The congregation rose, repeating the prayer in strong, clear voices. Ray’s eyes met Susannah’s, and the reverend thought how distressing it would be if this beautiful woman’s presence, dreams, and ideas did not fulfill their potential. He had never met anyone like Susannah. Though he initially had been skeptical, he had come to trust that God had indeed spoken to her. In a few short months, she had bared her soul by coming forward and bravely telling her story of how The Road to Calvary kept her from the brink of death, handing her a second chance. Everything she had done was a completely selfless act; Susannah seemed simply interested in spreading the message of the Good News to a greater audience.
Ray listened as the congregation repeated the final stanza. This was the toughest obstacle they had ever faced. But he truly believed the Lord would see them through.
Less than three days passed before Ray received the phone call that was a remedy to his and many others’ prayers. Jim Jameson, whose miraculous “healing” from the ravages of alcoholism had changed The Road to Calvary from just another religious cable show to one delivering life-altering miracles, had a friend he wanted Ray to meet. Sober since Ray had called him forth, Jameson was working again, salvaging his marriage, and spreading the word about Ray’s gift.
And now, Ray, Susannah, Buck, and Jeff stood on the cement floor of a vast warehouse in an industrial section of St. Louis near the Gateway Arch and Riverfront. Jim stood alongside his friend and boss, Karl Wilcox, who expounded on ways the space could be developed to fit the needs of their program.
“The building is sixty-five thousand square feet and air conditioned. Jim’s told me that it’s important to keep all the television equipment cool,” he explained, waving muscular arms around the space the way a wizard might wield a magical scepter. “There’s room to erect a stage, seating can be expanded or contracted as needed, and you can add walls where you want offices, conference rooms, whatever. You can utilize the space any way you need.”
Ray’s eyes traveled across the open space. It was impressive and had endless potential, but a sticky subject needed to be addressed—price. The reverend cleared his throat. “Mr. Wilcox, this is all very remarkable, and I’d be a liar if I said we couldn’t make use of every single inch. But you’re a businessman, and I need to ask your price.”
Karl Wilcox gave a jovial laugh, unexpected for the situation. He grinned broadly at the assembled group. “Reverend, Jim Jameson and I have been best friends since we were kids. We’ve gone to school together, raised families together, and been there for one another in the good times and the not-so-good.” Karl regarded his friend. “Jim, I hope you don’t mind me telling this story—”
Jim casually interrupted Karl. “Not at all.”
“As you know,” Karl said and smiled at the faces before him. “Jim had a drinking problem that was destroying his life. With the help of your program, Jim released himself from his addiction and reclaimed his life. He did what you asked, Reverend; he found an AA meeting and has gone faithfully ever since. I can’t tell you how often I dreaded getting the phone call that Jim had been found dead after a bender. But thanks to you and the miracle of faith in Jesus Christ, Jim is on the road to recovery.” The big man paused for emphasis. “How much is this building going to cost you? Not a cent, Reverend, because I’m giving it to you.”
Ray heard Karl Wilcox clearly, but he found the words eluding him.
“You don’t believe me, do you? I’ll say it again. I’m donating this building to your fine program, The Road to Calvary. It won’t cost you a dime.” Wilcox stopped talking and removed an envelope from his shirt pocket, handing it to Ray. “I also understand there will be numerous expenses as you start up. Consider this check for $50,000 another crucial donation to continue your good works.”
Ray could not believe his ears or his eyes. This was a miracle indeed. He inhaled deeply and let the news sink in. “I’m over-whelmed—we all are. This is incredible.” Karl Wilcox’s astonishing words repeated themselves in his head: “I’m donating this building to your fine program, The Road to Calvary. It won’t cost you a dime.” Ray chastised himself for ever doubting Susannah. As he looked to her, tears of joy trickled down her cheeks. There were so many emotions—both Buck and Jeff were sniffling—and so much Ray wanted to say. “Mr. Wilcox, sometimes even a pastor’s faith in God is shaken, but you, sir, have given us a miracle. God bless you, this is truly a momentous day.”
