by J. D. Robb
“Thank God—on so many levels. I don’t want anything to happen to Martin—or any of them. But, sweet Jesus, I don’t want to be saddled with four kids all day.”
“Four?” Eve repeated, and felt an immediate flood of fear and sympathy. “Only Martin Ferguson is listed as your child on school records.”
“I’ve got kid duty this week.”
“Which is?”
“I take the group—that’s Martin, and Dillon from upstairs, Callie Yost, she’ll be here in a minute, and Macy Pink. We pick her up on the way; she lives a block down. Haul them to school, pick them up at the end of the day. In case of school cancellation or the enormous number of school holidays, I deal with them. We cycle—every week one of the parents has kid duty.”
“You signed in the day Mr. Foster died at shortly after eight and were there for forty minutes.”
“Yeah, got them in early, dumped them in Early Care, then I had to take the dozen cupcakes to the nutrition center for clearance.”
“Do parents or students routinely bring in outside food?”
“Not without much to-do. It was Martin’s birthday, hence the cupcakes. I had preclearance for them. You can’t take in outside food for student groups without preclearance. You have to fill out a form,” Eileen explained, “note down the type of food and all the ingredients in case any of the kids have allergies or conditions, or cultural restrictions—parental restrictions.”
Eileen paused and began to take tiny clothes out of a basket and fold them into tinier shapes. “Pain in the butt from my view, but the rules are fairly strict. The principal and the nutritionist have to sign off on it. It’s like national security. I got them cleared, paid the fee for the juice I forgot to bring to go with the cupcakes. Then I realized I’d picked up Callie’s school bag instead of Annie’s diaper bag, and had to go back to Early Care, make the switch. At which time I realized, clued in by eau de Annie, that she desperately needed the diaper bag. I dealt with that. I guess it could’ve taken forty minutes.”
“During that time, who did you see or speak to?”
“Well, Laina—the nutritionist—Lida Krump, early care provider, and her assistant, Mitchell. I saw Principal Mosebly briefly. We passed in the hall as I was leaving and spoke for a minute. How are you, happy birthday to Martin, and so on. I actually saw Craig Foster going into the staff lounge. I didn’t even stop to talk to him, just sent him a wave and kept going. I wish I’d taken a minute, but you always think you’re going to have a minute more, some other time.”
“Did you know him well?”
“As well as any of the staff, I suppose. I’d run into him now and again in the neighborhood, and we had the usual conferences. Twice each term there are parent-teacher meetings, more if needed. They’re routinely needed for Martin,” she added with a wry smile.
“Martin had trouble with Mr. Foster?” Eve asked.
“Actually, Martin responded really well to Craig. Craig loved what he did, you could tell.”
“But you were called in for meetings.”
“Oh, yeah.” She laughed now. “They term Martin ‘exuberant,’ which is teacher-speak for a wild child. We’re going the private school route because there’s more one-on-one time, more discipline. It’s working.”
There was a crash, hysterical laughter, and mad barking. Eileen smiled wryly. “Mostly.”
“What about other staff? Reed Williams, for example.”
“Sure I know him.” Though she said it casually, her gaze shifted away, for just a moment.
“Did you see him outside of the school, Mrs. Ferguson?”
“No. Not me.”
“Meaning others did.”
“Maybe. I don’t see what that has to do with Craig.”
“Details are important. We understand Mr. Williams had or pursued a number of sexual relationships.”
“Oh, boy.” She blew out a breath. “He made what you could call a play—very subtle, very slick. Nothing I could call him on if I’d been inclined to. But you know when a man’s feeling you out. And most men know when a woman’s not interested. He backed right off. I’ve never had any trouble with him, or from him.”
“But others did?”
“Look, I know he hit on Jude Hadley. She told me, and she told me she met him for drinks. She’s divorced, and she was tempted. Then she decided no, it wasn’t something she wanted to get tangled up with. Especially since I saw Williams and Allika Straffo.”
