by J. D. Robb
“You’re sure she has one?”
“That was a little mistake she made right off, mentioning her diary to me when she was pulling the spotlight on herself. Cued in to that from the get,” Eve told him. “All those I’s. I saw, I found, I think, I know. But I didn’t see, not clearly enough.”
Her mouth firmed. “Well, neither did she. How could she know I’d go poking around in her personal space? It’ll be in her diary—all of it. Who can pat her on the back but herself? The only way to do that is to write it down. She got it out of the house before we searched it.”
She circled the board again, picking out details, separating them, mixing them together again. “Plenty of time to get it out of the house while her daddy flexed his lawyer muscles. Hell, maybe she destroyed it. She’s smart enough to have done that, cover herself. Maybe I just have to prove, for now, that she had a diary.”
“You’re cool about this,” Roarke commented.
“I have to be. I let it slip by, again and again. I didn’t want to look there. Jesus, who would? I didn’t want to look at that kid with her pretty curls and see a murderer. But I did. I do. If I’m going to get justice for the dead, I have to have every detail and tie them up with a bow. Nobody’s going to want to hang multiple premeditated murders on a sweet-faced school girl.”
“If you’re right…what if there are more?”
Letting out a breath, Eve switched displays on screen manually, brought up Rayleen’s ID photo. “Yeah, that’s gone through my head, and stuck in my gut. What if there are more? Sick kids, sick elderly. Did she put one down? She’s got activities scheduled all over hell and back. How many people does she intersect with every day, every week, month, and so on? Was there another accident, another death, another unsolved murder? Going to find out eventually.”
“She must be very, very sick.”
“I don’t know what she is, but I know I’m going to do everything I know how to do so she pays for what she’s done.” She saw his face, felt her muscles tighten. “You think I should feel sorry for her?”
“I can’t say, that’s God’s truth. I’m not sure what to think, but the fact is you believe, and you’ve crafted a very convincing argument that this child has committed cold-blooded murder.”
He stepped up to her triangle again, her family gallery. “Let me argue back. Have you considered that one or both of her parents killed, that somehow she knows. That this is what you sense in her.”
“We’ll keep it on the table.”
“Eve.” He turned to her, his intense eyes in contrast to his gentle hand as he touched her hair. “I need to ask. Is there something in you that wants it to be her?”
“No. No. There’s something in me that doesn’t want it to be her. So I let it slip by, I didn’t look close enough. Then today, standing with her in that perfect little girl’s room, I couldn’t not look. I couldn’t not see. I’m not going to feel sorry for her, Roarke. But I can feel sick about it.”
“All right, then.” He rested his brow on hers. “All right. What can I do?”
“Can you think like a homicidal ten-year-old girl?”
“It’s not in my usual repertoire, but I can give it a try.”
“If you kept a diary, and didn’t destroy it, and were smart enough to know you had to get it out of the house, where would you put it?”
She turned away, paced around the board once more. “She’s got dance class, probably has a locker of some kind there, or she could have a hidey-hole at one of the wards she visits. The school’s too risky, she wouldn’t be that careless. Maybe—”
“Who’s her closest mate?”
“Her what? I figure her for a killer, but I don’t think she’s already having sex.”
“Friend, Eve. Her best friend.”
“Oh.” Eve narrowed her eyes. “I’d vote for Melodie Branch. That’s the kid who was with her when they found Foster. She has regularly scheduled socialization dates with her. That’s a strong maybe. I’m going to tag Peabody for some OT. We’ll pay a visit to Melodie tomorrow, and to Allika. I need to talk to Mira.”
“Eve, it’s nearly eleven at night.”
“So? Shit,” she muttered when he only sent her a mild stare. “Okay, I’ll save that for the morning. Better, probably. It’ll give me time to write this all up, set it up, lay it out. I’m going to need a lot of muscle—mine, hers, Whitney’s—to pull the kid in for a formal interview.”
She went back to her desk, sat, and prepared to get started. “So…I figure I should ask so it’s not hanging anywhere. Did Magdelana contact you after she tried your ’link before?”
