Innocent in Death (20 page)

“I was such a fool, such a stupid fool ever to let him touch me. Now, how much am I going to have to pay for that?”

“Did he put the squeeze on you for money?”

“Money?” She lifted her head. “No, no. That he would call Oliver, convince Oliver to defend him. What kind of a man is that? And he had those vials in his bedroom? Now, how can I be sure he didn’t use them on me? I feel sick.”

“So you confronted him this morning?”

“No. I intended to. I tried to talk Oliver out of representing him, but Oliver’s determined. I had to know what Reed said to him, had to convince Reed to find another lawyer.”

Eve sat. “Let’s get this on record, just so everyone’s protected. I’m going to read you your rights.”

“But—”

“You’re married to a lawyer. You know how this works. Record on.” Eve recited the Revised Miranda, watching Allika’s face as she did. “Do you understand your rights and obligations in this matter.”

“Of course, I do.”

“You took your daughter to school this morning, arrived about seven-thirty.”

“Yes, I thought if I took her in, and Reed was there…I saw that he was, on the sign-in screen. So I walked Rayleen to the theater and I went back. I thought, at that time of the morning, he’d be in the fitness center. But I didn’t see him there. I decided to check the pool. I heard them as I stepped through the doorway of the locker room.”

“Heard who?”

“Reed and Principal Mosebly. Arguing, shouting at each other. She told him he was done, that he would no longer be attached to the school. If he didn’t resign, she’d see he was terminated.”

“Why would that upset you?” Eve asked.

“It didn’t—I mean, it wasn’t pleasant, but that wasn’t what upset me. I started to leave. I didn’t want her to find me there. But then…he said, ‘Try it, Arnette.’ He said it like he was so amused. I think he even laughed.”

She shuddered. “I’d never heard him speak like that, so hard, so ugly. He was always so gentle and charming with me, even when I told him I’d made a mistake. He was very understanding. But this…”

“What else did you hear?”

Allika moistened her lips. “He told her he wouldn’t be the only one out on his ass. Push him, he’d push back. How did she think the board would feel if they found out she’d fucked him—that’s exactly how he said it. She’d fucked him, one of her faculty members in that very pool. On sacred school grounds. And in her office. It made me sick to hear it, to hear him start to describe what they’d done together.”

“And Mosebly?” Eve began. “How did she react to the threat of exposure?”

“I don’t know. I ran out, because I was sick. I went to one of the bathrooms and threw up.”

She pressed her fingers to her lips, squeezed her eyes shut. “I was so ashamed. Ashamed and disgusted with myself, with what I did. This was the kind of man I’ve betrayed my husband with. And now he was using that, using Oliver because he knows I’m too big a coward to tell Oliver what I’ve done. He knows I‘ll keep quiet, and I suppose Principal Mosebly will, too. So he’ll just go on to the next.”

“No, he won’t. He’s dead.”

Allika stared at Eve. Then her eyes rolled up and she slid bonelessly to the polished floor.

13

WHEN ALLIKA REVIVED, SHE CAREENED DIRECTLY into hysteria. The sobbing, the shaking, the wild eyes could have been guilt, a good act, or shock. Eve decided to reserve judgment when the au pair rushed in, carting market bags.

“What is it? What’s happened. Oh, God, is it Rayleen?”

“Kid’s fine.” Eve waited while Cora dumped the bags on the floor and hurried to Allika’s side. “Calm her down. Tranq her if you have to. We’ll finish the interview later.”

“Mr. Straffo?”

“He’s fine, too, as far as I know. Calm her down, then come back. I’ve got a couple of questions for you.”

“All right then, shh, shh, darling.” In the way of women who are natural caregivers, Cora tuned a voice to a soft song. “Come on with Cora now, won’t you? Everything’s going to be all right.”

“It’s all falling apart,” Allika sobbed as Cora drew her up. “He’s dead. My God, he’s dead.”

