Innocent In Death

16

IT WAS MORE THAN BEING OFF HER STRIDE, EVE decided as she worked and waited for Peabody and

McNab. The case itself had no solid point, no focus.

It was the motives that were murky.

The probability scans ran dead even between her primary suspects, with Allika Straffo dropping to the base according to profile.

There was something just slightly off about the woman, something more than a stumble on the fidelity path. What did she know? Eve wondered. What did she think? What made her so vulnerable and skittish?

The death of a child. Could that, did that damage run so deep it left the foundation forever cracked and shaky? Maybe it did, how would she know? But Oliver Straffo appeared to have learned to live with the loss.

Maybe it was different for a mother.

But there was another child in the house, alive and well.

Not enough, apparently, to keep Allika steady. The kid, the successful husband, the penthouse, the au pair, none of it was quite enough. So she slipped, and Williams had been right there to catch her.

Maybe it wasn’t the first slip.

“Maybe it wasn’t,” she muttered. “And…so what? So what?”

She turned and saw Roarke in the doorway between their offices. “So what?” she repeated. “If it wasn’t the first time Allika had grabbed for a little strange, wouldn’t a man as astute as Straffo know the signs?”

“People stray from marriages every day, and not all their spouses, however astute, know. Or admit to knowing. Or for that matter,” Roarke added, “particularly care if they do know.”

“He’s got pride. He’sinvolved. He’d know, he’d care. And if it was the first time, is his reaction going to be to kill an innocent bystander? And where his daughter’s going to be touched by it?” Two big hitches, Eve decided as she shook her head.

“It doesn’t play straight for me,” she continued. “But if he knew, why would he agree to defend the man his wife strayed with? And, since he did agree, why would he turn around a day later and kill the son of a bitch?”

“Maybe to have the primary on the case ask herself that very question.”

“Huh. Well, it’s working.” Rolling the possibility around in her head, she tipped back in the chair. “He’s a slick one in court, always has the angles figured, knows how to twist the-Wait a minute. Wait. Here’s an angle. What if he agreed to rep Williams because he wanted to make sure he lost? He doesn’t even have to drop the ball, he just has to make sure he doesn’t kick it through the goalposts.”

“Ah. He takes the case to ensure his client’s found guilty. Clever, and all but impossible to prove.”

“Like I said, slick guy. He tried an order to overturn the warrant, suppress the evidence. And he had to know Reo would mow that down. Starts off weak.”

Roarke picked up her coffee from the desk, helped himself to a sip. “A nice, tidy line of revenge.”

“So why kill the guy if you were going to help put him in a cage anyway?”

After setting the coffee down, he reached out, tapped his finger on the dent in her chin. “You’re circling, Lieutenant.”

“Yeah, I’m circling, because there’s something there, but I can’t see it. There’s something there.” She shoved to her feet. “I need my murder board.”

“I wondered if you’d update the one up here.” He walked to her then, slipped his arms around her. “It cost you time.” He pressed his lips to her brow, quietly pleased when her body leaned into his. “What pushed between us cost you time.”

“I’ll make it up.”They’d make it up, she corrected. That was part of the benefits of being a team. She linked her arms around his waist, watched him smile. “What do you think about the security?”

“The system’s very basic. You were right there. Easily slipped through.” Wrapped around each other, they both turned their heads to study her board. “A weapon would be more difficult, but hardly impossible. A person would cause barely a blip if they knew anything about the system.”

“That’s something, anyway.”

“I’ll look at the discs for you, see if anyone jammed one of them for the second or two it would take.”

“McNab was going to look at that. You’ve got work of your own.”

“I owe you time.”

“Awww.” Peabody stopped in the doorway. “Sorry. Hi. Nice to see you.” And she was grinning from ear to ear.

“Don’t take off the coat, we’re going. I’ll see you later,” she said to Roarke, then found her mouth caught by his.

“Awww,” Peabody repeated.

“Later, Lieutenant. Good morning, Peabody, McNab.”

“Hey! How’s it going!”

