Haunted in Death (7 page)

He winced now, drank again. “Hell of a thing to say about your dead father, huh?“

“His being dead doesn’t make him more of a father to you, Mr. Gill,“ Peabody said gently.

Cliff’s eyes went damp for a moment. “Guess not. Well, when all this started happening. I remembered how he talked about these letters, and I thought maybe he’d sold them to Bygones. Maybe there was something in them that would clear my grandfather. Something, I don’t know. Maybe she committed suicide and he panicked.“

He lowered his head, rubbed the heel of his hand in the center of his brow as if to push away some pain. “I don’t even care, or wouldn’t, except for what’s falling down from it on my mother. I don’t know what I expected Mr. Buchanan to do. I was desperate.“

“Did your father give you any indication of the contents of the letters?“ Eve asked. “The timing of them?“

“Not really, no. At the time I thought it was just saving face because I was giving him money. Probably all it was. Buchanan said he hadn’t bought any letters from my father, but I could come in and look at what he had. Waste of time, I guess. But he was nice about it – Buchanan, I mean. Sympathetic.“

“Have you discussed this with your mother at all?“ Peabody asked him.

“No, and I won’t.“ Any grief seemed to burn away as anger covered his face. “It’s a terrible thing to say, but by dying my father’s given her more trouble than he has since she divorced him. I’m not going to add to it. Chasing a wild goose anyway.“ He frowned into his glass. “I have to make some arrangements for – for the body. Cremation, I guess. I know it’s cold, but I’m not going to have any sort of service or memorial. I’m not going to drag this out. We just have to get through this.“

“Mr Gill – “

“Cliff,“ he said to Eve with a weak smile. “You should call me Cliff since I’m dumping all my problems on you.“

“Cliff. Do you know if your father kept a safety deposit box?“

“He wouldn’t have told me. We didn’t see each other much. I don’t know what he’d have kept in one. I got a call from some lawyer this morning. Said my father’d made a will, and I’d inherit. I asked him to ballpark it, and the gist was when it all shakes out, I’ll be lucky to have enough credits to buy a soy dog at a corner cart.“

“I guess you were hoping for better,“ Peabody commented.

Cliff let out a short, humorless laugh. “Hoping for better with Rad Hopkins would be another waste of time.“

Nine

“You have to feel for the guy.“ Peabody bundled her scarf around her neck as they walked back outside.

“We’ll pass off the copy of his ‘link calls to a couple of burly uniforms, have them knock on some doors and issue some stern warnings. About all we can do there for now. We’re going back to Central. I want a quick consult with Mira, and you can update the Commander.“

“Me?“Peabody’s voice hit squeak. “Alone? Myself?“

“I expect Commander Whitney would be present as you’re updating him.“

“But you do the updates.“

“Today you’re doing it. He’s going to want to set up a media conference,“ Eve added as she got into their vehicle. “Hold him off.“

“Oh my God.“

“Twenty-four hours. Make it stick,“ Eve added and pulled out into traffic as Peabody sat pale and speechless beside her.

Mira was the top profiler attached to the NYPSD for good reason. Her status kept her in high demand and made Eve’s request for a consult without appointment similar to trying to squeeze her head through the eye of a needle that was already threaded.

She had a headache when she’d finished battling Mira’s admin, but she got her ten minutes.

“You ought to give her a whip and a chain,“ Eve commented when she stepped into Mira’s office. “Not that she needs one.“

“You always manage to get past her. Have a seat.“

“No thanks, I’ll make it fast.“

Mira settled behind her desk. She was a sleek, lovely woman who favored pretty suits. Today’s was power red and worn with pearls.

“This would be pertaining to Number Twelve,“ Mira began. ”Two murders, nearly a hundred years apart. Your consults are rarely routine. Bobbie Bray.“

“You, too? People say that name like she’s a deity.“

“Do they?“ Mira eased back in her chair, her blue eyes amused. “Apparently my grandmother actually heard her perform at Number Twelve in die early Nineteen-seventies. She claimed she exchanged an intimate sexual favor with the bouncer for the price of admission. My grandmother was a wild woman.“

“Huh.“

“And my parents are huge fans, so I grew up hearing that voice, that music. It’s confirmed then? They were her remains?“

“Lab’s forensic sculptor’s putting her money on it as of this morning. I’ve got the facial image she reconstructed from the skull, and it looks like Bray.“

“May I see?“

“I’ve got it in the file.“ Eve gave Mira the computer codes, then shifted so she, too, could watch the image come on-screen.

