Ruth held out her hand. “I’ve been following Reverend Ray since their early days myself. Ruth Perkins. Nice to meet you.”
“Sally Sullivan. I sold Ray Miss Baker’s engagement ring, and he’s been praying for my aunt’s health ever since.”
“Oh, I hope it’s nothing serious.”
The blonde woman shrugged her shoulders. “Unfortunately, it is. My aunt had a second heart attack, and she’s on life support. I truly thought if I asked the reverend to keep praying for her, this wouldn’t happen again.”
“Don’t lose faith,” Ruth said encouragingly and patted Sally’s shoulder.
Ruth noted that the crowd was quite large, and every seat appeared to be filled. The beginning notes of Pachelbel’s “Canon” filled the air as the processional began. The full choir assembled on the stage. Onto the stage walked the minister, whom Ruth barely recognized, then Ray in a black silk suit and pale rose tie, along with a younger best man in coordinating attire. They took their places at the front of the altar.
The matron of honor followed dressed in a dusty pink silk frock. The “Bridal Chorus” began, and everyone rose to their feet, turning toward the back of the church. Carrying a small bouquet of pink roses, Susannah entered wearing an ivory tulle-and-lace, tea-length dress.
At the altar, Susannah took Ray’s arm, and they approached the minister.
The congregation took their seats, and Ruth fanned back tears. Sally handed her a tissue, and the minister beamed at the congregation. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today . . .”
They were married in little more than half an hour. By then, both Ruth and Sally were clutching tissues as the choir sung “The Wedding Song”; the Reverend Jacobson recounted how Ray and Susannah met and their personal stories of overcoming adversity to find each other.
“That was lovely, just lovely,” Ruth said to Sally as they queued up in the reception line.
“I’m so sorry Aunt Julia had to miss it. She would have cried right along with us.”
Meeting Ray and Susannah, Ruth grasped both their hands heartily. “Congratulations! I’m Ruth Perkins. It is a pleasure to finally meet you. Such a beautiful, solemn ceremony.”
“It’s a pleasure, indeed. I continue to pray for your family, Mrs. Perkins.”
“Ray prays for your daughter, Emma, very hard,” Susannah said, reaching for her hand.
“Our continued correspondence means so very much to me. I won’t hold up the line, but best wishes for a long and happy marriage,” Ruth said.
The newlyweds greeted Sally. Worry flashed over Ray’s face. “It saddens me that Julia had another heart attack,” he said. “Please know that I will continue to pray for her full recovery. Be sure to keep us posted.”
The young woman brushed aside a tear. “I appreciate that, Reverend. Congratulations to the both of you.”
As Ruth and Sally passed a white basket brimming with cards, Ruth deposited a wedding card. Inside was a check for fifteen thousand dollars.
37
MONDAY, JUNE 2, 2003 LINCOLN, NEBRASKA NORTHEAST POLICE HEADQUARTERS
There had been a match on ViCAP, followed by an intriguing email. Raymond Charlsen, now an assistant chief of police in St. Louis, had contacted Linda right after the ViCAP hit, providing further details.
She stared at her computer, reading Charlsen’s words again. “The murder of Delores Reid, a homeless woman who was miraculously ‘healed’ on a religious program here, bears striking similarities to the Hansen murders. Lethal amounts of the drug Ambien were found in her system.”
The exact same M.O., and very possibly the same used in killing Pamela Watts’s parents. Linda returned to the email. “Detective Malachi Johnson is lead on the case, and I believe Detective Johnson has valuable material that can be of assistance to you. He’s expecting your call.” Linda wrote down the detective’s number and dialed.
The voice on the other end was deep. “Detective Johnson, Homicide Division.”
“Detective Johnson, this is Captain Linda Turner in Lincoln, Nebraska. I understand you’re investigating a murder that is very similar to a triple homicide that occurred here thirteen months ago.”
“That’s right. I’ve been aware of the unsolved Hansen murders since Chief Charlsen transferred here from Lincoln. Horrific case, but I didn’t expect to ever come across a connection. Until last week that is, when I was investigating what initially looked to be a suicide of a fifty-nine-year-old female. I got confirmation from the FBI that the common denominator between our cases is the large amount of Ambien present in our vic’s system, the same drug used to kill the Hansen family.”
“Correct. But what else made you suspicious?” she asked, hardly able to catch a breath.
“A couple of things. The substantial amount of Ambien present initially pointed to suicide. But while processing the scene, we discovered the prescription label on the bottle of pills was fake.”
“And the second?” Linda could feel her heart beating faster.
“The victim was a down-on-her-luck former actress who was also sometimes homeless. She was living in a flophouse, renting a room by the week. According to three residents, Delores let it be known that in March, she was paid to pretend she was crippled, rise up out of a wheelchair, and walk on some local religious program. The pastor claims to perform healing miracles.”
Linda tried not to get too excited. “In your professional opinion, Detective, why kill a homeless woman appearing on a fraudulent religious program?”
She heard shuffling of papers at the other end. “The neighbors I interviewed all said that she was paid and told to leave town. But Delores didn’t leave; she lay low waiting. This program is now running a capital campaign asking for close to two and a half million in donations. Delores began talking about how being able to miraculously heal and walk was worth more than she was paid. She wanted additional money, or she’d go public with the truth about these healings.”
“Good old-fashioned blackmail,” Linda said. After all this time, another sour disappointment would do them no good, and she found herself questioning Detective Johnson’s finding. “Or it’s coincidence, and Ms. Reid could have overdosed on the Ambien?”
“Sure,” Malachi acknowledged on the other end of the line. “But on the night Delores Reid died, another resident saw a figure leaving her room at around three in the morning.”
“Did they get a description?”
“It was in a dimly lit hallway, and the person was dressed in dark clothing. The witness indicated the person’s build was slight and thought it might have been a woman.”
Linda took a drink from her water bottle. This was all circumstantial, but it was the best lead she’d had in months. “What was the name of the program Ms. Reid rose from a wheelchair on?”
“It’s called The Road to Calvary, and here’s why this may be a potential lead for you. The pastor has a new wife, maiden name was Susannah Baker. I’ve seen the program once and need to do further research, but she hasn’t been around that long. They got married in a live broadcast in May. One of my army buddies works on the show. He’s always been suspicious of Ms. Baker’s intentions and brought me a copy of her driver’s license. I also delved into the origin of her social, and the Susannah Baker issued this particular number died in 1995.”