„He has an excellent memory.“
„He never forgets a thing.“ She offered the wine she’d poured, then gestured to a silver tray of fruit and cheese. „Would you like to sit? If you’d rather browse, I can point you in a direction, or show you whatever you’d like. My father has the piece you inquired about. He wanted to make sure it was properly cleaned before he showed it to you.“
„I’ll just wait then, if you’ll join me.“ As he sat, he glanced toward the portrait of Bobbie on the far wall. „It’s actually Bobbie Bray who put me in mind to come here.“
„Oh? There’s always interest in her and her memorabilia, but in the last day it’s piqued.“
„I imagine.“ He shifted as he spoke so he could scan the black-and-white photographs Eve had told him about. And two, as she’d mentioned, were desert landscapes. „Just as I imagine it won’t ebb any time soon,“ he continued. „Certainly not with the publicity that will be generated from the case finally being solved.“
Maeve’s hands went very still for a moment. „It’s certain then?“
„I have an inside source, as you might suspect. Yes, it’s certain. She’s been found, after all these years. And the evidence proves it was Hopkins who hid her body.“
„Horrible. I – Daddy.“ She got to her feet as Buchanan came into the shop. He carried a velvet case. „You remember Roarke.“
„I certainly do. It’s good to see you again.“ They shook hands, sat. „Difficult circumstances when you were here recently with your wife.“
„Yes. Terrible. I was just telling your daughter that they’ve confirmed the identity of the remains found at Number Twelve, and found Hopkins’s – the first’s – fingerprints on the inside of the wall, on several of the bricks.“
„There’s no doubt any longer then.“
„Hardly a wonder he went mad, locking himself up in that building, knowing what he’d done, and that she was behind that wall, where he’d put her. A bit of ‘The Telltale Heart,’ really.“
Keeping it conversational, Roarke settled back with his drink. „Still, it’s fascinating, isn’t it? Time and distance tend to give that sort of brutality an allure. No one can speak of anything else. And here I am, just as bad. Is that the necklace?“
„Oh, yes. Yes.“ Buchanan unsnapped the case, folded back the velvet leaves. „Charming, isn’t it? All those little beads are hand-strung. I can’t substantiate that Bobbie made it herself, though that’s the story. But it was worn by her to the Grammy Awards, then given by her to one of her entourage. I was able to acquire it just last year.“
„Very pretty.“ Roarke held up the multistrand necklace. The beads were of various sizes, shapes, colors, but strung in a way that showed the craftsman had a clever eye. „I think Eve might like this. A memento of Bobbie, since she’s the one who’s finally bringing her some sense of justice.“
„Can there be, really?“ Eyes downcast, Maeve murmured it. „After all this time?“
„For my cop, justice walks hand-in-hand with truth. She won’t let the truth stay buried, as Bobbie was.“ He held up the beads again. „I’m hoping to take her away for a quick tropical holiday, and this sort of thing would suit the tropics, wouldn’t it?“
„After this New York weather?“ Maeve said with a laugh as she lifted her gaze once more. „The tropics would suit anything.“
„With our schedules it’s difficult to get away. I’m hoping we can find that window. Though with what they’ve found today, it may take a bit longer.“
„They found something else?“ Buchanan asked.
„Mmm. Something about a bank box, letters, and so on. And apparently something the former Hopkins recorded during his hermitage. My wife said he spoke of a small vault in Number Twelve, also walled in. Hopkins must have been very busy. They’re looking for it, but it’s a good-sized building. It may take days.“
„A vault.“ Maeve breathed the words. „I wonder what’s in it.“
„More truth?“ But Buchanan’s voice was strained now.
„Or the ramblings of a madman, one who’d already killed?“
„Perhaps both,“ Roarke suggested. „I know my wife’s hoping for something that will lead her to Rad Hopkins’s killer. The truth, and justice for him as well.“
He laid the necklace on the velvet. „I’m very interested in this piece.“ Roarke sipped his wine. „Shall we negotiate?“
Ten
In Number Twelve, Eve stood in the area that had once held a stage. Where there had been sound and light and motion, there was silence, dark and stillness. She could smell dust and a faint whiff of the chemicals the sweepers used on-scene. And could feel nothing but the pervading chill that burned through the brick and mortar of an old building.
Still, the stage was set, she thought. If her hunch was off, she’d have wasted a lot of departmental time, manpower and money. Better that, she decided, than to play into the current media hype that the curse of Number Twelve was still vital, still lethal.
„You’ve got to admit, it’s creepy.“ Beside Eve, Peabody scanned the club room. There was a lot of white showing in her eyes. „This place gives me the jeebies.“
„Keep your jeebies to yourself. We’re set. I’m going up to my post.“
„You don’t have to go up right this minute.“ Peabody ’s hand clamped like a bundle of live wires on Eve’s wrist. „Seriously. We’ve got plenty of room on the timetable.“
„If you’re afraid of the dark, Detective, maybe you should’ve brought a nice little teddy bear to hold onto.“
„Couldn’t hurt,“ Peabody mumbled when Eve pulled free. „You’ll stay in contact, right? I mean, communications open? It’s practically like you’re standing beside me.“
Eve only shook her head as she crossed to the stairs. She’d gone through doors with Peabody when death or certainly pain was poised on the other side. She’d crawled through blood with her. And here her usually stalwart partner was squeaking over ghosts.
Her bootsteps echoed against the metal steps – and okay, maybe it was a little creepy. But it wasn’t creaking doors and disembodied moans they had to worry about tonight. It was a stone killer who could come for letters from the dead.
There were no letters, of course. None that she knew of, no vault to hide them in. But she had no doubt the prospect of them would lure Rad Hopkins’s killer into Number Twelve.
No doubt that killer was descended from Bray and Hopkins. If her hunch didn’t pay off tonight, she was going to face a media storm tomorrow – face it either way, she admitted. But she’d rather deal with it with the case closed.
Funny how Bygones had old-timey photos of the desert. Maybe they were Arizona, maybe not, but she was laying her money that they were. There’d been old photos of San Francisco, too, before the quake had given it a good, hard shake. Others of New York during that time period, and of L.A. All of Bobbie’s haunts.
Coincidence, maybe. But she agreed with one of the detectives in her squad on a case recently closed – a case that also included switched identities.
Coincidences were hooey.
She crossed the second tier, and started up to the old apartments.
Eve didn’t doubt Roarke had played his part, and played it well. With the bait he’d dangled, she was gambling that Radcliff C. Hopkins’s killer, and Bobbie Bray’s murderous descendent, would bite quickly. Would bite tonight.
She took her position where she could keep the windows in view, put her back to the wall. Eve flipped her communications channel to Peabody ’s unit, and said, „Boo.“
„Oh yeah, that’s funny. I’m rib-cracking down here.“
„When you’re finished with your hilarity, we’ll do a check. Feeney, you copy?“
„Got your eyes, your ears and the body-heat sensors. No movement.“
„You eating a doughnut?“
„What do you need electronic eyes and ears for, you can tell I’m eating a cruller from in there?“ There was a slurping sound as Feeney washed down the cruller with coffee. „Roarke bought the team a little something to keep us alert.“