„No.“ He smiled a little. „Did I?“ When she gave him a stony stare, he shrugged. „I wanted to get better acquainted with our ghost. She was born in Louisville, Kentucky, and according to this biography, left home at sixteen to migrate to Haight-Ashbury, as many of her generation did. She sang in some clubs, primarily for food or a place to sleep, drifted around, joined a band called Luv – mat’s L-U-V – where she stood out like a rose among weeds, apparently. Did some backup singing for one or two important artists of the time, then met Hopkins in Los Angeles.“
„Bad luck for her. Can you turn that off?“
„Music off,“ he ordered, and Bobbie’s voice stopped. „She bothers you,“ Roarke realized. „Why is that?“
„She doesn’t bother me.“ The correct term, Eve thought, would be she creeps me. But damned if she was going to fall into the accepted pattern on Number Twelve, or Bobbie Bray.
„She’s part of my investigation – and a secondary vie, even though she was killed a half century before I was born. She’s mine now, like Hopkins is mine. But she’s always part of the motive.“
„And as such, I’d think you’d want to know all you could about her.“
„I do, and I will. But I don’t have to hear her singing.“ It was too sad, Eve admitted to herself. And too spooky. „I’m going to order up some pizza. You want in on that?“
„All right.“ Roarke rose to follow her into the kitchen attached to her office. „She was twenty when Hop scooped her up. He was forty-three. Still, it was two years before her album came out – which he produced, allegedly hand-picking every song. She did perform during mat period, exclusively in Hopkins’s venues.“
„So he ran her.“
„All but owned her, from the sound of it. Young, naive girl – at least from a business standpoint, and from a generation and culture that prided itself on not being bound by property and possessions. Older, canny, experienced man, who discovered her, romanced her, and most certainly fed any appetite she might have had for illegal substances.“
„She’d been on her own for five years.“ Eve debated for about five seconds on pepperoni and went for it. „Naive doesn’t wash for me.“
„But then you’re not a sentimental fan or biographer. Still, I’d lean toward the naivete when it came to contracts, royalties, business and finance. And Hopkins was a pro. He stood as her agent, her manager, her producer.“
„But she’s the talent,“ Eve reasoned and snagged some napkins. „She’s got the youth, the looks. Maybe her culture or whatever said pooh-pooh to big piles of money, but if she’s bringing it in, getting the shine from it, she’s going to start to want more.“
„Agreed. She left him for a few months in 1972, just dropped off the radar. Which is one of the reasons, I’d assume, he got away with her murder three years later. She’d taken off once, why not again?“
He stepped out to choose a wine from the rack behind a wall panel. „When she came back, it was full-court press professionally, with a continual round of parties, clubs, drugs, sex. Her album hit, and big, with her touring internationally for six months. More sex, more drugs, and three Grammys. Her next album was in the works when she disappeared.“
„Hop must’ve gotten a percentage of her earnings.“ Eve brought the pizza in, dumped it and plates on her desk.
„As her manager and producer, he’d have gotten a hefty one.“
„Stupid to kill the goose.“
„Passion plus drugs can equal extreme stupidity.“
„Smart enough to cover it up, and keep it covered for eighty-five years. So his grandson ends up paying for it. Why? My vie wasn’t even born when this went down. If it’s revenge…“
„Served very cold,“ Roarke said as he poured wine.
„The killer has a connection with the older crime, the older players. Financial, emotional, physical. Maybe all three.“
She lifted up a slice, tugged at the strings of cheese, expertly looping them up and over the triangle.
„If it’s financial,“ she continued, „who stands to gain? The son inherits, but he’s alibied and there isn’t a hell of a lot to scoop once the debts are offset. So maybe something of value, something the killer wanted Hopkins to bring to Number Twelve. But if it’s a straight give-me-what-I-want/deserve, why set the scene? Why put on that show for us tonight?“
When Roarke said nothing, Even chewed contemplatively on her slice. „You don’t seriously believe that was some ghostly visitation? Grab a little corner of reality.“
„Do you seriously believe your killer has been dogging that building, it’s owners, for eight and a half decades? What makes mat more logical than a restless, angry spirit?“
„Because dead people don’t get angry. They’re dead.“ She picked up her wine. „It’s my job to get pissed for them.“
Roarke studied her over his own glass, his gaze thoughtful, seeking. „Then there’s nothing after? As close as you’ve been to me dead, you don’t see something after?“
„I don’t know what I see.“ This sort of conversation always made her uncomfortable, somehow sticky along the skin. „Because you don’t see it – if it’s there to see – until you’re dead. But I don’t believe the dead go all whoooo, or start singing. The original Hopkins paid an investigation off, this killer wants to weird one off. It’s not going to work.“
„Consider the possibility,“ he suggested. „Bobbie Bray’s spirit wants her revenge as much as you want justice. It’s a powerful desire, on both parts.“
„That’s not a possible possibility.“
„Closed-minded.“
„Rational,“ she corrected, with some heat now. „Jesus, Roarke, she’s bones. Why now then? Why here and now? How’d she manage to get someone – flesh and blood – to do the descendent of her killer? If Hop Hopkins was her killer – which hasn’t yet been proven.“
„Maybe she was waiting for you to prove it.“
„Oh yeah, that’s rational. She’s been hanging around, waiting for the right murder cop to come along. Listen, I’ve got the reality of a dead body, an antique and banned weapon used in a previous crime. I’ve got no discernible motive and a media circus waiting to happen. I can’t take the time to wonder and worry about the disposition of a woman who’s been dead eighty-five years. You want to waste your time playing with ghosts, be my guest. But I’ve got serious work on my plate.“
„Fine then, since it pisses you off, I’ll just leave you to your serious work while I go waste my time.“
She scowled at him when he got up and carried his glass of wine with him to his office. And she cursed under her breath when he closed the door behind him.
„Great, fine, fabulous. Now I’ve got a ghost causing marital discord. Just makes it all perfect.“
She shoved away from her desk to set up the case board she used at home. Logic was what was needed here, she told herself. Logic, cop sense, facts and evidence.
Must be that Irish in Roarke’s blood that tugged him into the fanciful. Who knew he’d head that way?
But her way was straight, narrow and rational.
Two murders, one weapon. Connection. Two murders, one location, second connection. Second vie, blood descendent of suspected killer in first murder. Connect those dots, too, she thought as she worked.
So, okay, she couldn’t set the first murder aside. She’d use it.
Logic and evidence dictated that both victims knew their killer. The first appeared to be a crime of passion, likely enhanced by illegal substances. Maybe Bray cheated on Hop. Or wanted to break things off professionally and/or personally. She could have had something on him, threatened exposure.
Had to be an act of passion, heat of the moment. Hop had the money, die means. If he’d planned to kill Bray, why would he have done it in his own apartment?