“No.”
“Have you thought about how you’re going to handle it—her—whatever, when she does?”
“If and when, I’ll take care of it. She won’t cause us more trouble, Eve. My word on that.”
“Good. Well, this is going to take me a few hours.”
“I’ve some work I can catch up on.”
“Are we still on for that date tomorrow? Schmaltzy hearts and flowers followed by crazed sex?”
“I believe I have it as ‘inventive sex’ on my schedule. I’ll just amend that to ‘crazed.’”
“Why can’t it be both?”
He beamed those blue eyes at her. “There’s my Valentine.”
She expected the nightmare, and still wasn’t prepared for it. She wasn’t prepared to see herself as she’d once been—small and thin—standing in Rayleen’s pink-and-white room.
She didn’t like the dolls, she didn’t like the way they stared and stared like dead people, but still seemed to watch her. But it was so warm, and the air smelled so nice.
The bed looked like something out of the fairy tale she’d once watched on screen when no one was around to stop her. A princess bed. Nothing bad would ever happen in a bed like that.
No one would come in, in the dark, lie on top of her, hurt her, hurt her. Not in that beautiful, beautiful bed.
She walked to it, but was afraid to touch. She reached out, then jerked her hand back. He’d probably beat her if she touched it. Probably pound his fists on her if she touched something so beautiful.
“Go ahead. You can touch it. You can even lie down on it.”
She whirled around. It wasn’t him. It was a little girl, like her. But not like her. Her hair was shiny, her face was pretty and soft-looking. There were no bruises on it. She smiled.
“This is my room.”
“You’re the princess,” Eve murmured.
The little girl’s smile widened. “That’s right. I’m the princess. Everything here is mine. If I say you can touch something, you can. If I don’t, and you do, I can have you thrown in the dungeon. Where it’s dark all the time.”
Eve whipped her hands behind her back. “I didn’t touch anything.”
“You have to ask first, then I’ll give my permission. Or I won’t.” The pretty little girl walked over to a table where a pink and white tea set was laid out. “I think we should have some hot chocolate. I have my servants make it whenever I want it. Do you like hot chocolate?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never had any. Is it good?”
Rayleen poured it from pot to cup. “It’s a killer.” Then she laughed, and laughed. “You have to drink it if I say you do. You’re in my room, and I’m the princess. I say it’s time for you to drink your hot chocolate.”
Obediently—she’d learned to be obedient—Eve stepped over and picked up one of the pink cups. She sipped. “It’s…it’s so good. I never had anything like it.” She drank it fast, greedily, then held out the cup. “Could I have more?”
“All right.” Rayleen’s smile was sharp now, like her eyes. In the look Eve saw something that made her stomach fist. And when Rayleen poured from pot to cup, what streamed out was red, red blood.
Biting back a scream, Eve dropped the cup. The red spread and pooled on the white carpet.
“Now look what you’ve done! You’ll have to pay for that.” Setting down the pot
, Rayleen clapped her hands twice.
And he came in, smiling that sharp smile, looking with those sharp eyes.
“No. Please. I didn’t mean it. I’ll clean it up. Please, don’t. Please.”
“I’ve been looking for you, little girl,” her father said.
He struck her first, one quick, hard blow that sent her sprawling to the floor. Then he fell on her.
She fought, she begged, she screamed when the bone in her arm snapped like a pencil. While Rayleen stood, idly sipping from her cup.
“Only one way to stop it,” Rayleen said as he began to push and shove himself inside Eve, to tear her. “Killing takes care of everything. So kill him. Kill him. Kill him.”
Rayleen chanted it, her voice rising with excitement.
“Kill him!”
Finding the knife in her hand, Eve did.
Ssh, ssh. Stop now, Eve. Just a dream. Nothing but a dream. You need to wake up for me. Come back to me now. I have you.”
“It was blood. Pink and white and red. All the blood.”
“It’s done now. You’re awake now, with me now.” They tore at him, these nightmares, even as they tore at her. He held her, and rocked her, pressing his lips to her hair, her temples, even when she’d stopped shaking.