Cora’s gaze zipped to Eve’s. “Another teacher,” Eve told her.

“Oh, sweet Jesus. Yes, sweetheart, come and lie down awhile.”

Cora led her toward the elevator rather than the staircase. She had her arm around Allika when the doors closed, bearing the other woman’s weight as though she weighed no more than a child.

“Contact Mosebly, Peabody,” Eve said with her eyes trained on the second floor. “I want her to come down to Central. Make it pleasant, apologetic. You know how to play it.”

“Just a few more questions, better for everyone if we talk away from the school. Got it.”

As Peabody got out her pocket ’link, Eve walked casually up the stairs. Just checking on a possible wit, possible suspect, she thought. Perfectly understandable, perfectly acceptable. Perfectly legal.

And if she took her time, looking into the other rooms from their doorways, it wasn’t a violation.

She scanned what she assumed was Straffo’s home office. Spacious, slick, touches of pricey chocolate-brown leather. Good view, with privacy screens engaged. Small sofa, not what a guy would stretch out on for a nap. All business, then.

Across from it was what she supposed would be called Allika’s sitting room. There was a small desk with dramatically curved legs, a matching chair. Pastels, she noted. Pinks and greens and a pretty little fireplace. On the mantel were framed photos. She could see several of the kid, the family, one of husband and wife—younger, softer—beaming out. But there was no photo of a little boy.

The doomed son.

Privacy screens again, but with soft green drapes flanking them. A little footstool, a fancy tea set, flowers.

In the room beyond that was what looked like a playroom. Kiddie domain, Eve thought. Toys, a scaled-down desk, lots of bright colors, so heavy on the candy pink it made Eve’s teeth ache.

The kid rated her own comp, Eve noted, her own screen and entertainment center, her own tea set, with table and chairs. The desk area had been fashioned like an office—for the school generation. Disc files, art supplies, which had likely been used to create some of the pictures on the wall.

The room adjoined, Eve saw through an open door, a large cushy bedroom. Very, very girlie, very, very frothy with its pink and white theme, its collection of dolls, doll furniture.

Which struck Eve as a bit creepy. What did dolls need with chairs, beds, tables? Unless they came to life in the dead, dead of night. And used them.

Yeah, definitely creepy.

She moved on, past the door Cora had shut. Eve could hear the woman murmuring to Allika, crooning to her.

She found a guest room that would have passed muster at a five-star hotel.

That made three bedrooms, three baths—no doubt the master bedroom claimed its own—playroom, sitting room, office on the second floor.

She glanced up, wishing she had an excuse to wander up to the top level.

Instead, she waited until Cora slipped out of the master bedroom. Cora put a finger to her lips as she eased the door shut.

“No soundproofing,” she whispered, and gestured for Eve to follow her to the steps leading down.

“Why no soundproofing in a place like this?”

“Missus wouldn’t have it, I’m told. She wants to be able to hear Rayleen in the night. They had a son, you know, and he died.”

“Yeah, I know about that.”

“I gave her a tranquilizer as you said. She should sleep a couple of hours. I told her I’d call her husband, but she said I mustn’t, and cried all the harder. I don’t know what I should do.”

“How’s it been between the Straffos the last day or two?”

“Ah, well,” Cora pushed at her bright hair. “She’s been nervy. I guess since you’re the police it’s not talking out of school to say she didn’t like him lawyering for that teacher who’d been arrested. They had some words about it yesterday. She was upset, no doubt, and demanded what he’d do if this man was to be charged with Mr. Foster’s murder. Mister, he said it wasn’t her place to interfere with his profession.

“No soundproofing,” Cora added with a wry smile. “It’s the first I’ve heard them argue in that way since I came here. I went up to distract Rayleen from it, but she was in her playroom at her desk doing her schoolwork as she does before family dinner each day. Had her music on.” Cora tapped her ears. “The headset. So she’d have been spared hearing them fight.”

“And this morning?”