Karl Wilcox grasped Ray’s hand in a hearty grip. “My pleasure, Reverend. I’ll have my lawyer draw up the necessary paperwork for donating the building, but in the meantime—” Karl removed a cluster of keys from his pocket and placed them in Ray’s outstretched palm. “I imagine you folks need to get to work and keep this show on the air.”
Regaining their composure, Buck and Jeff were already exploring the huge warehouse, tossing around ideas on how best to utilize it.
Alone for a moment, Susannah slipped her hand into Ray’s and whispered softly, “What did I tell you? Ask for the stars and know at least that we tried.”
Buck and Jeff were still jabbering as Ray gently squeezed her hand, too emotional to say another word.
18
OCTOBER 11, 2002 LINCOLN, NEBRASKA NORTHEAST POLICE HEADQUARTERS
Friday marked just over five months since the Reverend Martin’s dog had unearthed the gruesome discoveries in the parsonage flower garden. Linda sat at her desk sorting through paperwork from other cases, but the murders of Gregory Hansen and his children were never far from her mind.
She had asked Darlene Jordan for a picture of the family and taped it to her desk. She requested photos with most murder cases. Linda believed it was important to put a face to the victims who, regardless of the circumstances, had lived as someone’s children, spouses, siblings, and friends. Cops often had a macabre sense of humor, a protection mechanism that kept the horror of situations at a safe distance. But Gregory, Jacob, and Elizabeth Hansen were unusual.
It wasn’t simply that children were involved; in her fifteen-year career, Linda had investigated enough cases concerning children to understand that the shock value eventually tapered and the sheer revulsion no longer made her fight the urge to retch in disgust. The factor that made this case so horrifying was a mother killing her family with no hesitation, vanishing, and slipping into another identity. Discovering who Nicole Hansen had become was verging on an obsession.
Linda stared hard at the picture, a sweet shot of Gregory and the children from autumn 2001 taken at the entrance to Disneyland. Nicole was absent; she was undoubtedly the photographer. What struck Linda was the children and Gregory enjoying “the happiest place on Earth.” She tried to stop her mind from wondering if this was the trip where the children had gotten their Disney pajamas. In a few short months, these children would die in those joyful pajamas. The twisted turning of her stomach would not ease.
There was something else crowding her mind—unfortunate news regarding the status of the investigation. Lyle and Amy would be as devastated as she was.
“None of this will come as unexpected,” she told them, “but I’ve been told to cut back on the Hansen investigation. After five months conducting dozens of interviews and following countless tips, we still don’t have one solid lead.” She read the disappointment in their eyes. They had quietly gathered in Linda’s office, the door closed to the hum of the precinct.
Lyle was the first to speak. “I can’t say I’m surprised, but not to have one viable lead borders on failure.”
“You know better than that, Lyle.” Linda tried to keep her tone of voice even. These murders were hard on everyone. “I’m under orders to concentrate on fresher cases that require our attention and resources.”
“I figured as much,” Amy said, folding her arms. “I suspect that most people can’t stomach the idea of Nicole Hansen killing her husband and children. The stereotype that women rarely commit murder is a hard one to break.”
Lyle stretched his lanky frame against the
chair, a knowing smirk turning up his mouth. “But they do, and far more often than people think.”
Their foe was a formidable one, but Linda wanted to be certain Lyle and Amy understood that no one had failed. “This one’s exceptionally good—exceedingly smart, a master manipulator with an amazing ability to find people’s weaknesses and exploit them to her advantage. After all the interviews, I’m convinced that’s her gift—finding the weak spot and twisting it to her advantage.”
The corners of Lyle’s mouth again turned up in a smirk. “I agree.”
“It doesn’t spell the end, but the investigation will slow down,” Linda continued. “The toughest part of police work is patience. Let’s go over the evidence we’ve collected again and see if there isn’t an angle we’ve overlooked.”
