This was starting to make sense. “So, eyewitnesses did see a U-Haul and a moving van, but for two separate events. Can I get the name and address of the parishioner who hired the moving company? I’ll want to verify those sightings.”
“Sure,” Darlene said.
Linda was angry at herself for missing the crucial details of the Hansens’ car and trailer. Even more troubling was the time lost, giving their suspect the chance to become another nondescript face in the crowd.
11
SATURDAY, MAY 25, 2002 LINCOLN, NEBRASKA U-HAUL RENTAL OFFICE
As soon as the Hansens’ Toyota was located, Linda and the team had gone to work, trying to find the local dealer they had used. There were over a dozen U-Haul rental outlets in the city, and halfway into her search, Linda took a call from a U-Haul manager. He was positive the Hansens had rented a trailer from him and insisted they meet.
Linda joined Bill Smith, the owner, that afternoon. He was tall, and his white hair had her gauging his age to be early sixties.
He produced the Hansens’ paperwork from a file and handed it to Linda. “I read the story in the Journal,” Smith explained. “Here’s the contract both Mr. and Mrs. Hansen signed.”
She pulled on latex gloves and opened a transparent plastic evidence bag. “I’ll need this—if we’re lucky forensics might be able to lift prints.” Linda bagged the contract. “They each came in to sign?”
“They had to, since they were both drivers. I needed to make sure their driver’s licenses were current. Here are the license copies and the credit card they used.”
Linda saw that the picture of Nicole Hansen was clear, but figured her appearance had been altered. She was drawn to her signature, attached to the contract. If forensics pulled a usable print or even a partial, a match with Pamela Jane Watts would be additional evidence, although they were compiling it inch by inch.
Smith gazed at Linda sadly. “Those poor little kids, it makes me sick thinking about it. Who would do such a thing?”
TUESDAY, MAY 28, 2002 CLEVELAND, OHIO U-HAUL RENTAL OFFICE
Following Memorial Day, Linda maneuvered her rental car into the U-Haul parking lot located in an industrial area of storage facilities and low-slung office complexes. She caught the odor of gas, oil, and tar on the breeze as she reached the front glass door. It buzzed an alert as she entered.
A heavyset, middle-aged man with twinkling blue eyes smiled at her. “May I help you, ma’am?”
“I’m Captain Linda Turner here to see Dave Ahlstrom.”
“That’s me. You’ve come a long way to discuss a previous customer,” he said, motioning for her to come around the front counter. “I’ve gotten all the materials together on the woman you mentioned. There’s a table and chairs in back here where we can talk privately.”
“Thank you,” she said, following him behind the counter.
Dave pulled a dog-eared folder off a metal filing cabinet, situating his girth in a plastic chair. “I have the original of the contract Mrs. Hansen signed when she returned the trailer. I do remember her, this Nicole Hansen.”
“Why is that?” said Linda, opening the folder.
“Most folks just turn in the vehicle they’ve rented, sign off, and leave. But Mrs. Hansen? She asked me right away if I knew of any car dealerships where she could sell her Toyota.”
“A Corolla, right?”
“Yep. Beige, four-door sedan. A 1995, I think. Looked to be a nice car.”
“Did you give her the names of any dealerships?”
“Yeah. The first one was a Toyota dealer, but she said something about being in a hurry, so I gave her Cars A Dealin’ up the road a bit,” Dave said, pointing northward.
Linda placed the document in another evidence bag. “All of this is evidence. You also mentioned on the phone you had surveillance video of Mrs. Hansen,” Linda said, thumbing through the remainder of folder contents.
“Yep, that’s on this cassette. You were lucky you came in when you did because we only keep these six months at most. It’s ready to view.”
“Let’s do that.” Linda put down her pen while Dave inserted a tape into the VCR, moving the TV on a metal-wheeled stand in front of her.
“There’s no sound, just the tape.” As an afterthought, Dave added, “And it’s date-stamped, if that’ll help.”
The tape was queued up to April 1, 2002. Linda watched intently as a woman wearing sunglasses entered the frame. Damn, Linda thought, those sunglasses are no good.
