“Once I opened the sliding door, I knew by the smell that something was horribly wrong.”
“What exactly did you see?”
“A woman—at least I think it’s a woman—lying in a pool of blood. I think she had a gunshot wound to the chest, but to be honest, I can’t be sure. I’ve never seen someone who’s been murdered before, and it freaked me out.”
“How did you know she was deceased?” Officer Lane asked, taking notes.
“There was so much blood, and the smell—” Buck searched for the right word. “Foul. It smelled like something was rotten.”
“We’re going to need you to come to the station and give a statement, Mr. Neal. You’ve experienced a huge trauma, so a squad car will bring you.” Then she pointed to Buck’s Taurus. “Is that your vehicle?”
“Yes.”
“It’s just standard procedure, but we’ll need to have a look inside.”
He gulped, feeling his Adam’s apple hard against his throat. “Am I a suspect?”
Officer Lane smiled in empathy. “I realize this is hard for you, Mr. Neal, but part of our job is eliminating you as a suspect.”
Buck inhaled deeply. Other officers were now sealing the area off with yellow crime tape. “You’re right,” he said, and Officer Lane led him to the back seat of a squad car.
WEDNESDAY, JUNE 17, 2003 LATE AFTERNOON ST. LOUIS, MISSOURI DOWNTOWN POLICE PRECINCT
Malachi provided Buck and Jeff with limited information on the unfolding investigation. No longer working a speculative crime on his own time, Malachi had given his superiors the material Jeff and Buck had gathered. Buck, however, was reliving the scene in a continuous stream of nightmares. Susannah, he felt sure, was behind this.
“Both women were shot with a nine-millimeter.” In a drab interrogation room, Malachi relayed the women’s fate. He nodded toward Buck. “The woman you found was Michelle Thomas. Jeanette Morelli had been upstairs apparently asleep. She was found in her bed.”
Recognition registered across Buck’s face. “Morelli. Isn’t that the name of the family that owns the upscale liquor stores?”
Malachi acknowledged Buck’s question with a nod. “Yes, Jeanette was one of the daughters. Not long ago, her family cut her off because she kept giving copious amounts of money to various religious organizations, most recently The Road to Calvary.”
Buck groaned, his head dropping into his large hands.
Jeff scratched his chin. “But wouldn’t she or the neighbors have heard those gun shots? Guns ain’t exactly quiet.”
“We found feathers at the scene that came from a pillow used to muffle the shots,” Malachi explained. “The poor man’s silencer.”
Racked by shock and guilt, Buck pulled at his hair. “If I hadn’t asked Michelle Thomas to talk to me, this never would have happened.” His eyes were wet, and Malachi put a comforting hand on his forearm.
“Not necessarily, Buck. This wasn’t your fault. If it’s any small consolation, this may actually be of help. It’s the adage that criminals eventually make mistakes.”
But Buck was distraught, thrashing his arms. “Two more persons died, Malachi! I can’t stop thinking about Michelle. She seemed so nice and glad somebody was willing to listen to her. She laughed when I told her I was concerned for her safety. She didn’t believe me, and now she and Jeanette are dead. How can this be helpful?”
He started sobbing, his shoulders heaving, and his head fell to the table.
“Hey,” Jeff said, putting an arm around his friend’s shoulders. “Malachi’s right. This ain’t your fault.”
A box of Kleenex sat on the gray metal table, and Malachi pushed it toward Buck.
Eyes red and puffy, Buck took a wad of Kleenex and wiped his eyes. “I’m so sorry, but I can’t help feeling somehow responsible. If I hadn’t called her—”
“No, no,” Jeff was saying as Malachi brought his hand forward.
“The moment Cole and Seth came to you,” Malachi said, “those women were in danger. There is nothing you could have done. Had you not gone there, the bodies might not have been found until someone noticed they were missing.”
Buck inhaled a breath and sniffled. “I guess you could look at it that way.”
Malachi sat erect, hands folded on the table. “There’s one other thing. You both have always suspected Susannah of being involved with other crimes before she came to The Road to Calvary. I can’t go into a lot of detail, but I’m going to be working with an officer from another jurisdiction on a joint operation that directly involves this program.”
