According to the receptionist, the young man had stayed less than ten minutes.
A bug had been planted in Marcia Kimball’s vehicle, and from the time she left the building at 4:47 that afternoon, she had been under surveillance. She picked up Brammer in front of a hotel and they hadn’t said a word as they drove to Denton, where they bought food at a drive-in and drove to a school playground. They stayed at the playground for several hours, sitting on a bench. Nothing was known about their conversation, but Gus had no trouble imagining what was discussed. On the return trip, Marcia Kimball wound her way through a parking lot surrounding a shopping mall. Apparently Brammer exited the vehicle during this maneuver. He was not in the car when she returned to her apartment building.
He wanted to call Amanda and tell her about what was going on, but he feared that she might give something away. It was best just to let things play themselves out. And he looked forward to seeing the surprised look on her face when he finally was able to put the baby in her arms. She would be overjoyed. After all, it was Sonny’s baby.
Chapter Forty
SHE INTRODUCED HERSELF as Sister Lola. A tiny woman, she wore a floral, tentlike garment that fell from her narrow shoulders to a pair of childlike feet ensconced in blue rubber sandals. Her long gray hair was plaited into two thick braids.
“Larry Carter,” Joe said, extending his hand. “I spoke with you yesterday on the phone.” Hanging from his neck on a lanyard was what he considered to be an authentic-looking press pass that he had designed, printed, and laminated the night before at an all-night copy shop. He also had designed and printed business cards that identified him as a reporter for The Religious Times, a publication that-according to the card-was published in Gayleth, New York. Of course, neither the publication nor the town actually existed, but he thought their names sounded quite legitimate.
“Yes, Mr. Carter,” Sister Lola said amicably. “You’re here in Dallas covering the Amanda Hartmann Crusade.”
Joe nodded. “I need to get some background on the Temple of Praise, and I’d like to take a tour of the facility.”
Already Joe was impressed by the church’s size, if indeed it was correct to refer to a structure that looked like a sports arena as a church. Perhaps “house of worship” might be more correct.
Sister Lola spoke to someone on the phone and shortly a young man appeared wearing a bright gold knit shirt bearing the church name and its three-cross logo over his heart. Sister Lola explained that Freddie was one of their summer interns and would be taking him around. She would be delighted to answer any questions Joe might have at the end of his tour-or if he would like-she could schedule an appointment for him with Dr. Lawrence Goodpasture, founder and senior pastor of the Temple of Praise.
As they headed toward the sanctuary, Freddie told Joe that he was a student at a Free Will Baptist college in Oklahoma and planned to dedicate his life to serving Jesus. “Dr. Goodpasture is such an inspiration to me,” Freddie said. “Have you heard him preach?”
“Oh, yes, I’ve seen his Sunday morning show on television,” Joe fibbed as they walked through a broad hallway whose walls were decorated with murals depicting scenes from the Bible. “But actually I’m in town to cover the Amanda Hartmann Crusade.”
Freddie stopped in his tracks and clasped both hands to his heart. “She is the most inspiring woman of our times,” he said. “Don’t you agree?”
“Without a doubt,” Joe said.
“Sister Lola told me that it was quite a coup that Amanda Hartmann decided to forgo one of the usual downtown venues and hold the Dallas segment of her crusade here at the temple,” Freddie continued. “I’m sure it’s because our acoustics and sound system are considered to be among the finest in the world.”
Freddie stopped in front of a pair of massive wooden doors offering Bible scenes carved in bas-relief. “Are you ready?” he asked.
Joe nodded. He was ready.
Freddie pulled open one of the doors and stepped aside, allowing Joe to enter first. The sanctuary was even larger than he had expected-a vast cavern of a room with a deep balcony on three sides and main-floor seating that sloped down to a huge stage and was divided by two wide aisles with narrower ones along each wall. The stage curtain was open, revealing tiered seating on both sides for choir members and a huge gilded pulpit under an enormous wooden crucifix that seemed to float above the stage. Freddie explained that the choir lofts, pulpit, and crucifix could all be lifted into the rafters, leaving the stage free for lavish theatrical productions-the annual Passion Play and musical and dramatic productions celebrating Christian living-for which the temple had become internationally known. The pulpit also could be projected out over the audience, and a metallic scrim curtain-the largest such curtain in the world-could be lowered in front of the choir during the preaching. Retractable flooring in front of the stage covered an orchestra pit. Under the stage was a large baptismal pool that could be raised to stage level. State-of-the-art lighting and sound systems offered a variety of special effects including sunrise, sunset, night sky, the northern lights, thunderstorm, volcanic eruption, and even Armageddon.
As Freddie explained the wonders offered by the Temple of Praise, Joe carefully limited himself to nonblasphemous expletives such as “wow” and “gee whiz.” He wanted to ask what the price tag was on a place like this and what sort of financial support was expected of church members but didn’t go there. Nor did he ask what Armageddon sounded like.
He did ask a number of questions about the choir-how large a group would perform during the Amanda Hartmann revival, where the choir members would practice, what robes they would wear. Just as Joe suspected from the research he had done online, Freddie explained that at Miss Hartmann’s request, the choir assembled for the three revival services would include choir members from evangelical Christian churches all over the metro. And yes, the visiting choir members would bring their own robes to wear. “Sister Hartmann prefers traditional Christian music,” Freddie pointed out as he showed Joe the large practice hall where both the Temple of Praise and visiting choir members would assemble. The practice hall had its own outside door and restroom facilities.
At the end of the tour, Freddie returned Joe to the amicable Sister Lola, who told Joe more than he really wanted to know about Dr. Goodpasture. Joe made a show of taking notes while the woman talked, and he asked a number of questions. When the other people in the office began pulling out sack lunches and heading for what was apparently the break room, Joe thanked Sister Lola and told her how impressed he was by everything he had seen and heard. “Would it be possible for me to attend choir practice this evening?” he asked. “And I would like to spend a half hour or so of personal meditation time in the sanctuary.”
Joe headed first for the restroom then wandered the halls for a time and revisited the choir room before making his way back to the sanctuary. He sat in the back row of the main floor and studied the room, getting things straight in his head. He even thought about saying a prayer but decided he would save his prayers for a more holy setting. Someplace where he was surrounded by nature with the sky overhead.
Marcia and her cameraman showed their ID badges to a uniformed security guard before being admitted into the suite on the top floor of the stately old hotel in downtown Dallas. The spacious suite looked as though it had been furnished with visiting royalty in mind with ornate rococo furniture, luxurious Oriental rugs spread over hardwood floors, and huge arrangements of fresh flowers on the tables and sideboards. They were greeted by a sleek gray-haired woman in a designer suit who introduced herself as the public relations director for the Alliance of Christian Voters.