“Don’t talk to them,” Eve ordered as she started out. “They’ll start begging for danishes. With me, both of you. And stop smiling like that,” she demanded as she strode ahead of them. “What if it sticks on your faces and I have to look at it all day? It’s scary.”

“We’re just happy. Things are good, right?”

“Keep going,” she told McNab, then slowed just a little. “Let’s just close this up with me saying I appreciate the ear, and the faith and the support.”

“That’s what friends do, and partners.”

“Yeah, but thanks.” She hesitated as they started down the stairs. “You go on out with McNab. I’m right behind you.” But she paused, taking her coat off the newel where Summerset would have replaced it for her.

She looked at him as she put it on. “He’s okay. We’re okay. She’s not going to be a problem for him anymore.”

“Or for you?”

“Or for me.”

“I’m very glad to hear it.”

“I know you are. Appreciate it.”

“I’ve brought that unfortunate vehicle you’ve yet to wreck around in anticipation of your departure. I hope you won’t leave it soiling the front of the house much longer.”

“Kiss my ass, scarecrow.”

“There.” He smiled at her. “We’re back to normal.”

She let out a snorting laugh, then strode out.

Straffo met them at the door. He didn’t elect to have his own lawyer present, as was his right. Pride, Eve decided. He was too proud to have someone else handle the legalities.

It surprised her a little to note he hadn’t sent his wife and kid, and the au pair, away. Went back to pride, she assumed. He was showing them he’d handle this nonsense, that he was still in charge of the household.

He read the warrant thoroughly, taking his time about it, his face expressionless. Oh, but he was pissed, Eve thought. He was steaming under that smooth exterior.

“It’s in order,” he stated, then met her eyes. “I expect you and your team to proceed with this in an expeditious and respectful manner. You’ll be accountable for any damage.”

“So noted. The record is on, and will remain on throughout. Detective McNab will handle the electronics. If any of your possessions require confiscation, you’ll be given receipts. Do you wish to remain on the premises during the execution of the warrant?”

“I certainly do.”

“That’ll be handy.” She nodded to McNab, then to Baxter and Trueheart as they arrived. “Baxter, you and Trueheart take the main level. Peabody, with me.”

She started toward the stairs, passed Allika, who stood gripping Rayleen’s hand.

“Excuse me, Lieutenant?”

Eve paused, looked at the child. “Yeah?”

“Are you really going to search my room?”

“We’re going to search all the rooms, including yours.”

“Wow. Could I-”

“Rayleen.” Straffo’s voice was quick and sharp. “Let the police get on with what they came to do.”

Still looking more excited than abashed, Rayleen lowered her eyes. “Yes, sir.”

Eve started with the third floor. There was what she supposed was termed a family room. A couple of long, cushy sofas, double-sized chairs, oversized entertainment screen.

A fireplace, currently cold, was topped by a wide white mantel that held copper urns and a grouping of family pictures in matching copper frames. The family at the shore, Rayleen in school uniform, another of the kid in a pink tutu, the couple in black tie, looking polished and happy.

Sectioned off from the lounge area was a home gym. Nicely equipped, Eve noted, and with a view of the city from a long ribbon of windows.

There was a small second kitchen-minifriggie, miniAutoChef, short counter with a couple of stools.

A full bath complete with jet tub and steam shower.

There was no work space.

Still, she searched cabinets, drawers, cushions, took art from the walls to check backings and frames.

“Looks clear,” she said to Peabody. “McNab will check the electronics.”

“Family sanctuary. Pretty juicy one.” Peabody took one more scan. “They use this place more than the living area downstairs when they’re going to hang. Watch some screen, play games on the table over by the window. Downstairs is more for entertaining. This is where they get together as a fam.”

“Yeah, I’d say.” She glanced toward the fireplace again, studied the pictures on the mantel. “Let’s take the second floor.”

They separated, with Peabody taking Straffo’s home office and Eve taking Allika’s sitting room. She studied the fireplace again, the mantel, the family pictures and portraits.

