J. Robb - Innocent In Death

She’d just check another time, she told herself. Fix that nice cuppa for the missus, and a bite to eat. If the missus needed to rest, why, she’d just cancel her date with her friends and take the girl out herself. No point in having the mite’s day spoiled because her mum was doing poorly.

Fact was, she’d never be easy, she wouldn’t have a good time at all worrying about the missus and the mite.

Such a rough patch they were all going through, with those horrible murders right at the school, and the police swarming all over the house like ants.

Hardly a wonder poor Mrs. Straffo was feeling blue.

Some tea, maybe a little soup, a nice nap. Those were the tickets.

Cora got off the subway, climbed up the steps to street level and began to walk through the blustery air. She was so lucky to have a position like this, with such a lovely family in such a beautiful home in such an exciting city.

The girl was fun and bright-a bit testy now and then, sure, but neat as a pin. And so interested in every little thing. And never did you hear a raised voice or dodge a thrown dish, as you would as a matter of course in her own house back in Ireland.

Truth be told, she missed the yelling and carryings-on from time to time. But she couldn’t ask for a better position with a nicer family.

She smiled at the doorman, gave him a bit of a flirt. Now if that one had asked her to a vid matinee, she might have ignored those pricks in her conscience.

She took out her key as she rode up to the top. When she let herself in, it was so quiet, she wondered if she’d overreacted and Mrs. Straffo and Rayleen had gone out to lunch and the salon after all.

Wouldn’t she justkick herself if she’d wasted the subway fare!

She called out, got no answer. Rolled her eyes. “Aren’t you an arse, Cora?”

She nearly turned right around and went back out, but decided to glance in the coat closet first. Surely if the missus had gone out, she’d have worn a coat, and there were none missing that she could see.

She called out again as she started upstairs.

And there was Rayleen, sitting at her desk in her room with her headset on while she worked on her art. No point in bothering her, Cora thought, though she did raise her eyebrows at the snack of chocolate cake and a fizzy on the desk.

They’d have a bit of a word about that one later.

For now, she was worried about the missus. Probably gone to bed with that headache, she thought. And without a bite to eat.

Since the bedroom door was closed, she knocked softly, then opened it to peek in.

There was Mrs. Straffo in bed, a tray across her lap, and a cup overturned on it. Fell asleep sitting up, poor lamb, spilled the tea, Cora thought, and moved forward quietly to take it away.

She saw the pill bottle then, the empty bottle lying on the duvet.

“Oh, Mother of God. Sweet Jesus. Missus!” She grabbed Allika’s shoulders, shook. When there was no response, she slapped her once, twice.

Terrified, she grabbed for the bedside ’link.

Are you troubled by this situation on a personal level?” Mira asked.

“I haven’t decided.” Eve was running hot, sirens screaming. “I don’t know if I didn’t look at her hard enough, straight enough, right from the get because I didn’t want to, because I was fucked up about Roarke, or because it just didn’t click. Probably won’t ever know.”

“Do you want to know what I think?”

“Yeah, sure. You stupid son of a bitch, don’t youhear the sirens?”

“I think…” And Mira decided she’d just close her eyes so the image of oncoming death by traffic wouldn’t distract her. “No one would have looked at her hard enough or straight enough initially. We’re wired to protect the young, not to believe them capable of premeditated murder. You may be right about her, about all of it. I believe you’re right about what happened to her brother. However, my opinion on this veers more heavily toward Arnette Mosebly.”

“Fifty.”

“Fifty what?”

“I got fifty that says I’m right, you’re wrong.”

“You want to bet on a murderer?”

“It’s just money.”

“All right,” Mira said after a moment. “Fifty it is.”

“Done. Now I’ll tell you why she didn’t do it. The school’s her core, her pride, her vanity. Maybe she could kill, but she’d do it off school grounds. She wouldn’t bring that kind of publicity, that kind of smear to her beloved Sarah Child. This is costing her students. And it’s probably going to cost her her job.”

“A good argument, but self-preservation supersedes even a treasured job. If Foster knew about her relationship with Williams, he was a direct threat-and may have told her he intended to report her. Williams, by her own statement, did just that, in an attempt to blackmail her into keeping him on.”

“Want to make it a hundred?”

Before Mira could answer, Eve’s communicator signaled again. “Okay, what now? Dallas.”

“Dallas, Allika Straffo’s on her way to the hospital. OD’d. Her condition is critical.”

“Where’s the kid?”

“The au pair took her. They left right after the ambulance, took a cab to Parkside, it’s the closest. I missed this by minutes, again. First on scene said the kid was hysterical.”

“I bet she was. You in the penthouse?”

“I came up to talk to the cops who responded to the nine-one-one. MTs were called in by the au pair. Reported overdose, which sent out the uniforms.”

“I want the diary. Find it. I’m headed to the hospital.”

“This isn’t your fault.” Mira shifted in her seat when Eve whipped the wheel. “If this woman couldn’t face the idea that her daughter killed and tried-or succeeded-in self-terminating, it isn’t on you.”

“The fact that I didn’t figure the kid would kill her own mother is on me. If Allika Straffo swallowed a fistful of pills, it’s because that little bitch gave them to her. Goddamn it.”

She punched the gas. “If she was going to do herself, she’d have left a note. Going to protect the kid, she’d have left a note confessing. If she was just going to give it up, can’t face it anymore, why did she call the kid home?”

“Rayleen realized her mother knew, and might be a threat.” Mira shook her head. “Induce her to take an overdose, and the threat’s removed. Her own mother.”

“She shoved her little brother, who was wearing footie pj’s, down the steps on Christmas morning. Pumping Mom full of pills isn’t much of a stretch.”

“If Allika Straffo dies, you’ll never prove it. Even if she lives, she may not implicate her own child.”

“She’ll be counting on that. She’s going to be wrong.”

Eve strode into the chaotic misery of the ER, scanned the bruised, the bleeding, the broken. She snagged a hustling nurse, then flipped out her badge to cut through any bull. “Straffo, Allika, OD. Where?”

“Trauma Room Three. Badge or no badge, you can’t go in. Dr. Dimatto’s a little busy trying to save her life.”

Louise Dimatto. Eve smiled. Sometimes it actually paid to have friends.

“You can get in there. So go in, tell Louise that Dallas needs a status report on her patient. Where’s the kid? The Straffo kid?”

“In the A chairs, with her nanny, father’s on the way. You know Doctor D?”

“Yeah, we go back. A chairs?”

“Follow me.”

Apparently claiming Louise had grease, and slid Eve and Mira straight through the general area to the trauma section. In an alcove across from a set of double swinging doors sat Rayleen, huddled against Cora.

The kid’s face was splotchy from weeping, eyes red and swollen. Eve thought: Good job. Drama Club paid off.

Cora spotted Eve first, and her eyes went weepy. “Lieutenant Dallas. It’s…it’s the missus.”