Linda looked over the multiple piles. “Even though we’re rushed, it feels great to start. I realize we have limited time; but when I become Linda Sinclair, all I have to do is remember Gregory Hansen and those children to make this a success.”
46
SUNDAY, JULY 6, 2003 ST. LOUIS, MISSOURI THE ROAD TO CALVARY BUILDING
Linda pulled into The Road to Calvary parking lot at 10:15 a.m. It was already three-quarters full. She cut the engine, observing throngs streaming into what appeared to be an industrial warehouse.
“Can you hear me?” she said.
Malachi’s voice filled her head. “Loud and clear. We’ll check the reception once you’re inside. Take your time. Introduce yourself and get comfortable with the surroundings. Good luck.”
Linda had carefully considered her new persona’s appearance. Her glasses and a loose updo gave her a bookish appearance, still attractive but nonthreatening to someone like Susannah.
The humidity seared her lungs as she walked across the parking lot. She shook hands with greeters at the entrance and searched the crowd for an empty seat. There was no sign of the Reverend Ray, his wife, or the guy with the mullet. From behind a camera, she spotted a buff male with a near buzz cut. She breathed more easily as she spotted a lone chair at the end of a row.
“Is this seat taken?” she asked an obese middle-aged couple.
“Oh no,” the large woman answered. “Happy to have you join us.”
“Thank you.”
The woman’s husband leaned across his wife, addressing Linda. “Are you a new member? We’ve been growing so fast, it’s hard to keep track of the regulars and who’s new. We’re the Carlsons, Bob and Billie.”
Linda smiled, happy at her good fortune, striking up a conversation with parishioners on her first try. She extended her hand. “I’m Linda Sinclair, and I’m new, both to St. Louis and The Road to Calvary.”
“Welcome,” Billie said, shaking her hand firmly. “The Reverend Williams and his wife, Susannah, are wonderful people. You can definitely feel God’s presence here.”
“St. Louis is a great city,” Bob said. “You’ll have to visit the Riverfront.”
“I have a lovely view of it from my condo,” Linda replied modestly. “I love to walk on the paths there in the morning,” she lied. Her residence wouldn’t be ready for a week.
“Oh, that is so nice.” Billie said. “Can I ask what brought you to our fine city?”
“Billie!” Bob voiced irritation. “That’s none of our business.”
“It’s quite all right.” Linda said. “A divorce, unfortunately. I felt St. Louis was a good place to begin my life anew.”
“I’m terribly sorry,” Billie soothed. “Were you married long?”
Billie’s question sent Linda’s mind racing. After all the prep, the length of Linda’s marriage had never been discussed. Quick calculations were worked out in her frenzied brain. “We were college sweethearts and were married fifteen years.”
“That’s no short period,” Billie said, and Bob nodded sympathetically.
Perfect, Linda thought. My first visit and I not only meet members, but nosy ones, who might just direct me to Mrs. Williams.
Someone yelled, “Two minutes to air!” The stragglers found seats, and the room fell into silence.
The choir walked out onto the stage and sang the first hymn, the words flashing up on a screen behind the stage. Ray and Susannah came to center stage, holding hands.
Linda’s trained eye zeroed in on Susannah’s presence. She played the devoted wife, holding Ray’s microphone when he handed it off, doting attentively during his sermon, motioning for the congregation to rise during the prayer of deliverance. Near the end, Susannah implored the congregation for donations.
“As most of you know, we are already a quarter of the way toward our capital campaign goal, which is great and glorious news. But we can do better.”
Linda watched Susannah make deliberate eye contact with each segment of the audience.
“As a special gift from us to you, receive Scriptures of Encouragement from the Reverend Ray when you contribute to the Growing in Christ Campaign.”
Linda glanced around the studio, noticing the audience’s rapt attention on Susannah.
“Even if you’ve already donated, won’t you pick up the phone, write that check, or use a credit card? This is your church, and all the wonderful works we do are possible because of your support. Help us continue our mission to preach and live the Gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ.”
When the final prayer was said, the crowd flowed toward the doors and queued up to shake Ray and Susannah’s hands, like bees trying to get to the hive. Linda stayed with her new acquaintances as they quizzed her on her past, and she asked the couple questions in return. Bob brought Linda forward for the personal introduction she had hoped for.
“Reverend Ray and Mrs. Williams, this is our friend, Linda Sinclair. She’s just moved to town, recently divorced, and is looking for a church. Billie and I told her she couldn’t find a better one.”
Linda exchanged pleasantries, shaking both Ray and Susannah’s hands, but didn’t hear a word Ray said. At the comments “just moved to town” and “recently divorced,” Susannah decisively grasped Linda’s forearm.
“I’ve been in the same position and know what you’re going through. If there’s anything I can do to help, please call me.”
Smiling warmly, Linda said, “I would love to talk with someone who’s had the same experience. Maybe we could get coffee sometime.”
“I’d love to,” Susannah replied. She grabbed a program from a table and asked for a pen. She scribbled a number—with her left hand. “Here’s my home phone. I’d love to chat.”
She’s Pamela Watts. Linda forced her brightest smile. “I’ll give you a call next week.”
47
WEDNESDAY, JULY 9, 2003 ST. LOUIS, MISSOURI LINDA’S CONDO
Linda was torn between seeming too anxious to contact Susannah, her need to bring justice to the Hansen family, and the limited time to accomplish their goal. Deep breath. Take your shot and ask her to meet. There isn’t much time.
She inhaled and called. Susannah was very enthusiastic, suggesting lunch the next day and proposing a restaurant. “I can pick you up,” Susannah offered, but Linda wasn’t quite yet ready to be alone with the killer of at least six. That simple number sent a prickly chill up her spine, as she politely declined.
“Thanks for the generous offer, but I have some errands to run first. Give me the address, and I’ll meet you.”
THURSDAY, JULY 10, 2003 ST. LOUIS, MISSOURI DOWNTOWN CAFÉ
Their meeting place, a small café not far from her hotel, allowed Linda the chance to walk. She arrived ahead of Susannah, dressed in white slacks and a linen jacket over a turquoise shell. She looked polished, but casual. Linda caught her reflection in a window and observed that the glasses and having her hair up made her resemble a staid librarian. Up the city block, she spotted the nondescript van in which Malachi and Phil had set up surveillance.