Phil handed the detectives a sheet of numbers.
“The account listed under Susannah Baker must be where she kept the window donations,” Linda said, skimming the columns of a separate account. “There’s over half a million dollars.”
Malachi cocked his head at Phil. “Where’s the reverend?”
“He’s waiting in Interview Room 3.”
Malachi held the door for her. “I feel for the pastor.”
Ray sat at the gray metal interview table with another cup of hot coffee. Linda searched his lined face and thought the pastor looked as though he had aged fifteen years overnight. “Good afternoon, Reverend,” she said as she pulled out an empty chair. “Pardon our appearance.”
“Any news on Susannah’s prognosis?” he inquired tentatively.
Malachi sat next to Linda. “No change since we last spoke. She’s still in critical condition. However, we can prove our theory she was planning to leave soon.”
Linda watched Ray’s gloomy face sag. She tried to make her voice soothing. “Reverend, we threw a massive amount of data at you last night. Do you remember us explaining her embezzlement activities with the other churches she became involved with?”
She moved the pages of financial data toward Ray. “We assembled the capital campaign finances as well as personal money. Let’s start with the church campaign. We’ve discovered that American Stained Glass made one prototype for a Lorraine McArthur, whom they never heard from again.”
The pastor inhaled, color seeping from his stunned face. “That’s my late wife’s name. My God!” Ray struggled to compose himself, his voice shaky. “What happened to the money Susannah collected for those windows?”
The legs of Malachi’s chair screeched across the floor. “We traced the donations to a small local bank. Over five hundred thousand dollars was deposited into an account under the name Susannah Baker, a name you know well. Reviewing the list of donors, Susannah had collected either partial or full amounts for sixteen such windows, none of which was ever going to be built. In your maintenance shed, Captain Turner discovered a packed suitcase with a hundred thousand in cash and a fake passport.”
They explained the discovery of the gun, Ambien, travel brochures, and tools for making ricin.
Ray’s body went limp in the chair, and Linda watched his eyes enlarge as he realized he had been mere days away from death.
Linda gazed keenly at his pale face. “Are you all right, Reverend?”
He stared into space, talking as if to himself. “The purple spiky flowers in the garden—Susannah said they were poisonous. We joked about it.” Ray’s eyes returned to face them. “Could you give me a moment alone, officers?”
“Certainly,” Malachi answered.
As they left the room, Linda looked over her shoulder. Ray had lowered his head back onto the table, his body shuddering in waves of sobs.