Faithless in Death (In Death, #52)(54)

“Denied. They only talk to, we’ll say, sympathetic reporters and/ or plant positive stories through their very extensive and efficient PR. And they’re exceedingly well funded.”

“What did the young struggling reporter find out?”

Nadine reached in her humongous shoulder bag, took out a small tube of water, offered Eve a second.

“I gave you a solid hint of the quid. Let’s have a little quo.”

“Red light on the info until I clear it.”

“Understood, as always.”

“The victim was having an affair with Gwendolyn Huffman.”

“Wait, the Gwen Huffman who’s engaged to Merit Caine, about to have the wedding of the season?”

“Was engaged, was having.”

“Well, interesting. That’s going to leak to the society and gossip channels asap. Seventy-Five gave her a full fifteen-minute segment just last week.”

“You can leak the breakup, but not the reason, and not her connection to my victim.”

Nadine crossed her ankles, studied her own kicks. “That’s going to leak, too.”

“Sure it will, but I need to keep it plugged as long as I can. It gets out, she loses any motivation to cooperate. Now I’ve got her where I need her.”

“Is she a suspect?”

“No, but connected. That’s enough quo. Give me more quid.”

Nadine sipped some water. “Stanton Wilkey, born in Kansas—a small, struggling farm—had three siblings. Complications during the birth of his younger sister—and the choice of no doctor, no midwife, home birth—killed the mother. Besides the three live births, she’d had at least three miscarriages. The father remarried about six months later.”

“Wow, so much grief.”

“Eve’s curse—not you,” Nadine said with a laugh at Eve’s baffled frown. “The Adam and Eve one.”

“She always gets the pointy end of the stick.”

“Ain’t that the truth. Anyway, I was able to convince the mother’s sister to talk to me when I was working on the exposé. She despises Jethro Wilkey—Stanton’s father. That’s what she claimed he called it—Eve’s curse. Women are meant to bear children, birth them in pain and blood. His second wife was eighteen to his thirty-nine. Just eighteen. They married on her birthday, as her parents refused parental consent. She had two children before she ran off with them. Apparently women are also meant to do what they’re told when they’re told or get a good belt in the mouth.”

“Did she file charges?”

“Too afraid, according to the aunt—who knows the second wife’s family. Fortunately for her, Wilkey the first didn’t have the money to go after her, or the two daughters she’d had with him. Word was, according to my source, he claimed the second wife had tainted blood anyway. Her great-grandmother was Native American. He married a third time—without benefit of a legal divorce—but that wife and the baby she carried died in childbirth.”

Nadine scooted around so she and Eve sat face-to-face.

“Stanton Wilkey and his siblings were raised by this man. He was a white supremacist, a misogynist, and a religious fanatic. His version of religion. He was also a raging alcoholic, an abuser who refused to send his children to what he considered government facilities—schools, hospitals. He homeschooled them with his twisted vision of history, science, and so on. They never saw a doctor, had inoculations, screenings, dental care.”

“Okay, yeah, I know the type.”

“He died from a diseased liver when Wilkey was sixteen. His sister, fourteen, had clearly been sexually abused. Child Services placed her and Wilkey with the aunt—the two older sons were eighteen and twenty, so legal age. Stanton Wilkey took off, but the aunt was able to get the sister into therapy. She eventually became a therapist herself, has never married, lives quietly. She wouldn’t talk to me, and I didn’t push there.”

Nadine gestured with the tube. “Your turn.”

“One second.”

Eve spotted the thief—early twenties—in his running shoes, with his battered brown shopping bag as he loitered around the strollers. He’d casually unzipped one of the backpacks when he saw her coming.

He ran. She ran faster.

She grabbed his arm, blocked his punch, then kicked his legs out from under him.

“What the hell, lady!”

“Lieutenant.” She held him down, a knee to his chest, and flashed her badge.

“I didn’t do anything. I’m just walking here.”

“Why did you run?”

“I wanted some exercise.”

She noted the shopping bag was empty, which meant he’d already passed on his latest haul, or was just starting the day’s work.

“You’re sloppy. If I run you, I’m going to find priors, maybe a parole violation. You’re going to get a break because I’m busy, and since you’re sloppy, the next cop that busts you won’t be so busy. But listen, and listen real careful.”

She leaned down, shoved her face into his.

“My friend brings her kid to this park. If I see you anywhere near this area again, I’m going to bust you for exposing yourself to minors.”

“What!” His eyes popped wide to goggle. “I never did! I never would!”