Faithless in Death (In Death, #52)(93)

She glanced at the time, saw her day whizzing by. “By fifteen hundred.”

“Lieutenant.” Teasdale drew Eve’s attention. “I can have the task force that headed up our intel in that area take that assignment and be ready to brief.”

“That would be helpful. Will the FBI implement the operation on the farm system?”

“If the operational plan is deemed workable, has a high probability ratio of success, yes. I’ll read my director into this information as soon as this briefing concludes.”

“Good. I’m keeping my officers on Po, but will not pick her up until all ops are outlined and ready to implement. Meanwhile, we’ll get a search warrant for Po’s residence, her e’s. It’s probable she has useful information there. We will identify the Natural Order contact or contacts at the halfway house, and that’s likely part of Po’s useful information.

“Santiago, Carmichael, you’ll take that search. Feeney, can you send an e-man with them?”

“You got it.”

“If she comes back before we’re ready, I’d rather not tip her off. You keep the search tidy. We get a warrant for the Wilkey residence downtown. Baxter, Trueheart, and another e-man, Feeney. Same requirement. Do a heat sensor first, make sure it’s unoccupied.”

“If she’s in there?” Baxter asked.

“Let me know. We’ll find a way to get her out. The Huffmans’ residence—Jenkinson and Reineke. Warrants, searches.”

She spotted Yancy in the doorway.

“Sounds like you’re winding up. Didn’t want to interrupt.”

“You’re not, and not quite winding. Special Agents Teasdale and Conroy, Detective Yancy, police artist. You get any more faces?”

“Yes, sir, six more. Solid. I let them work together on the third. Sometimes one wit will remember some detail, and it sparks one in the other.”

“Add the sketches to the board.”

“Do you want the official ID with them?”

This time she grinned at him. “Do that.”

“You got six out of six facial recognition?” Conroy puffed out his cheeks. “That’s damn good.”

“Damn good wits,” Yancy said as he added the sketches.

“Yancy’s damn good,” Eve added. “Take it, Yancy. You’d have run them on the way here.”

“Yes, sir, I did. In the first group—first arrival at the Piper residence—the witnesses identified Dr. Oliver Huffman.” He glanced back at Eve, saw again no surprise. “You’ve probably already briefed on him.”

“I have, yes.”

“Okay then, in the second group to arrive—the cleaners—the witnesses identified William Henley, Caucasian, age forty-nine, ex–army corporal. Dishonorable discharge, details sealed.”

“We’ll get them,” Whitney said. “Continue.”

“He lives in Brooklyn. Married Amber Johnstone, age forty-six, mixed race, in 2037. Two offspring, both female, ages eighteen and fifteen. Divorced 2046. Ex lives with the daughters in Tennessee. Married Wendy Livingston, age thirty-two, Caucasian, in 2049. Five offspring, two female, three male, ages eleven, ten, eight, five, and three, respectively.

“Henley is employed by Natural Order as security.”

“Peabody, start looking at Livingston’s background. Keep going, Yancy.”

“Third, second group, Wendell Phiffer, age twenty-six, Caucasian. Resides Lower West. Single, no registered cohab. He’s employed by Purity Labs and Research as a forensic specialist. Parents, Francis and Lydia, married 2034—he was thirty-eight, she was twenty. Francis is employed by the same lab, Lydia has professional mother status. Wendell is the oldest of six siblings, ages twenty-four, twenty-two, twenty, and twins aged sixteen.”

“Peabody, closer look there, too.”

“Four is the midwife, described and ID’d by both wits. She attended the birth of both of Gina’s kids, and Zoe’s Gabe. They both stated she acts as midwife for the block. In case of a difficult pregnancy, the woman’s taken to Mercy so there’s an OB in attendance in the last few weeks, but they have no ID there, as neither of them needed the OB.”

“That’s going to be Paula Huffman, I’m betting, or an associate if she was elsewhere. Who’s the midwife?”

“Hester Angus, age forty-three, Caucasian, resides on that same block in Tribeca.”

He relayed the salient data while Eve studied the face. It all fit pattern.

“Five, the one called Mother Catherine. Freaking torturer. Catherine Duplay, age sixty-two, Caucasian. Resides at HQ, along with her husband, Dudley, age sixty-two. Both employed there. They list her as educator, he’s maintenance. Two offspring: male, age twenty-seven, female, age twenty-three. Both offspring live in Indiana, both were placed with their paternal grandparents by Child Services when they were fourteen and twelve. Details sealed.”

“We’ll get that, too,” Whitney said.

“Both are single, neither have criminal, both are employed—he teaches, middle-school level, she works at the restaurant owned and run by her grandparents. Owned and run for forty-five years.”

“They got away,” Peabody murmured.

“And last, Deborah Beyers, age thirty-six, Caucasian, married Lloyd Beyers, age forty-eight, five offspring, thirteen, eleven, ten, seven, and five. Also listed as educator. She’s the one, Dallas, who trained Gina on child-rearing, housekeeping, and all that. Lloyd’s an IT guy. They all live in the compound.”