Innocent in Death (29 page)

“How much longer can you keep it inside without breaking?” Eve demanded. “How much longer can you mask it with pills and busy work? With pretense? Until the next Reed Williams?”

“No. No. That was one time, that was a mistake.”

“You know you can’t live with it, Allika. You need to tell me. Tell me what she did to your little boy. To your baby.”

“She was only seven.”

Seeing the fissure in Allika, Peabody did her job. She moved over, sat beside Allika. “You’re her mother, and you want to protect her. You want to do what’s right for her.”

“Yes, of course. Yes.”

“You wanted to protect Trevor, too. You want to do what’s right for him. Telling the truth now, you have to know that’s what’s right for both of them.”

“My babies.”

“What happened Christmas morning, Allika?” Eve demanded. “What happened to Trevor?”

“Children wake up early on Christmas morning,” Allika murmured as tears streamed down her cheeks. “It’s natural. So much excitement, so much anticipation. She came in, Rayleen came into our room just before dawn, jumped on the bed. So excited, so happy. We got up, Oliver and I. We got up, and Oliver said he would go get Trev.”

She pressed a hand to her mouth. “The year before, his first Christmas, Trev was so young, not even a year old. He didn’t understand any of it. But this year, he was nearly two, and he was…It would be his first real Christmas. Oliver said he’d go get Trev, and we’d all go down together and see if Santa had come.”

“Where was Rayleen?” Eve prompted.

“Rayleen stayed with me while I got my robe. She was jumping up and down, clapping her hands. So happy, her face just shining as a little girl’s would on Christmas morning.

“And I saw…I saw she was wearing the little pink slippers I’d tucked in her stocking the night before. The one’s she’d seen and wanted so much when we’d gone shopping one day.”

Allika’s face went blank, as if everything inside her had gone away. “Rayleen was wearing the slippers,” Eve said.

“They had sparkles on them, pretty sparkles all over them, spelling out her name. She loved things to have her name on them. I started to say something, to tell her she shouldn’t have gone down there by herself—how Daddy and I, we’d promised we’d get up whenever she woke. But then I heard Oliver cry out. He cried out as if his heart had been ripped away, and I heard him running down the steps. And I ran, I ran, and I saw…My baby. Oliver was holding our baby at the bottom of the stairs, and I ran down. And he was cold. My sweet little boy. There was blood on his face, and he was cold.”

“What did Rayleen do?”

“I don’t know. I—it all blurred. Oliver was crying, and I think, I think I tried to take Trev from him, but Oliver was holding Trev so tight. So tight. I…yes, I ran to the ’link to call for help, and Ray…”

“What did she do?”

Allika closed her eyes, and she shuddered. “She was already playing with the dollhouse Oliver and I had set up under the tree. She was just sitting there in her pajamas, wearing her sparkly pink slippers, playing with her dolls. Like nothing had happened.”

“And you knew.”

“No. No. She was just a little girl. She didn’t understand. She couldn’t have understood. It was an accident.”

No, Eve thought, no, it wasn’t. And some part of this woman was being eaten away, day after day, because she knew it.

“Allika, you don’t have soundproofing in your home, not because you’re afraid something might happen to Rayleen and you wouldn’t hear. You don’t have it because you’re afraid of Rayleen, and what you might not hear.”

“She’s my child. She’s my child, too.”

“You went to see your aunt in New Mexico a few months ago. She works in leather. She uses castor beans, the oil from them, to work the leather.”

“Oh, God, stop. You have to stop.”

“Did Rayleen spend time with her? Watching her, asking questions? She likes to know things, doesn’t she? Rayleen likes to know.”

“She liked Craig Foster. He was her favorite teacher.”

“But you wonder. And Williams. Rayleen volunteers in hospital wards. She’s a clever girl. She could get her hands on a syringe, on drugs if she put her mind to it.”

“Then she’d be a monster. Do you want me to say that?” Hysteria bubbled up in her voice, and her streaming eyes went wild. “Do you want me to say my daughter’s a monster? She came from me.” She fisted a hand on her belly. “From me and Oliver. We loved her from the first beat of her heart.”

“The way you loved Trevor. If I’m wrong,” Eve said when Allika’s face crumbled, “then reading her diary isn’t going to hurt anything or anyone. If I’m right, she’ll get help before anyone else is hurt.”

