In Death 24 - Innocent in Death

suspect.”
    “But Dallas, the commander ordered-”
    “Me. He didn’t say anything about you. I want you to locate the suspect and keep her under surveillance. Keep me apprised. Don’t let her make you, Peabody.”
    “Well, Jesus, she’s ten. I think I can shadow a tweener without being made.”
     
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    “Thistweener is the prime suspect in two homicides, and very possibly guilty of fratricide as well. You’re not shadowing a kid, Peabody, and don’t forget it.”
    She dumped Peabody at the elegant entrance of the Metropolitan Museum, then headed downtown. As she drove, she contacted one Quella Harmon in Taos, New Mexico.
    Even as Peabody climbed the long sweep of steps, she wondered how the hell she was supposed to find one kid and her Irish au pair in the vast cathedral to art.
    And as she wondered, Cora bundled Rayleen into a cab on Eighty-first Street.
    “But Mom’s supposed to meet us, and take me to lunch.”
    “Well, she’s rung me up, hasn’t she, and said she needs you home straightaway. So home we go, Ray darling.”
    Rayleen gave a windy sigh, and clutched her pretty pink fur purse.
    Both Mira and Whitney were waiting for her, and both looked grim.
    “Sit down, Lieutenant.”
    With no choice, Eve sat.
    “Your partner?”
    “She’s in the field, sir.”
    Whitney’s lips tightened. “I considered it understood I wanted both of you here, and neither of you in the field at this time.”
    “I apologize for the misunderstanding, Commander.”
    “Don’t bullshit me, Dallas, I’m not in the mood. I’ve read your report, and it’s my opinion that you’re putting this investigation, and this department, in a very tenuous position.”
    “I disagree, respectfully. Sir.”
    “You’re pursuing an avenue that is fraught with land mines, and pursuing it without any solid physical evidence, any solid facts.”
    “Again, sir, I disagree. The suspect-”
    “The child,” he corrected.
     
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    “The suspect is a minor. That doesn’t preclude her from being capable of murder.
    Children have been known to kill, and to kill with malice. With intent, even with glee.”
    Whitney laid the palms of his hands on his desk. “This girl is the daughter of one of the city’s most prominent defense attorneys. She is well educated, she is the product of a privileged home, and even according to your own report has never been involved in any crime, much less one of violence. Has never been treated for any emotional or mental instability. Dr. Mira?”
    “Children do commit violent acts,” Mira began. “And while there are certainly cases where a child of this age, even younger, has killed, such cases usually involve other children. Such cases are most generally preceded by smaller acts of violence. On pets, for instance. Rayleen Straffo’s profile doesn’t indicate any predilection for violence.”
    Eve had expected barriers to be erected, but it didn’t stop the frustration. “So because her father’s rich and she aces it in school and doesn’t kick little puppies, I should step back from what I know.”
    “What do you know?” Whitney interrupted. “You know that this girl attended a school where two teachers were murdered. So did over a hundred other children. You know that her mother had admitted to having a brief affair with the second victim.”
    Eve got to her feet; she couldn’t handle this sitting down. “I know that the suspect found the first victim, that she had opportunity in both cases, I know that she had the means.
    I’ve spoken with her aunt, and have learned that the suspect had access to castor beans, and was showed how the oil was made from them. I know that she did, in fact, have a diary that she removed from the penthouse before the search, giving same to a friend to hold until yesterday.”
    Whitney inclined his head. “You have this diary?”
    “I don’t. I believe the suspect has hidden or destroyed it, or is currently keeping it on her person. She removed it because it would incriminate her.”
    “Eve, a great many young girls keep diaries, and consider them sacred and private,” Mira began.
    “She’s not a young girl in anything other than years. I’ve looked at her. I know what she is. You don’t want to look,” she said, whipping back to Whitney. “People don’t want to look at a child, at the innocence of the face and form, and see evil. But that’s what’s in her.”
    “Your opinion, however passionate, isn’t evidence.”
     
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    “If she