Faithless in Death: An Eve Dallas Thriller (Book 52)

by J. D. Robb

  “It’s certainly for the money.”

  She glanced at Roarke when he spoke.

  “You have something.”

  “I had a bit of time during the transfer of electronics and so on, so I had a look at Po’s finances. It would be unusual, I’d think, for a social worker—without family money behind her—to own a vacation home on the South Carolina shoreline, and have a bit over ten million in a pair of tucked-away accounts. Then there’s the jewelry she has insured—she’s fond of canary diamonds—in the amount of six million or so.”

  “Yeah, that’s unusual.”

  “It was a cursory search,” he added, “but with a little more time I could find when she had influxes of money. Which you could, very likely, tie to those disappearances.”

  “I just bet. Good work. You can add the staff at the halfway house there and we’ll pin who she’s working with.

  “Shortly before zero four hundred this morning—” She broke off when her ’link signaled. A glance showed her Nadine on the display.

  “Sorry, this could be relevant. Roarke, take over with this area, as you were there. Peabody, if necessary, brief on the subsequent interviews.”

  She stepped out. “I’m in the middle of a briefing,” she told Nadine.

  “And I assume that briefing is on Natural Order. I think you’re going to want to include what I’ve got.”

  19

  “Spill, but make it fast. Things are moving here. Wait, where are you? Are you on a shuttle?”

  “I’m shuttling back from a source, a hot one, Dallas. I pushed on an angle, and it paid off. Rachel Wilkey—Stanton Wilkey’s wife. Things weren’t adding up. Number of pregnancies, timing of them, number of children.”

  “Yeah, I hit on that.”

  “Pursuing that, I found she went incommunicado for long periods of time, and, pursuing that, I tracked a source that led to a source, and while her medical records are buried in Natural Order and not documented anywhere else I can find, there are ways and means to persuade people to cough up information.”

  “Cut to it,” Eve demanded. “I’m pressed here.”

  “Rachel Wilkey had three difficult pregnancies that resulted in live births, five miscarriages, and, the big one, a hysterectomy in 2037—which is three years before Wilkey’s youngest son, Aaron, was born.”

  “She’s not the bio mother.”

  “Medically impossible, and, pursuing that, I hit the very, very hot.”

  “Is Paula Huffman her OB?”

  “Oh yeah, and Huffman had an OB nurse-slash-midwife who not only attended Rachel Wilkey, but spent a couple years in the compound medical facilities. My information is Rachel nearly didn’t survive the birth of her daughter, was emotionally unstable, but became pregnant within the year, miscarried, and shortly after that, underwent an emergency hysterectomy.

  “Following this, a young woman—unidentified—was brought into the facility and impregnated with Wilkey’s sperm.”

  “Okay.” Eve began to pace. “That follows. That’s a pattern I see coming.”

  “The OB nurse was assigned to tend to her. She was kept isolated. She was basically in prison, Dallas. She wasn’t there willingly, wasn’t pregnant willingly. The OB nurse assisted in the birth. They took the baby, and she never saw the bio mother again.”

  “But she saw others.”

  “Right, you’ve got it.”

  Eve paused by the conference room door, where she could see the board. “Yeah,” she said. “I’ve got it. Keep going.”

  “Some, impregnated like this one, others who’d been shipped in, married off—against their will—who either came in for the birth, or the nurse assisted Huffman in home deliveries. The nurse was a member at the time, was given a bonus of a thousand for every successful birth.”

  Money, Eve thought, it always wound back to the money.

  “Dallas, male members paid Natural Order upwards of twenty grand—at that time—for a woman between the ages of eighteen and twenty-four, of their specific race.”

  The outrage in Nadine’s voice began to rise, and Eve resumed pacing.

  “Healthy women who passed medical and mental screenings. These members were awarded five grand for every successful birth. Money was paid out to whoever shipped these women in, most of them unwilling or unknowing, where they were trained—and you can read that tortured—to live by the rules, were married, whether they wanted to be or not, by Wilkey, then given to some asshole whose job it was to plant his fucking seed in her so he could get his bonus and propagate the damn world.”

  “You’ve got the OB nurse? She’ll attest to this?”

  “She’s dead. Killed herself about ten years ago. I’ve got her sister—and I’m not giving you her name at this time.”

  “For fuck’s sake, Nadine—”

  “I gave my word, Dallas, so just hear me out.”

  Though she cursed inside, Eve nodded. “Keep going.”

