“Captain Turner has a point, Detective,” Chief Langston interrupted. “We’ve worked this case for over a year, and it needs to be wrapped.”
Linda spoke, facing Malachi. “I didn’t mean to catch you off guard, but these murders are a stain on our department. Mrs. Williams is a newlywed, and they’ve got the capital campaign underway. Both those things will keep her in town. I think we can undertake a shorter operation, but our planning would need to be detailed. We’d rely on your jurisdiction to have all elements in place.”
“How long would I have?” the detective inquired.
Langston spoke up. “Four to six weeks planning time. Captain, you and Detective Johnson choose the most feasible identity. Once we have a backstory in place, she’ll come to St. Louis.” Langston pointed his pen at dates on a desk calendar. “Six weeks out is July eighteenth. From there, I’ll okay slightly over six weeks.”
This was going to be tight. Linda could feel her heart flutter. She hoped Malachi was on board.
“I always have liked a challenge.” Malachi grinned. “And this will definitely be that.”
They ordered in Chinese take-out and squeezed around the table in Linda’s office.
“I could be divorced, the same as her,” Linda said. “My professional background should be horticulture; maybe I’ve worked at a garden center. Common denominators right off the bat.” She scooped up a mouthful of shrimp fried rice with chopsticks. “I can start researching that.”
“That’s good,” Malachi replied. “Langston said I’ve got six weeks max to get you set up with documents, housing, IDs, all that. I’ll work with our undercover unit. I’ve got a flight for late tomorrow out of Omaha.”
They continued their discussion until they had filled yellow pages on a legal pad. The conversation took on a personal tone.
“Are you married?” Linda asked.
“Was married,” Malachi corrected. “My ex and I are on friendly terms and have two beautiful girls ages sixteen and eighteen.” The corners of his mouth turned down into a melancholy smile. “They’re growing up too fast and are both dating, a father’s worst nightmare. I wanted them to wait till they were at least thirty.”
Linda wiped her mouth. “I’m sorry. Have you been divorced long?”
“Our second daughter, Sasha, was born while I was in Iraq. That was a tough adjustment. Then I joined the police force, and you know what a toll this job can take on families. I was always working, missing too many family functions, dance recitals, regular dinners at home. I see my girls on a consistent basis, but Michelle and I decided we were better off leading separate lives. How about you?”
“I’m widowed. My husband, Tom, died six years ago.”
“Can I ask what happened?” Malachi took a sip of soda.
“Tom dropped dead of an embolism at thirty-seven. It changed my perspective on a lot of things, especially religion. This case only adds to my cynicism because it’s revealed the scars left from preying on the gullible and the dirty secret of organized religion. The individuals involved here not only haven’t proven me wrong but have shown there’s a very dark side to believing in something without question.” Linda stopped herself. “I hope I haven’t offended you.”
Malachi took another gulp of his drink. “Not in the slightest. I’ve been thinking much the same, regarding religion in general, and whether I even believe in the idea of a Supreme Being.”
Linda wiped the remainder of her lipstick off, thinking how comfortable it was to have this conversation with someone who had the same doubts. “After my husband died, I was certain there was no God, at least not for me. Yes, there’s still good in the world, however buried it might sometimes be. I always thought that if there was a God, the world would be a better place. Chalk it up to free will, a concept I remember from my Catholic school days.”
He nodded in agreement. “We tried to raise Sasha and Lauren to be good, honest, moral people, but I wasn’t convinced we needed religion to accomplish that.” He took another scoop of rice and looked Linda straight in the eye. “Do you believe in God? If that’s too personal a question, please tell me to take a hike.”
Condensation formed on Linda’s glass. “No, that’s a perfectly reasonable question, given that this case deals with persons of supposed faith who have lied and cheated those who trust them. I was raised Catholic. It didn’t make sense to me that only men could be in charge and that you absolutely had to believe certain things, so I walked away. I consider myself an agnostic, but the people we deal with make me question it every day.”
“Yeah, this line of work can jade a person pretty damn quick.” He swirled the remaining soda in the bottom of his glass.
Linda wiped her mouth once again. “I’m not a theologian, but I think some people just want to be given the answers. They don’t want any tough questions to deal with, just tell them what to believe straight up. I have confidence that’s what’s happening here. We’ll see how this plays out. Even if this program is a fraud, some members will still choose to keep believing.”
Finished with his meal, Malachi placed his chopsticks crosswise on his plate, returning the conversation to the job. “My sources on the program say Susannah Williams talked about suffering a major tragedy.”
Linda made certain her gaze didn’t linger too long on Malachi’s handsome features. “What sort of tragedy?”
“She claimed that her two children were killed in a car accident. Sister-in-law picking them up from daycare. She’s never provided enough details for us to check the authenticity.”
Linda held her chopsticks aloft. “That is one of the most revolting things I’ve ever heard. Jacob and Elizabeth Hansen are those dead children. The image of those small bodies clad in their torn Disney pajamas will never leave me. I will do whatever it takes to catch this bitch.”
41
THURSDAY EVENING, JUNE 12, 2003 GLENDALE, MISSOURI MICHELLE THOMAS’S HOME
It was after nine o’clock when Michelle Thomas’s doorbell rang, interrupting a crucial moment in her favorite TV show, Survivor. “Damn!” she huffed, rolling off her living room couch to answer.
Michelle tied the belt of her robe around her waist, flipping on the porch light. A woman dressed in dark clothing stood alone. She unlocked the bolt lock but kept the chain in place, opening the door as far as the chain would allow. “Can I help you?”
“I am so sorry to bother you,” the woman apologized. “But can I use your phone? My car won’t start, and my cell phone is completely out of bars.” She held up her useless cell.
Michelle was hesitant at first. It was dark and late with a stranger on her doorstep. “Okay,” Michelle said and unchained the door.
“Thanks so much. One call, and I’ll be on my way.”
Michelle led the way to the wall phone in the kitchen, her slippers shuffling along the floor. Turning toward the woman, Michelle pointed to the phone. “If someone needs to come and get you—”
“That won’t be necessary,” the woman replied abruptly, holding a thick throw pillow from the sofa across her body. “You won’t be filing a complaint against us.”