That was Buck’s cue. “Okay, Ray,” he whispered into the earpiece. “The heavy-set woman in the front row with the cane had knee surgery three months ago but is still in pain. She’s sitting with her son, Paul. Last name is Schaffer.”
Ray locked eyes with the old woman. “Mrs. Schaffer, I understand you’re recovering from knee surgery. May the healing power of the Lord come upon you to relieve you of your knee pain, so that you might walk freely once more!” he thundered.
Mrs. Schaffer did nothing but stare back at Ray in dazed silence.
“My God,” Buck muttered. “This is going to be a disaster.”
“Mom, the reverend’s talking to you. Stand up!” Paul implored.
Ray thrust out his hand to her, and Mrs. Schaffer rose from her seat, leaving her cane, and walked to meet him at the stage.
The audience held its collective breath as Mrs. Schaffer turned toward them. “These are the first steps I’ve taken on my own in months!” she explained. “Glory be to our Lord Jesus Christ.”
“The Bible says to pray for divine healing!” Ray said, taking her hand. “Keep doing physical therapy, and the Lord will continue to help you heal.”
Buck sighed in relief, and his fist punched the air in victory. That wasn’t a total lie; he could live with that. Then his attention was diverted by another voice from the audience.
“Reverend Ray, I feel the power of the Lord upon me! He commands me to rise from this wheelchair prison and walk!”
On the monitor, Buck could see Ray struggle to keep his mouth from falling open. A younger woman wearing braids rose from her chair and met him and Mrs. Schaffer at the end of the aisle.
“Praise be to our Lord and Savior!” Ray said, clasping both women’s hands and raising them heavenward. “God has a purpose for each of you in life, which you can accomplish with divine healing!” Ray brought them up onto the stage. “You ladies have shown God’s power at work in the flesh. What are your names?”
He handed the microphone to the second woman, who spoke in a strong, clear voice. “Hallelujah! I am Dolores Reid, and I thank the Lord and the Reverend Ray for this glorious day!”
Passing the microphone to Mrs. Schaffer, Ray could see that she was almost embarrassed at having to announce her great fortune. “Hello. My name is Rose Schaffer, and I too thank the Almighty God for ending this awful pain.”
Staring at the monitor, Buck’s mouth hung open, and he wrung his hands. This was exactly what Ray didn’t want, but somehow, it had happened. Right before their eyes. And then he saw Susannah standing behind Ray, up on the stage, her lips curving in a subtle smile, as if she had known all along the “miraculous” event would occur.
Buck’s shoulders sagged, his stomach twisting in knots. I haven’t a clue how she did this, but we’ve gotta find out.
32
WEDNESDAY, MARCH 26, 2003 ST. LOUIS, MISSOURI DOWNTOWN POLICE STATION
When it rains, it comes down in sheets, Jeff thought, sitting in the precinct of his former army buddy, Malachi Johnson. On Sunday, miracles had occurred. People got up from their wheelchairs and dropped their canes. He was still wondering how it had happened. He suspected there was a darker side to the story than what witnesses had seen. As he sat listening to Malachi tell him things he’d discovered about Susannah Baker, he knew this feeling of apprehension was justified.
They sat at Malachi’s desk, stacked with files from other cases. His muscles rippled a short-sleeved shirt, and his badge hung around his neck. Jeff had forgotten what a commanding presence his six foot four friend was. “Sorry it’s taken me so long to get back to you,” Malachi said, selecting a slim manila folder off the top of the pile. “This isn’t an active investigation, and I’ve had to do research on my own time.”
The squad room was noisy, police officers talking and clattering on computer keyboards, phones ringing, and the smell of onion permeating the air.
Jeff nodded his appreciation. “It ain’t like you got nothin’ else to do, man. I’m just glad you’re willin’ to consider it.”
“There isn’t much, but what I do have is suspicious and certainly merits further investigation.”
Jeff squirmed in his chair. “Whatever you got, I’m all ears.”