  “The nurse got documents to the sister, begged forgiveness, begged her sister not to expose this until her own children were of age. The nurse got the children out, sent them to her sister along with the documents, then hanged herself.”

  “I need those documents.”

  “My source is willing to let me turn them over and break this, as long as I keep details, any details that will lead to her and the kids, out of it. She changed her name, and theirs, moved out of the country. But I found her, so they could find her. She’s afraid for them, and I don’t blame her.”

  Nadine held up a finger, then took a long sip from a water glass.

  “This is human trafficking, Dallas, enforced slavery, turning women into breeding droids. I can’t begin.”

  “I know what it is, and we’re going to take them down. All the way down. Get me the documents.”

  “I don’t want to send them electronically. It’s going to take me at least another hour to get to you, but I’m coming to you first. And now, I don’t care what the hell time it is, I’m having a serious drink.”

  “You did good, Nadine. Think of that.”

  “Working on it.”

  Eve settled herself, then stepped back in. Peabody was winding it up, so she let her finish.

  “We’ve got these bastards,” Baxter muttered. “We’ve got Wilkey and his lunatic faithful up, down, sideways.”

  “We just got more. Nadine Furst has uncovered a source, with documentation, that exposes a decades-long system of abductions, human trafficking, enforced slavery, rape, enforced impregnation.”

  “A reporter?” Conroy surged to his feet. “We can’t have a reporter in this.”

  “Nadine Furst’s integrity is unquestionable,” Eve shot back. “If it was only about the story, she’d be on her way to her studio to break it instead of here to turn over that documentation. She wouldn’t have contacted me to relay the information, she’d have broken it on air.”

  “If she leaks any of this before—”

  “She won’t. It’s just that simple.”

  Turning away, Eve dismissed him.

  “Dr. Paula Huffman performed a hysterectomy on Rachel Wilkey three years before the birth of Aaron Wilkey. Subsequently, Huffman impregnated an unidentified woman, against her will, with Wilkey’s sperm. Nadine will be bringing in documentation from a medical who assisted in these procedures, and in others. Others like Gina Mancini, who were kept in the compound against their will, tortured, forced into bogus marriages, and raped and impregnated.

  “There will be other facilities like this, and the island is certainly used for this. People like Po are paid to provide the healthy women, the medicals are paid a bonus for live, healthy births. The men pay for the women who will be forced to become wives, and are given a bonus for every live, healthy child produced. So that marriage fee is an investment.”

  “It’s a long con.” Fascinated and appalled, Roarke gestured to the board. “A kind of pyramid scheme founded on bigotry with women and children as the bricks.”

  “That n
utshells it,” Eve agreed. “This is how Wilkey ensures his ranks of faithful grow, and races don’t mix. He has his Realignment centers to deal with homosexuality. And he and his order profit.”

  “What do they do when it doesn’t take?” Santiago wondered.

  “My guess, slave labor. You don’t get off the island, out of the compound, away from the farm system. More people than Ariel Byrd have been murdered to protect this organization. More people than Keene Grimsley and Special Agent Quirk have gone missing.

  “To ensure the flock increases, Mirium Wilkey, the daughter, acts as recruiter in this region.”

  “Of course she does,” Peabody stated. “I should’ve seen it.”

  “She handles the staff at the compound, serves as her father’s PA. No titles like her older brothers. No big house, no luxury travel. Just a pied-à-terre—as she called it—in the city, and that’s not even in her name.

  “Yet she’s the one bringing these women in, seeing to it Natural Order thrives. Before too much longer, I imagine, she’ll be expected to marry someone approved by her father, and start pumping out babies. Maybe, just maybe, she’ll keep what little power she has now. But maybe not. She needs to keep things status quo as long as possible—and ensure money keeps flowing in.”

  “All the work,” Peabody commented, “none of the credit.”

  “A pisser,” Eve agreed. “Roarke will go over Natural Order’s financial position, but their cash flow isn’t a rushing stream. If she keeps the money—and women—coming in, continues to be useful as she is to her father, she can postpone the rest. Natural Order, and therefore Mirium, made a hefty investment in Gwen Huffman, and will be heavy beneficiaries. As long as she married Merit Caine, produced a child, and fulfilled the terms of her trust.

  “When Ariel Byrd threatened that return on the investment, she had to be eliminated.”

  “But …” Peabody frowned at the board. “They don’t get any real return until the Huffmans die. They’re in their sixties. Just middle age.”

  “She plans,” Mira said. “Long-term.”

