Innocent in Death

by J. D. Robb

  By seven A.M., Eve had Mira and Peabody in her home office, and her commander on hologram.

  “I’m not going to buy she’s legally insane,” Eve began.

  “Did she and does she know right from wrong? Most certainly,” Mira agreed. “Her crimes are planned and executed, and her motives in each case are self-serving. The motives are the very reason a psychiatrist hired by the defense will argue insanity.”

  “Will you argue against it for the prosecution?”

  “Yes. I’ll need to examine her, of course, but at this point, most certainly I can argue against. Eve, either way, she must be put away, and I believe she will be. She won’t stop.”

  Mira drew a deep breath as she studied the pretty face on Eve’s murder board. “Unless she’s stopped by the system, there’s no reason for her to stop. This process works for her. It’s satisfying to her, and proves her superiority. In a childish way, this gets her what she wants, and getting what she wants is her primary goal.”

  “Her own mother,” Peabody added. “She writes about killing her own mother without a moment’s regret or hesitation. She didn’t feel a thing about it.”

  “I want to get her for the brother. He’s not mentioned in the diary. He’s not part of her scope any longer.” Eve glanced at Mira, got a nod of agreement. “It’s not just that he’s not worth her time, or the space, she doesn’t think about him or what she did to him now. Everything is now with her.”

  “You said before you’d get a confession, see that she wanted to tell you,” Mira continued. “But—”

  “I’ll get a confession. The hitch will be Straffo. If he decides to protect her, she’ll clam. If she believes I can use what she tells me, she’ll clam. I have to get to him, through him, first.”

  “He’s a father, who’ll instinctively want to protect his child.”

  “He’s a father whose son was carelessly disposed of, and he’s a husband whose wife may very well be Rayleen’s next victim.” And those, Eve knew, were her weapons. “Hard place for him. He’s going to have to choose who he stands up for.”

  “If you give him this information,” Whitney cut in, “you’re giving a potential defense a head’s up, a running start. He could, potentially, erect a shield around his daughter that will take months to hack through.”

  “Yes, sir, he could. And if I don’t slap this in his face, knock his feet out from under him while he’s still shaky over his wife, he could do that anyway. He needs to see her for what she is. And for that, I could use the expert consultant, civilian.” She glanced at Roarke.

  “Lay it out, Lieutenant,” Whitney told her.

  It took time, and Eve struggled against impatience. It took care and caution, and she fought not to push. So it was nearing ten before she, Peabody, and Mira headed out to the hospital, well after Roarke, Feeny, and McNab were already in play.

  When her ’link beeped, she snapped it up. “Dallas.”

  “Lieutenant? I don’t know if you remember me. This is Billy Kim-ball, the assistant manager from Kline’s? You were in the other day making inquiries about a go-cup we carry.”

  “I remember you. You got something?”

  “One of our seasonal clerks happened to stop in last night, near closing? I mentioned the go-cup to her, just on the off chance that she knew anything about it. She did.”

  “What did she know?”

  “She remembers the sale very well. It was after the holiday. She worked through our January clearance sales? She said a young girl came in, with a nanny, she thought it was a nanny. As the girl wanted to purchase something as a surprise, she asked the nanny to go to another part of the store for a while. And this was a bit of a struggle of willpower as the nanny didn’t want to—”

  “Wind this up for me, Billy.”

  “Sorry. Well, the clerk promised the nanny she’d keep a close eye on the girl, so the nanny went to another department. The girl wanted the go-cup you asked about, and had it engraved. The clerk remembers the girl because she was so bright and charming, and very polite. Now, the clerk isn’t a hundred percent sure of the name, but she did recall that the girl told her it was a going-away present for her favorite teacher. She paid cash. Since it was after the first of the year, it was easy for me to pull up the store copy of the receipt, for cash. It was a go-cup of the make and model you asked about, in black, with the additional fee for silver engraving in the Roman script font. Does that help at all?”