“You saw them…?” Eve prompted.
“At the holiday party at the school? It was just a…” She shifted, obviously uncomfortable. “I saw how they looked at each other. And at one point, he touched her, just brushed his hand down her arm. But she pinked up. He wandered out, and a few seconds later, so did she. They came back separately, ten, fifteen minutes later. She had that look—you know, soft and loose. If they hadn’t had a quickie I’ll eat that damn droid pup.”
“Interesting,” Eve said as they stepped back into the chill of winter. “Allika Straffo, mother of one of the kids who finds the vic, is reputedly having quickies with Williams, who had the opportunity to kill Foster.”
“And Foster threatened to report Williams, which would involve Allika Straffo? Okay, but I tell you, I can’t see Williams getting worked up enough to poison Foster over the threat of being reported for having an affair with a student’s mother.”
“Straffo, on the other hand, is married, and married to a powerful man. She might’ve gotten worked up enough.”
“No record of her in the building on the day of.”
“Her kid was.”
“Her…Come on, Dallas. You think she set her kid up as a hit man. Hit girl. Hit kid.”
“Maybe the kid was protecting Mommy.”
“Okay, wait.” Peabody climbed into the car. “First, let’s remember we’re talking about a ten-year-old girl.”
“Kids have been known to kill.” She’d only been eight when she’d killed her father. When she’d stabbed him over and over and over.
“Yeah, generally out of panic, fear, rage, impulse. But generally a nice, upper-class ten-year-old girl doesn’t spike the teacher’s go-cup with ricin. It’s a little extreme.”
“Yeah, it is. Maybe she didn’t know she was poisoning him. Mom says, ‘Hey, let’s play a game. Let’s trick Mr. Foster today.’”
“It’s pretty hard for me to swallow that a mother gets her kid to off a teacher because she’s been having private lessons from another.”
No, Eve decided, it didn’t bounce very well. Still. “It’s worth dropping by and chatting with her.”
The Straffos’ penthouse topped a sleek silver bullet of a building that afforded river views from its shimmering glass windows and wide terraces.
Both the doorman and building security were appropriately snooty, but also efficient enough to verify the police identification and clear them within moments.
The door of the penthouse was opened by a young woman with freckles dusting a wholesome face that was topped by carrot-red hair. Her brogue was as thick as a slice of brown bread.
It gave Eve a quick hitch in the belly to hear it, to think of Roarke.
“The missus will be right with you. She and Rayleen are just finishing breakfast. What would you like me to bring you then? Coffee, tea?”
“We’re good, thanks. What part of Ireland are you from?”
“I’m from Mayo. Do you know it?”
“Not really.”
“It’s lovely, so you’ll see if you have the chance to visit. I’ll take your coats, shall I?”
“That’s all right.” Eve followed her down the wide foyer—a sweep of steps to the right, open archways leading to open rooms with tall, tall windows. “How long have you worked for the Straffos?”
“That’d be six months now. Please make yourself at home.” She gestured toward the sleek twin sofas plumped with gel pillows. There was a fireplace, flush and white against the wall, the flames turned on in an eerie blue that matched the
fabrics. Tables were clear cubes with lush flowers spiking and trailing inside them.
“Are you sure I can’t bring you something hot to drink? It’s a cold one out there today. Ah, here comes the missus now. And there’s our princess.”
Allika was blonde like her daughter, but with highlights expertly streaked through the short swing of hair. She had eyes the color of ripe blueberries and skin as white and soft as milk. She wore a trim sweater set to match her eyes, and stone-gray pants that showed off long legs.
She held her daughter’s hand.
Rayleen’s face was bright and eager. “Mom, these are the police who came to school. This is Lieutenant Dallas and Detective Peabody. Did you come to tell us you found out what happened to Mr. Foster?”
“We’re still working on that.”
“Rayleen, you need to go with Cora now and get your coat. You don’t want to be late for school.”
“Couldn’t I stay and talk, too? It would be an excused absence, like a doctor’s appointment, and wouldn’t count against my attendance.”