“Get it, then. Take it away. Take it away and leave me alone.”

They searched. They went over every inch of the bedroom, the playroom. They turned out drawers, emptied the closet, searched among the toys, the art supplies.

“Maybe she hid it in another part of the house,” Peabody suggested.

“Or has it with her. Either way, we’ll get it. The fact that it exists has some weight. We need to interview the aunt, and get some eyes on the kid right away. If she’s got it, I don’t want her mother shifting her feet, and getting word to the kid we’re looking for it. Let’s—hell.”

She broke off to pull out her communicator. “Dallas.”

“Lieutenant, report to my office. Immediately.”

“Sir, I’m at this moment in the process of gathering evidence I believe will lead to an arrest on the Foster and Williams investigations.”

“I want you in my office, Lieutenant Dallas, before you take any further steps. Is that clear?”

“Sir, it’s clear. I’m on my way. Fuck,” she added after she’d ended the transmission. She glanced at her wrist unit, calculated. “Museum tour. Met. Get there, shadow the suspect.”

“But Dallas, the commander ordered—”

“Me. He didn’t say anything about you. I want you to locate the suspect and keep her under surveillance. Keep me apprised. Don’t let her make you, Peabody.”

“Well, Jesus, she’s ten. I think I can shadow a tweener without being made.”

“Thistweener is the prime suspect in two homicides, and very possibly guilty of fratricide as well. You’re not shadowing a kid, Peabody, and don’t forget it.”

She dumped Peabody at the elegant entrance of the Metropolitan Museum, then headed downtown. As she drove, she contacted one Quella Harmon in Taos, New Mexico.

Even as Peabody climbed the long sweep of steps, she wondered how the hell she was supposed to find one kid and her Irish au pair in the vast cathedral to art.

And as she wondered, Cora bundled Rayleen into a cab on Eighty-first Street.

“But Mom’s supposed to meet us, and take me to lunch.”

“Well, she’s rung me up, hasn’t she, and said she needs you home straightaway. So home we go, Ray darling.”

Rayleen gave a windy sigh, and clutched her pretty pink fur purse.

Both Mira and Whitney were waiting for her, and both looked grim.

“Sit down, Lieutenant.”

With no choice, Eve sat.

“Your partner?”

“She’s in the field, sir.”

Whitney’s lips tightened. “I considered it understood I wanted both of you here, and neither of you in the field at this time.”

“I apologize for the misunderstanding, Commander.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Dallas, I’m not in the mood. I’ve read your report, and it’s my opinion that you’re putting this investigation, and this department, in a very tenuous position.”

“I disagree, respectfully. Sir.”

“You’re pursuing an avenue that is fraught with land mines, and pursuing it without any solid physical evidence, any solid facts.”

“Again, sir, I disagree. The suspect—”

“The child,” he corrected.

“The suspect is a minor. That doesn’t preclude her from being capable of murder. Children have been known to kill, and to kill with malice. With intent, even with glee.”

Whitney laid the palms of his hands on his desk. “This girl is the daughter of one of the city’s most prominent defense attorneys. She is well educated, she is the product of a privileged home, and even according to your own report has never been involved in any crime, much less one of violence. Has never been treated for any emotional or mental instability. Dr. Mira?”

“Children do commit violent acts,” Mira began. “And while there are certainly cases where a child of this age, even younger, has killed, such cases usually involve other children. Such cases are most generally preceded by smaller acts of violence. On pets, for instance. Rayleen Straffo’s profile doesn’t indicate any predilection for violence.”

Eve had expected barriers to be erected, but it didn’t stop the frustration. “So because her father’s rich and she aces it in school and doesn’t kick little puppies, I should step back from what I know.”

“What do you know?” Whitney interrupted. “You know that this girl attended a school where two teachers were murdered. So did over a hundred other children. You know that her mother had admitted to having a brief affair with the second victim.”

Eve got to her feet; she couldn’t handle this sitting down. “I know that the suspect found the first victim, that she had opportunity in both cases, I know that she had the means. I’ve spoken with her aunt, and have learned that the suspect had access to castor beans, and was showed how the oil was made from them. I know that she did, in fact, have a diary that she removed from the penthouse before the search, giving same to a friend to hold until yesterday.”