  “It does.” Sometimes, Eve thought, the stars just freaking aligned. “Good job, Billy. I’m going to pass you to my partner. I need you to give her the name and contact info on your clerk. I want her to look at some pictures, see if she can identify the little girl.”

  “I’m sure she’d be glad to help. She mentioned the girl was a pretty little blonde, curly hair? With very unique eyes. Nearly purple.”

  “And the walls keep tumbling down,” Eve mumbled as Peabody took the data. “Outsmarted herself on this one. Should’ve made it quick, not engaged the clerk. But she’s just got to show off.”

  “She’d have disposed of his original cup,” Mira commented.

  “Yeah, probably carried it right out of the school, right under our noses. Goddamn it.”

  “You’re trained,” Mira said. “So am I. I’m trained in abnormal psychiatry, and I believe she would have carried it out under my nose, too.”

  “That ends today.”

  Eve found Straffo in his wife’s room, sitting vigil beside her bed. He looked over at Eve with dull, heavy eyes. “If you’ve come to file charges, you can—”

  “How is she?” Eve interrupted.

  He dragged a hand through his hair, then reached down to take Allika’s again. “She’s still critical. They’re going to run more tests soon.” He stroked his wife’s hand as he spoke. “I don’t know. I just don’t know. But you won’t push those murders on her.”

  Eve walked over to stand at the opposite side of the bed. “How much do you love your wife?”

  “That’s a stupid question.” Some of the steel came back into his eyes, his voice. “However much I love her, I don’t have to cover for her, or use any legal magic to protect her. She’s incapable of hurting anyone. And I’m damned if she tried to kill herself, especially with Rayleen alone in the house. She’d never put our daughter through this. Never.”

  “I agree with you.”

  He looked up. “Then what is this?”

  “How much did you love your son?”

  “How can you come in here, at a time like this, and bring that kind of pain back to me?”

  “A great deal, I’m betting. Even though you don’t have pictures of him in your home. Even though your wife keeps them locked away.”

  “It hurts beyond the telling. You can’t possibly understand. Do you think I’ve forgotten him? It’s not how much did I love him, but how much I do.” He lurched up, pulled out a small leather folder from his pocket. “Is this one of your essential details to tie up, Lieutenant? Here then. Here. I keep him in here. Look at that face.”

  He held out the photo case, with a snapshot of the little boy smiling out of it. “He was the sweetest boy. So happy all the time. You couldn’t be around Trev and not smile. No matter how crappy the day had been, five minutes with him and everything was good again. The day he…the day we lost him was the worst day of my life, up until now. Is that what you need to hear?”

  “Yeah, it is. I’ve got something hard for you, Oliver. Something no one should ever have laid on them. I want you to remember how you feel about your wife and your son. I need you to read this.”

  “What is it?”

  She held out the printout from the last pages of the diary. “I think you’ll recognize the handwriting. I think you’ll know what it is. I’m showing these to you now because of her.” She gestured toward Allika. “And because I saw the pictures of your son. His face is in my head.”

  That made Trevor Straffo hers, Eve acknowledged. As much as Craig Foster, even the pathetic Re
ed Williams, was hers.

  Straffo took the pages, scanned the first line. “This is Rayleen’s handwriting. From her diary? What possible—”

  “The last entry was written before she tossed it, inside its lockbox, in your kitchen recycler. Date’s right there. You’re going to want to read the whole thing.”

  As he did, he went gray. As he did, his hands began to shake. “This isn’t possible.”

  “Somewhere in you, you know it is. Your wife knew it was, and even in her horror and grief, she tried to protect Rayleen. So Rayleen did this to her, to protect herself, to throw suspicion on Allika, to focus you, your time, your attention, on her.”

  “No.”

  “There were other entries, Oliver. Details of how she killed both Foster and Williams. And a mention of a woman named Versy at the Kinley House.”

  “No. No. You’re out of your mind.” He swayed like a man would when the world tipped sharply on its axis. “I’m going out of mine.”

  Push, Eve ordered herself. No choice but to push. “What isn’t in there, as the diary only goes back seven months, is how she killed your son.”

