Faithless in Death (In Death, #52)(59)

“No, you don’t have to talk to us. Our information is you’ve been a member for about eight years. Prior to your marriage you had a modeling career.”

“I repented that.”

“Repented?”

“I don’t have to talk to you about that. I have children. Children need and deserve a mother devoted to them, one who makes a home, keeps it clean and ordered and happy, makes them healthy meals, who helps to teach them the true way.”

“The Natural Order way?”

“We’re used to outsiders spreading lies. I want you to go. I have to finish my housework. I have dinner to prepare. I have children to tend to.”

“One more question. You know the Huffmans? Drs. Oliver and Paula?”

“Dr. Paula Huffman is my obstetrician. She’s helped me deliver healthy children into the world.”

“Your husband knew Oliver Huffman prior to your marriage, as Oliver Huffman performed a minor surgical procedure on him.”

“What of it? They’re excellent doctors and good people. We’re blessed to have them in our lives.”

“Your husband was a member of Natural Order when you met.”

Marcia’s eyes darted toward the window she’d just cleaned as if expecting to see someone staring in.

“My husband showed me the way. My husband saved me from a life of debauchery and uselessness. He fulfilled me, and he provides for me and our children.”

“You’ve got bruises on your arms, Marcia. Did he put them there?”

Her already pallid skin lost all color. “How dare you! Get out, get out of our house.” With those same jerky moves, she marched to the door, flung it open. “If you don’t leave, I’ll tell my husband. He’ll deal with you.”

“Feel free to give him my name. Lieutenant Eve Dallas.” Eve walked to the door. “Do you know where he was Monday night? From about nine to midnight.”

“My husband was here, in his home, as he is every night. Go away!”

She slammed the door.

“She’s not right,” Peabody murmured as they walked back to the car. “She’s on something.”

“Yeah. A little chemical help to keep her going, and a lot of indoctrination to keep her firmly in the fold.”

“She looks so tired. And she has to be about six months pregnant. She needs help, Dallas.”

“We can’t help people who don’t want help.” She got back in the car. “Larry stays on the list. A man who’d put marks on his pregnant wife shouldn’t have too much trouble killing. Protecting the Huffmans maybe, removing a threat to Gwen so she could go right on and marry the proper type, and the type with plenty of money.”

“Which they’d hope would eventually flow into New Order.”

“Maybe not probable, but possible. Let’s hit the East Village.”

“Idina Frank, spouse Anson. She’s twenty-eight. Prior to marriage, she was a teacher, elementary level. Four kids, ages five, four, and two-year-old twins. The husband’s forty, a genetic researcher employed by Natural Order. They’re African-American.”

As Eve drove, Peabody probed a little deeper.

“Jeez, Dallas, she was orphaned at the age of eleven when her father killed her mother, then himself. No relatives willing or able to take her, so she went into the foster system. No criminal other than the assault. The husband’s got a bump for assault, too—four years ago. No time served. It looks like a pushy-shovy that got heated.”

“Older husband, lots of kids, short amount of time. Same path. Let’s see if she’s as whacked-out as Marcia.”

The neighborhood didn’t resemble a zombie enclave. The street offered some shady trees—some litter, which made it feel normal. Duplexes, townhomes, a few restaurants taking advantage of the weather with offers of outdoor seating.

The Frank house fit right in with its old, faded red brick, white doors. It had a short green area inside a decorative gate with some flowers adding cheer and color.

A toy lawn mower sat by the stoop.

The stoop held a mat that read: WELCOME TO CHAOS.

“Four kids,” Peabody commented. “Sounds right.”

“Good security.” And through the open windows Eve heard bright, chiming music and methodical banging.

She pressed the buzzer.

Rather than a computerized response, the door opened.

A woman with a glorious explosion of hair, wearing black sweatpants and a pink tee that read WOLF MAMA and carried a long yellowish stain down the center, stood with a big-eyed toddler on either hip.

She looked a little frazzled, and the big dark eyes she’d passed to the toddlers, tired. But she smiled.

“Adult human females. I’m sorry to say I don’t have time to buy whatever you’re selling. Try two houses down. My neighbor loves a bargain.”

“We’re the police, Ms. Frank.” Eve held up her badge. “We’d like to come in and talk to you.”

“Police.” Idina gathered the kids closer. “Did something happen? Is there trouble in the neighborhood?”

“No, ma’am. We’re investigating another matter. Your name came up as an acquaintance of Gwendolyn Huffman.”

“I see.” Idina’s face went carefully blank. “I haven’t seen or spoken with Gwen in years. I’m not sure how I can help you.”