Innocent in Death (In Death #24)(118)

“And the walls keep tumbling down,” Eve mumbled as Peabody took the data. “Outsmarted herself on this one. Should’ve made it quick, not engaged the clerk. But she’s just got to show off.”

“She’d have disposed of his original cup,” Mira commented.

“Yeah, probably carried it right out of the school, right under our noses. Goddamn it.”

“You’re trained,” Mira said. “So am I. I’m trained in abnormal psychiatry, and I believe she would have carried it out under my nose, too.”

“That ends today.”

Eve found Straffo in his wife’s room, sitting vigil beside her bed. He looked over at Eve with dull, heavy eyes. “If you’ve come to file charges, you can—”

“How is she?” Eve interrupted.

He dragged a hand through his hair, then reached down to take Allika’s again. “She’s still critical. They’re going to run more tests soon.” He stroked his wife’s hand as he spoke. “I don’t know. I just don’t know. But you won’t push those murders on her.”

Eve walked over to stand at the opposite side of the bed. “How much do you love your wife?”

“That’s a stupid question.” Some of the steel came back into his eyes, his voice. “However much I love her, I don’t have to cover for her, or use any legal magic to protect her. She’s incapable of hurting anyone. And I’m damned if she tried to kill herself, especially with Rayleen alone in the house. She’d never put our daughter through this. Never.”

“I agree with you.”

He looked up. “Then what is this?”

“How much did you love your son?”

“How can you come in here, at a time like this, and bring that kind of pain back to me?”

“A great deal, I’m betting. Even though you don’t have pictures of him in your home. Even though your wife keeps them locked away.”

“It hurts beyond the telling. You can’t possibly understand. Do you think I’ve forgotten him? It’s not how muchdid I love him, but how much I do.” He lurched up, pulled out a small leather folder from his pocket. “Is this one of your essential details to tie up, Lieutenant? Here then. Here. I keep him in here. Look at that face.”

He held out the photo case, with a snapshot of the little boy smiling out of it. “He was the sweetest boy. So happy all the time. You couldn’t be around Trev and not smile. No matter how crappy the day had been, five minutes with him and everything was good again. The day he…the day we lost him was the worst day of my life, up until now. Is that what you need to hear?”

“Yeah, it is. I’ve got something hard for you, Oliver. Something no one should ever have laid on them. I want you to remember how you feel about your wife and your son. I need you to read this.”

“What is it?”

She held out the printout from the last pages of the diary. “I think you’ll recognize the handwriting. I think you’ll know what it is. I’m showing these to you now because of her.” She gestured toward Allika. “And because I saw the pictures of your son. His face is in my head.”

That made Trevor Straffo hers, Eve acknowledged. As much as Craig Foster, even the pathetic Reed Williams, was hers.

Straffo took the pages, scanned the first line. “This is Rayleen’s handwriting. From her diary? What possible—”

“The last entry was written before she tossed it, inside its lockbox, in your kitchen recycler. Date’s right there. You’re going to want to read the whole thing.”

As he did, he went gray. As he did, his hands began to shake. “This isn’t possible.”

“Somewhere in you, you know it is. Your wife knew it was, and even in her horror and grief, she tried to protect Rayleen. So Rayleen did this to her, to protect herself, to throw suspicion on Allika, to focus you, your time, your attention, on her.”

“No.”

“There were other entries, Oliver. Details of how she killed both Foster and Williams. And a mention of a woman named Versy at the Kinley House.”

“No. No. You’re out of your mind.” He swayed like a man would when the world tipped sharply on its axis. “I’m going out of mine.”

Push, Eve ordered herself. No choice but to push. “What isn’t in there, as the diary only goes back seven months, is how she killed your son.”

Even the gray leached out of his face. “That’s insane.”

“You both knew Rayleen had been up some time before she came in to wake you.”

“She—”

“You decided it was an accident—what parent wouldn’t? That he’d tripped and she’d gone into shock and denial. You put all the pieces of him out of sight because she got upset if she saw them. More, if she saw either you or her mother looking at them.”

“For God’s sake, for God’s sake. She was seven. You can’t believe—”

“I can. Look at your wife, Oliver. Does she deserve what was done to her? Take out the picture of your son again. Did he? She took these lives without a quibble. I have a rock-solid case, which includes her buying a go-cup with Craig’s name engraved on it.”

“What? What?” He fisted both hands in his hair, all but tore at it.