In Death 24 - Innocent in Death

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.”
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    “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.
     
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    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