This one was blonde, with a cascade of curls held back from her face with a violet band. The band matched her eyes. They were puffy at the moment, red-rimmed, dominating a face of dewy skin with a slightly tipped-up nose. The mouth, rosy and bottom heavy, quivered.

She wore the same kind of uniform as Melodie, with the addition of a small gold star pinned to the lapel of the blazer.

“Rayleen, this is Lieutenant Dallas. Lieutenant, Rayleen is here with her father, Oliver Straffo. I’ll be just outside if I’m needed.”

“Have a seat, Rayleen.”

“Lieutenant.” Oliver kept his daughter’s hand in his. His voice resonated in the room, like a good actor’s in a theater. He was tall, gilded like his daughter. But his eyes were a cold steel-gray. She’d met them before. In court.

High-powered, high-dollar, high-profile defense attorney, she thought.

Crap.

“I’M ALLOWING THIS INTERVIEW,” HE BEGAN,“ in this place, at this time, because I feel it’s in the best interest of my daughter’s emotional well-being. However, if I don’t like the tone or the texture of this interview, I will stop it and take my daughter away. Is that clear?”

“Sure. I was going to dig out the thumbscrews, but I don’t remember where I left them. Have a seat. Rayleen, I just need you to tell me what happened.”

Rayleen looked at her father first, got his nod. Then she sat, as he did, with admirable posture. “I found Mr. Foster. Melodie was with me. It was awful.”

“Explain to me how you found him. How you got to his classroom at that time of day.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She took a deep breath as if to prepare herself for an oral report. “I was in my study group, but I wanted, especially, to talk to Mr. Foster about the project I’m working on with Melodie. It’s worth a full quarter of our second-term grade in U.S. history, and I wanted to do the best I could. I’m ranked first in my grade, and this is one of the most important projects of this term.”

“Okay, so you left study group for Mr. Foster’s classroom.”

“Yes, ma’am. Ms. Hallywell gave us a pass so we could go to Mr. Foster’s class early. He always has his lunch there on Mondays, and he lets students come in during the last fifteen minutes to talk to him, if they need to.”

“What time did you leave study group?”

“I have the pass. It’s time-stamped.” Again she looked at her father for permission, then drew the pass out. “Melodie and I each have one. That’s the school rule. It says twelve forty-sevenP. M. ”

Eve made a mental note to walk the route to gauge the time it would take. “You went directly from study group to the classroom.”

“Oh, yes, ma’am. Loitering in the hallways between classes is an infraction, and three infractions within a thirty-day period results in a loss of privileges.” Her voice went prissy, reminding Eve that Rayleen was just the sort of kid she’d done her best to avoid in the cell block of school. “I don’t have any infractions on my record.”

“Good for you. How long did it take you to get from study group to Mr. Foster’s classroom?”

“Oh, it couldn’t have been more than a couple of minutes. Maybe three? I’m not absolutely certain, but we went right there. We were just talking, about the project, and some ideas for it. The door was closed, so we knocked first, then we opened it. And it smelled bad. It smelled sick, I guess. Melodie said something about the smell, and…” She pressed her lips together. “I laughed. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know, Daddy, I didn’t know.”

“It’s all right, Ray. Of course you didn’t know.”

“Then we saw him. He was lying there, and he was…” She hiccupped twice, then simply crawled out of her chair and into her father’s lap.

“It’s all right, baby. It’s all right, Ray.” His eyes lasered into Eve’s as he stroked Rayleen’s hair. “Lieutenant.”

“You know I need to finish this. You know it’s vital to get the details as quickly as possible.”

“I don’t know what else.” Her voice was muffled as she pressed her face to her father’s chest. “We ran, we ran away. And Mr. Dawson was there, and he said to stay where we were. I sat down, I think. I sat on the floor, and we were crying, and Mr. Dawson came back. His hands were shaking when he took out his talkie and called Principal Mosebly.”

“Did you see anybody else go in or out of the classroom?”

“Principal Mosebly went to the door, then she called for the nurse and they took us-Melodie and me-to the infirmary.”

“On the way to the classroom, did you see anyone?”

“I think, yes, I think Mr. Bixley came out of the boys’ room, the restroom. He had his toolbox because one of the sinks was stopped up. That was before, before we passed Mr. Dawson and showed our passes. I went in first, into the classroom first. I was the first to see him.”

She lifted her tear-streaked face. “I don’t see how Mr. Foster could be dead. I don’t see how. He was my very favorite teacher.”

Her shoulders shook as she clung to her father.

“You can’t need any more from her,” Oliver said quietly. “I’m taking her home.”

“If she remembers anything else-”

“If she does, I’ll contact you.”

He rose, and carrying his daughter, strode from the room.

Eve started with Eric Dawson. He was a science teacher, in his middle fifties, and had been instructing at the academy for fifteen years. He carried a little paunch, and since his shirt buttons strained over it, Eve assumed he was in denial over it. His sandy hair showed a little glint of gray at the temples. Pockets of fatigue dogged his light brown eyes.

“I didn’t go in,” he told Eve. “No more than a step or two. I could see…Anyone could see Craig was gone. I’d been annoyed with the girls, all that screaming. I thought they’d seen a spider or something equally foolish.” He paused, passed a hand over his face. “But as soon as I saw them…Even silly girls don’t reach that level of hysteria over a spider.”

“Did you see anyone else, other than the two girls?”

“I’d just left Dave Kolfax and Reed Williams in the staff lounge. We’d had lunch together, as we sometimes do. And I passed Leanne Howard going in. I was going to the chem lab to set up for the next class.”

“When did you last see Mr. Foster alive?”

“Oh, God. God. In the lounge, before classes this morning. I was having a coffee, and he had a tube of Pepsi from Vending. He didn’t drink coffee. I used to tease him about it. We talked a little about a mutual student, Bradley Curtis. His parents are divorcing, and Brad’s grades have been sliding. We agreed it was time for a meeting with the parents and a counselor. Then, ah, Reed came in. Yes, to grab a coffee. When I left they were talking about some action vid they’d both seen recently. I didn’t see him again until…”

“How did you get along?”

“With Craig? I liked him quite a lot. Quite a lot,” he repeated quietly. “I was, well, unconvinced when he first came on staff last year. He was so young-the youngest member of the teaching staff. But he made up for a certain lack of experience with enthusiasm and dedication. He cared a great deal, a great deal about the students. He must have been ill and not known it. He must have had some sort of condition. To die that way. It’s inconceivable.”

The sentiment was echoed by every staff member Eve spoke with. She finished up the session with Reed Williams, English department.

No pouch on this one, Eve noted. He had a strong, lean build that told her he took advantage of the fitness center facilities. His hair was a deep, rich brown tipped with gold to simulate sun streaks. His square jaw was deeply clefted under a firm mouth. His eyes of sharp, bottle green were heavily and darkly lashed.

He was thirty-eight, single, and wearing a suit that she estimated had cost him a stinging slice of his monthly pay.