Whitney inclined his head. “You have this diary?”

“I don’t. I believe the suspect has hidden or destroyed it, or is currently keeping it on her person. She removed it because it would incriminate her.”

“Eve, a great many young girls keep diaries, and consider them sacred and private,” Mira began.

“She’s not a young girl in anything other than years. I’ve looked at her. I know what she is. You don’t want to look,” she said, whipping back to Whitney. “People don’t want to look at a child, at the innocence of the face and form, and see evil. But that’s what’s in her.”

“Your opinion, however passionate, isn’t evidence.”

“If she were ten years older, five years older, you wouldn’t question my opinion. If you can’t trust my instincts and intellect and my skill, let me factor in more data. I killed at eight.”

“We’re aware of that, Eve,” Mira said gently.

“And you think I look at her and see myself? That this is some sort of transference?”

“I know when we spoke at the early stages of this investigation you were troubled. You were upset and very stressed over a personal matter.”

“Which has nothing to do with this. It may have distracted me, and that’s on me. But it doesn’t apply to my conclusions in this case. You’re not letting me do the job because of this bull.”

“Careful, Lieutenant,” Whitney warned.

She was done being careful. “That’s what she’s counting on. That we’ll all be so fucking careful. That we won’t look at her because she’s a nice little girl from a nice family. She killed two people inside of a week. And she’s got me beat, because she killed at seven. Not her father, but her two-year-old brother.”

Whitney’s eyes narrowed. “You included the information on Trevor Straffo in your earlier reports, and the investigator’s report, the ME’s report, which both concluded accidental death.”

“They were both wrong. I’ve spoken with Allika Straffo.”

While Eve fought to make her case and Peabody sat in the Met’s security office scanning the screens for Rayleen, Allika sent Cora away again.

“It’s your half-day off.”

“But you don’t look well, missus. I’m happy to stay. I’ll make you some tea.”

“No. No. It’s just a headache. Rayleen and I will be fine. We’ll be fine. We’ll…we’ll just have some lunch here, then go ahead to the salon.”

“I’ll put lunch together for you then, and—”

“We’ll manage, Cora. Go meet your friends.”

“If you’re sure then. You can ring me back anytime. I’m not doing anything special.”

“Enjoy yourself. Don’t worry about us.” Allika nearly cracked before she could get Cora out the door. Then she leaned back against it. “Rayleen,” she murmured. “Rayleen.”

“What’s the matter, Mommy?” Rayleen’s eyes were sharp as lasers. “Why can’t we go to lunch at Zoology? I love seeing the animals.”

“We can’t. We have to leave. We’re going to take a trip. A trip.”

“Really.” Now Rayleen brightened. “Where? Where are we going? Will there be a pool?”

“I don’t know. I can’t think.” How could
she
think ? “We have to go.”

“You’re not even dressed.”

“I’m not dressed?” Allika looked down, studying her robe as if she’d never seen it before.

“Are you sick again? I hate when you’re sick. When’s Daddy coming home?” she asked, already losing interest in her mother. “When are we leaving?”

“He’s not coming. Just you and me. It’s best. That’s best. We have to pack. They didn’t find it, but they’ll come back again.”

“Find what?” Now Rayleen’s attention swung back and zeroed in. “Who’ll come back?”

“They looked.” Allika’s gaze shifted up. “But they didn’t find it. What should I do? What’s best for you?”

Without a word, Rayleen turned away to walk upstairs. She stood at the doorway of her room, saw that her things were moved. And she understood perfectly.

She’d imagined something like this. In fact, she’d written what she could do, might need to do, in her diary the night before. Even as she walked down the hall to her parents’ room, her only genuine emotion was a quiet fury that her things had been gone through again, moved around, left untidy.

She liked her things
exact
. She expected her personal space to be
respected
.

She went into her mother’s drawers where the medications were hidden. As if anyone could actually hide something from her. They were so stupid, really. She slipped the bottle of sleeping pills into her purse along with her diary, then moved to the sitting area and programmed herbal tea.

Her mother favored ginseng. She programmed it sweet, though her mother rarely took much sweetener.

Then she dissolved a killing dose of sleeping pills into the sweet, fragrant tea.