Innocent in Death (In Death #24)(106)

That little body flying out, tumbling, tumbling. Breaking.

“Then she walked down, checked to make sure she’d done a good job of it, before she went in to see what goodies she was getting from Santa. And what sort of things she would enjoy that would have been for her brother.”

She saw the horror of the picture she was painting play across Mira’s face. “She put the slippers on. She likes things with her name on them. That was a little mistake,” Eve added. “Like mentioning the diary to me. But she couldn’t resist. She probably played awhile. Her parents weren’t going to notice if she’d moved something a little, and she wouldn’t have resisted. It was all hers now.

“Then she went back up. I wonder if she even noticed her brother’s body at that point. He was no longer an issue.”

She shifted her gaze to Whitney, noted that his hands had gone still again, and that his face showed nothing. Nothing at all. “She might have tried to go back to sleep for a little while, but it was too hard. All those toys downstairs, and nobody to share them with anymore. So she woke up her parents so she could get back to what she wanted to do.”

“What you’re describing…” Mira began.

“Is a sociopath. And that’s exactly what she is. A sociopath with homicidal tendencies, a very keen intellect, and a big-ass chunk of narcissism. That’s why she kept the diary. It’s her only way of bragging about what she can do, and get away with doing.”

“We need the diary.”

“Yes, sir.” She nodded at Whitney.

“Why Foster and Williams?”

“Foster, I don’t know, unless it was for the hell of it. I don’t know,” she said again, “because she doesn’t strike me as a for-the-hell-of-it type. Williams was a very handy and unexpected goat. That’s on me, too. I pushed at him, and she saw the opportunity not only to kill again—because I think this time she got a taste for it—but to hand me a suspect. Either in him or in Mosebly. I wouldn’t doubt she knew something had gone on between them.”

“Even with the diary, even if it gives chapter and verse, it may be difficult to prove she did this on her own, or at all. Her father will, no doubt, block every step you take from here.”

“I’ll handle Straffo, sir, and I’ll get Rayleen to confess.”

“How?” Mira wondered.

“I’ll make her want to tell me.” Her communicator signaled. “With permission, Commander?” At his nod, she pulled it out of her pocket. “Dallas.”

“Sir, she left the museum minutes before I got here. I’ve been going over the place with the security cameras, and just now asked them to do a playback of the hour before I arrived. I tagged her. The nanny got a ’link call, then they exited the building on the Eighty-first Street side almost as I was coming in on Fifth.”

“Her mother. Damn it. Head back to the Straffo apartment. I’m on my way.”

“I’ll come with you. I may be useful,” Mira insisted.

“Yes, you may.” Whitney got to his feet. “Lieutenant, I want to know the minute you locate…the suspect. I want to know if and when you find this diary.”

“Yes, sir. You’re going to have to keep up,” she said to Mira, then moved fast.

Cora’s conscience pricked her until she got off the subway heading downtown, crossed over, and took the uptown train. It was too early to meet her friends for the vid matinee they’d planned on. And she didn’t really need to browse the shops where she’d just spend money she’d be better off keeping.

Most of all, she couldn’t get Mrs. Straffo’s poor, pale face out of her head. Maybe it was just a headache, maybe it was. But she knew very well the woman went into the blue place every now and then. It wasn’t right to leave her there, to leave Rayleen alone with her if the mum was feeling sad and sick.

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.