J. Robb - Innocent In Death

“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 shethink? “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 thingsexact. She expected her personal space to berespected.

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.

It was all simple, really, and she’d thought about doing this before. Considered it. They would think her mother had self-terminated, out of guilt and despair. They’d think her mother had killed Mr. Foster, Mr. Williams, then hadn’t been able to live with it.

She knew her mother had had sex with Mr. Williams. She’d confessed it the night before the police had come to search. Rayleen was good at hearing things adults didn’t want her to hear. Her mother and father had talked and talked, and her mother had cried like a baby. Disgusting.

And her father had forgiven her mother. It had been a mistake, he said. They’d start fresh.

That had been disgusting, too-just like the sounds they’d made when they had sex after. If anyone lied to her the way her mother had to her father, she’d have made them pay. And pay and pay.