“Watch when I give her the papers to sign on return of the trailer,” Dave said, as if he knew what she was thinking. “She’ll remove her sunglasses. That should give you a better look.”
The picture was a bit fuzzy, and Linda peered closely. In black and white, she couldn’t tell if Nicole had changed her hair color, but she imagined that she had. She watched as she removed her glasses and accepted a pen. As she signed off on the contract, Nicole firmly planted her open right palm on the contract to steady it as she applied her signature with her left hand. Breathe, Linda told herself. Unless Nicole Hansen was ambidextrous, the pool of potential suspects had narrowed to ten percent of the total population.
“Can you rewind that and replay it?” Linda asked, her heart beating faster. If we could get a useable print off that contract . . .
“Sure,” Dave said. “I’ll play it forward, this time in slow motion.”
Linda moved nearer to the television screen and watched as Nicole Hansen held the contract with her right hand for a solid three to four seconds and signed with her left. Linda tried not to get overly excited, but this could be a big lead. Looking through the translucent plastic bag, Linda studied Gregory and Nicole Hansen’s signatures. We can compare handwriting samples, too.
“I hope this helps you, Captain.” He smiled and handed her the materials.
Linda rose to leave and shook Dave’s beefy hand before handing him her card. “I appreciate your cooperation. If you think of anything else, here’s my contact information. Then, if you will point out the car dealership you think Nicole went to, that would be great.”
Cars A Dealin’ wasn’t a dealership, but the kind of small used-car lot that specialized in getting cars sold quickly. Linda didn’t expect to find the Corolla still on the lot and wasn’t disappointed. The manager on duty, no older than twenty-one judging from his acne, confirmed her suspicions.
“I remember her because the Toyota was in good condition and very clean. It even smelled clean. That’s not normally the case with the cars we get.”
Linda queried him. “What do you mean by that statement?” she said, glancing at his nametag, which said Patrick. “I mean, can you be more specific, Patrick?”
His smile was sheepish, as though he wasn’t sure how much he should tell her, particularly since he now knew he was dealing with the police.
“I need you to recall your interaction with Mrs. Hansen that day,” she cajoled.
Patrick’s shoulders heaved, resigned to having to tell what he knew and hoping he wouldn’t be in any trouble. “You being with the police and all, you probably know places like this deal strictly in cash. We try to get a title, but if there’s none, we don’t ask a lot of questions.”
Linda wasn’t interested in Cars A Dealin’ and its business practices. She could tell she surprised Patrick with her next question. “Do you remember if inside the car there was a particular odor? Bleach, for example?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, as if it were stiff. “No, not bleach, but the interior had that ‘new car’ smell, which you can achieve with automotive cleaning products. Totally vacuumed out, washed, and waxed. We don’t see that very often.”
“What about a vehicle title—did Mrs. Hansen have that?”
“Yeah, she did. She signed it, and I paid her.”
“How much did you disburse to her?” she asked.
“I think $4,000,” Patrick said, the pitch in his nervous voice a notch higher.
“No need to be anxious,
Patrick.” Linda smiled, placing a comforting hand on his forearm. “I’m not here because you’ve done anything wrong. But I assume even Cars A Dealin’ keeps some type of financial records. Can you confirm how much you paid her?”
Patrick’s body relaxed. “I’ll find the receipt for you.”
She smiled reassuringly. “I’d appreciate that. And Patrick, if you’re worried what your boss will think of you talking to a cop, you won’t have to tell anyone I was ever here.”
Patrick’s relief came in a loud sigh. He went in back, and Linda heard a file cabinet open and papers being shuffled. He came out carrying a file folder. “She brought the car here on a Monday. Monday, April first—April Fool’s Day.”
That’s ironic. She’ll be the one that’s the fool. Linda pulled her notes from her bag to confirm some dates. The last day anyone saw the Hansen family was Sunday, March twenty-fourth. Eight days later, she sells the Toyota and disappears.
