Tom glanced at Liza with a frown. “Why did she want to find him?”

“She said she felt terrible for the wrongs done to his family. I mean, this was twenty years later, so Hickman wasn’t interested in her apologies and told her so. She said she understood, and that she wanted to offer him reparations in the amount of—wait for it—a million bucks.”

Liza gasped. “Oh my God.”

Tom whistled softly. “Wow. Did he take it?”

“No, but he didn’t turn her down right away. He talked to his parents first. Hickman didn’t want it for himself. He figured it was blood money, but his folks had lost everything, so he offered it to them. They didn’t want it, either. So Hickman contacted her back and said no, but that if she was truly serious about reparations, she’d donate the cash to an L.A. charity for the homeless, for drug addicts, or for LGBTQ youth. All were groups that Pastor preached against.”

“Did she?” Liza asked.

“She did. About three days later, there was an announcement that one of the LGBTQ youth shelters in L.A. had received an anonymous million-dollar donation. Hickman didn’t know what had made her contact him or if she’d actually changed, but he was still suspicious. He knew that Pastor had left with some of the wealthiest of the congregation, all of whom had sold everything they owned, just like Amos did. Hickman figured a million bucks was a drop in the bucket to them and that if they really wanted to find him, they might donate the money as a trap.”

“Ordinarily I’d say he was paranoid, but not in this case,” Tom said.

“I know, right? He hired a private detective to trace her phone call,” Jeff went on. “The call came from a Margo Kitson in Walnut Creek, California. You’ll find her online.”

Tom was already typing. “Oh my God, here she is. Margo Kitson. Married to Hugh Kitson. Here’s her photo.” He turned the tablet so that Liza could see.

A woman in a floor-length evening gown stood with a man in a tuxedo. When Tom zoomed in on the woman’s face, Liza could see that it was an older version of the woman in the grainy photo with Pastor and the then-five-year-old twins on Tom’s bulletin board.

“Is that the political fund-raiser from last year?” Jeff asked. “I found that one, too. Was going to send you the links. I have their address, too, if you’re interested.”

“I just found it,” Tom said. “This is amazing. Thank you.”

“If you can tell me where the million bucks came from without having to kill me, I’d really like to know,” Jeff said. “I think Hickman would like to know what caused her to reach out to him in the first place. She wouldn’t tell him when they talked years ago. That’s all I got.”

“That’s a lot,” Liza said warmly. “You did good, Jeff.”

“Well,” Jeff said, sounding embarrassed. “Least I can do for Mercy Callahan. If you can eliminate this threat to her and the others, I’ll be glad. Are you going to Walnut Creek, Tom?”