Malachi opened the file, shuffling papers. “This Baker woman is absolutely committing identity theft. A friend of mine works at the St. Louis Post Dispatch, so I asked her to run the name through obituaries of women with the same name and close in age. The first couple of years she came up empty. But Anna, like any good reporter, is persistent and started looking at older obits.”
Jeff frowned. “Doesn’t sound so good.”
Malachi smiled across his gray metal desk. “No. One of the most common ways of committing identity theft or assuming someone else’s identity is by obtaining the names and dates of deceased persons from obituaries and cemeteries. A lot of obits include pictures, making it easier to find a person who resembles the criminal.” Malachi pushed the open folder toward Jeff. “When Anna searched older obits, she discovered a Susannah Baker who died in a single-car accident in 1995. She was thirty-three years old and looked like this.” Jeff pondered the photograph of a smiling young woman with dark, wavy hair, high cheekbones, and full lips.
“She looks a whole lot like Ray’s Susannah,” Jeff said, the astonishment evident in his voice.
“That’s the idea,” Malachi explained. “Your preacher friend’s fiancée comes to St. Louis needing to be somebody else. Looking for someone she resembles, she picks this woman. From there, she contacts the DMV and says she’s lost her driver’s license. They replace it for a small charge and take her picture, so now she has a photo ID.”
“Meanin’ the real Susannah Baker is dead.”
“Hey, Malachi!” It was another cop sitting one desk over.
Malachi slipped the folder under the ink blotter on his desk.
“You know the guy we arrested for burglary yesterday? Can you interview the suspect with me?”
“Sure, Phil. Is he here now?”
Phil, also a fit figure, walked over to Malachi’s desk, standing behind Jeff. He stroked a thick mustache. “He’s in holding, so we can talk as soon as you’re through. Who’s your friend?”
Malachi and Jeff both stood. “Phil Burt, this is Jeff Jones. We served in Iraq together.”
Jeff extended a hand, and Phil responded with a strong grasp and hearty shake. “The Jeff Jones? Malachi tells me you won yourself a silver star for bravery. Congratulations.”
Being made out the hero always flustered Jeff, and he stammered his reply, “Uh, thanks, man. I was um, protecting my unit. Malachi would’ve done the same for me.”
Sensing Jeff’s uneasiness, Malachi said to Phil, “Give us about ten minutes.”
“No problem,” Phil said. “Nice meeting you.”
Once Phil was out of earshot, the men settled back into their seats, and Jeff spoke slightly above a whisper, “I don’t want to get you in trouble, bro. I appreciate everything you’ve done.”
“The thing is, she needs more than a driver’s license to prove she’s Susannah Baker. She can get a copy of the real Susannah Baker’s birth certificate by saying she’s lost it, too, and showing her new driver’s license as ID.” Malachi pointed to the obituary. “We discovered from the obit that Susannah Baker was a North Dakota native who moved to St. Louis as a young adult. The imposter goes to vital records for the county and asks for a copy. This is becoming a real problem with identity theft, and some counties ask for information on the birth certificate only the person would know. Or you can get a bored records clerk, who buys your story that you’ve been living overseas as a missionary.”
Jeff clenched a fist. “This is exactly what me and Buck was thinkin’. Can’t you arrest her for lyin’ about who she is?”
Malachi raised hands. “For the most part, this is just speculation. Yes, Anna found a Susannah Baker with a similar appearance and the same birth date who died in 1995. Is it suspicious? Ab
solutely. But weirder things have happened, Jeff. To prove this woman is masquerading as Susannah Baker, we need a birth certificate, credit cards, and a social security number. I did some investigating, and getting a dead person’s social isn’t that difficult. The Social Security Administration has what they call the Master Death Index database containing all previously used numbers. It’s been computerized since the 1960s, and if your mystery woman has that, she has a new and improved identity.”
“But ya’d think 9/11 would make stealin’ someone’s identity harder,” Jeff said.
“For foreigners, sure,” Malachi answered his friend. “Right now, that’s what the focus is on, not US citizens in their own country. My guess is that she’s done this before and knows how to avoid the pitfalls of electronic tracking.”
“What’d ya mean?”