  “Yeah, and she doesn’t plan to end up with a brood of kids.” Eve referenced the board. “Get Gwen married—to someone her father wants in the faithful. I’m betting she maneuvered Gwen into aiming for Merit Caine. You can bet she’s accessed their medicals to be sure there are no reproductive issues. Gwen wants the marriage and the kid—for her own ends, so she’ll work for it. Terms met, and all you have to do is eliminate the parents.”

  “Long-term planning.” Mira nodded. “Bide her time.”

  “A tragic accident,” Eve speculated. “A staged murder-suicide. I bet she’s got a plan in the works for that.”

  “Yes, she would think well ahead,” Mira agreed. “She’s had to plan and plot all of her life. She’s female, and therefore less. To rise up, she has to continually find ways to offer more—the recruiting, serving her father’s needs. All while learning all the ins and outs of the order’s business.”

  “Wind back?” Santiago rolled a finger in the air. “The terms of the will, right? If Gwen Huffman fucks it up, the order gets more. A hell of a lot more.”

  “Too far away, and too easy to change.” Roarke held up his hands. “Sorry.”

  “No, that’s just it,” Eve told him. “The Huffmans cut off their son, yes, and probably would do the same with the daughter. But what if they didn’t? Another trip to Realignment, maybe, another delay, and Mirium’s pushing the end of acceptable time for marriage and kids.”

  “She would have known Gwen when they were children.” Mira angled her head. “Known about her being sent off and why. Could she have been in the Hamptons at the time the parents learned of Gwen’s orientation?”

  Eve smiled, nodded. “Not only could, but was. A long weekend with her parents, her younger brother—or half-brother, and I assume she knows that, too, and has ideas on how to use it. I think she learned the benefits of spying then and there, and the power of it. She saw Gwen, told her father, and Gwen’s sent away. I bet she got a nice little reward for it.”

  “Her father’s approval and trust, if nothing else,” Mira agreed. “It lifted her up, made her useful. No doubt she found other infractions to report over the years. Telling him about Gwen might have been impulse, might have been true belief, but the reward? It mattered to her. And yes, Gwen’s a focus now. A kind of personal investment. But with the terms, if she tells now, Gwen’s no longer of use.”

  “Protect the investment. Maybe she even covers for Gwen a few times. But Ariel’s a real threat, and can blow up all those careful plans. The killing itself, impulse and rage. Up to then, she had things worked out. And Gwen messes it up again by going back in the morning.”

  Eve walked back to the board. “She’s not worried about Byrd now. How would we tie her to the murder? She’s never met Byrd, can claim she was in the compound at the time of the murder. Can see that dozens swear to it.”

  “But she wasn’t,” Peabody said.

  “No. She was at the house her father lets her use, really only a handful of blocks away from Ariel’s apartment. Listening. She may have had a pickup—another recruitment scheduled—or planned to do some research on a new prospect.”

  “She’d like having time in the house, her own space.” Mira recrossed her legs. “Come and go as she pleases, dress as she pleases. Taste the freedom.”

  “Nothing tastes better,” Eve said, thinking of Gina.

  “She’ll lose all of that if …”

  Mira looked at Eve, got another nod.

  “If she doesn’t have a way to take over Natural Order.”

  “Kill her dad?” Even after all the rest, Trueheart looked shocked at the idea.

  “Kill him, or, more likely, blackmail him. Turn it over to me, or I burn it to the ground. She needs the time, the money, more opportunities,” Eve added. “But I saw a cold, hard, ambitious woman who slipped on the good-daughter mask.

  “They’re buying and selling human beings she helps find and abduct. Killing means nothing.”

  “We gotta take them down.” Jenkinson jabbed a finger in the air.

  “And we will. But they’re not just in Connecticut, not just in New York. There are other facilities, their farm system, and, essentially, their island.”

  “Kick an anthill, the ants scatter. Some of that’s going to happen however right and tight we do this.”

  “Baxter’s right on that. We’re not going to get them all, so we focus on essential areas. Utopia Island—sovereign nation aside—human trafficking, torture, slavery, those are all high crimes globally and off-planet. Abernathy with Interpol should be willing to assist and coordinate there.”

  “I’ll contact him and his superiors,” Whitney told her.

  “It has to be a coordinated op. Hit one area too soon, and more ants scatter from another. The farm system here in the States. I haven’t looked hard and close at that, but the FBI has data, and we use that, look hard and close and outline the operation on that. Jenkinson, you and Reineke take that, outline an op and be prepared to brief on same by …”

  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.