, she was still deliberating whether to submit the application, when the sound of a slamming car door drew her attention to the street outside. In this mostly blue-collar neighborhood, there was little traffic during the afternoon hours. She rose and peered through the front window, and her blood froze in her veins. A late model car was parked directly across the street, and two men were standing next to it on the sidewalk, their gaze fixed on her house.