Buck’s eyes widened with this revelation, and he saw the same expression on Jeff’s face.
“You can’t tell us nothin’?” Jeff said after a minute.
“Not until the plan is in place. In the meantime, you both need to be very cautious around Susannah and Ray. Be careful not to ruffle any feathers. Neither of you knows anything about a letter. Same goes for the deaths.”
The lines across Buck’s forehead creased, an ominous thought filling his mind. “But what happens to Cole and Seth?”
Malachi slid a yellow legal pad over to Buck. “Write down their full names, addresses, and phone numbers. They need to be interviewed.”
Buck’s hands still trembled as he struggled to hold the pencil. His writing was unusually sloppy. “Can you read all that?” he asked the detective.
“Yep. We will be in contact, and if we think they’re in any danger, we’ll take them into protective custody. We’re pros and can keep Cole and Seth safe.”
Outside the precinct, Buck found he was still a mass of nerves, agonizing over Seth and Cole and the plan Malachi couldn’t divulge.
He took his keys out of his pocket, and they jangled in his hand. “Why do you suppose a police officer from another department is coming here?”
Jeff unlocked the door of his VW Golf. “I won’t be surprised if there are others dead. But I can tell ya one thing for certain, Malachi knows what he’s doing. We need to follow his instructions and do exactly as he says.”
Buck’s keys jiggled as he watched Jeff climb into the front seat. “This is much worse than we ever thought, and I can’t shake the feeling that Susannah’s watching us, too.”
Jeff started the engine, closing the door. “We can’t do anything stupid. We gotta be on our guard twenty-four seven—the same as in the military.”
43
SATURDAY, JUNE 21, 2003 ST. CHARLES, MISSOURI RUTH PERKINS’S HOME
Ruth listened intently as Susannah spoke of dedicating a stained-glass window in her name.
“Each of these custom windows depicts an important part of Christ’s life,” Susannah said. “These contemporary panels are oneof-a-kind, and as a donor, your name would appear on a permanent brass plaque underneath.”
“How much would I need to contribute for my name to be on a window?”
She noticed that Ray had started to speak, but Susannah cut him off as he opened his mouth. “A window is fifty thousand dollars, which we understand is a large amount of money. But think of it as an investment and one that will be in your memory for generations.”
“Please understand that we’re extremely appreciative of the large donation you’ve already given us,” Ray said, his handsome face beaming. “If purchasing a window is too much, please tell us. We do have other donors.”
Ruth saw Susannah give her husband a gently reprimanding look in the vein of, “If you would just let me finish!” and realized the newlyweds were still getting used to being united. She smiled at them both. “Oh, I know you appreciate my giving, and it’s my decision how much I donate.” Ruth removed her glasses absentmindedly as she thought about what she wanted to say. The room remained silent. “Ever since my eightieth birthday party, Emma has barely spoken to me.” She looked at Ray, brushing away a tear. “It’s because I asked you to recommend a family counselor. She was furious and left the party in a huff. Since then, our conversations have been terse, at best. She insisted I stop writing an
d watching your program because in her words, ‘He is nothing but a fraud.’”
Susannah’s eyes narrowed, and Ray took Ruth’s hand. “I feel terrible that it’s come to this. Why didn’t you say something? Is Emma upset about the donation you made?”
Ruth laughed sadly. “Emma knows nothing about my continued support. And that’s the way it must stay.”
Ray voiced his unease. “I think we’ve asked for all the money we’re going to.”
“Nonsense. Don’t get me wrong, Reverend and Mrs. Williams, I love my daughter and don’t want to lose her completely. A few weeks ago, I told Emma a little white lie—that I wasn’t interested in The Road to Calvary any longer. Since then, we’ve begun to make amends. As far as how I spend or donate my money, Emma has no say. So I wish to be your first donor to purchase one of these beautiful windows.”
Susannah clapped her hands together in delight. “That’s wonderful, Mrs. Perkins! This will be such an inspiring legacy.”
