"In fact I have begun to miss working with children, which is why I called you."

"Excellent, excellent. Psychology's loss will be our gain. You worked at Western Pediatric, didn't you? I seem to remember that from the paper."

"There and in private practice."

"A first - rate hospital. We send many of our children there when the need for medical attention arises. I'm acquainted with several of the physicians on staff and many of them have been quite generous - giving of themselves."

"Those are busy men, Reverend; you must be quite persuasive."

"Not really. However, I do recognize the existence of a basic human need to give, an altruistic drive, if you will. I know this flies in the face of the modern psychologies which limit the notion of drive to self gratification, but I'm convinced I'm right. Altruism is as basic as hunger and thirst. You, for example, satisfied your own altruistic need within the scope of your chosen profession. But when you stopped working, the hunger returned. And here," he spread his arms, "you are."

He opened a drawer of the desk, took out a brochure, and handed it to me. It was glossy and well - done, as polished as the quarterly report of an industrial conglomerate.

"On page six you'll see a partial list of our board."

I found it. For a partial list it was long, running the height of the page in small print. And impressive. It included two county supervisors, a member of the city council, the Mayor, judges, philanthropists, entertainment biggies, attorneys, businessmen, and plenty of

M.D.s, some of whose names I recognized. Like L. Willard Towle.

"Those are all busy men, Doctor. And yet they find the time for our children. Because we know how to tap that inner resource, that wellspring of altruism."

I flipped through the pages. There was a letter of endorsement from the governor, lots of photographs of children having fun, and even more pictures of McCaffrey. His looming bulk appeared pinstriped on the Donahue show, in tuxedo at a Music Center benefit, in a jogging suit with a group of his young charges at the victory line of the Special Olympics. McCaffrey with TV personalities, civil rights leaders, country singers and bank presidents.

Midway through the brochure I found a shot of McCaffrey in a room I recognized as the lecture hall at Western Pediatric. Next to him, white hair gleaming, was Towle. On the other side was a small man, froggy, squat, grim even as he smiled. The guy with Peter Lorre eyes whose photograph I'd seen in Towle's office. The caption beneath the photo identified him as the Honorable Edwin G. Hayden, supervising judge of the Dependency Court. The occasion was McCaffrey's address to the medical staff on "Child Welfare: Past, Present and Future."

"Is Dr. Towle very involved in La Casa?" I asked.

"He serves on our board and is one of our rotating physicians. Do you know him?"

"We've met. Casually. I know him by reputation."

"Yes, an authority on behavioral pediatrics. We find his services invaluable."

"I'm sure you do."

He spent the next quarter - hour showing me his book, a soft - covered, locally printed volume of saccharine cliches and first - rate graphics. I bought a copy, for fifteen bucks, after he gave me a more sophisticated version of the pitch for cash Kruger had thrown my way. The bargain basement ambience of the office lent credibility to the spiel. Besides, I was O.D."ed on positive thinking and it seemed a small price to pay for respite.

He took the three five - dollar bills, folded them and placed them conspicuously in a collection box atop the desk. The receptacle was papered with a drawing of a solemn - looking child with eyes that rivaled Melody Quinn's in size, luminosity and the ability to project a sense of inner hurt.

He stood, thanked me for coming, and took my hand in both of his. "I hope we see more of you, Doctor. Soon."

It was my turn to smile.

"Plan on it, Reverend."

Grandma was ready for me as I stepped into the waiting room, with a sheaf of stapled booklets and two sharpened number two pencils.

"You can fill these out right here, Doctor Delaware," she said sweetly.

I looked at my watch.

"Gee, it's much later than I thought. I'll have to take a raincheck."

"But - " She became flustered.

"How about you give them to me to take home? I'll fill them out and mail them back to you."

"Oh no, I couldn't do that! These are psychological tests!" She clutched the papers to her breast. "The rules are that you must fill them out here."

"Well, then, I'll just have to come back." I started to leave.

"Wait. Let me ask someone. I'll ask Reverend Gus if it's - "

"He told me he was going to retire for a period of meditation. I don't think he wants to be disturbed."

"Oh." She was disoriented. "I must ask someone. You wait right here, Doctor, and I'll find Tim." "Sure."

When she was gone I slipped out the door, unnoticed.

The sun had almost set. It was that transitional time of day when the diurnal palette is slowly' scraped dry, colors falling aside to reveal a wash of gray, that ambiguous segment of twilight when everything looks just a little bit fuzzy around the edges.

I walked toward my car unsettled. I'd spent three hours at La Casa and had learned little other than that the Reverend Augustus McCaffrey was a shrewd old boy with overactive charisma glands. He'd taken the time to check me out and wanted me to know it. But only a paranoiac could rightfully see anything ominous in that. He was showing off, displaying how well informed and prepared he was. The same went for his advertising the abundance of friends in high places. It was psychological muscle - flexing. Power respected power, strength gravitated to strength. The more connections McCaffrey could show, the more he was going to get. And that was the way to big bucks. That, and collection boxes illustrated with sad - eyed waifs.

I had the key in the door of the Seville, facing the campus of the institution. It looked empty and still, like a well - run farm after the work's all done. Probably dinner time, with the kids in the cafeteria, the counselors watching, and the Reverend Gus delivering an eloquent benediction.

I felt foolish.

I was about to open the door when I caught a glimpse of a flurry of movement near the forest like Grove, several hundred feet in the distance. It was hard to be certain, but I thought I saw a struggle, heard the sound of muffled cries.

I put the car keys back in my pocket and let the copy of McCaffrey's book drop to the gravel. There was no one else in sight, except for the guard in the booth at the entrance and his attention was focused in the opposite direction. I needed to get closer without being seen. Carefully I made my way down the hill upon which the parking lot sat, staying in the shadow of buildings whenever I could. The shapes in the distance were moving, but slowly.

I pressed myself against the flamingo - pink wall of the southernmost dormitory, as far as I could go without abandoning cover. The ground was moist and mushy, the air rotten with fumes given off by a nearby trash dumpster. Someone had tried to write FUCK in the pink paint, but the corrugated metal was a hostile surface and it came out chicken scratches.

The sounds were clearer and louder now, and they were definitely cries of distress - animal cries, bleating and plaintive.

I made out three silhouettes, two large, one much smaller. The small one seemed to be walking on air.

I inched closer, peering around the corner. The three figures passed before me, perhaps thirty feet away moving along the southern border of the institution. They walked across the concrete of the pool deck and came under the illumination of a yellow anti - bug light affixed to the eave of the pool house