“Tense. As it was during dinner last night as well. But there was no talk of it while Rayleen and I were about.” Cora glanced at the bags she’d dropped when she’d come in. “Would you mind if I took these back to the kitchen, put things away?”

“No. Fine.” Eve signaled Peabody with a glance, and picked up one of the bags herself. “I’ll take this one.”

Dining room through archway, she noted—lots of silver and black, with a wide terrace beyond. The kitchen—same color scheme with splashes of electric blue—through the door to the right.

“Mrs. Straffo took Rayleen to school today,” Eve began, and set the bag on a wide, stainless work counter.

“Thanks for that. She did, yes.” Cora began to put supplies away in glossy black cupboards or the huge silver fridge. “One of them will, now and then. Though it’s always planned out before. They’re considerate that way, letting me know if I’ll have a bit of time to myself. But the missus told me this morning, just after the mister left.”

She closed the last cupboard door. “Can I get you or your partner something, Lieutenant? Some tea perhaps.”

“No, thanks.”

“If you wouldn’t mind, I’m going to get myself a cup. I’m that upset. Another teacher dead, you said. And things come in threes, such things do.” As she programmed the tea, she sent Eve a sheepish smile. “Superstition, I know. But still. Oh, God, Rayleen. Should I go get her from school? But I shouldn’t leave the missus.”

“Her father was going to be contacted.”

“All right then, sure that’s best.” She took out the tea, sighed. “What a state of affairs.”

“How was Mrs. Straffo when she came back from walking Rayleen to school?”

“She looked poorly, and said she felt that way as well.” Cora slid onto a stool at a short eating bar to drink her tea. “She gave me some errands to run, and said she wanted the flat on privacy so she could sleep undisturbed. I made her some tea, then went out for the errands.”

“You run a lot of errands for her?”

“Oh, indeed. It’s part of my position. I don’t mean it to sound she works me half to death, for she doesn’t.”

Eve thought of the elaborate playroom/bedroom upstairs. “And you spend a lot of time with Rayleen.”

“I do, yes, and she’s a pleasure. Most of the time,” Cora said with a laugh. “But the missus doesn’t leave the rearing to me, if you understand me. And some do. They spend considerable time together, this family—work and play. She’s a lovely woman, the missus, and very kind, as is the mister. Still, I have to say, it seems to me the mister shouldn’t have been defending that man if it upset the missus so. And now he’s dead. She told me he was dead when I tucked her in bed. Poor lamb. Her nerves are just shattered by all this.”

When they left the penthouse and Peabody informed Eve that Mosebly had agreed to a follow-up interview at Central, Eve thought she’d see who else’s nerves she could shatter that day.

Her own stretched and threatened to fray when she walked into her bull pen. Several conversations took a hitch—that telling beat of silence—before they continued. Gazes flicked her way, then aside.

Not one smart remark was made about her appearance with Nadine the evening before.

Because that wasn’t the top story, Eve thought as she strode straight into her office, forced herself not to slam the door. The top story was now the lieutenant’s spouse and a stunning blonde.

She programmed coffee, noted she had messages from Nadine, from Mavis, from Mira—from the on-air reporter who’d relayed the gossip piece that morning. And she could fry in everlasting hell, Eve thought.

She ignored the guilt when she ignored Mavis and Nadine, brought up Mira’s.

“Eve, I have your more detailed profile, which I’ve sent to you. I hope, if there’s a personal matter you’d like to speak with me about, you’ll get in touch. I’ll be available.”

“No, I don’t want to speak about it,” Eve mumbled, and shut down the message.

Instead she contacted her commander’s office for permission to give an oral. She’d deal with the written later. Check with Morris, she added as she headed out again. Take another pass through Williams’s apartment. Put Feeney on the electronics.

She knew what to do, how to run the case. How to close it.

It was the rest of her life she didn’t know how to run.

She took the glides up. She may have felt looks aimed her way, but it was better than having them drilled into the back of her head in the confines of the elevators.