Ruth could see that Ray wasn’t quite convinced. “Are you sure? Fifty thousand on top of what you’ve already contributed?”
Ruth eyed the couple. “I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t truly believe in your Christian endeavors. And Emma failed to mention that she and Jack continue to see the therapist you suggested. You have made an impact, whether Emma admits it or not. As for the money, you know as well as I that you can’t take it with you.”
Ray chuckled, and Susannah smiled her agreement.
That settled, Ruth switched into hostess mode. “Who can I interest in some homemade apple pie and fresh coffee?”
They both raised their hands, and Ruth motioned to Susannah. “Come with me into the kitchen, dear, and help me serve, will you?”
“Certainly,” she said, following Ruth out of the room.
Ruth had set out her best silver coffee service and china plates and cups. “Susannah, you cut the pie, and I’ll pour. Then we’ll serve off this silver tray.”
“What will happen to your beautiful house when you pass away? Of course, obviously, that’s a long way off.”
Ruth considered Susannah’s question as she poured. “I haven’t given it much thought. It’s paid for, so I imagine Emma would sell it and keep the proceeds. Why?”
“This is delicious,” Susannah said and licked apple filling off her finger. She went to the sink and washed her hands. “Here’s something for you to think over. Rather than keeping so much of your money in savings accounts with the bank, another option could be investing your money in a new fund the church is developing for members only. We’re calling it Jesus Saves Investments, which has both a secular and religious meaning. If you’re interested, I’d be happy to explain the particulars.”
Ruth placed the coffee service on a tray and carried it across the room, where Susannah added the plates of pie. “I would definitely be attracted to spreading my money around for a better return. We can discuss it tonight, if you and Ray have the time.”
Susannah glanced over her shoulder at her husband on the couch, flipping pages in a magazine. She smiled warmly at Ruth. “He is so busy with his regular ministry and this campaign; I hate to add more to his plate. How about you and I meet first, next week, say on Tuesday or Wednesday? Ray will be out of town, and I can give you further details about the fund and answer any questions. Let’s have lunch, and it will give us a chance to get better acquainted.”
Ruth studied the vivacious Susannah. Such a lovely, caring woman. “That sounds delightful!”
“Do you like seafood? We could go to Steamers. I can explain the benefits and the steps involved. The final decision, of course, is up to you.”
Ruth looked at the calendar on the wall next to the phone. “I love seafood. Tuesday is good for me. Say around eleven thirty?”
“That time is perfect,” Susannah replied. “I’ll pick you up. But for now, why don’t we keep this between you and me? Ray is meeting with an organization in Oklahoma City about possible national syndication, and I don’t want him under any more pressure.”
“How exciting!” Ruth exclaimed and put a finger to her lips. “I won’t say a word.”
44
TUESDAY, JUNE 24, 2003 ST. LOUIS, MISSOURI BUCK’S HOME
When Buck answered the jangling telephone, Seth’s frightened, panting breath filled his ears. “You gotta come quick, Buck! Cole’s real sick, and they’ve taken him to St. Joe’s Hospital, and he might die and—”
“Slow down, son! You called 911?”
“Y-yes,” Seth stuttered. “Cole wasn’t breathing when I found him, and there was vomit all over and—”
This was surreal. Buck felt his chest tighten, preparing for the ultimate disappointment. “When you found him, were there drugs near Cole?”
“No, no. Nothing. Some stuff was knocked over, like he was stumbling around the apartment. But there’s no smack anywhere. Cole won’t even take aspirin.”
“Alcohol? Maybe Cole went on a bender after our meeting.”
“Buck!” Seth shouted into the phone. “There is nothing here except some spilled orange juice.”
The police have got to be at the apartment. “Put the officer in charge on the phone. I’ll meet you in the emergency room.”
Malachi was seated on a vinyl sofa talking to Seth when Buck arrived. He excused himself to greet his friend.
“Thanks for coming,” Buck said, gasping for breath. He spoke fast, his sentences running together. “I can’t get ahold of Jeff. Have you talked to the EMTs? How’s Cole?”