Interesting, she thought. Then dug into the room.

It was all very female, Eve decided. Mags and discs on fashion and decorating and child rearing. Memo cubes were reminders to send thank-you notes for parties or gifts, to send invites for dinner or cocktails or lunch. Reminders to buy a hostess gift for so and so or an anniversary gift for him and her whoever. The sort of thing the wife of a high-powered and successful man did, she supposed.

The sort of thing she never did.

Who did? she wondered. Did Roarke handle that himself, or Summerset, or Caro?

Allika kept separate date books for herself, for her husband, for her kid.

Straffo’s golf dates, dinner meetings (whether she was needed to attend or not), his salon appointments, doctors’ appointments, meetings with his tailor, scheduled out-of-town trips. A family trip scheduled for March, which coincided with the kid’s spring break from school.

She compared it with Allika’s. Shopping dates, lunch dates, salon dates, dinner with her husband, some with clients or friends, some without.

She noted that neither of them had scheduled appointments during the time frame of either murder.

The kid’s appointment book was a shocker. Dance class, twice weekly, socialization dates (what the hell?) three times a week with various other kids. Melodie Branch was down for every Thursday afternoon from three-thirty until four-thirty. Swapping houses, Eve saw. One week at the Branch place, one week here at the Straffos’.

There was soccer practice once a week beginning in March, and something called Brain Teasers the kid attended every Saturday morning. Followed, two Saturdays a month, by a volunteer stint with an organization called From the Kids.

In addition to the monthly schedule, there were additions of birthday parties, field trips, school projects, Drama Club meetings, doctors’ appointments, museum and library trips, art projects, family outings.

As far as Eve could see, the kid had more going on than both of her parents.

No wonder they needed the au pair, Eve mused. Though it was a little odd that Allika had carried professional mother status from the time Rayleen was born until the death of the son. Though she wasn’t pursuing a career, or even a paying hobby outside the home, Allika had let that status lapse.

Eve bagged the notebooks. She wanted more time to study them, and to verify all the names and groups and locations.

She went through the little desk. Monogrammed stationery-so Allika handwrote some of those thank-yous and invites, Eve mused. Huh. An organized-by-occasion selection of cards-birthdays (humorous, flowery, formal, youth), sympathy, congratulations, and so on.

Spare discs and memo cubes, address book, a file of clippings on decorating.

It made Eve think of the clippings Peabody had found in Lissette Foster’s cube. Common ground, Eve mused. Something there? Maybe the women had crossed paths in their interest in decorating.

She made a note to check it out, though she doubted Allika and Lissette shopped for doodads or draperies at the same level.

Correspondence Allika had saved ran to cute little cards or notes from girlfriends, printed out e-mails from same, or from the kid.

There were birthday cards and feel-better cards from Rayleen, all of them handmade. And with more style and skill, Eve admitted, than she herself could claim. Pretty paper and colors, some comp-generated, some hand-drawn.

DON’T BE SAD, MOMMY!

One of the cards announced in big, careful printing on heavy pink paper. There was a drawing of a woman’s face with shiny tears on the cheeks.

Inside the woman was smiling, with her cheek pressed to the cheek of a girl’s face. Flowers bloomed all around the edges and a wide rainbow curved at the top. The sentiment read:

I’LL ALWAYS BE HERE TO MAKE YOU SMILE! LOVE, YOUR OWN RAYLEEN

Eve noted Allika had written the date on the back of the card. January 10, 2057.

In the closet she found some art supplies, a paint smock, clear boxes filled with things like glass marbles, stones, beads, ribbons, silk flowers. Hobby stuff, Eve supposed, all as organized as the rest of the place.

And on the top shelf, behind boxes of supplies, a large and lovely fabric-covered box with a jeweled latch.

Eve took it down, opened it. Found the dead son.

Here were the photographs, from infant to toddler. A beaming and pregnant Allika, a dreamy-eyed Allika holding an infant wrapped in a blue blanket. Pictures of the baby boy with his big sister, with his father, and so on.

