Innocent in Death (In Death #24)(121)

“Stupid Mr. Williams. The stuff is supposed to be absorbed and be pretty much undetectable after a couple hours. I got it from the old, ugly people’s home where I have to go volunteer and pretend not to want to puke. I sing for them, and dance and read and listen to their booor -ing stories. And I can go anywhere I want because everyone knows me. They keep it locked up, but it’s easy to distract the nurse or the orderly for a few minutes.”

She studied Eve’s weapon. “Did you ever kill anyone with that?”

“Yes.”

“How did it feel?”

“Powerful.”

“Uh-huh. But it doesn’t last very long. It’s like eating ice cream, and then the bowl’s empty.” Rayleen set the fizzy aside, did a series of pirouettes. “You can tell everybody in the whole galaxy what I said to you, and not one single person will believe you.”

“That’s pretty much it. Who’d believe me if I said you’d killed two people, and tried—maybe succeeded—in killing a third. And her own mother. At ten years old.”

Rayleen executed a graceful plié. “That’s not all.” She sang it.

“What else?”

“Maybe I’ll tell, maybe I won’t. People would lock you up in a looney box if you said I did it.”

“You don’t want to tell, fine. It’s getting late anyway, and it’s my day off.” Eve got to her feet. “I’ve spent enough of my time on all this.”

On tiptoe, arms curved overhead, Rayleen danced a circle around Eve. “You’ll never, never, never guess.”

“I’m too old for games, kid. And as things stand, the sooner I forget about you, the better it is for me.”

With a little thump, Rayleen dropped down to the flats of her feet. “You don’t just walk away from me! I’m not finished. I’m the one who beat you. I won! You’re being a poor sport.”

“Sue me.” Eve reached for the door.

“I killed the first time when I was only seven.”

Eve stopped, turned, leaned back on the door. “Bullshit.”

“If you curse at me, I won’t tell you how I killed my baby brother.”

“He fell down the steps. I read the investigator reports, the notes. All the files.”

“They were stupid, too.”

“You expect me to believe you pulled that off, and nobody knows?”

“I can do anything I want. I got him up early, early. I had to put my hand over his mouth when he giggled. But he listened to me, he always listened to me. He loved me.”

“I bet he did,” Eve said, and almost lost her ability to sound mildly interested.

“And he was quiet, just like I told him to be. I said we were going to go down and see the toys, and maybe even Santa. He believed in Santa. He was a joke . It was their fault, anyway.”

“Whose?”

“My parents’, for God’s sake. They should never have had him in the first place. He was always in the way, and they were always spending time with him when they should have spent it with me. I was the first.”

“You pushed him down the steps?”

“It was easy.” Rayleen executed a small leap, then picked up her drink again. “Just one shove and he went tumble, tumble, tumble. Snap! And that was that.” On a giggle, she drank—and Eve’s stomach churned.

“Things were the way they were supposed to be. I got all the toys that Christmas. All I had to do was cry when Daddy started to put the ones for Trev away. I got them all, and now I always get them all.”

She did another pirouette, followed it with a grand plié, then a long deep bow. “I bet you’ve never been beaten by a kid before. I’m better than any of the rest. Than anyone. Say it. Say that Rayleen is better and smarter than anyone you’ve ever met.”

“Hold that thought,” Eve suggested at the knock on the door. She opened it to Peabody, who handed Eve Rayleen’s diary. “Well, well, what have we here?”

“Where did you get that! That’s mine !” The smirking child was gone, and it was an enraged killer who charged at Eve. “Give that to me. Now!”

Eve took the vicious shove, even the clawing hands as she held the diary out of reach. “Well, now, that’s what we call assaulting an officer. Rayleen Straffo, you’re under arrest for—”

“You shut up. You’d better shut up right now, or you’re going to be sorry. That’s my diary and I want it back! My father’s going to make you pay.”

Eve tossed the diary to Peabody, then gripped Rayleen’s arms, spun her around. She clamped on restraints while Rayleen screamed and cried and kicked. “You’re the one who’s going to pay, for all of it. You were right, Ray. I can lie during interviews. I wasn’t wired, but the room was.”

“You didn’t read me my rights.”

“True. But I don’t need anything you told me in there. I’ve already got it. From the diary we pulled out of the recycler yesterday, from the clerk who sold you the engraved go-cup you used to replace Craig Foster’s, from your mother, who told us—before you tried to kill her—that she knew you’d been up earlier on Christmas.”

“No one’s going to believe you.” Rayleen’s face was wildly red with rage, and not a hint of fear. “My daddy will fix it all.”