When she turned her face against his throat, he felt the tears.
“I’m sorry.”
“No, baby. Don’t.”
“Am I projecting, Roarke? Is that all it is? Do I look at that kid and see all I never had, never felt, never knew? Is it some sort of jealousy? Is it all just some sort of twisted envy? With Magdelana, too?”
Now he drew her back, ordered the lights on at ten percent so she could see his face, see his eyes. “It’s not, no. It could never be. You don’t have it in you for that. If I planted that there with Magdelana, the flaw was mine. You look straight, darling Eve. You see what is, even when you’d rather not. And you look at things others turn from.”
“They’d have locked me away for what I did to him.”
“You’re wrong. And if they had, even for an hour, for the smallest part of an hour, even God would have had no pity on them for it.” He stroked the tears away with his thumbs. “The cop in you knows that perfectly well.”
“Maybe. Yes. Most of the time.” Sighing, she let her head rest on his shoulder. “Thanks.”
“Part of the service. Can you sleep now?”
“Yeah.”
He lay down with her, kept his arms wrapped around her, and dimmed the lights again.
It left her draggy in the morning, as nightmares often did. But she put it away. By eight she was dressed, fueled, and ready to deal with what needed to be done.
“How are you going to approach this?” Roarke asked her.
“I expect both Mira and Whitney to contact me after they’ve read the report I sent them last night. Meanwhile, I’m hitting the best pal first. If I get lucky, there’s a diary and best pal has it for safekeeping.”
She sat on the arm of the sofa in the bedroom sitting area and drank her second cup of coffee. “Then I try for Allika. Straffo has a golf date this morning—nine-thirty tee time, then lunch at his club. The kid has a nine-o’clock deal at something called Brain Teasers, followed by a museum trip. Allika’s supposed to meet the kid and au pair at one, take over as the au pair has the rest of the day off. There’s lunch at a place called Zoology, followed by mother-daughter salon treatments this afternoon.”
“Full day.”
“Yeah, they fill ’em. I’m banking on catching Allika alone at the penthouse this morning. Depending on the results, I’ll either pick up the kid or have a sit-down with Mira and/or Whitney first. Interviewing the kid’s the tough part. Her father’s going to block me, Child Protection’s going to weigh in. I need more than theory and more than circumstantial to break it down.”
“Full day for you, too.”
“I can still manage sex and dinner.”
He laughed. “I like the order of this evening’s menu. Here, have this first.”
He walked to his closet, brought back a box wrapped in Valentine red, topped with a white silk bow.
“Oh, man.”
“I know, yes. A gift.” His lips twitched in amusement. “So annoying. Open it anyway.”
She lifted the lid, found another box inside of dull gold. Nestled in it on red velvet was a long, slim bottle.
She’d expected jewelry, it was his habit to buy her glitters. And she supposed he had as—knowing him—the stones encrusted on the bottle wouldn’t be glass. Who would buy a bottle decorated with diamonds and rubies except Roarke?
She lifted it, studied the pale gold liquid inside. “Magic potion?”
“It may be. Scent. Yours. Made it for you—your skin, your style, your preferences. Here.” He took it, lifted the ruby stopper, then dabbed some on her wrist himself. “See what you think.”
She sniffed, frowned, sniffed again. It was subtle, and it wasn’t frilly. Wasn’t what she thought of as flower juice or come-nail-me-against-the-nearest-wall musk.
“And?”
“It’s nice. More—I guess, it’s one more thing that proves you know me.” To please him, she stroked a little on her throat. “You know the bottle’s over the top, right?”
“Naturally. The diamonds are from the Forty-seventh Street heist.”
“Yeah?” The idea of it amused and delighted her. “That’s fairly frosty.” She took the bottle to her dresser, high enough that Galahad couldn’t leap with the pudge he carried. Then she came back and offered her neck for a sniff. “And?”
“Perfectly you.” He tugged on her hair to lower her face for a kiss. “My one and only Valentine.”