  Even the gray leached out of his face. “That’s insane.”

  “You both knew Rayleen had been up some time before she came in to wake you.”

  “She—”

  “You decided it was an accident—what parent wouldn’t? That he’d tripped and she’d gone into shock and denial. You put all the pieces of him out of sight because she got upset if she saw them. More, if she saw either you or her mother looking at them.”

  “For God’s sake, for God’s sake. She was seven. You can’t believe—”

  “I can. Look at your wife, Oliver. Does she deserve what was done to her? Take out the picture of your son again. Did he? She took these lives without a quibble. I have a rock-solid case, which includes her buying a go-cup with Craig’s name engraved on it.”

  “What? What?” He fisted both hands in his hair, all but tore at it.

  “I have a wit,” Eve continued, relentlessly. “The clerk who waited on Rayleen, and who’s already identified her photo. Cora verifies they stopped in to that particular store on that particular day at Rayleen’s request.

  “I have a statement from her great-aunt, Quella Harmon, verifying she had interest in and knowledge of how ricin was made. Don’t even think of saying circumstantial to me,” she snapped.

  Kick him and keep kicking him while he’s down, she thought. It’s the only way.

  “In her own words, Oliver.” She leaned over to pick up the pages he’d dropped. “In her own words she writes how she decided to kill her mother, how she left Allika to die while she herself went to make a snack, to listen to music. She did this without a single twinge of regret.”

  “I can’t…You can’t expect me to believe.”

  “You already believe, in that place inside you. That’s what’s making you sick. But you’re going to have to suck it in, because I’m going to tell you what’s going to be done. And…look at me, Oliver. Look at me.”

  His eyes were glazed over with shock and unspeakable pain when they met hers. “She wrote it down,” he said dully. “She wrote it down while Allika was…”

  “That’s right. Allika was a barrier, like Trevor was.” Use their names, Eve thought. “Allika and Trev stood in the way of something she wanted, so she removed them.”

  “She’s my daughter, she’s my child. She’s…”

  “I’m going to make you a deal right here. You and me. If I don’t prove to you that everything I’ve told you is true, I won’t fight any attempt to try her as a minor instead of an adult.”

  “She’s ten years old. She’s only ten.”

  “Multiple premeditated murders. She gets legal adult status, unless I pull it out of the mix. That’s the deal. I prove to you that she put your wife—that she put Allika in that hospital bed, with a machine breathing for her, I prove she pushed Trevor down the stairs on fucking Christmas morning, that she did Foster and Williams and some sick old lady in a nursing home. All of it. Without a shadow of a doubt. If I don’t, you’ll have ammo to break down my case. That’s the deal. Take it, or I take her down now.”

  Rayleen was in the CCU family room, drawing. When Eve stepped in, she stopped, let her eyes swim with shining tears. “My mommy—”

  Eve closed the doors behind her. “I know the doctor who’s been working on her. She thinks your mother’s going to pull through this.”

  She wandered over to the counter. Hospital coffee was nearly as lethal as cop coffee. But it would make a nice prop. Eve poured a cup, turned. “Not such good news for you, Ray.”

  “What?”

  “Just you and me, Ray. Door’s shut.” Eve pulled off her jacket, turned. I’m not wearing a wire. Here’s my recorder.” She unpinned it, set it down. “Turned off. Haven’t read you your rights. Your father’s a lawyer, and you’re smart, so you know I can’t use anything you say to me.”

  Eve sat down, stretched out her legs, sipped at the coffee. Maybe hospital coffee was, actually, worse than cop coffee. “I’ve come across some tricky ones, but I have to say, you’re the trickiest. Even if your mother comes out of it, she’s not going to point the finger at you. Still, it must’ve pissed you off when Cora came back and found her before it was finished.”

  “I don’t want to talk to you.” The tears spilled out now. “You’re so mean.”

  “Oh, come on. I don’t scare you. You know I’ve got zip. I’ll give you better.” Eve shrugged, chanced another sip. “My commander and the house shrink think I’m full of it. Maybe tipping over the edge myself because I tried to sell them on you. I value my career, kid. I’m not going to toss it away on this. I’m done. The investigation will remain open for a while, then we’ll move it to inactive. Then to cold.”