“Not today.”
“But I’m the one who found him. I’m a witness.” Even as Rayleen pouted, Allika took her daughter’s face in her hands, kissed both her cheeks.
“Be my good girl now and go with Cora. I’ll see you when you get home from school.”
Rayleen let out a heavy sigh. “I wish I could stay and talk,” she said to Eve, but went obediently with Cora.
“She’s handling this horrible thing so well, really. Still, she had nightmares last night. It’s terrible of me, I suppose, but all I keep wishing is that it had been another child to find him with Melodie. Is there anything more? Something you didn’t want to say in front of Rayleen?”
“Can you tell us if you, your daughter, or your husband had any trouble with Mr. Foster?’
“Trouble? No. He was Rayleen’s favorite teacher, really. Top marks across the board in his class. Rayleen’s an exceptional student. Craig made her class leader. She’s also class leader in her Literature class and in Computer Sciences. She loves school.”
“When was the last time you saw Mr. Foster?”
“At the last parent-teacher conference in, hmmm, November. No, no, I’m sorry, that’s wrong. It would’ve been at the holiday party in December. The school suspends the last two classes of the day, and the parents or guardians are invited. The school orchestra and choral group play, and that can be interesting,” she added with a quick laugh. “There’re refreshments after the program. I saw him there, spoke with him. Rayleen gave him a little gift. A coffee mug she’d made in pottery class. This is all so tragic. I wish I could keep her home.”
She kneaded her fingers on her thighs. “Ray’s determined not to miss school, and my husband’s very firm about her continuing classes, the normalcy. I’m outvoted,” she said with a quick smile. “I suppose they’re both right, but it’s hard to send her there after this.”
“Did Mr. Foster ever speak to you about Mr. Williams?”
“Mr. Williams?” There it was—that flicker over the face that was shock and guilt and a little bit of fear. “Not that I can recall. Why would he?”
“You and Mr. Williams are friendly.”
“I try to be friendly with all the staff at Sarah Child.”
“More friendly with some than others.”
“I don’t like your implication, and I don’t understand it.” She got to her feet, but the gesture was one of panic rather than authority. “I think you should go now.”
“Sure, we can do that. We’ll just go by your husband’s office, discuss this with him.”
“Wait.” Allika held up a hand as Eve started to rise. “Wait. I don’t know what you’ve heard or what you believe, but…” She glanced toward the foyer, took a quiet breath as she heard Rayleen chattering with Cora as they left for school. “It’s not your concern, it’s not your business.”
“Anything that touches on Craig Foster is our business.”
“My personal life…You have no reason to talk to Oliver about…about gossip.”
“Did Foster know about you and Reed Williams? Did he tell you, tell Williams he would report your affair?”
“It wasn’t an affair! It was…it was a lapse, a momentary lapse. I broke it off weeks ago.”
“Why?”
“Because I came to my senses.” She pushed at her hair. “I have…with the holidays coming, I have trouble with depression. Our son, our Trev, died three years ago, Christmas morning.”
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Straffo,” Peabody put in. “How did he die?”
“He…” Allika sank down again. “We were spending the holiday at our home…We had a home in Connecticut. He, he wasn’t quite two. Trev. And he was so excited about Santa. He got out of bed early. It was still dark when…He fell, he fell down the stairs. Such a long way, such a little boy. He must have been running, they said, running down to see what Santa had brought, and he fell and his neck…”
“I’m very sorry,” Peabody repeated. “I don’t think anything can be more difficult for a parent.”
“I broke to pieces. It took months of treatment to put me back together. I don’t think I’ll ever be completely back, or that I should be back. But we had Rayleen. We had another child, and she needed us. We don’t have the house in Connecticut, but we have Ray, and she deserves a normal life.”
“You became involved with Reed Williams,” Eve prompted, “because you were depressed.”
