“I’m going to do some art now, and listen to some music. I’ll just be in my room when Daddy gets home. His best girl being quiet as a mouse so her mother can sleep. And sleep and sleep.
“I have to go put this book in the recycler now. That’s annoying, and that’s Lieutenant Dallas’s fault, too! But, it’s okay. Daddy will buy me another diary, a better one. He’ll buy me anything I want now, and take me anywhere I want to go.
“I think we should go somewhere warm and pretty, with a really nice beach.”
Roarke said nothing for a moment. “She wrote that while her mother was, as far as she knew, dead or dying in the other room.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“She shouldn’t waste her time with art and ballet. She should consider becoming a professional assassin. She has the constitution for it.”
“I’m going to make sure she has plenty of time to consider her options—inside maximum security.” She looked down at the book again, at the tidy yet still childish penmanship. “Let’s get this copied. I want Mira and Whitney to see it ASAP. Then I want to read the rest.”
It was all there, meticulously documented: motives, means, opportunities, plans, execution. Rayleen didn’t stint on details.
If it had been the journal of an adult killer, Eve would have wrapped the investigation and the perpetrator in a heavy chain and locked the door.
But the sticking point was how to handle a killer of such a young age, whose father was a top defense counsel.
By seven A.M., Eve had Mira and Peabody in her home office, and her commander on hologram.
“I’m not going to buy she’s legally insane,” Eve began.
“Did she and does she know right from wrong? Most certainly,” Mira agreed. “Her crimes are planned and executed, and her motives in each case are self-serving. The motives are the very reason a psychiatrist hired by the defense will argue insanity.”
“Will you argue against it for the prosecution?”
“Yes. I’ll need to examine her, of course, but at this point, most certainly I can argue against. Eve, either way, she must be put away, and I believe she will be. She won’t stop.”
Mira drew a deep breath as she studied the pretty face on Eve’s murder board. “Unless she’s stopped by the system, there’s no reason for her to stop. This process works for her. It’s satisfying to her, and proves her superiority. In a childish way, this gets her what she wants, and getting what she wants is her primary goal.”
“Her own mother,” Peabody added. “She writes about killing her own mother without a moment’s regret or hesitation. She didn’t feel a thing about it.”
“I want to get her for the brother. He’s not mentioned in the diary. He’s not part of her scope any longer.” Eve glanced at Mira, got a nod of agreement. “It’s not just that he’s not worth her time, or the space, she doesn’t think about him or what she did to him now. Everything is now with her.”
“You said before you’d get a confession, see that she wanted to tell you,” Mira continued. “But—”
“I’ll get a confession. The hitch will be Straffo. If he decides to protect her, she’ll clam. If she believes I can use what she tells me, she’ll clam. I have to get to him, through him, first.”
“He’s a father, who’ll instinctively want to protect his child.”
“He’s a father whose son was carelessly disposed of, and he’s a husband whose wife may very well be Rayleen’s next victim.” And those, Eve knew, were her weapons. “Hard place for him. He’s going to have to choose who he stands up for.”
“If you give him this information,” Whitney cut in, “you’re giving a potential defense a head’s up, a running start. He could, potentially, erect a shield around his daughter that will take months to hack through.”
“Yes, sir, he could. And if I don’t slap this in his face, knock his feet out from under him while he’s still shaky over his wife, he could do that anyway. He needs to see her for what she is. And for that, I could use the expert consultant, civilian.” She glanced at Roarke.
“Lay it out, Lieutenant,” Whitney told her.
It took time, and Eve struggled against impatience. It took care and caution, and she fought not to push. So it was nearing ten before she, Peabody, and Mira headed out to the hospital, well after Roarke, Feeny, and McNab were already in play.
When her ’link beeped, she snapped it up. “Dallas.”
“Lieutenant? I don’t know if you remember me. This is Billy Kim-ball, the assistant manager from Kline’s? You were in the other day making inquiries about a go-cup we carry.”
“I remember you. You got something?”
“One of our seasonal clerks happened to stop in last night, near closing? I mentioned the go-cup to her, just on the off chance that she knew anything about it. She did.”