Faithless in Death by Robb J. D

Faithless in Death by Robb J. D

Author:Robb, J. D.
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group
Published: 2021-02-02T00:00:00+00:00


13

“Savannah Grimsley,” Peabody read as they pushed through traffic. “She’s twenty-six, a potter who works at the Village Scene—one of the places Ariel Byrd sold her art. She also works as an art model. Shares her loft with Vance Bloot—another artist. Roommates, not cohabs.”

“The brother?”

“Keene Grimsley, age twenty-four—twenty-two at the time of his disappearance. He joined Natural Order at eighteen, while at college, dropped out of college at twenty to work for the order in IT. He’s been missing since June 12, 2059. His sister filed the MP on June 15.”

“Other family?”

“Parents, divorced. Mother, remarried, living in Jersey City; father, remarried, living in Delaware. Maternal grandparents, Sag Harbor; paternal, divorced, both living out of state.”

“No connection to Natural Order with the other family?”

“None that shows.”

As she drove, Eve rolled it around and around. “Tribeca, the Pipers—he’s higher up, and she’s shaky. So they’re planted on that strange block where wives are kept under control. The Franks, not so high up, have more space. I’m betting there are other quiet little enclaves where the equivalent of upper middle management get planted.”

“I have to say again, creepy. Add that an IT guy—like the missing brother—works with data. You wouldn’t have to be especially high up to find a way to access sensitive data, or data you’re not supposed to have.”

“Or having worked with said data, have a change of heart.”

“Or that.”

Spring in the Village brought out the street artists, and the tourists who occasionally shelled out enough for an artistic souvenir of New York.

Since the parking sucked, Eve considered a lot, then opted for a loading zone and her On Duty light.

Instead of trying the buzzer on the door between Café Vegan and a place called the Modern Witch, she mastered through, and walked with Peabody up the narrow stairs.

“Fun neighborhood.” Peabody admired the chalk mural of flowers and vines running up the staircase walls.

“If you like tofu and witches.”

“I like good witches, and tofu’s not horrible if you know how to cook it. She’s 2A.”

And straight off the stairs to the left.

The same artist, Eve assumed, had painted figures of a man and a woman on the door. The woman at a potter’s wheel, the man at an easel.

Music pumped against the door from the inside.

Eve buzzed. Buzzed again. On the third try, she distinctly heard someone yell, “Fuck!”

But the door opened a couple minutes later.

The woman who opened it said, “Fuck,” again. Then added, “What the hell?”

Eve held up her badge. “Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody. We’d like to talk to you about your brother.”

Irritation leaped to hope. “You found Keene.”

“No, I’m sorry. We’re investigating another matter. We’re looking for connections.”

“Two years, two years of nothing. Goddamn it. Is this Natural Order crap?”

“We’d like to talk to you,” Eve repeated.

“Screw it.” She gestured them into a tiny living area. Tiny because a double art studio took the bulk. She had her potter’s wheel, tools, worktable on one side. The other held easels, canvases, painter’s tools.

She plopped down on a sofa.

She hit



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