“Let’s take a walk,” Malachi said, guiding him by the elbow into a hallway.
Buck ran a hand over his mullet, shaking his head apologetically. “Sorry. This has rattled me as much as the murders of those poor women. None of this seems real. You talk, and I’ll listen.”
“Cole’s in a coma. I had CSI bag all the foods in his refrigerator for testing, after you mentioned the orange juice. I’m speculating here, but given what you and Seth have told me, Cole could have been poisoned. The lab’s running every test imaginable. I’m on my way to the crime scene. Officer Buchner is taking Seth downtown to get his statement.”
“Goddamnit. I didn’t take them seriously enough,” Buck said, shoulders drooping under the strain. “You said Cole’s in a coma. How bad?”
Malachi patted Buck’s back. “The doctors indicated it will be a couple of days before the extent of the damage is known. But you did everything you could.”
ST. LOUIS, MISSOURI RAY AND SUSANNAH’S HOME
Later that evening when Ray pulled into the driveway, he saw Susannah pulling weeds in the flower garden. Even dressed in overalls, her hair tied back, and covered in dirt, she was beautiful. He sat there for a moment just watching her, thinking how very lucky he was. In the driver’s side mirror, he caught his own reflection—wistful yet scowling. He needed to give her the news.
“Hello, my love,” he said, stepping from the car.
Susannah got up off her knees, wiping sweat from her brow with a gloved hand. “Whew! It’s getting warm out here. I think I’m ready for some iced tea.” She came to Ray and kissed him on the cheek.
Ray viewed the tall plants, spiked pink and yellow flowers with massive leaves at the back border of the garden. “What are your new plants?”
She peeled off her gardening gloves and slipped an arm through his. “Castor oil plants. I like them because they’re ornamental and give a nice balance to the rest of the garden. The drawback is the seeds are toxic if you eat them.”
They walked to the back door, Susannah entering ahead. “Well, so is the lovely oleander plant,” Ray said. “Gardening can be a dangerous business.”
Susannah laughed. “You are so clever.”
In the kitchen, Susannah poured iced tea from a pitcher. “Do you want a glass?” Ray declined, and she joined him at the table. She took a long drink, set down her glass, and reached out a hand. “Why did Doug Snyder want to see you? Did Seth and Cole get into trouble?”
Ray n
oted the sarcasm in her voice. He knew Susannah had never been a fan of hiring recovering addicts, worried that they might slip back into using or stealing from them. But he had found Seth and Cole to be hardworking, dependable employees determined to take their lives back and be productive members of society. That had made today’s events greatly disturbing.
“I’m not sure. Neither Cole or Seth came in today. That’s highly unusual behavior for them. This afternoon, Doug called me and said not to expect to see them again.”
Susannah mulled over the news, slowly running a finger around the rim of her glass. Her reply brimmed with contempt. “I’m not shocked. That’s junkies for you, Ray. After all you’ve done for Cole and Seth, we always knew they could revert to their drug habit any time.”
Ray sighed, wishing his wife would give recovering addicts the benefit of the doubt, since she was one herself. But he kept these thoughts to himself. “Remember that there are two sides to every story, and the truth is somewhere in the middle.”
Susannah finished her iced tea, the cubes tinkling in her glass, and changed the subject. “I need to get these dirty clothes off and shower. Then we can discuss the parishioners we’re approaching for donations.” She placed the glass in the sink and let an overall strap slide off her shoulder. “Care to join me?” She smiled, unhooking the overalls.
Ray stood, and she took him by the hand, leading him upstairs to the shower.
MONDAY, JUNE 30, EVENING LINCOLN, NEBRAKA LINDA’S HOME
For over two weeks, Linda had immersed herself in the world of horticulture while memorizing key details of her new life story. She felt confident.
She had stepped from a warm, bubbly bath when her police cell rang. Throwing on a robe over her slender body, Linda ran to her bedroom. She was surprised to see Malachi’s name on the caller ID and wondered why he was calling.
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