Eve studied the reenactment as Morris did, noting the graphic of the victim took the first two shots standing, the second two slightly hunched forward in the beginning of a fall.
„Big guy,“ Peabody commented. „Stumbles back a little, but keeps his feet for the first couple shots. I’ve only seen training and entertainment vids with gun death,“ she added. „I’d have thought the first shot would slap him down.“
„His size, the shock of the impact,“ Morris said, „and the rapidity of fire would have contributed to the delay in his fall. Again, from the angles by which the bullets entered the body, it’s likely he stumbled back, then lurched forward slightly, then went down – knee, heels of the hand taking the brunt of the fall.“
He turned to Eve. „Your report indicated that the blood pattern showed the victim tried to crawl or pull himself away across the floor.“
„That’d be right.“
„As he did, the assailant followed, firing over and down, according to the angle of the wounds in the back, leg, shoulder.“
Eyes narrowed now, Eve studied the computer-generated replay. „Stalking him, firing while he’s down. Bleeding, crawling. You ever shoot a gun, Morris?“
„Actually, no.“
„I have,“ she continued. „Feels interesting in your hand. Gives this little kick when it fires. Makes you part of it, that little jolt. Runs through you. I’m betting the killer was juiced on that. The jolt, the bang] Gotta be juiced to put more missiles into a guy who’s crawling away, leaving his blood smeared on the floor.“
„People always find creative and ugly ways to kill. I’d have said using a gun makes the kill less personal. But it doesn’t feel that way in this case.“
She nodded. „Yeah, this was personal, almost intimate. The ninth shot in particular.“
„For the head shot, the victim – who as you say had considerable girth – had to be shoved or rolled over. At that time, the gun was pressed to the forehead. There’s not only burning and residue, but a circular bruising pattern. When I’m able to compare it, I’m betting my share that it matches the dimensions of the gun barrel. The killer pressed the gun down into the forehead before he fired.“
„See how you like that, you bastard,“ Eve murmured.
„Yes, indeed. Other than being riddled with bullets, your vie was in reasonably good health, despite being about twenty pounds overweight. He dyed his hair, had an eye and chin tuck within the last five years. He’d last eaten about two hours prior to death. Soy chips, sour pickles, processed cheese, washed down with domestic beer.“
„The bullets?“
„On their way to the lab. I ran them through my system first. Nine millimeter.“ Morris switched programs so that images of the spent bullets he’d recovered came on screen.
„Man, it messes them up, doesn’t it?“
„It doesn’t do tidy work on flesh, bone and organ either. The vie had no gunpowder residue on his hands, no defensive wounds. Bruising on the left knee, which would have been inflicted when he fell. As well as some scraping on the heels of both hands, consistent with the fall on the floor surface.“
„So he didn’t fight back, or have the chance to. Didn’t turn away.“ She angled her own body as if preparing for flight. „No indication he tried to run when and if he saw the gun.“
„That’s not what his body tells me.“
Nor was it what it had told her on scene.
„A guy doesn’t usually snack on chips and pickles if he’s nervous or worried,“ Peabody put in. „Run of his entertainment unit showed he last viewed a soft porn vid about the time he’d have had the nibbles. This meet didn’t have him sweating.“
„Somebody he knew and figured he could handle,“ Eve agreed. She looked at the body again. „Guess he was dead wrong about that one.“
„Number Twelve,“ Morris said as Eve turned to go.
„That’s right.“
„So the legend of Bobbie Bray comes to a close.“
„That would be the missing woman, presumed dead.“
„It would. Gorgeous creature, Bobbie, with the voice of a tormented angel.“
„If you remember Bobbie Bray, you’re looking damn good for your age, Morris.“
He flashed that smile again. „There are thousands of Web sites devoted to her, and a substantial cult following. Beautiful woman with her star just starting to rise vanishes. Poof! Of course, sightings of her continued for decades after. And talk of her ghost haunting Number Twelve continues even today. Cold spots, apparitions, music coming from thin air. You get any of that?“
Eve thought of the snatch of song, the deep chill. „What I’ve got, potentially, are her bones. They’re real enough.“
„I’ll be working on them with the forensic anthropologist at the lab.“ Morris’s smile stayed sunny. „Can’t wait to get my hands on her.“
Back at Central, Eve sat in her office to reconstruct Hopkins ’s last day. She’d verified his lunch meeting with a couple of local movers and shakers who were both alibied tight for the time in question. A deeper check of his financial showed a sporadic income over the past year from a shop called Bygones, with the last deposit mid-December.
„Still skimming it close, Rad. How the hell were you going to pay for the rehab? Expecting a windfall, maybe? What were you supposed to bring to Number Twelve last night?“
Gets the call on his pocket ‘link, she mused. Deliberately spooky. But he doesn’t panic. Sits around, has a snack, watches some light porn.
She sat back at her desk, closed her eyes. The security disc from Hopkins ’s building showed him leaving at 1:35. Alone. Looked like he was whistling a tune, Eve recalled. Not a care in the world. Not carrying anything. No briefcase, no package, no bag.
„Yo.“
Eve opened her eyes and looked at Feeney. The EDD captain was comfortably rumpled, his wiry ginger hair exploding around his hangdog face. „Whatcha got?“
„More what you’ve got,“ he said and stepped into the office. „Number Twelve.“
„Jeez, why does everybody keep saying that? Like it was its own country.“
„Practically is. Hop Hopkins, Bobbie Bray, Andy Warhol, Mick Jagger.“ For a moment, Feeney looked like a devotee at a sacred altar. „Christ, Dallas, what a place it must’ve been when it was still rocking.“
„It’s a dump now.“
„Cursed,“ he said, so casually she blinked.
„Get out. You serious?“
„As a steak dinner. Found bricked-up bones, didn’t you? And a body, antique gun, diamonds. Stuff legends are made of. And it gets better.“
„Oh yeah?“
He held up a disc. „Ran your vic’s last incoming transmission and the nine-one-one, and for the hell of it, did a voice-print on both. Same voice on both. Guess whose it is?“
„Bobbie Bray’s.“
„Hey.“ He actually pouted.
„Has to figure. The killer did the computer-generated deal, used Bray’s voice, probably pieced together from old media interviews and such. Unless you’re going to sit there and tell me you think it was a voice from, you know, beyond the grave.“
He pokered up. „I’m keeping an open mind.“
„You do that. Were you able to dig up any old transmissions?“
He held up a second disc. „Dug them out, last two weeks. You’re going to find lots of grease. Guy was working it, trying to pump up some financing. Same on the home unit. Some calls out for food, a couple to a licensed companion service. Couple more back and forth to some place called Bygones.“
„Yeah, I’m going to check that out. Looks like he was selling off his stuff.“
„You know, he probably had some original art from his grandfather’s era. Music posters, photographs, memorabilia.“
Considering, Eve cocked her head. „Enough to buy Number Twelve, then finance the rehab?“
„You never know what people’11 pay. Got your finger pointed at anyone?“
„Talked to one of his exes, and a son. They don’t pop for me, but I’m keeping an open mind. Going through some business associates, potential backers, other exes. No current lady friend, or recently dumped, that I can find. Fact is, the guy comes off as a little sleazy, a little slippery, but mostly harmless. A fuck-up who talked big. Got no motive at this point, except a mysterious something he may or may not have taken with him to Number Twelve.“