Linda looked at Patrick, posing a question. “Selling her car leaves her with no vehicle. Or did she buy another from you?”
“No, that was the weird thing. She asked me where the Greyhound bus depot was and called a cab to pick her up.”
Linda’s notepad was halfway into her bag. “Do you remember the name of the cab company?”
Patrick shook his head. “No, another customer came in; and by the time I was finished helping them, she was gone. But I can tell you we sold the car three days later to a couple from Oklahoma. Do you want their names?”
“Sure,” Linda answered but doubted it would do much good. Any forensic evidence was long gone. Patrick wrote down the buyers’ names, and she thanked him for his cooperation. She wasn’t surprised Nicole Hansen had resorted to the bus. It was the perfect way to slip off the grid into anonymity, as Linda had expected.
12
JUNE 29, 2002, SUNDAY MORNING ST. LOUIS, MISSOURI THE ROAD TO CALVARY SET
Five weeks earlier, Ray Williams had been resigned to failure, preparing to shut down The Road to Calvary and any attempts to find another way to spread the Word of Salvation. But as the result of meeting Susannah Baker, he had become willing to take unconventional risks, and the pieces were falling into place. They took advantage of any free advertising to raise their profile. Ray gave interviews on religious radio stations in the area and submitted articles to local suburban papers. The publicity paid off. The studio was nearly full, and Ray knew a good first impression increased positive word-of-mouth. The phone number “1-800-HE-SAVES” lit up the bottom of the TV screens.
Live on the air, Rev. Ray was a man renewed, as if he’d been sparked by the touch of God himself. Mid-sermon, he prowled the stage, delivering his revitalized message with fervor he hadn’t felt since Lorraine died. Scanning his audience, he saw more attentive faces than in the past, but the crowd needed a jolt to bring them home.
“Remember that the Lord makes His face shine upon you!” he proclaimed, the slight southern drawl slowly building toward a crescendo. “Jesus in your heart is the radiance of the Lord God shining upon your face in a dark room.”
The pastor paused, making deliberate eye contact with his audience, searching expectant faces. “I recognize that many of you are going through troubled times, but I tell you here and now that if you seek the loving face of the Son of God, you can walk through the most treacherous valley and not fear. You can face the greatest storm, and the water will not drown you, because when God is with you, the Light of Our Lord Jesus Christ will help you fend off the forces of darkness!”
In the brief recess, a voice rose from out of the audience. “I know that the Reverend Ray speaks the truth!” In the front row, Susannah had stood and announced to the audience, “My name is Susannah Baker, and without the reverend I would not be here today!”
Mesmerized, Ray watched her from his position on stage. Dressed in a modest navy suit, she clenched her fists, pulling her arms tight into her chest as she faced them. “I have walked deep into the valley of darkness—alone, broke, an alcoholic. I was clinging to life by a thread, ready to wash down a handful of sleeping pills with a bottle of Jack Daniels and end my troubles.”
Even though she faced away from him, Ray could see the rolling of Susannah’s shoulders as she began to cry. He stepped off the stage and walked alongside her, holding the microphone without being intrusive, so the audience could witness her story. From his breast pocket, he handed her a handkerchief.
Susannah accepted the gesture and dabbed at her moist eyes before resuming her story. “But for some reason, I turned on the TV in my dingy hotel room.” She laughed a bit self-consciously, wiping away a tear. “I guess I wanted company in my final hour. I came across this program and Reverend Ray, and you know what? I started to listen. He didn’t tell me I was a sinner or that I was a drunk; he told me that God was there with me! That Jesus Christ would help me—me, Susannah Baker! All I had to do was ask.”
She held their rapt attention, keen faces living every word of her story. “I’d poured myself a tall glass of Jack Daniels, and the bottle of Valium was on the bedside table. But instead of drinking or swallowing a handful of pills, I kept listening to Reverend Ray and his message that I could be saved if I turned my life over to Jesus Christ. And that dark, dank hotel room rapidly filled with the brightest light, and I realized the saving power of Our Lord Jesus Christ was right there. It was a miracle!”