“In the old days before computers, criminals would get the name and birth dates of deceased babies from cemeteries. They’d get the birth certificate and build a new identity from scratch. They were called ‘paper trappers’ because it was all done on paper.” Malachi paused, leaning back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head of tapered short black hair that faded into his skin. “How do you know she doesn’t have an accomplice?”
“There ain’t no accomplice, Malachi.” Jeff huffed. “She and Ray are livin’ together. Christ, they’re hardly ever apart.”
“That would make having a partner harder,” Malachi acknowledged, leaning forward.
“Hell, all she talks about is how we should make more money. She’s too damn greedy for there to be anybody else.” Jeff stopped, looking at his friend’s chiseled features. “There really ain’t nothin’ we can do?”
“Not without a lot more evidence.” Malachi contemplated his statement. “You know, there is one thing, but it’s a stretch.” His fingers clattered across the computer keyboard. “A while back, we were notified of a case in another state. Nebraska, I think. An email went out concerning an unsolved triple homicide involving kids and their father.” Malachi typed quickly, scrolling down a screen. “Here it is. It was forwarded by the Assistant Chief, Roland Charlsen, who transferred from Lincoln, Nebraska, early in 2002.”
Jeff sat upright. “Can ya tell me anything?”
“Only that the father was a pastor at the University Place Disciples of Christ Church. He and the children were found buried in the parsonage flower garden. It says here they’re looking for the wife, a Nicole Hansen, who apparently disappeared and—”
Jeff was out of his chair standing over Malachi’s desk. “Do you think she’s involved? Do you think she’s . . . a murderer?”
“Maybe, maybe not.” Malachi motioned for Jeff to sit back down. “A couple of other things. We don’t have an ounce of proof that Susannah Baker and this Nicole Hansen are the same person. To be honest, Jeff, that’s a pretty big leap.”
“But this woman just showed up one day with all these ideas to save The Road to Calvary. Like she knew the show was in trouble—”
“Jeff!” Malachi frowned. “As I said, is this suspicious? Yes. Do we have the necessary evidence? No. If you want to prove this woman is a killer, we can start by proving she stole Susannah Baker’s identity. To do that, I’m gonna need a social security number. A friend of mine works at the SSA, so I’ll give her a call. However, we still don’t have a case; and everything I’m telling you, I’m getting on my own, so this isn’t a top priority. I need you to be patient; it could take a while.”
Jeff’s shoulders slumped. Malachi was doing him an enormous favor. Much like setting a trap for the enemy in war, he would have to wait this out.
33
SATURDAY, MARCH 29, 2003 RICHMOND HEIGHTS, MISSOURI RAY’S HOME
Ray and Susannah settled on the first Saturday in May for a wedding date. The scent on an early spring breeze of blooming flowers and freshly cut grass floated through open kitchen windows. It occurred to Ray he had much to discuss with Susannah, not only regarding their impending nuptials, but their new life together. With The Road to Calvary gaining in popularity and Easter fast approaching, winter had thawed into the symphony of spring without Ray even realizing it. On this afternoon, Ray decided now was the right moment to share his good news.
Susannah made ham and cheese quiche for their lunch. Ray carried two plates of quiche, the smell of ham filling the room, while his bride-to-be brought a plate of succulent fruit and a pitcher of iced tea to the table.
“My gosh, Ray, it’s been forever since we’ve had a leisurely Saturday to ourselves,” she said, pouring the tea into glasses filled with tinkling ice.
“Yes, it has. In fact, there’s something I want to talk to you about.” He sat down at the table, and she pulled out a chair to join him.
“This sounds serious,” she teased, mock concern furrowing her brow. “Am I in trouble?”
He chuckled. “No, I have a few simple questions around the wedding and things to complete once we’re married. Wills, finances, things like that.”
“Umm, this sounds important.”
“It is, but we’ll get to that in a minute. I wanted to ask you a question about the wedding ceremony itself,” he said, taking a forkful of quiche.
“You cannot see my dress until I walk down the aisle. Besides color scheme, flowers, the music, and my matron of honor, what else is there?” The ice in her glass sparkled in the sun when Susannah took a drink.
