"The elderly man steepled his fingers and rested his extended thumbs against the bridge of his prominent, hawk-like nose. His thick gray brows wrinkle... while he considered the possibilities. Something niggled at the back of his mind. His memory went back over a half century of service in the investigative branch of the church. Something like this, in the dim past, he thought, some earlier incident, forgotten and buried in the records..."Call the research department, old country. Tell them to. My memories of my early childhood were foggy at best, so Ican only surmise that something scared me enough to bottle my feelings upand keep them concealed. I sometimes thought that my mother may have hadplayed a hand in this, but I doubted I would ever know for sure, especiallynow that she is dead.I hadn't spoken to her for years, and I'd been perfectly content to leaveit that way so it had come as a pretty big surprise when I got the callabout her death. The call came from an old friend, one. More

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