Innocent in Death

by J. D. Robb

  “She might have figured she could, eventually, convince you otherwise. And in the meantime, she gets to cause trouble and grief. It’s pretty much no lose for her.”

  “Yes,” he replied, “that would amuse her. She’s bored by the ordinary, or what she perceives as the ordinary.”

  Outlasted the terms of the prenups in both cases, she’d said.

  “Marriage would be a means to an end, even a toy.”

  “How can I make this work for me?” Eve suggested. “Or failing that, just break it.”

  “I’m sorry. Sorry I didn’t see through it.”

  “She miscalculated,” Eve said and took his hand.

  He linked his fingers with hers. “That she did.”

  “I still want to kick her ass.”

  “Would it be unseemly if I wanted to watch?”

  “Men always want to watch. The problem is, if we make anything of all this, it’s just slop for the gossip pigs. It’s going to have to be enough to know ignoring it pisses her off. Let’s just be done with her.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Meanwhile, I’ve got to…get that,” she said as her ’link signaled. “Block video. Dallas.”

  “Reo, one more time. Got your warrant for Straffo’s residence. Pain in the ass. As a courtesy, the judge agreed no one would enforce it until after eight A.M. this morning.”

  “I can live with that. Thanks, Reo.”

  “Get something, Dallas. Straffo’s going to cream up in the media otherwise.”

  “I’ll get something.”

  “Oliver Straffo?” Roarke said when she’d clicked off. “You suspect him in this teacher’s murder?”

  “Teachers, as of yesterday. The suspect who was heading our list was killed.”

  “Ah.” He was behind, he realized, and it was past time to catch up. “Well, why don’t we start off the day as we so often end it.”

  “I thought we just did. That was you who rolled off me a while ago, wasn’t it?”

  “As memory serves. Not with sex, Lieutenant, though it is a lovely way to end and begin almost anything. Tell me about the case.”

  She told him while they showered, while they dressed, while they wound their way to her office.

  And as they walked into it, his pocket ’link beeped. He glanced at the readout, put it back in his pocket.

  “Is that how you want to handle her?” Eve asked.

  “At the moment. So your theory is Straffo killed Foster because Foster knew about the affair.”

  “I wouldn’t call it a theory. It’s one of the possibilities. The other being Straffo’s wife did it, same motive. Or Mosebly did it, because Foster knew about her affair.”

  “For a school, it’s certainly a hotbed of illicit sex.”

  “It’s still possible Williams killed Foster to preserve his career and reputation. Then either of the Straffos or Mosebly tied it off by eliminating Williams. I was going to run probabilities last night, but one thing and another.”

  “You’d like me to verify that Straffo could have evaded the security for each murder.”

  “If the arrow starts pointing at him, it’d help if I had that in my pocket.”

  “Quiver,” Roarke said absently. “You keep arrows in a quiver. I’ll check out the security for you, but it seems to me that killing Foster was putting the cart before the horse. Williams was the primary threat, in your three possibilities.”

  “I know that, but I’ve got no evidence or indication that Williams threatened exposure, until he used it on Mosebly on the morning of his death. It’s possible Foster pushed it. Then Williams says, ‘Screw the bastard,’ and kills him. Or…”

  “One of the Straffos panics and does so. Or Mosebly.” Roarke worked to line up all the players in his head. “Too many Indians, not enough chiefs.”

  “Replay?”

  “A lot of suspects, but none of them standing out as the one doing the real work.”

  “Yeah. There’s a core problem with all of it. Foster. I can’t find a strong, clear motive. Not really. So I’m going with the murky ones. He was a straight shooter, but he wasn’t a troublemaker. I’ve got a wit who saw him and Williams the morning of Foster’s death, chatting amiably in the teachers’ lounge. Foster couldn’t have pulled that off, not to my way of thinking, if he and Williams were having serious trouble.”

  “You said Foster had reported Williams’s harassment of Sanchez,” Roarke reminded her.

  “Yeah, but it was a knuckle tap. Foster told him, some time before, to lay off the nutritionist. He laid off. Problem solved. Now, I know Foster saw Mosebly and Williams playing dunk and dick in the school pool, and he tells his wife that he’s seen Williams with someone he shouldn’t have been with. But he doesn’t say who, or talk about confronting anyone about it.”

  Circling the murder board, Roarke studied Mosebly’s picture. “A formidable-looking woman. And being the principal, an authority figure. The nutritionist was support staff. She was upset by the advances, Mosebly obviously wasn’t.”

  “Yeah, because her rape claim is bogus. So why kill Foster if he’s decided to mind his own? Why dump public scandal on your own doorstep?”

  Eve shook her head. It just didn’t fit, just didn’t work. “So, I’m back to revenge or protection or just plain pissiness. I don’t much like any of those pictures.”

  “Then you’ll get a clearer one. You’ve been off your stride.”

  “And then some. Yeah, we’ll see what a look through Straffo’s penthouse brings into focus.”

  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’s involved. 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 client
s 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.