“This quiche is delicious,” he said. He beheld her face, reaching for her hand. “I know we’ve talked about a small ceremony, inviting The Road to Calvary regulars. But I’m thinking that the way we’re growing, it would be unfortunate if we left anyone out.” Ray paused, basking in the beauty of her lovely face. “How would you feel about doing a special live broadcast of our wedding? I’ve spoken to KNSL, and they’re open—”
Susannah hesitated and pulled her hand away from Ray, bringing it to her mouth. “I confess, I’ve never considered televising our wedding. I see can both sides. Broadcasting a wedding will surely give ratings a boost, but we’re also giving up our privacy.” She reclaimed Ray’s hand. “I’m sorry, honey, but I need to think this over.”
Ray hid his disappointment behind a loving smile. “No pressure, but KNSL will want an answer soon.”
“Give me a week,” she said, squeezing his hand. “This is something I’ve never given any thought to.”
“Take your time, sweetheart. I was viewing this in terms of everybody likes a wedding, and it would give us greater exposure.”
Susannah frowned, putting her chin in her hands. “What do Buck and Jeff think? I know they’re always feeling I’m pushing too hard for exposure.”
He reached for her hand again and kissed it. “Buck and Jeff will find out when we tell them. This is our wedding; and if they’re opposed to it being on television, that’s too bad. Which brings me to my next topic.”
“My, you are just full of surprises, aren’t you? You have my undivided attention,” she said, wiping her mouth.
Ray put his fork down, folding his hands in a V-shape over the plate of food. “We realize already that we’re cramped for space. I’m proposing that after Easter, we meet with an architect and discuss ideas for an expansion of the building. Karl Wilcox gave us a building and three acres of land, so there’s room. We’ll still keep the building we’re in for Sunday school classes and other events, but I’m thinking we should undertake a capital campaign to build a larger worship space and hire additional staff.” His smile was both tender and content. “I can’t shake the feeling that this is what God wants our next step to be. It’d be a large undertaking, but your thoughts mean the world to me.”
Susannah said nothing for a moment, deep in thought on this latest information. “I love it. We could call it the ‘Growing in Christ Campaign’ and provide incentives for large donors. One option could be putting their name on plaques recognizing what they paid for. Oh, Ray, this is fantastic!”
His face radiated contentment and he squeezed her manicured h
and. “I was counting on your ideas and input. But Buck and Jeff aren’t aware of this venture yet either. I wanted to talk with you first, seeing as how we’ll soon be partners in this endeavor.”
“I love how you say that—partners.” She blushed.
“I’ll tell them right after Easter, and I’ll want them both to have input on the design process. This leads me to another decision as we get closer to becoming husband and wife.” He drank more tea, setting down the glass. “One of the first things I should do is revise my will, because if something should happen—”
“Ray! Don’t even think that way.”
“I understand, it’s not the happiest of topics, but we need to be realistic. Since everything will be in both our names, should I die first, everything will automatically go to you.”
Susannah brushed away a stray tear with the back of her hand. “I know, but I want to enjoy being married first.”
“We will. But we need to plan for the unforeseen. That said, I also need to let you know where we stand financially. I’ve mentioned occasionally that I spent five years in the corporate world, before the good Lord called me back to ministry.”
Susannah interrupted him with an amen, and he grinned at her, so glad he was no longer working in corporate America. Ray laid down his fork. He wanted to be certain he had Susannah’s full attention, when he shared his news with his bride-to-be.
“I also invested. It’s been a constant bull market since the mid-1990s, and my money grew many times over. As of this moment, we have over three quarters of a million dollars in the bank.”
She stared at him mutely, her mouth gaping in utter disbelief. “But . . . but the first time we met you said, as I recall, ‘I’m just a poor preacher . . .’”
The character lines in his face deepened as he smiled at her. “For the most part, I still am a poor preacher. If I hadn’t worked so long with Fidelity, I probably wouldn’t have been able to keep my house. But the money gave me a good cushion and the chance for me—for us—to do some things like travel, that wouldn’t be possible otherwise.”
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