Faithless in Death (In Death, #52)(77)

“Sponsored?”

“I set up a fake account and filled in a questionnaire on their website,” Yancy told her. “The orientation and screening fees are pretty sticky, but they waive the orientation fee if you’re sponsored by a member in good standing who’s been in for a minimum of three years.”

“That’s good work, Yancy. Good thinking.”

He shrugged. “You get curious. Six months after they joined, Steenberg closed his business, and they went to work at a Natural Order center—maintenance for him, domestic for her. A few years later, they packed up, moved to Kansas. They worked on the order’s Heartland Farm, and their kids went to the farm school. Five years after that, they moved to the HQ in Connecticut.

“Their kids didn’t.”

“What happened there?”

“The address I got for both kids, at the time of that move, was back in St. Paul. Maternal grandparents. Both had reached eighteen, so the Steenbergs couldn’t legally stop them. Both still live in that general area. The oldest one’s a cop with St. Paul PSD.”

“Is that so?”

“It’s an hour earlier there, so I went ahead and reached out. Detective Leroy Russ—both of them changed their last name legally to their grandparents’. I’ll have it all in the report, but to sum it up, he said his father was a vicious brute, and his mother no better. And Natural Order’s full of the same, along with lunatics, assholes, dumb shits, and other colorful terms.”

“I take it he didn’t enjoy his time with them.”

“Counted the days. He said he would have left when he hit eighteen, but couldn’t leave his brother. The minute the brother hit, they walked off the farm, stuck out their thumbs, and rode them back to St. Paul. He says he still remembers how his grandparents cried when they saw him and his brother at the door.”

“Any contact with the parents?”

“None. He said if we need anything from him to ask. He and his brother had to put it all in a box, but he’d open it up if we needed him to.”

“This is good information. Peabody, anything nearly that interesting on the Wilkey brothers?”

“I’m sorry to say, no. Their official data’s pretty straightforward—except for no medical, like the others. I got more from media searches, which pretty much shows the two oldest as entitled, and not really bright, jerks.

“They both had big society weddings—on the island. Both their wives are members, and come from membership families. The oldest heads the order’s European HQ, based outside of London, and lives there with his family. He travels a lot. The second son heads up what’s called Global Networking, is based outside of East Washington. He clearly has political ambitions, has a lot of followers on his social media rants about how our rights have been stripped away, a lot of anti-immigration, anti-gay, anti-everything, really, but his own views. Plenty of his media followers are there to punch at him, but there are plenty who agree.”

She glanced at her notes. “They both have law degrees, but since the island’s university isn’t recognized by the American Bar Association, they can’t practice here. Oh, and for fun? They like to hunt. They have the money and the connections to go to these preserves overseas where they can shoot genetically engineered animals.”

Her eyes went teary. “Genetically engineered animals can still feel. They kill them, then they pose with them.”

“Take a break. Walk around, get a fizzy.”

“I’ll walk around, get some water.”

When Peabody got up to go into the kitchen, Yancy turned to Eve.

“I’m not Homicide. I like my work. That’s not true,” he amended. “I love my work. But if and when you go to take these people down, I’d like to be part of it.”

“Done.”

She got up herself, but only to walk to the board. “I agree with Detective Russ, and we’ll do everything we can to break this apart. But our priorities remain Ariel Byrd, Keene Grimsley, Special Agent Quirk, and Ella Foxx.

“It’s money,” she said. “And it’s power—protecting those. Money and power they used to spread and perpetuate an ugly vision.”

She heard the geek squad coming back, and hoped McNab’s burst of laughter meant success.

“We’re good,” McNab announced when he pranced in. “We are damn spanky good.”

“Data now, brag later.”

“You’ll have it.” Looking pretty pleased himself, Roarke strolled over to swipe a fingertip down the shallow dent in her chin.

He had his hair tied back, his sleeves rolled up.

“But now we’ve earned a beer.”

“We’re on duty.”

“Are you?” Roarke looked deliberately at his wrist unit. “Are you really?”

“Your house, your case.” Feeney slid his hands in his baggy pockets. “But I still outrank you.”

“Hell. One beer. McNab, I want whatever you got onscreen.”

While he set it up, Roarke came back from the kitchen with two bottles in each hand, and Peabody, steady again, brought the other two.

“Figured we’d be on this half the night.” Feeney took his beer, then a nice long pull. “But not only are we damn good, but they did a half-assed job of it. Maybe three-quarter-assed job, but not a full-assed job. Figured nobody’d bother looking into it. Why would they?”