  She leaned forward. “I’m not having the brass and the shrinks looking over my shoulder because of you, screwing up my very excellent chances for promotion over you. I’m riding a wave right now. Icove, the black-market baby bust. Big, juicy cases I closed. I can afford to let this one slide.”

  Rayleen tilted her head. “You can lie in an interview with a suspect.”

  “Yeah. But I can’t even hold an interview with a minor suspect without parental permission. So, officially, I’m not even here.”

  Rayleen went back to drawing. “Why are you here? I can go to my daddy right now, and you’ll be in trouble.”

  “Shit. I just came in to see how you were doing, no reason for him to think otherwise. If you make a stink about it, he’s going to wonder why I’d hassle you. Yeah.” Eve smiled, set the hideous coffee aside. “Why don’t you do that, Ray? He might start thinking how your mother wouldn’t have done herself with you alone with her in the apartment. Go ahead and get him. Last I saw him he was sitting beside your mother’s bed.”

  “He shouldn’t have left me alone. He should be with me. When she dies—”

  “If. It’s still if.” Playfully, Eve wagged a finger. “Don’t count your chickens, kid. I could hang the two murders on her, and maybe make it stick. But I’m not quite as practical as you are. I like to close cases, but doing that would stick in my craw. So…it goes cold.”

  “You’re just giving up?”

  “It’s what we call ‘knowing when to fold.’ A couple of teachers aren’t going to get much more screen play anyway.” Casually, Eve crossed her ankles. “I can figure out how you did your mother. Can’t prove it, but I can get how you played it. You made the tea, you put in the pills. Did she know?”

  Rayleen shrugged. “My mother tried to kill herself, and it’s terrible. I could be scarred for life. Daddy and I are going to need to go on a long trip, just the two of us, so I can adjust.”

  “Then why’d she call you home first? Why did your mother call you back instead of just taking the pills while she was alone?”

  “I guess she wanted to say good-bye.” Rayleen lifted her gaze, fluttered her lashes. And was smiling just a little as she worked
up a tear. “She loved me more than anything.”

  Already using past tense, Eve noted. Allika was gone in Rayleen’s mind. “That could work,” Eve agreed. “Come on, Ray, it must be infuriating for a smart girl like you not to be able to share what you can do with anyone else. I know about taking a life from both sides of it. You’ve got me cold, tied my hands. You win; I lose. But goddamn it, I’m curious.”

  “You use very bad language. In my house, we don’t approve of bad language.”

  “Screw that,” Eve said, and made Rayleen giggle. “Why’d you do Foster? I can, again, work out the how. You got the ricin from somewhere. Can’t track that, either, but you got it, dumped it in his thermos.”

  “It’s called a go-cup,” Rayleen said primly.

  “Right. You walked in when he had the outside class upstairs, doctored the drink. Then you got your friend to go down to class a few minutes early, so you could find him. Slick.”

  “If you were right, you still wouldn’t be all right. You don’t know everything.”

  “No, you got me. Why would you kill him? Did he try to hurt you? Did he try some sort of abuse? Touch you?”

  “Please. That’s disgusting.”

  “I’m not going to buy it was just a whim. You went to too much trouble, planned it out too well.”

  Rayleen’s lips twitched. “If you were really smart, you’d know everything.”

  “Got me there.”

  “Maybe—and this is just like pretending I’m talking to you about it—maybe he was stupid and mean and made a really dumb mistake and wouldn’t listen even when I gave him a chance to fix it.”

  “What kind of mistake? Since we’re pretending.”

  “He gave me an A minus on my oral report. A minus. I always get an A or an A plus. He had no business giving me a minus, just because he thought my presentation needed more work. I practiced and practiced. I was the best in the whole class, and getting less than a solid A means I could drop to second instead of first.”

  “You poisoned him because he gave you an A minus on a presentation?” Eve repeated.