She found a swatch of the blanket, a lock of downy hair, a small stuffed dog, a single plastic block.

Eve thought of the memory box Mavis and Leonardo had given her and Roarke one Christmas. This was Allika’s memory box, dedicated to her son.

How often did she take it out, Eve wondered. Look through all the pictures, rub that blue fabric between her fingers or stroke that lock of hair against her cheek?

Yet she kept it all on a high shelf at the back of a closet. Tucked away. And not one memento of the boy, that Eve had seen, touched the rest of the house.

Why?

She went through it all, every piece. Then replaced it and put the box back.

When she finished with the room, she stepped over to where Peabody was just winding up with Straffo’s home office.

“Nearly done here. McNab started on the master bedroom up here so we wouldn’t get in each other’s way. Boxed a lot of discs and files. Nothing’s popped out though.”

“You find anything on the kid? Their dead kid?”

“Who? Oh, oh, right. Forgot. No, nothing here on their son.” Peabody stopped, frowned. “Nothing,” she repeated. “That’s kind of odd, really.”

“One more thing. There’s a stash of decorating clippings in Allika’s sitting room. Lissette had some in her cube.”

“Yeah, she did. So maybe they crossed there?” Peabody frowned, shrugged. “Maybe. But I’ve got a stash of my own, and a bunch of decorating sites bookmarked on my home comp. Don’t you ever…Forget I nearly asked,” Peabody said when Eve stared at her.

“It’s worth checking out. Running the name by Lissette, showing her Allika’s picture.”

“Okay. Do you want me to tag her now, ask her?”

“Yeah, let’s cross that off the list, then take the master bedroom next.” She walked over. McNab turned. “Anything shaking?” she asked him.

“Steady as they go. A lot of incomings and outgoings, but nothing that pops. Mostly personal data-banking, marketing, schedules, and like that on the main-level units. Nanny’s unit more of the same. Talks to family and pals back in Ireland a couple times a week, e-mails regular. All chatty, little bits on the Straffos and the kid, but nothing that’d make you jump.”

“Keep looking.”

It didn’t take long for Eve to discern that both Straffos preferred good fabrics in classic cuts-and plenty of it. The his and hers closets were spacious and pristine, and loaded.

Shoes were organized according to type and tone and all in clear protective boxes. Wardrobe was color-coordinated into groupings. Casual, work, cocktail, black-tie. The more formal wear hung with ID tags that described the outfit, when and where it had been worn.

If they liked sex toys, those playthings had been smuggled out before the warrant was executed. The nightstand drawers held book discs, memo cubes, minilights.

But there was some very provocative lingerie in Allika’s dresser, and a varied selection of body creams and oils. Since there’d been a reminder in Allika’s date book to renew her semiannual birth control, sex was likely part of the regularly scheduled events.

She found antianxiety and antidepression medication, and sleeping pills in Allika’s underwear drawer.

Eve took a sample of each medication, bagged it.

“Lissette didn’t recognize Allika’s name or image,” Peabody reported.

“Long shot.”

“Yeah. Dallas, I know we’re not supposed to get wound up in the personal areas of an investigation, but that woman, Lissette, just breaks my heart. She asked, the way they do, if we had anything new, anything we could tell her. I had to give her the standard line. She took it.” Sympathy, all those personal feelings an investigator is supposed to block out, resonated in her voice, on her face. “Held on to it like it was the only thing keeping her head above water right now.”

“Then we’d better follow through on the line, Peabody, and give her the answers she needs.”

Leaving Peabody, Eve headed down to find either one of the Straffos. He was pacing, talking on a headset, while she pretended to be absorbed in a magazine. The minute he spotted Eve, Straffo ended the transmission.

“Finished?”

“No. You’ve got a big place. Takes time. There’s a safe in the master bedroom closet. I need it opened.”

His lips tightened, just a little, and before Allika could rise, he waved her down. “I’ll see to it,” he told her. Then looked at Eve again. “Have you completed your business on the third floor?”

