Faithless in Death (In Death, #52)(49)

“The echo. Maybe just a glitch, but maybe a tracker, a recording device.”

“Maybe a tracker with a recorder. Text McNab to look for it. Somebody hears the argument,” Eve speculated, “the threat, and takes Ariel out so she can’t follow through. That means somebody close enough to Gwen to get to her ’link, and the key card—to copy it. And that individual had to be in reasonably close proximity to the crime scene when Gwen left that night.”

“I have a feeling we’re going to spend a lot of time cross-checking names.”

“I’ve got the list of Natural Order’s members in Manhattan—live and/or work. I whittled that to any with violent offenses, and with multiples. We’ll start with the shortest list, then expand as needed.”

“Maybe her parents know more about her than she thinks they do—or one of them does—and tapped her ’link to keep a closer watch. Killed Ariel to cover her.”

“Not impossible, but unlikely. They cut off their son without a second thought. Why would she be different? They’re true believers, right? Jesus, what mother gives her daughter a derivative of Whore?”

“A sick fuck of one,” Peabody decided.

“That, and a fanatic.”

Peabody glanced at her ’link. “McNab’s on it. Okay, maybe we track it to another member, also a victim of Natural Order who kept tabs on her. Somebody, maybe, who was in that Realignment bullshit when she was.”

“Possibly. Or someone connected to someone who went through that. There has to be a closer current connection. Sure, somebody could lay hands on her ’link if she’s as careless with it as she claims. But why?”

Eve punched through a light. “If Gwen gets outed, her parents cut her off financially. That’s highest probable outcome in that scenario. Would all that shit-ton of money go to Natural Order on their deaths?”

“If it does, that would be a reason to expose her, not cover—for a true believer anyway.”

“Or make sure she’s exposed—and charged with murder. Should’ve followed up as an anonymous informant on that. Unless they didn’t know her prints and DNA weren’t on file.”

“Or know her so well they were sure she’d go back and find the body?”

“Or intended to follow up—after making sure they, themselves, were covered. And she saved them the trouble.”

“Natural Order gets all the pie.”

“A lot of ifs here, a lot of maybes,” Eve considered. “And another. Maybe the Huffmans have another relative or close personal friend, even a long-term employee, who stands to rake in a pile if the daughter’s disinherited. Yeah, the cult gets the bulk, but it’s that shit-ton of money. Both kids out, both Huffmans healthy, you’ve got more time to ingratiate yourself and get more.”

“That’s an interesting maybe. The Huffmans are only in their sixties. That leaves decades to work on increasing a share of the shit-ton.”

“Or flip it back one more time,” Eve suggested as she threaded through a yellow light just before the pedestrian crosswalk charge. “Daughter exposed and disinherited, big, juicy pie for the cult. Somebody who’s killed once can do it again. The Huffmans have a tragic accident, a shocking murder-suicide, whatever. Then you don’t wait for the money to roll in.”

“If we push at that one, it could go all the way to the top.”

“Stanton Wilkey. We’ll need to have a conversation with him. See if you can find out where he is. I need a conversation with Mira. She may have some insight that’ll condense some of the ifs and maybes. And I want one with Billingsly,” she decided. “College Chad may remember somebody she palled around with. And he deserves to know he was set up, even if I can’t give him all the details.”

She pulled into the garage at Central.

“Let’s get started on the cross-checks,” she decided. “And see if Feeney can spare Callendar or any geek to take some of the list. I’ll see if Mira can squeeze me in.”

Peabody continued to work her PPC as they got into the elevator. “Wilkey’s heading and hosting a ten-day retreat—that’s for members in good standing—at his HQ in Connecticut. So he should be there. They’re only on day four.”

“Good. We’ll work some of the ifs and maybes, then pay him a visit.”

Eve pulled out her own PPC. “I’m sending you the search results. I’ll take the first twenty, you take the next twenty. See if EDD can split the rest. If not, we’ll keep going.”

When she switched to the glides, Peabody trotted with her.

“Any matches,” Eve continued, “they’re flagged for interview. Set up a broad-based search for any stories on Wilkey—you’re good at that. I’ll do a deep run, but we’ll see what’s in the gossip and society areas.”

And, Eve thought, she’d contact Nadine Furst. If the hotshot reporter didn’t have some details on Wilkey, she’d dig them up. And fast.

As she swung into Homicide, Jenkinson called out, “Yo, LT.”

Instinctively, she glanced toward him, then slapped her hand over her eyes. “Jesus Christ!”

The tie, from knot to tail, showcased a bug-eyed, pee-yellow-beaked, wildly pink flamingo.

“Can’t blame me for this one. My wife gave it to me.”