by J. D. Robb
“We’re Homicide, Ms. Wilkey. Ariel Byrd needs our help to bring her killer to justice. Her family needs our help to give them that justice and some sense of closure.”
“We aren’t separate from the world here,” Wilkey began. “During retreats, yes. We separate ourselves in order to feed the spirit, clear the mind, rededicate the heart. But we are part of the whole, and anyone’s death at the hands of another diminishes us. How can we help you find this justice?”
“Did you know Ariel Byrd?”
“I know so many—this is a blessing in my life—but her name doesn’t sound familiar.”
Peabody took out her PPC, brought up Ariel’s photo.
Wilkey sighed. “To help, I must break a vow. But a life is worth more than a promise to abstain from devices.”
He looked carefully at the photo. “So young, poor soul. She doesn’t look familiar. Is she part of the flock, Mirium?”
“I don’t believe so.” She started to say more, then folded her hands and kept her silence.
“She was not. But the person who found her body and contacted the police is. Gwen Huffman.”
“Gwendolyn.” He let out a quiet sigh. “This is tragic for all involved.”
Time for some careful editing, Eve thought. “Ms. Huffman and Ms. Byrd became friendly when Ms. Huffman admired Ms. Byrd’s art.”
“An artist?” Now he smiled his benevolent smile. “A gift given to offer beauty.”
“Ms. Huffman arrived at Ms. Byrd’s apartment early Tuesday morning, for a sitting. A wedding gift for her fiancé.”
“Merit Caine, yes. Gwendolyn’s parents and I have been friends for many years. She will be a lovely bride, and I’m sure a dutiful wife.”
Not anytime soon, Eve thought. “When she arrived that morning, Ms. Huffman states the door was unsecured. She heard music the victim often played when working and, calling out, went inside. She discovered the body. On-scene exam and the medical examiner’s exam confirms Ms. Byrd’s time of death as ten-forty-eight the previous evening.”
“Tragic, as I said, and shocking. We will, of course, do whatever we can to comfort and support Gwendolyn and her parents at this difficult time. But I fail to see how we can help you.”
“I’m unable to share further details of an active investigation with you. I can only tell you that certain aspects, individuals, and areas of that investigation imply a connection between Natural Order and Ms. Byrd’s murder.”
His long gaze mixed sorrow and pity. “I don’t see how that’s possible. We abjure violence. Natural Order is dedicated to spreading peace. We would not and could not take a life, even in defense of our own.”
“The victim was a lesbian of mixed race. Two other things you and your followers abjure.”
He simply kept his gaze—and oh yeah, Eve thought, plenty of crazy in it—locked on Eve’s face.
“We do renounce and denounce such misguided choices, as these false freedoms create discord, strife, and violence. But violence to those so misguided is not the answer.”
At Eve’s glance, Peabody once again consulted her PPC. “Sir, there have been numerous incidents of violence since the inception of your order perpetuated by members. I have a long list here. I can refresh your memory on those incidents.”
“No need.” He waved the PPC and Peabody away. “These unfortunate and tragic incidents were perpetuated by those equally misguided, those who twist the tenets of the order for their own means. We renounce and denounce them as well.”
He opened his arms, much like the statue, as the velvet voice continued.
“True order promotes peace with the embrace and strict adherence to the natural.” He lifted his hands, palms up. “Peace, harmony, a natural balance in all, for all. We educate, reach for the soul and spirit as well as the mind.”
“And how do you deal with those who twist or break your tenets?” Eve reached for Peabody’s PPC. “Like James Burke, Wayne Marshall, and Cody Klark, who set fire to a church in West Texas during a same-sex marriage ceremony, killing three, seriously injuring twelve? That was just last year, so you might remember it.”
He lowered his hands, folded them. “I do, and remain appalled. We leave it to the secular authorities to mete out punishment. The law of the land must be followed and respected.”