“Save that sloppy talk for later. I have to get moving. Peabody will be here any minute, or risk having her ass kicked.”
“Should we say dinner at eight, unless work intervenes?”
“Eight. I’ll try to make sure to wrap up whatever I can wrap up by seven-thirty.”
Though she’d read Eve’s report as ordered before she arrived, Peabody was still resistant to the idea of, as she put it, a kiddie killer.
“Okay, I know, at some of the rougher schools, teachers and other students have been threatened or attacked. Stickers, fists, hell, kitchen utensils. But those are hard-line situations and most often involve hard-line kids.”
“So because this one wears a nice uniform and lives in a penthouse, she’s immune.”
“No, but it’s a different foundation. And we’re talking about revenge crimes, impulse violence or innate violent tendencies. In this case, they’re premeditated and coolly executed without any clear-cut motive.”
“Motive will come.”
“Dallas, I went through Foster’s records. I went through Williams’s records. There were a handful of disciplinary actions and/or parental conferences due to behavior, slipping grades, chronic lateness on assignments and that sort of thing. But not one of them involved Rayleen Straffo. Her grades are stellar, her deportment evaluations the same. She’s top of the class.”
“Maybe she doctored them.”
“Man, you’ve got it in for her.” Immediately, Peabody winced. “I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. I just can’t get there with you. I just don’t see it. I sure don’t feel it.”
“Let’s follow through on these interviews today. Maybe one of us will change her mind.”
The in-dash ’link signaled as Eve pulled to the curb in front of the building where Melodie Branch lived.
“Dallas.”
“Eve, I’ve read your report.” Mira’s face was knitted with concern. “We need to discuss this. At length.”
“Figured that. This isn’t a good time. I’m about to do a follow-up with a wit.”
“Not Rayleen Straffo.”
“Not at this time, no. I can meet with you, and with the commander—as I’m sure he’ll feel this requires a discussion as well—this afternoon.”
“All right. I’ll contact the commander now and set
it up. I’d prefer you didn’t speak with Rayleen Straffo until we’ve had this discussion.”
“She’s pretty booked up today anyway. It can wait. From what I’m hearing, you’re not on board with me on this.”
“We’ll discuss it this afternoon. I do have some concerns, yes. Tread carefully here, Eve.”
“I’ll do my best.” Eve clicked off. “Sounds like Mira’s on your side of the line with this one.”
“It’s not sides, Dallas.”
“No. You’re right.”
But it felt like sides, Eve thought, as she got out of the car and started into the building with the full intention of intimidating a young girl into betraying her best friend.
19
ANGELA MILES-BRANCH OPENED THE DOOR HER- self. She was dressed uptown casual in tweed pants and a cream angora turtleneck. On her feet were soft, low-heeled leather boots in the same tone as the sweater.
She led them both into a stylishly streamlined living room. “I assume this is about the situation at Sarah Child. Melodie’s in her room, currently not speaking to me.”
“Oh?” was all Eve said.
“I’ve taken her out of the academy. I’m not sending my daughter to a school where there have been two murders. She’s upset that I won’t factor in her side of things, as in, her best friends in the entire universe go there, she doesn’t want to go to another school where she doesn’t know anyone and where they have to wear uniforms that are minus-zero, and so on.”
Like a woman suffering battle fatigue, Angela dropped into a chair. “We’re head-to-head on this issue, and since I’m in charge of her life for the next several years, I win. Still.” She sighed, pushed at her bright hair. “It’s awful to be ten and think your entire world just broke to pieces on you. I’m giving her the time and space to sulk and be mad at me.”
“It sounds like you’re doing exactly what you feel is best for your kid,” Peabody commented. “Kids don’t always get it. That’s why they’re not in charge.”
“Thanks for that. I’m not the only parent who’s taken this step, or is seriously considering taking it. Melodie doesn’t get that either. So, I’m hoping that at least a couple of the kids she knows and likes end up at West Side Academy, where I enrolled her yesterday. Meanwhile…” She trailed off, let her hands lift and fall.