Catherine held both hands up, demonstrating something to a man she was conversing with. Albert Lamb sat by her side, listening to her, his face serene. Glover at the corner.
She was reaching for the photo when the church door opened. She turned around to see a man looking at them, holding a bouquet of red roses. He had curly brown hair and thick lips.
“Hello,” he said, his voice light and easygoing.
“Hello,” Tatum said back.
“Are you two searching for someone?”
“We were just looking around.”
He stepped closer and frowned. He cleared his throat. “We’ve had a few people just looking around lately. Are you two detectives as well?”
Tatum glanced at Zoe, and she shrugged.
Turning back to the man, he took out his badge. “Special Agent Gray.”
“Oh. I’m Allen Swenson,” he said. “Is this about Catherine?”
“Yes. Did you know her well?”
“Well, I’ve been going to this church for twelve years, so I talked to her several times. We ran a charity event together once. She was a sweet woman.”
“Are those flowers for her shrine?” Zoe asked.
He licked his lips, seeming confused, then glanced down at the rose bouquet in his hand, as if just remembering them. “Yes. I missed the memorial this morning, but I figured I’d drop by and put these here.”
He went over to the table and gently placed the bouquet beside another. Then he turned to look at Zoe. “What’s your name?”
“Mr. Swenson,” Tatum interjected. “Would you mind if we asked you a few questions?”
There was a slight pause. “No, go ahead; I’ll be glad to help.”
“When did you hear about Catherine’s death?”
“On Sunday morning. I came over for the service and met a few of the congregation members. They told me.”
“Was there a service on Sunday?”
“No. The pastor wasn’t here, and neither was Patrick.”
“Patrick?”
“Patrick Carpenter. He sometimes does the service, if Pastor Lamb can’t make it.” Swenson cleared his throat again. “Is there any progress in the investigation?”
“We’re not at liberty to say,” Tatum answered. “Did you notice anything out of the ordinary in the week leading up to Catherine Lamb’s death?”
“I wasn’t really around. I mostly come to the Sunday services.”
“When was the last time you saw Catherine?”
“Well . . . she wasn’t at church on the previous Sunday. I guess that is pretty unusual. I did spot her on the street when I drove by the church about a week and a half ago.”
“How did she seem?”
“Okay, I guess. I was talking with a friend, so I didn’t really pay attention, but I waved, and she saw me and waved back.”
“Anything else?”
“No, like I said, I was driving. I didn’t stop to chat.”
“Can you think of anyone in the congregation who was particularly close to Catherine?”
“A lot of people. She organized a lot of the church’s activities.”
“Anyone particularly close?” Zoe asked.
He seemed to hesitate for a moment. “Well, she and Patrick were a bit close. But I guess it was because they were both really invested in the community. Last few weeks they weren’t as close, though. I thought maybe they had a falling-out.”
“What gave you that idea?”
“Just small stuff. They used to sit next to each other during the service, but the last two times I noticed they sat apart. And they didn’t talk too much.”
Zoe and Tatum waited for more, letting the silence stretch. Swenson’s eyes kept darting around, but he didn’t say anything else.
“Do you know this man?” Zoe tapped the photo, pointing at Glover.
He frowned, looking closely. “Oh, yes, I saw him around. Uh . . . Moore, right?”
“He called himself Daniel Moore,” Tatum said.
Swenson nodded slowly. “Uh-huh. Yeah. I’ve seen him.”
“Ever talk to him?”
“Maybe once or twice. Just casual talk.”
“Did you notice him talking to anyone else?”
He frowned. “Is he the guy who did it?”
“We just want to talk to him,” Tatum said. “Notice him talking to anyone in particular?”
He thought about it. “No. Just seen him around. He was a regular.”
“Since when?”
“I’m not sure.” Swenson took a step back. “Listen, I’d love to help, but I need to go to work. Do you have a business card or something?”
Tatum handed him his card. Swenson pocketed it and gave Zoe a long look. Then he turned and left.
“He knew Glover,” Zoe said. “It wasn’t just a familiar face.”
“Definitely not,” Tatum said.
Zoe took another close look at the photos, searching for Glover. Catherine’s father, the pastor, was in a few of course, always wearing a somber expression. Patrick Carpenter appeared in seven of the pictures; his wife, Leonor, in five. Leonor was talking