“The law of the land states that individuals of the same sex can marry, that individuals of different races may marry—and has for decades in most of the civilized world. The law of the land states a lot of things your tenets claim as aberrations.”
“While we believe these laws are misguided, violence is never the answer. Education,” he insisted in that same eerily soft voice. “Spiritual guidance and support.”
“When you teach these things as tools of evil or abominations or whatever terms you use, you can’t be surprised when those who follow those teachings attack those who don’t.”
He opened his hands now—soft hands, well-manicured, Eve noted. “The human condition, the choices some make in the name of good, doesn’t surprise me. It saddens me, as it saddens me when some make the choice to embrace the unnatural, to choose the crooked path. The woman you speak of made those choices, but I will mourn her death. I will pray for her to be forgiven, pray for her immortal soul.”
“Okay. And your whereabouts Monday night, during the time in question?”
“Here, at home. I led a seminar after the evening meal, then retired to my rooms to meditate and pray.”
“What time were you meditating and praying?”
“By nine, certainly. No one leaves the compound during retreat.”
“And your wife?”
“My wife isn’t well, I’m afraid, and is unable to join this retreat. She’s in treatment.”
“Where?”
“Utopia Island. We hope she’ll be well enough to join us soon.”
“You have three sons. And where are they?”
“Samuel and Joseph are also here, in retreat, along with their wives and children. My youngest is with his mother, at my request. As we’re unable to communicate over these ten days, I needed to know one of us would be there, with our beloved. Aaron would never leave his mother during her illness. And my sons, their wives and children, my daughter would never leave the compound, therefore breaking their vows.”
“You have really good security, which I assume includes electronic surveillance, alarm systems—and gates are electronic.”
“Yes, exceptions necessary for the safety of those inside the compound. I’m sure you’re aware we often receive threats, violent ones.”
“With that exception, it would be easy to verify no one left by reviewing the security feed for Monday.”
Wilkey glanced at his daughter, nodded at her.
“The security feeds are overwritten routinely every twenty-four hours. We wouldn’t have Monday’s by this time.”
“Our EDD would be able to analyze and perhaps locate the overwritten data.”
“Father, may I speak?”
He patted her hand. “Of course, Mirium.”
“My father has given you a great deal of his time, and during his rest period. We’ve been cooperative, and answered your questions even when they edge toward insulting. Now you imply we’re liars or worse. Much worse, and ask us to turn over our property—our security and privacy. You have no warrant, and no cause.”
Wilkey patted her hand again. “My daughter is quite right. We’ve cooperated, and though we didn’t know this woman, we’ll pray for her, and for her family. But now I must prepare for my next session. We wish you a peaceful and fulfilling day.”
He rose, walked to the front doors, and went inside.
“Cisco will transport you back to the gate.” Mirium pushed to her feet. “I wonder if you would so relentlessly pursue someone who’d murdered one of us, since you so clearly hold us in disdain.”
“We’ve pursued the killers of people we’ve held in a lot worse than disdain.” Eve got up. “And we’ve put them in cages. T
hat’s just what we’ll do with the person who killed Ariel Byrd. Thanks for your time.”
Eve walked down the steps with Peabody.
The woman and the young girls had finished weeding the front section. Eve spotted them around the side of the house, still on their knees, still meticulously pulling whatever wasn’t supposed to be there out of the flowers.
The cart rolled up.
On the silent ride back, she saw the basketball players had left the court. A group of adults—white again—practiced yoga on a green lawn. She saw two Asian women leading a group of six Asian kids—green shorts for them—toward a playground.
Peabody nudged her with an elbow, so Eve looked in the opposite direction.
High school–age kids, Eve noted, in a circle, legs crossed, eyes closed, the instructor in the center of the circle.
Hispanic. Brown shorts.
