J. Robb - Delusion in Death

“Maybe not, but we’ve got a lot of key pieces.”

“Now we need the whole picture. We need that to show means. There’s no clear motive. Was there a specific target—Cattery, Fisher—or were the attacks broad based? If target specific, why Cattery and Fisher? We’ve got opportunity. He was in the bar, and he lives and works within spitting distance of the café, and has admitted to frequenting same.”

She sat on the edge of the conference table, scanning, scanning. “We need more. We need to prove he had knowledge, had access to the formula. We need motive, specific or broad based. To sew him up tight, we need it all.”

“You’ve got enough to sweat him,” Peabody pointed out.

“Yeah, I can sweat him, and I will. I’d like more in my pocket before I do.”

She went back to her notes as cops trickled into the room. Then her head came up. She scented baked goods seconds before the wolf pack circled Feeney.

“Listen, the wife made this coffee cake thing from her cooking class deal. It’s probably not half bad.”

As if it mattered, Eve thought. She let them have the next couple minutes to tear in, devour while she finished off her coffee.

“Fall in,” she ordered. “And wipe the crumbs off your faces, for Christ’s sake. In case any of you have maintained some minor interest in the current investigation, we’ve connected Callaway to Red Horse.”

That shut them up. Attention zeroed in on the boards as cops grabbed chairs.

She waited one more beat, nodded to Peabody. “Gina MacMillon,” she began as the image came on screen. “This is Lewis Callaway’s biological grandmother. She is twenty-three in this ID, issued before, according to statements and documents, she abandoned her husband and joined an unnamed cult. During her association with the cult, she gave birth to a female. The certificate of birth lists her husband as father, and was issued when the infant was six months old. The infant was named Karleen MacMillon, listed as an abductee at the age of eighteen months, and never recovered. However—”

The next image slid on.

“This is Karleen MacMillon’s computer-aged image at the age of twenty-one. And this is Audrey Hubbard Callaway’s ID photo at the same age. Audrey Hubbard’s certificate of birth is fake, and issued to Gina MacMillon’s half-sister Tessa and her husband, Edward, who left England when the child was approximately four years of age, and settled in Johnstown, Ohio. Audrey Hubbard married Russell Callaway, and subsequently gave birth to a son, Lewis.”

“The dots connect,” Baxter commented.

“Yeah, they do. William MacMillon’s petition for divorce, and his deposition, cite abandonment, a cult, and specifically names Menzini. Unless MacMillon was lying, the date of the deposition and the date listed as the kid’s birth make it impossible for him to be the biological father.”

“He took her back,” Baxter said, “and took the kid as his? What is he, an apostle or something?”

“Find out. You and Trueheart find out everything you can, find me somebody who knew him, knew them. He’s listed as killed, along with Gina, in the raid that took the kid. I want the dirt on the marriage—people always know the dirt, and they remember it.”

“Reineke, Jenkinson, I want the same on the Hubbards. Why did they change the kid’s name, fake a birth certificate, move to another country?”

“Could be the sperm donor was trouble,” Reineke speculated. “They wanted to keep the kid from him. Or hell, they just wanted a fresh start.”

“I like the first, that’s my push on it. They could’ve legally adopted the kid, or applied for guardianship. I can’t find anything that says they went that route. Why not? Hubbard was military, retired a captain. She was the kid’s closest blood relation, except for the grandparents. Her father, Gina’s mother. The grandmother’s still alive, in England. Get me the story.”

“I think Detective Callendar and I might have something.” Teasdale glanced toward Callendar, got the nod. “We have considerable data on Red Horse, though much of it is anecdotal, speculative or unsubstantiated. We focused most directly, for obvious reasons, on Menzini once you passed his name to us, and were able to find a few reports, and images—all dating prior to his apprehension.”

“I’ve got the data, if I can use the auxiliary,” Callendar said.

“Go ahead. While she’s setting that up, further search showed Callaway’s habit of visiting his parents—now in Arkansas, an average of once a year, until a few months ago. He’s traveled there several times this year. And in reading the employee reviews, we found Cattery received a much larger bonus than Callaway on a recent project—initiated by Callaway, completed by Cattery. Cattery was also in line for a promotion. Money and position may be motive.”

“I’ve got it, Lieutenant.”

“Run it,” Eve ordered Callendar.

“The images were grainy, indistinct. I cleaned them up, and I can clean them more. This is a photo run on the Daily Mail blog, out of London. It identifies Menzini, preaching to a group after a fire-fight in the East End. The woman to his right is identified only as his companion.”

“Magnify her.” Eve moved closer to the screen. “Dyed her hair red—that fits—and it’s longer—but that’s Gina MacMillon.”

“There’s another.” Callendar switched images. “Leaving some kind of revival. She looks knocked up to me.”

“And right beside Menzini again. Run the image against her ID, make sure we’ve got a match.”

“There are very few photos of him during the Urbans,” Teasdale commented. “It’s interesting that two of the few have this woman at his side.”

“It’s going to be more interesting if he’s the biological father.”

“Yes.” Teasdale smiled serenely. “It will.”

“His DNA is on record somewhere. HSO would have it.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

“The birth mother and the half-sister are dead, but there might be DNA records there. And the grandmother’s still alive. I need Menzini’s. Make it happen, Teasdale. And while you’re at it, I want the suspect’s parents brought to New York for questioning.”

“I believe that can be arranged.”

“Arrange it, and asap.” She pulled out her ’link, read the incoming text. “The suspect is leaving his apartment building—dressed for work, carrying a briefcase. He’ll be kept under surveillance. I want to interview the parents before we bring him in.”

“Then I’ll begin arrangements.”

“I want to search their house once they’re en route.”

Teasdale lifted her eyebrows. “As you know, what we have is compelling, but there is no hard evidence, and securing a search warrant on civilians, who even with this compelling data show no association with Red Horse, or any involvement in the murders, may prove difficult.”

“There’s a reason he went back there multiple times in the last few months.”

“Agreed. But the residence in question is one belonging to two, apparently, law-abiding citizens. I’ll do what I can to persuade my superior and the appropriate judge that the warrant is vital to public safety.”

“Fine. Feeney, everything Roarke has on Gina MacMillon’s on disc. He ran out of time.”

“I’ll pick up where he left off, get more.”

“Let’s all get more. I want to know everything there is to know about this cast of characters, including their freaking shoe size, by midday. Move on it.

“Stone, any updates on the illegals?”

“I found a fresh source for Zeus that’s going to make my lieutenant happy, but it doesn’t look like it connects to this. The LSD’s running cold, but I’m still pulling on it. I poked, and can tell you there haven’t been any on-record requisitions from Christopher Lester or his lab for the ingredients necessary to create the agent. Not in the last two years I was able to access.”