J. Robb - Innocent In Death

“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 shehad 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 sheintersect 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 thischild 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 somehowshe 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.