Their driver, Eve thought, Hispanic, attached to security. The two guards at the gate, Caucasian. Different sections then for different races. Segregation in the workforce, in the school, with women, as far as she’d seen, regulated to domestic and teaching areas. Including Wilkey’s daughter, who served as his “personal assistant” and staff manager.
While no fan of small talk, Eve knew how to use it in an interview.
“So, Cisco, right? How long have you worked here?”
“Eight years at headquarters, ma’am.”
She didn’t bother to correct the ma’am. “Beautiful location.”
“Yes, ma’am, it is.”
“No hardship, I’d guess, to stay on campus during the retreat. Does staff have housing right here, too?”
“We do, but not all staff is required to remain on the compound during retreat. That would cause a hardship for many families, and also put a strain on the housing and service facilities.”
“Yeah, that makes sense.”
A stupid little lie then, and so easily debunked.
“Our schools and medical facilities are second to none,” he went on, like a membership pitch. “We grow most of our own food, some here in the compound, and, of course, on our farms. By feeding the mind, the body, the spirit, we help lead the world to peace and prosperity.”
“How long have you been a member of the order?”
“All my life. My parents joined the faithful before I was born.”
“And they live here, too?”
“Oh, no, ma’am. They’re part of our farm system, in Iowa.”
System, Eve noted. “So they aren’t attending the retreat?”
“Farming is rewarding work. My wife is part of our farm system here. She can be proud to know she helps feed the faithful.”
He pulled up beside Eve’s car.
“I hope you enjoyed your visit.”
“It was illuminating,” Eve said as she hopped out of the cart.
“An enlightened mind and spirit lead to order.”
“So do truth and justice.”
When Eve got into her car, when the cart rolled silently away, the guard came out of the gatehouse.
From his scowl she deduced he hadn’t enjoyed the theft-repellent shock that had likely knocked him off his feet when he’d tried to break into her DLE.
She did a three-point turn as he opened the gate, and decided her deduction hit the mark when he shot up his middle finger.
She found that a bright side to an ugly visit.
“They color-code them!” Peabody exploded. “They color-code them by race! Did you see that?”
“I’ve got eyes, Peabody.”
“Every group of kids I saw was color-coded and segregated by race. Jesus Christ, Dallas, and they’re all just fine with that? And that woman with the two little girls, doing all that weeding. I didn’t see anybody else out there, and it would take hours and hours to weed all those beds. Did you see that? Did you see? And those women who came out with their stupid tea? They didn’t even look up, heads bowed like—like slaves in their damn color-coded uniforms.”
Eve let Peabody rant. It was a damn good rant, and she wanted some distance. Enough to be certain nobody tried a tail.
“And that cart guy? His parents are in the farm system? ‘System’? And his wife, too. And he was proud of it! I wanted to punch him in the head. I wanted to punch them all in the head. That fucking fuck Wilkey with his holy bullshit.”
When she satisfied herself they were clear, Eve pulled into the parking lot of some fancy suburban shopping center.
“What? Why are you stopping? Are we going back to punch them in the head? Can we kick them in the balls, too?”
“If only.” Eve hitched up to pull the twist of paper out of her pocket.
“What’s that?”
“It’s what the woman dropped in my lap when she set out the glasses for the stupid tea.”
“I didn’t see that. I was sitting right there.”
“I’m willing to bet she practiced.” Carefully, Eve twisted it open, did what she could to smooth it out.
I am Ella Alice Foxx
5/6/43
Brooklyn, New York
“Run the name with that birthdate and birthplace, Peabody.”
“On it. Why didn’t she write a message?” she added while she got to work. “You know, like ‘Help’ or something?”
“If somebody finds this, she maybe gets a slap for it, but she can say it’s just her name. Just a personal reminder of her name. She adds a message, that someone knows she’s trying to communicate with the outside.”
“I’ve got no one with that name born on that day in Brooklyn.”
“Leave out the location.”
Eve got out, took an evidence bag from her field kit, and sealed the note inside.
“Nothing, Dallas,” Peabody told her when Eve got behind the wheel again.