Whitney’s admin avoided her eyes altogether. “You can go right in, Lieutenant. He’s expecting you.”

Whitney sat behind his desk of command, big shoulders, big hands. His face was somber, his dark eyes direct. “Lieutenant.”

“Sir. I believe there may be a break in the Foster homicide that connects it to the drowning death of Reed Williams.”

He sat back as she gave her report, let her complete it uninterrupted. “You opted not to bring Allika Straffo in for questioning.”

“Not at this time. We wouldn’t get anything out of her, Commander. I think pressuring Mosebly will give us more juice. While they both have motive and opportunity, it’s easier to see Mosebly helping the vic into the water—or under it. They both had something to lose, but the tone of Straffo’s statement prior to being informed of Williams’s death gives it credence. She could have used the time between the murder—”

“If it was murder.”

“Yes, sir, if it was, she could have used the time to prepare, to plan how she would deal with questioning. I’m still looking at her, but Mosebly fits more cleanly.”

“And Foster?”

“It’s possible Williams poisoned him. Williams doesn’t like being pushed, and we know Foster pushed, at least on one occasion, on the sexual activities. With this new information, that Williams had been sexual with Mosebly, and if we can verify that Foster was aware of that, it turns it. Mosebly had more to lose. Foster’s knowledge compromised her position, and her sense of authority. Nobody likes their private issues made public, particularly by those under their command.”

“True enough.” His eyes remained level with hers. “Use it, and squeeze that juice.”

“Yes, sir.”

“My wife and I watched you on Nadine Furst’s new program last night.” He smiled a little. “You did very well. Your demeanor and your answers were a credit to the department. Chief Tibble has already contacted me this morning to say the same.”

“Thank you, Commander.”

“It’s good public relations, Dallas, and you handled yourself. It can be…difficult to become a public figure, to maintain and handle the inevitable invasions of privacy that go hand in hand with any sort of notoriety. If you feel, at any point, that pull and tug is affecting your work, I hope you’ll speak to me about it.”

“It won’t affect my work.”

He nodded. “I’ll observe the interview with Mosebly, if possible. Otherwise, I’ll review it at the first opportunity. Dismissed.”

She started out.

“Dallas? Gossip is an ugly and insidious form of entertainment. Maybe that’s why people can’t resist it. A good cop knows it has its uses, just as a good cop knows it’s often twisted and pummeled into a different shape for the purpose of the purveyor. You’re a good cop.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

Though she knew he’d meant it kindly, the sting of embarrassment plagued her all the way down the glides.

Her pocket ’link signaled a message straight to voice mail before she stepped into the bull pen. She drew it out, saw from the display it was from Roarke.

The urge to simply delete without checking made her feel small and cowardly. She cursed, and played the message.

His face filled her ’link screen, and those lethal blue eyes burned into hers. “Lieutenant. I didn’t want to disturb you. If you can carve out some time today, I’d like some of it. If it’s not possible—or you’re just too bloody stubborn to make it possible—I expect to have your time and attention tonight. At home. I’ll end by saying this much. You piss me off, and still I love you with everything I am. I’d best hear from you, Eve, or I swear I’m going to kick your ass.”

She stuffed the ’link back in her pocket. “We’ll see whose ass gets kicked, pal.”

But her heart had twisted again—in pleasure or in pain, she just didn’t know.

“Hey, Dallas.” Baxter pushed away from his desk, strode after her. “Ah, nice job with Nadine last night.”

“You got something to say to me that applies to a case, Detective?”

“Not really. I just…Listen, Dallas, you don’t want to pay attention to—”

She closed her office door in his face, but not before she saw the look of concerned sympathy on it.

She put another lock on the lid of her emotional box, sat and focused on writing her report until she got the signal that Arnette Mosebly had arrived.

When she walked in, Mosebly scowled. “Really, Lieutenant, I assumed we’d do this in your office.”