“It’s clear.”

“Allika, why don’t you have Cora take Rayleen up to the family room when they get back?”

“All right.”

He stopped, and Eve saw something in him soften as he touched a hand to her shoulder. She thought, Okay, he loves his wife. What does that mean?

He didn’t speak until they were far enough up the steps to be out of his wife’s hearing. “How would you feel, I wonder, to have your home turned inside out this way, your personal things pawed over?”

“We try not to paw. We’ve got two bodies, Straffo, both of whom you knew, one of whom was your client.” She sent him a look, let a little sarcasm leak into it. “Tough way to lose a client, by the way.”

“A foolish way to dismiss one,” he countered. “And yes, I knew them both-casually. Maybe you’re theorizing that I’m annoyed with Rayleen’s academic program, and I’m working my way one by one through her instructors.”

“Maybe I’m wondering why you took a lowlife like Williams as a client. If I knew that, we might have avoided this.”

“I’m a defense attorney.” His tone was as cool and flat as hers. “My client list isn’t always the bright lights of the city.”

“You got that. We all do what we do, Straffo.”

“Yes, we all do what we do.” He went into the bedroom, ignored Peabody, and went straight to the closet safe. “I opened the one in the study downstairs for your associates,” he said as he plugged in the combination, finished with his thumbprint.

“Appreciate it.”

It was jewelry-his and hers. Pricey wrist units, some antique wristwatches, glittering stones, gleaming pearls. While he stood watch, Eve went through it, checked for false bottoms, compartments.

When she was satisfied, she stepped back. “You can lock her up.”

He did so. “How much longer?”

“Couple hours, at a guess. I want to ask one question. Lot of family photographs around the house. I haven’t seen one out of your son. Why is that?”

There was a look in his eye, for only a moment, and the look was bleak. “It’s painful. And it’s private.” He turned and left.

Questions and possibilities circled in Eve’s mind as she watched him go. “Have Baxter and Trueheart take the guest room up here, Peabody. You handle the bathrooms to start. I’m taking the kid’s room.”

What was interesting, Eve thought, was that with the kid’s schedule, Rayleen had time to use the elaborate space. But it was obvious she did from the art projects in progress, the schoolwork discs filed in her pink, monogrammed case. A paper desk calendar with a pair of insanely adorable puppies was turned to the correct date.

She had photos as well. One which had to be her classmates at Sarah Child all lined up by height, facing the camera in their spiffy uniforms. Another of a vacation shot with Rayleen flanked by her parents, all looking sun-kissed and windblown. Her own solo school picture, and another solo of her in a pink party dress.

There were a couple of thriving live green plants on her windowsill in pink and white pots. Obviously Rayleen didn’t tire of the color scheme. Or had no choice in it.

Eve was voting for the former.

The kid had more clothes than Eve could have claimed for all the years of her own childhood put together. All as neat and organized as her parents’ had been. There were dance clothes, dance shoes, a soccer uniform, soccer shoes. Three identical school uniforms, dressy clothes, casual clothes, and play clothes, all with appropriate shoes.

There was a forest of hair ties, bands, clips, pins, and ribbons, all meticulously kept in a designated drawer.

At least nothing was tagged to indicate where and when she’d worn anything. But a lot of items-notebooks, bags, stickers, writing tools, art cases, and so on-were labeled with her name.

A big decorative pillow on her bed hadPRINCESS RAYLEEN splashed across it, as did a fluffy pink bathrobe and the matching slippers.

She had her own date book, with all of her activities and appointments plugged in, her own address book with the names of schoolmates, relatives, her father’s various ’link numbers.

Eve bagged them.

“How come you’re allowed to take that?”

Eve turned, though she’d known Rayleen was there. “Aren’t you supposed to be someplace else?”

“Yes.” A smile curved, charming, conspiratorial. “Don’t tell. Please? I just wanted to watch how you searched. I think maybe I’ll work in crime investigation one day.”

“Is that so?”