“Run variations. Search for the name Foxx in Brooklyn in that year.” As she spoke, Eve pulled out of the lot. “Try her full name using the birth year without the month and day. Spread it out.”
Eve called up her in-dash, contacted Detective Yancy.
The police artist answered quickly, and Eve heard the sound of cranky New York traffic.
“Are you off shift?” she asked him.
“Not yet. I’m uptown, about to work with a wit. Some asshole tried to snatch her kid. Kid kicked him in the balls, and they both got a good look at him. I’m going to them because the mom’s pretty shook. Apparently the kid’s feeling just fine.”
“I need you to work with another wit after that. I’ll clear the OT with your lieutenant.”
“Who’s the wit?”
“Me, potentially Peabody. I’ll explain later. Give me the address where you’ll be and I’ll send transpo to bring you to my house.”
“I’m only going to be a few blocks from your place. I can get there. I know where it is. I was at your Christmas party.”
“Right. Text Peabody when you’re done. I’m heading there, but I’ll clear you in if we’re not back.”
“Copy that.”
“I’m not getting anyone with the full name that fits, Dallas. On a national search I get some Ella Foxxes, some Alice Foxxes, but nobody in that age range. I’m getting results for the last name in Brooklyn, residents in that year.”
“Copy to my home unit. Contact McNab, and let’s have EDD do a search. Tell him to come to the house.”
Eve went back to the in-dash. This time Roarke’s face filled the screen.
“Lieutenant, heading back from Connecticut, are you?”
“Yeah, and I’m bringing cops into the house. I’ll hit the details later, but I had a woman pass me a note with her name, birthday, and birthplace. Nothing pops on a search.”
“Data in the system can be altered.”
“Exactly, which is why one of the cops is going to be an e-geek. I thought you might want in on that.”
“As it happens I would. I’ll be on my way home myself shortly.”
“I’ll send you the data, and see you there.”
“McN
ab will head out as soon as he’s wrapped at Central. He’s finishing up testing out the echo deal on the tracker and ’link.”
“They recovered enough of it.”
“It was pretty mangled, but … He went into ultra-geek mode, so I cut that off. He’ll bring the results with him, and he’ll fill us in, and dig into Ella Foxx. Why wipe her data, if that’s what happened?”
“She doesn’t want to be there. She didn’t write that note yesterday. She’s been carrying it around for a while now, looking for her chance. She doesn’t want to be there, but she obviously can’t walk out.”
“She’s eighteen—if that date’s right. Just, but eighteen and legal. If she’s being held …”
“Walls, security, cams, close supervision. Maybe she walked in there on her own at some point, but she sure as hell believes she can’t walk out again. She won’t be the only one. You wipe her data so she doesn’t exist outside those walls.”
Like she hadn’t existed, Eve thought, outside that room in Dallas, or the other ugly rooms her father had locked her in.
“The woman doing the weeding. She was afraid, she was afraid of Wilkey. The kids weren’t, but she was. This Ella and the other woman with the tea?” Eve continued. “Mirium didn’t even acknowledge them. Like they were droids, or more, just invisible. You say things in front of people you just don’t see that you wouldn’t say otherwise.”
“You think she—Ella—might know things.”
“I think she knew cops were coming so she had that note handy. I think Mirium was plenty pissed to have to deal with cops on her own—what was it?—veranda, and likely said so. What else has she, or others, said in front of the invisible?”
“And they lied. They might consider some of the staff as no big, but they said specifically nobody goes out during retreat. And the cart driver said some staff does. We already knew that because Marcia Piper said her husband works at the HQ and was home Monday night. Either she lied or they did about that one.”
“He was home long enough to put those bruises on her. They looked pretty fresh.”
“They lied about that to get rid of us. Nothing to see here,” Peabody muttered. “But how do you wind it all back to Gwen Huffman and Ariel Byrd?”