MONDAY, OCTOBER 14, 2002 RICHMOND HEIGHTS, MISSOURI RAY’S HOME
Ray wanted to be up and running in the new space by November sixth. The donated building brought a different set of challenges. The $50,000 from Karl Wilcox would help immensely, but equipment, air-time options, and improvements were costly. Digital technology was making filming affordable, and with Buck and Jeff scouring the internet for good buys on new or used cameras, lights, and editing consoles, they agreed to take out a $25,000 loan to cover further expenses.
The need to reach a larger audience was now paramount, and Susannah offered an innovative option. Sipping coffee, she made her pitch. “Paid programming—but before you say anything hear me out. Most religious programming is distributed this way. Yes, we pay for the program, but we have control and a portion of donations we raise pay for airtime.”
From his seat at the table, Ray smiled at Susannah. “When I think of paid programming, I tend to think of cheesy infomercials selling some product you don’t need.”
Susannah stretched out her hand, clasping Ray’s. “There are some of those, yes. Let’s research this, and I think you’ll see the advantages. The program gets distribution from infomercial brokers, which can go beyond local. You know the saying, ‘Sometimes you have to spend money to make money.’”
He continued stroking her knuckles yet was conflicted. “Paid advertising costs thousands of dollars, and we haven’t access to that kind of money. It’s interesting but expensive.”
“I thought the loan you took out was for expenses like this.”
She gazed into his eyes, and Ray could feel himself starting to waver.
“Let’s perform our due diligence,” she continued. “There are infomercial brokers, and we should start with them and see what the process is. And of course, I’m sure both Buck and Jeff will have suggestions on how to proceed.”
Ray kissed her hand, mesmerized by Susannah’s warm, brown eyes. “Speaking of Buck and Jeff, we can’t go on hiding our relationship from them.”
“Aren’t you worried about the congregation’s reaction to us living in sin?”
He smiled, his lips caressing each of her slender fingers, drinking in the scent of lavender. “I’m not ready to openly explain our arrangement to worshippers, but I’d feel better if our staff knew the truth. Then we could at least have our meetings here.” Ray continued kissing the tips of her soft fingers.
“Well, I, for one, can think of better things to do.” She rose from the table and came to him, her full, moist mouth covering his, and Ray felt the passion spark between them.
Susannah tugged at his button-down shirt, and a button flew off, bouncing across the hardwood floor.
Susannah giggled. “Sorry, I’ll sew it on tomorrow.” They barely made it upstairs.
19
TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 5, 2002 ST. LOUIS, MISSOURI THE ROAD TO CALVARY SET
When the final live broadcast of The Road to Calvary aired the last week in October, Ray addressed the congregation on trying the paid programming format in their new space. Much to Buck’s surprise, people had shown both support and enthusiasm for becoming part of a community. Willing to donate money for a paid broadcast, the worshippers proved that their faith in their leader was passionate.
For all the good news, one item gnawed at Buck. Ray and Susannah were very close to giving their relationship away. They looked at one another too long, hung on each other’s every word, and clasped hands when they didn’t think anyone was looking. Who was Susannah Baker, really? Where had she come from? Ray was in love, something Buck had never thought he’d see, but there were so many questions. In less than six months, this woman, who seemed to have dropped out of the sky, had ingrained herself into the pastor’s life and the program. Sure, Buck reasoned, she had attended services faithfully for several months. But she had stayed to speak with Ray at the moment he had become convinced that shutting down The Road to Calvary was their only choice. It was almost as if she had known. Had she eavesdropped on their conversations, planning to swoop in at the last moment?
Buck analyzed that question from every angle, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on her motives. To be sure, Susannah wanted to make money, and her approach was questionable. Initially, Ray was so strongly resistant to the idea of blatant fraud that Buck had never expected him to agree to her plans. But Ray was clearly smitten by this dark-haired stranger, another fact that left Buck trying his damnedest to understand her power over his friend.