“Daddy thinks I’d make a good lawyer, and Mom hopes I’ll go into art, or dance. I like to dance. But I like to figure things out more. I think maybe I’ll study to be a criminalist. That’s the right word, because I looked it up. It’s somebody who studies evidence. You gather it, but then other people study it. Is that right?”

“More or less.”

“I think anyone can gather it, but studying it and analyzing it would beimportant. But I don’t understand how come my address book and stuff could be evidence.”

“That’s why I’m the cop, and you’re not.”

The smile turned right down into a pout. “That’s not a very nice thing to say.”

“I’m not very nice. I take things because I need to look at them when I have more time. Your father will get receipts for anything that leaves the premises.”

“I don’t care. It’s just a stupid book.” Rayleen shrugged. “I remember everyone’s numbers and codes anyway. I have an excellent head for numbers.”

“Good for you.”

“I looked you up and you’ve solved lots of cases.”

“It’s ‘closed.’ If you’re going to work with cops, you have to use the right term. We close cases.”

“Closed,” Rayleen repeated. “I’ll remember. You closed the one where those men broke into a house and killed everyone in it but a girl, younger than me. Her name was Nixie.”

“Still is.”

“Did she give you clues? To help you close the case?”

“As a matter of fact. Shouldn’t you go find your mother or something?”

“I’ve been trying to think of clues for this one.” She wandered to a mirror, studied her own reflection, fluffed her curls. “Because I was right there and everything. I saw, and I’m very, very observant. So I could help close the case.”

“If you think of anything, be sure to let me know. Now scram.”

Her eyes met Eve’s in the mirror, a quick flash, then Rayleen turned. “It’smy room.”

“It’s my warrant. Beat it.”

Rayleen narrowed her eyes, folded her arms. “Will not.”

The kid’s face was a study of defiance, arrogance, confidence, temper. And Eve noted, challenge. Make me.

Eve took her time absorbing it all as she crossed over. Then she took Rayleen by the arm, pulled her out of the room.

“Taking me on’s a mistake.” Eve said it quietly, then closed the door. Locked it.

In case Rayleen got ideas, Eve strode down to the bedroom door, closed and locked that as well.

Then she went back to work.

She was undisturbed until Peabody knocked. “Why’d you lock the door?”

“Kid got under my feet.”

“Oh. Well. I had the guys haul some of the boxes we’re taking out. They’re labeled, receipts done. Unfortunately, we didn’t come across any poison in the spice cabinet or blackmail notes in the library. But we’ve got some shit to cull over once we log it in at Central. You get anything in here?”

“This and that. Here’s what I haven’t got. Her diary.”

“Maybe she doesn’t keep one.”

“She mentioned she did when Foster was killed. I’m not finding it.”

“They can hide them good.”

“I can find them good, when they’re here.”

“Yeah.” Peabody pursed her lips, looked around. “Maybe she doesn’t keep one after all. Ten’s a pretty much between-age for boys, and boys are the big topic of diaries.”

“She’s got an active, busy brain for any age. So where’s the ‘Mom and Dad won’t let me have a tattoo. It’s so bogus!’ Or ‘Johnnie Dreamboat looked at me in the hall today!’”

“Can’t say, and can’t think what that would tell us if she had a journal going and we found it.”

“Daily stuff-what Mommy said to Daddy, what this teacher did, and so on. The kid notices things. Got a snotty streak, too.”

Peabody grinned. “You think all kids are snots.”

“Goes without saying. But this one’s got something in there.” Eve glanced back at the mirror, saw again the way Rayleen had looked at herself, then the flash in her eyes. “If something pissed her off or hurt her tender feelings, you bet your ass she’d document. Where’s her documentation?”

“Well…Maybe McNab will find something buried on her comp. She’s smart enough, she’d want to keep her observations and bitches where Mommy and Daddy and the au pair wouldn’t find them if they poked around.”

“Put a flag on that.”

“Sure. Seems a little out there, Dallas.”

“Maybe.” She turned, studied the vacation shot again. “Maybe not.”