There was fleeting silence before an audience member called out, “Amen!”
Another rose to his feet, shouting, “Praise Jesus!”
Surveying the crowd, Ray realized he had never seen his congregation this engaged.
“I got up off the bed, took the bottles of Jack Daniels and Valium, and flushed them all. The program ended, and I immediately found an AA meeting. I’m proud to stand here and say I have kept sober for the last year.” Applause erupted throughout the studio, and the audience was on its feet, cheering. To get them to pause, Susannah held up her open palm. “But, without this program and Reverend Ray’s wonderful message, I would not be here telling you this story. And I promise you I am not the first person whose life The Road to Calvary has changed for the better.”
The applause kept coming, growing louder with each round. He wasn’t sure where the tale would end but was confident that God would provide. Gripping the microphone, Susannah implored the crowd, “So I am asking all of you here to get out your pocketbooks and help keep this ministry alive! And for those of you at home—” She turned directly into the camera. “Just call 1-800-HE-SAVES, the number right there at the bottom of your screen. I am living proof of the miracles taking place on this program, but they cannot continue without your support!”
Congregation members were still on their feet, clapping and shouting, “Amen!” Susannah handed Ray the microphone and returned to her seat. Ray noticed many tear-streaked faces among the audience. Susannah had touched a vital nerve, promoting The Road to Calvary in a completely new way, and Ray grabbed on. “Thank you to Miss Susannah Baker for the courage to share her story. She is living proof of the wonders Our Lord Jesus Christ offers us if we give ourselves over to Him and believe.”
Examining the crowd, the reverend saw checkbooks and wallets being opened with a passion he hadn’t witnessed before, and he was moved to speak in a way he never had. “Before we recite our prayer of deliverance, won’t you take a moment to call 1-800-HE-SAVES and help us to change the lives of many more? Brothers and sisters, let us pray . . .”
THE SAME DAY DURING THE LIVE BROADCAST ST. CHARLES, MISSOURI RUTH PERKINS’S HOME
Ruth Perkins watched the broadcast with anticipation, excited to see the program live. She found herself caught up in Susannah Baker’s tale of near death and redemption. She was a loyal viewer of The Road to Calvary, and Ruth had never experienced this kind of connection. If this young woman could vanquish the demons of alcoholism, destitution, and loneliness with guidance from the Reverend Ray, these good works were truly worth preserving.
The epiphan
y Ruth Perkins underwent at that moment was akin to the bright light flooding Susannah’s shabby hotel room. Clearly, she had not accepted Jesus Christ completely. If she had, her life would most assuredly be different. There would be less strife and turmoil with her only child and granddaughters, and the familial bond Emma seemed too willing to sever would be unbreakable. Ruth knew what she must do to transform their lives.
As the reverend began the prayer of deliverance, Ruth took a pad and pen from a desk drawer. Repeating the phone number aloud as she wrote it down, “1-800-HE-SAVES,” Ruth moved to the kitchen wall phone where she punched in the number. From her wallet, Ruth removed a credit card.
“Thank you for calling The Road to Calvary. How may I help you?” asked the male voice politely at the other end of the line.
“Good morning! I want to donate. What an amazing story. The Reverend Ray truly works miracles.”
“Thank you, ma’am, glad for the feedback. How much do you wish to give?”
“Do you accept credit cards?”
“Yes ma’am,” the voice asserted. “MasterCard, Visa, and Discover.”
“Good,” Ruth said. “I want to give $1,000 using my Visa card.” Ruth rattled off her name and the card number.
After confirming the number, the male voice continued with enthusiasm, “Thank you for such a generous donation, Mrs. Perkins. May you continue your support and God bless!”
13
LATER THE SAME DAY ST. LOUIS, MISSOURI THE ROAD TO CALVARY SET
Immediately following the broadcast, the mood was euphoric. Too often, the offering basket funds barely covered the costs of operation; but with the fresh phone number in place and Susannah’s compelling story, Ray was hearing numbers he’d merely dreamed of.
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