Delusion in Death

eighteen months, and never recovered. However—”
    The next image slid on.
    “This is Karleen MacMillon’s computer-aged image at the age of twenty-one. And this is Audrey Hubbard Callaway’s ID photo at the same age. Audrey Hubbard’s certificate of birth is fake, and issued to Gina MacMillon’s half-sister Tessa and her husband, Edward, who left England when the child was approximately four years of age, andsettled in Johnstown, Ohio. Audrey Hubbard married Russell Callaway, and subsequently gave birth to a son, Lewis.”
    “The dots connect,” Baxter commented.
    “Yeah, they do. William MacMillon’s petition for divorce, and his deposition, cite abandonment, a cult, and specifically names Menzini. Unless MacMillon was lying, the date of the deposition and the date listed as the kid’s birth make it impossible for him to be the biological father.”
    “He took her back,” Baxter said, “and took the kid as his? What is he, an apostle or something?”
    “Find out. You and Trueheart find out everything you can, find me somebody who knew him, knew them. He’s listed as killed, along with Gina, in the raid that took the kid. I want the dirt on the marriage—people always know the dirt, and they remember it.”
    “Reineke, Jenkinson, I want the same on the Hubbards. Why did they change the kid’s name, fake a birth certificate, move to another country?”
    “Could be the sperm donor was trouble,” Reineke speculated. “They wanted to keep the kid from him. Or hell, they just wanted a fresh start.”
    “I like the first, that’s my push on it. They could’ve legally adopted the kid, or applied for guardianship. I can’t find anything that says they went that route. Why not? Hubbard was military, retired a captain. She was the kid’s closest blood relation, except for the grandparents. Her father, Gina’s mother. The grandmother’s still alive, in England. Get me the story.”
    “I think Detective Callendar and I might have something.” Teasdale glanced toward Callendar, got the nod. “We have considerable data on Red Horse, though much of it is anecdotal, speculative or unsubstantiated. We focused most directly, for obvious reasons, onMenzini once you passed his name to us, and were able to find a few reports, and images—all dating prior to his apprehension.”
    “I’ve got the data, if I can use the auxiliary,” Callendar said.
    “Go ahead. While she’s setting that up, further search showed Callaway’s habit of visiting his parents—now in Arkansas, an average of once a year, until a few months ago. He’s traveled there several times this year. And in reading the employee reviews, we found Cattery received a much larger bonus than Callaway on a recent project—initiated by Callaway, completed by Cattery. Cattery was also in line for a promotion. Money and position may be motive.”
    “I’ve got it, Lieutenant.”
    “Run it,” Eve ordered Callendar.
    “The images were grainy, indistinct. I cleaned them up, and I can clean them more. This is a photo run on the Daily Mail blog, out of London. It identifies Menzini, preaching to a group after a fire-fight in the East End. The woman to his right is identified only as his companion.”
    “Magnify her.” Eve moved closer to the screen. “Dyed her hair red—that fits—and it’s longer—but that’s Gina MacMillon.”
    “There’s another.” Callendar switched images. “Leaving some kind of revival. She looks knocked up to me.”
    “And right beside Menzini again. Run the image against her ID, make sure we’ve got a match.”
    “There are very few photos of him during the Urbans,” Teasdale commented. “It’s interesting that two of the few have this woman at his side.”
    “It’s going to be more interesting if he’s the biological father.”
    “Yes.” Teasdale smiled serenely. “It will.”
    “His DNA is on record somewhere. HSO would have it.”
    “I’ll do what I can.”

    “The birth mother and the half-sister are dead, but there might be DNA records there. And the grandmother’s still alive. I need Menzini’s. Make it happen, Teasdale. And while you’re at it, I want the suspect’s parents brought to New York for questioning.”
    “I believe that can be arranged.”
    “Arrange it, and asap.” She pulled out her ’link, read the incoming text. “The suspect is leaving his apartment building—dressed for work, carrying a briefcase. He’ll be kept under surveillance. I want to interview the