It was common knowledge Ray had left his church after Lorraine died of cancer, his faith sorely tested. Buck and Jeff had been members of that congregation, and Ray had told them he needed to step away from religion. Buck remembered him taking a contract position with a large company as an ethics consultant, earning a six-figure salary. He’d stayed in corporate America over five years. Having money convinced him to launch The Road to Calvary on cable and return to his calling full time. He’d asked Buck and Jeff to come along on the journey.
Buck entered the warehouse, contemplating one of Susannah’s stories that he’d never quite believed—her claim of spiraling into the depths of alcoholism, ready to commit suicide with booze and pills just before she came upon Ray preaching on television. That wasn’t the part that bothered him. From experience, Buck had maintained years of sobriety, after enduring an unpleasant stint in rehab, by attending so many AA meetings that he’d lost count. Susannah never spoke of any kind of recovery or of fighting the urge to drink again. Buck thought about drinking every single day, and it was truly one day at a time for him. He knew every alcoholic was different, but the fact that she said nothing was another red flag that only he and Jeff appeared to notice.
Glancing at a wall clock, Buck realized Ray and Susannah would be there any minute. They wanted his input on some paid programming options. Buck was glad to assist, but after a full day at his IT job with an area bank, he was tired.
“Hello? Anybody here?” Buck’s voice boomed into the vast space.
From the depths of the warehouse, Ray called, “In the conference room.”
The moment Buck entered, Susannah announced, “We’ve come up with a multi-pronged plan that takes into consideration all our broadcast options. We’ve made a brief PowerPoint presentation.”
Buck forced a smile. “I’m excited to hear about it.”
Ray opened PowerPoint, and the first slide appeared on the screen. Susannah began speaking while Ray took a seat. “We’ve heard back from the infomercial broker, and they loved the demo—Ray’s rapport with the audience, commitment, and sincerity.” She clicked to the next slide. “We’ll get right to business. We commit to the thirty-minute weekly infomercial for a thousand dollars.” The slide faded into the next. “We also started researching area television stations. There’s an independent St. Louis station that bills itself as ‘family friendly’ and offers other religious programming.” The station’s call letters and ad rates came up on the screen. “For another couple hundred dollars a week, we can broadcast there as well.”
Ray interrupted, tilting forward in his chair. “Our goal is a decent time slot and expansion of our market and revenue, so we can get back to broadcasting live.”
Buck foun
d himself impressed with the amount of research they’d done.
Susannah looked him straight in the eye. “We can’t guarantee the perfect hour or anything else,” she acknowledged. “But what we can do is take advantage of as many options as we can afford when broadcasting live.”
She punched the remote and the next colored slide displayed Christian beauty tips. “Both of you have pooh-poohed the idea of Christian makeovers, but this is exactly the way we can set ourselves apart by offering more than just religion.”
Makeup and religion do not mix, Buck thought, stifling a groan. He tried to be civil. “These are different programs; how will viewers know they’re related?”
Susannah’s curls bobbed as she shook her head. “I’m talking short sequences offering quick beauty tips for the Christian woman prior to the service. The rest of the broadcast focuses on Scripture, Ray, and his message.”
Buck rested his chin in his hands. He found himself considering a new perspective. This might work to distinguish us from the crowd. “What are we looking at in terms of costs?”
With a click of the mouse, Susannah brought their website up on the screen. “Buck, you’ve been overly modest. You’ve completed the website, and we are up and running.” Looking squarely at him, she chose her words carefully. “I realize working a full-time job definitely slowed the progress, but this is a fantastic site. Tell me if I’m missing anything. I love the history of the show, but especially a listing of all the times and outlets broadcasting the show, a link where individuals can send prayer requests, and a button to click for PayPal donations.”
Buck felt appreciated and quickly added, “Technology’s changing so fast that very soon we’ll also be able to have Ray’s past sermons for people to view as video clips.”
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