“I know it’s not an excuse; I knew it as it was happening. As Christmas gets close, I hurt, and when I hurt, I shut down some part of me. Reed—it helped block it out, that’s all. It was exciting, and it was foolish. My husband and I, we aren’t the same people we were before Trevor died. But we’re trying, we keep trying. I was stupid and selfish, and if he finds out, it will hurt him. I don’t want that.”
“And if Foster had reported it?”
“He didn’t know.” She laid a hand on her throat, rubbing, rubbing as if at an ache. “I don’t see how he could have. He never said anything to me, and we talked—I told you—at the holiday party. It was a mistake, yes, but it was just sex. Only twice. Only twice. It didn’t mean anything more than that to me or to Reed.”
“Did Williams say anything to you about Foster?”
“We didn’t do a lot of talking. It was physical, it was shallow, then it was over.”
“Was he upset that you ended it?”
“Not at all, which—I admit—only made me feel more stupid.” She closed her eyes, straightened her shoulders, opened them again. “If for some reason you need to tell Oliver about this, I’d like to speak with him first. I’d like to try to explain before he hears it from the police.”
“I don’t, at this time, see any reason to discuss it with him. If that changes, I’ll let you know.”
“Thank you.”
They managed to pigeonhole the others who’d signed in on the day of Foster’s death, but had nothing solid after the interviews. Eve headed back downtown.
“How many times do you think Allika Straffo’s been stupid during her marriage?”
“I think this is the first. She seemed too nervous, too guilty, too remorseful for it to be a habit. You ask me? Williams scented vulnerability and moved in. And I don’t think Foster knew.”
Eve glanced over. “Why?”
“Because from everything we know about him, he comes over as a really straight shooter. I can’t see him having a casual, normal party conversation with Allika if he’d seen her doing the deed with Williams. And she’d have sensed his knowledge. High sexual levels increase instinct, I think. She’d have been excited, and guilty, and she’d have known if he knew. I think she just made a mistake.”
“Is that what adultery is?” Eve asked.
Peabody squirmed a little. “Okay, it’s a betrayal, and it’s an insult. She betrayed and insulted her husband with Williams. Now she has to live with it. And Roarke isn’t about to betray or insult you in that way.”
“This isn’t about me.”
“No, but there’s some overlap in your mind. There shouldn’t be.”
Should or shouldn’t, it was there, and she didn’t like it. But she did her job. The lab found no trace of ricin in the mix or liquid Eve had taken from the Foster apartment. That confirmed the poison was introduced on scene.
She went back to her time line, adding details from the morning interviews. In and out, she thought. People in and out, lingering, wandering, passing each other.
She needed a link to the poison.
She wandered around her board, sat back at her desk. Closed her eyes. Leaned up again and reread her own notes and reports. Got up, paced.
But her mind just wouldn’t stick. Thinking to give it a boost, she opened the back of her computer, reached in to where she’d taped a candy bar to the inside of the case.
And it was gone.
“This is fucked up.” She could see a trace of the tape where it had stuck when the candy had been yanked out. The insidious candy thief had struck again.
Not for the first time she considered putting eyes and ears in her office. A little surveillance, a little chocolate, and she’d bust the thieving bastard.
But that wasn’t the way she wanted to win. This, she thought, was a battle of wills and intellect, not technology.
Her disgust with having her chocolate fix nipped out from under her nose kept her occupied for the next few minutes. Then she gave up, contacted Dr. Mira’s office, and browbeat Mira’s admin into an appointment.
She shot down copies of the files, shot another set to her commander, with a memo to Whitney that she was consulting the profiler.
She closed her eyes again, thought about coffee. And fell asleep.
She was in the room in Dallas. Icy cold, with the dirty red light from the sex club across the street blinking. The knife was in her hands, and her hands were drenched in blood. He lay there, the man who’d given her life. The man who’d raped her, beat her, tormented her.
Done now, she thought, a grown woman holding the knife instead of a child. Done now, what had to be done. A grown woman whose arm screamed with pain from the child’s broken bone.
