“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.”