Mariah Stewart - Acts of Mercy

“Hopefully, once they find Ian, having him back will make up for everything he’s missed.”

“Assuming they can find him.” Trula began to peel the peaches, her knife working furiously. “Someone has that boy and knows he isn’t theirs. People see that child every day, and don’t know that he’s not who they think he is.”

“Assuming he’s still alive,” Mallory reminded her.

“He’s still alive,” Trula said. “He’s alive and someone is raising him as if he’s theirs.” She slammed an angry fist on the counter. “What kind of person does something like that?”

“I don’t know, Trula.” Mallory sighed. “All those years I was a cop, I saw things… things that most people can’t even imagine. And every time, I’d wonder that same thing: what kind of person can do this and live with themselves?”

“I don’t suppose there’s ever been an answer.”

Mallory shook her head no. “Sometimes you meet people who are so good, inside and out, that you feel lucky to have had them cross your path.” Like you, Trula, she could have added, but Trula being Trula and prickly at times, Mallory decided against it. “Then there are others who are so filled with hate and anger and evil, that you wonder how they could even be human.” She leaned on the counter. “There aren’t always answers. There isn’t always a reason.”

Trula sighed and turned around to face Mallory. “What are the chances?” she asked. “Is it even possible to hope that Robert will be able to find him?”

Mallory chose her words carefully, though not quite as carefully as she had when Robert had asked the same questions.

“It is possible. It’s a matter of finding the right lead.”

“Of which there have been none.”

“So far. But we’ll see how it plays out. Sometimes it’s a matter of simply asking the right questions of the right people.”

“Robert will never stop looking until he finds Ian.”

“He shouldn’t stop looking. I wouldn’t, if Ian were mine.” She glanced at the clock. “In the meantime, we have a business to run here. I’m going to call Robert and the others and we’ll see what the consensus is.”

“Robert’s going to tell you to do what you think is best. Kevin will tell you to follow your instincts, and Susanna is going to ask you what Robert said. Emme will be happy to have another investigator to share the workload.” Trula smiled. “Sam seemed like a nice enough fellow. I say go for it. So when Robert asks you if I had anything to say, you can tell him.”

“I’ll call Robert first.”

“Good move.” Trula went back to preparing the filling for her pie.

“By the way, what are you going to do with that pie?” Mallory asked. “Who knows when Robert and Susanna will be back. And if I remember correctly, you don’t like peach pie.” She leaned on the counter. “So who’s the pie for, hmmmm?”

“It might go home with you for a certain detective who’s had to work around the clock for the past two weeks.” Trula watched from the corner of her eye as Mallory stealthily pocketed another peach. “Then again, maybe it’s for Father Kevin.”

Grinning and assured of one great dessert to share with Charlie when he got home that night-if he got home that night-Mallory went back to her office, the second peach and another paper towel in her pocket.

Trula had been spot-on in her predictions: Robert had, in fact, told Mallory to do what she thought was best.

“Hire him if you think he’s the right guy,” he’d said, obviously distracted by the ongoing search for his son, which at the moment consisted of a sort of dragnet through the area of woods where the car had been found. “You’re in charge of staffing. I trust your judgment one hundred percent. Besides, I’m not thinking a whole lot about the business right now, so if you like him, bring him on. We still have that six-week probationary period, right? If he doesn’t work out, he’s gone when the time’s up.”

Her next call was to Emme, who’d been delighted at the possibility of another investigator coming on board.

Susanna was also distracted by the ongoing search for Ian, and as expected, had deferred to Robert. Kevin had been characteristically diplomatic: “Listen to your gut,” he’d said.

Mallory made the call to Sam DelVecchio, and was surprised at his immediate-and positive-response.

“When do I start?” he asked.

She realized that she’d been so uncertain he’d even take the job that she hadn’t given a starting date much thought.

“When would you like to start?”

“I’ll need to tie up a few loose ends,” he said. “Is two weeks too long?”

“Not for me, but it might be for Lynne Walker.”

“Good point.” He paused, then said, “I’m going to have to go back to Virginia, take care of a few things, and then I’m going to have to find a place to live there.”

“I think I mentioned at the interview that you’ll be on probation for six weeks or until your first case is resolved, whichever comes first.”

“So what you’re saying is, don’t be in a hurry to put an ad in the paper to sublet my apartment.”

“That’s pretty much it.”

“I’ll still need to find some temporary lodgings there.”

“Emme Caldwell-she was our first hire-stayed at a nice enough motel when she first started. I’d be happy to make a reservation for you at the same place. It’s not too far from the house and it has a restaurant and pool.”

“That would be great, thanks.” He paused. “I’m assuming I’ll be meeting Mr. Magellan sometime during the six-week period?”

“Possibly. He’s a little busy right now. But don’t address him as Mr. Magellan. He much prefers to be called Robert.”

They discussed the Walker case and Sam said he could be up and running by Monday morning, which suited everyone just fine.

Mallory hung up and immediately placed a call to Lynne Walker.

“This is Mallory Russo from the Mercy Street Foundation,” she began when the call was picked up. “I’d like to speak with Lynne Walker.”

“This is Lynne.” There was a pause. “Who did you say…?”

“Mallory Russo, from the Mercy Street Foundation. We’ve reviewed the application you sent in regarding your late husband. We’d like to take on the case, if you’re still interested in us doing so.”

“Is this a joke?” Lynne Walker’s voice was trembling. “Because if this is supposed to be funny…”

“It’s not a joke, Mrs. Walker. We’d like to look into your husband’s murder.”

“Oh, my God. You’re serious. I never thought you’d really choose us.” She began to cry. “I can’t believe you’re really going to do this.”

“We have an investigator ready to start work on this, next week. He’ll be contacting you on Monday or Tuesday to set up a meeting.”

“I can’t believe this,” she said again. “I can’t believe there’s a chance we might finally find out what happened to Ross.”

“There are no guarantees, Mrs. Walker. Please understand that. We will do our best, but we can’t promise that we’ll find anything the police haven’t already found.”

“Which is basically nothing,” she said bitterly. “They aren’t any closer now than they were the day Ross died. I call down there to the police department and every month it’s the same. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs. Walker, but there have been no new developments.’”

“I understand your frustration, but I’m sure the police have done the best they can with the personnel they have.”

“I read about those other cases you people solved. Those kids there in Pennsylvania, and that college girl down in Maryland. You people get results.”