J. Robb - Delusion in Death

She took a long breath. “Most of the data on pregnancies and suicides came from Callendar and Teasdale. Nadine didn’t dig it up, because it’s classified. I’m not sure Summerset’s sources knew all of it or told him.”

“No, he’d have told us if he knew.”

“Why isn’t this public knowledge? Why wasn’t it screamed from fucking rooftops?”

Difficult for anyone to think of children being tortured and raped, he thought. But when you’ve been a child who’d been tortured and raped, it hit harder, and it hit closer.

“I think a combination of factors.” He rose to go to her, ran his hands up and down her arms to soothe them both. “The massive confusion during that era, the desperation of governments to cover up some of the worst. And the needs of the victims, their families, to put it all behind them.”

“It’s never behind you. It’s always in front of you.”

“Would you consider going public with what happened to you?”

“It’s my personal business. It’s not …” She breathed again. “Okay, I get that. Or at least some of it. But burying it—not just here, but in Europe, everywhere it happened. That took work and purpose and a hell of a lot of money.”

“The authorities didn’t, or couldn’t, protect the most vulnerable, and from a radical cult, one that wasn’t well funded or organized. Such things are worth the work and money to many.”

“HSO was practically running things, at least in the States back then.”

“And the power may have slipped away during the post-war rebuild if this had been public knowledge. I don’t know, Eve.”

“They’re giving me the data now, or some of it.”

“It appears Teasdale’s superior genuinely intends to run a clean house, or as clean as such houses can be.”

“Then he’s got a lot of dirt to sweep.” Not her job, she reminded herself. “I need to get back to it.”

“Why don’t we take a look at some of Callaway’s background first?”

“You’re not finished.”

“Enough to start.”

“I can’t let this get personal. And I can’t stop it from being personal.”

“If you could stop it, you wouldn’t be the woman or the cop you are.”

“I hope that’s true.”

“I know it is. Here, let’s have some of this.” He put his arms around her. “For both of us.”

She held on. He’d given her someone to hold on to. A gift she never wanted to take for granted. She thought she’d known what darkness was, and despair and terror. Now she knew there were people who lived and worked and slept and ate who’d known far, far worse.

She hoped they had someone to hold on to.

“Okay.” She drew back, laid her hands on his face briefly. “Callaway.”

“You know the basics. Born in a small town in Pennsylvania. His father did three years military service, as a medic.” They walked back to Eve’s office as he spoke. “He worked as a physician assistant after his enlistment was up. After he married, had the son, they moved six times in as many years.”

“Interesting.”

“Mother—professional mother status. They live in rural Arkansas now. They farm. Callaway was homeschooled until the age of fourteen. They moved twice more during his teenage years. He attended three different high schools. His record is slightly above average, no particular disciplinary trouble—on record.”

“Which means?”

“I found some reports. There was concern, initially, about antisocial behavior. Not a troublemaker, but not one to join in, not one to form friendships. He did what he was told, no more. He was encouraged to participate in extracurricular activities, and finally settled on tennis.”

“No team sports.”

“Again, he was slightly better than average, but it’s noted he had a fierce sense of competition, and had to be reminded, regularly, about good sportsmanship. No fights, no violence.”

“That fits, too.”

“He attended a local college for two years, then managed to get into NYU, by the skin of his teeth. He studied marketing and business. He showed aptitude there, for ideas and big pictures. He didn’t do as well at presentations or again, team projects. Not initially. He improved, and eventually joined Stevenson and Reede. His reviews give him solid ratings on work ethic, ideas, and less stellar marks on social skills, presentations, client relations. He’s moved up, based on his work, and it’s been a slower climb than it might have been as he has no real skill in articulating the product to clients or, basically, showing them a good time.

“Just as a contrast,” Roarke continued, “Joseph Cattery’s reviews praise his client skills, and his ability to team think. While Vann may have the corner office, Cattery recently received a hefty bonus and was in line for a promotion and pay hike. The bonus was due to his work on a project he shared with Callaway. Callaway’s bonus for the project was considerably smaller.”

“Smells like motive for Cattery. But not for a bar full of people.” She paced around her board. “It’s not some twisted religion with him. It’s not about Revelation and using kids. But there’s still some elements of Red Horse. The use of women to do the dirty work, the utter disregard for innocents, and the use of the substance to mass murder. He cherry-picks. And it’s still not enough.”

“One interesting point. It’s been his habit, since college, to travel to see his parents once a year.”

“That would be duty, not affection. Right?”

“I’d say so. However, this year he’s traveled to Arkansas four times. Neither of his parents have anything on their medical to indicate an illness or condition. No particular change in their financials.”

“He’s going back for something.” Eve shoved at her hair. “Something he needs, wants, something he found, something he’s looking for. I need more on the parents.”

“I’ve done the father. He was nearly forty when he married Callaway’s mother. She was twenty-two.”

“Big age gap. Could be interesting.”

“He was doing some private nursing at that time, and came in to help her care for her father. The father had fought in the Urbans, had been wounded, and was suffering from complications of those wounds as well as depression. His wife was killed in a vehicular accident about six months before Russell Callaway met the then Audrey Hubbard. They married a few weeks after the father’s death.”

Eve went to her computer to check. “I don’t have a Hubbard on my list of kids—recovered or not.”

“I’ve just started on the mother. I’ll be able to give you more shortly.”

“What about the father’s war record?”

“He retired an army captain. He saw considerable combat, but there’s no record of him being involved in any of the Red Horse operations. I don’t know if there would be.”

“The mother’s mother.”

“Barely started there. Give me some time. I’m picking through decades here, and all matter of records.”

“And I’m holding you up. It’s good data. It fills in some blanks. Callaway’s an insular man, a loner by nature. Competitive. His mother married a much older man at a difficult point in her life and chose professional mother status, homeschooled her son. Kept him close. Lots of moving, no real chance to form outside bonds. Father’s likely the dominant. Changing jobs, uprooting the family when it suits him. Maternal grandparents dead, and he hasn’t maintained close ties with his parents as an adult. But now he goes to them several times in a few months. It’s good data to chew on. Get me more.”

“I live to serve, Lieutenant.”

She went back to it and sent Roarke’s data to Mira with a request for an eval asap. She moved through more names, let her mind circle.