The lovely, tragic face, the deep-set eyes, the full, pouty lips somehow radiated both youth and trouble.

“Yes,“ Mira murmured. “It certainly looks like her. Something so sad and worn about her, despite her age.“

“Living on drugs, booze and sex tends to make you sad and worn.“

“I suppose it does. You don’t feel for her?“

Eve realized she should have expected the question from Mira. Feelings were the order of the day in that office. “I feel for anyone who gets a bullet in the brain – then has their body closed up in a wall. She deserves justice for that – deserves it for the cops who looked the other way. But she chose the life she led to that point. So looking sad and worn at twenty-couple? No, I can’t say I feel for that.“

“A different age,“ Mira said, studying Eve as she’d studied the image on screen. “My grandmother always said you had to be there. I doubt Bobbie would have understood you and the choices you’ve made any more than you do her and hers.“

Mira flicked the screen off. “Is there more to substantiate identity?“

“The bones we recovered had a broken left tibia, which corresponds with a documented childhood injury on Bray. We extracted DNA, and I’ve got a sample of a relative’s on its way to the lab. It’s going to confirm.“

“A tragic waste. All that talent snuffed out.“

“She didn’t live what you could call a careful life.“

“The most interesting people rarely do.“ Mira angled her head. “You certainly don’t.“

“Mine’s about the job. Hers was about getting stoned and screwing around, best I can tell.“

Now Mira raised a brow. “Not only don’t you feel for her, you don’t think you’d have liked her.“

“Can’t imagine we’d have had much in common, but that’s not the issue. She had a kid.“

“What? I’ve never heard that.“

“She kept it locked. Likelihood is it was Hop Hopkins’s offspring, though it’s possible she got knocked up on the side. Either way, she went off, had the kid, dumped it on her mother. Sent money so the family could relocate – up the scale some. Mother passed the kid off as her own.“

“And you find that deplorable, on all counts.“

Irritation shadowed Eve’s face, very briefly. “That’s not the issue either. Female child eventually discovered her heritage through letters Bray allegedly wrote home. The ones shortly before her death, again allegedly, claimed that she was planning to clean up her act – again – and come back for the kid. This is hearsay. The daughter relayed it to her two children. Purportedly the letters and other items were sold, years ago, to Radcliff C. Hopkins – the last.“

“Connections within connections. And this, you believe goes to motive.“

“You know how Hopkins was killed?“

“The walls are buzzing with it. Violent, specific, personal – and somehow tidy.“

“Yeah.“ It was always satisfying to have your instincts confirmed. “The last shot. Here’s what he did to her. There’s control mere, an agenda fulfilled, even through the rage.“

“Let me see if I understand. You suspect that a descended of Bobbie Bray killed a descendent of Hopkins to avenge her murder.“

“That’s a chunk of it, buttonholed. According to Bray’s granddaughter, the murder, the abandonment, the obsession mined her mother’s health. Series of breakdowns.“

“You suspect the granddaughter?“

“No, she’s covered. She’s got two offspring herself, but I can’t place them in New York during the time in question.“

“Who does that leave you?“

“There was a grandson, reported killed in action during the Urbans.“

“He had children?“

“None on record. He was pretty young, only seventeen. Lied about his age when he joined up – a lot of people did back then. Oddly enough, he was reported killed here in New York.“

Pursing her lips, Mira considered. “As you’re one of the most pragmatic women I know, I find it hard to believe you’re theorizing that a ghost killed your victim to avenge yet another ghost.“

“Flesh and blood pulled the trigger. I’ve got Yancy aging the military ID. The Urban Wars were a chaotic time, and the last months of them here in New York were confusing from a military standpoint. Wouldn’t be hard, would it, for a young man, one who’d already lied about his age to enlist in the Home Force, to put his official ID on a mangled body and vanish? War’s never what you think it’s going to be. It’s not heroic and adventurous. He could’ve deserted.“

“The history of mental illness in the family – on both sides – the horrors of war, the guilt of abandoning his duty. It would make quite a powder keg. Your killer is purposeful, specific to his goal, would have some knowledge of firearms. Rumor is the victim was shot nine times – the weapon itself is a symbol – and there were no stray bullets found on scene.“

“He hit nine out of nine, so he had some knowledge of handguns, or some really good luck. In addition, he had to reload for the ninth shot.“

“Ah. The others were the rage, that slippery hold on control. The last, a signature. He’s accomplished what he meant to do. There may be more, of course, but he has his eye for an eye, and he has the object of his obsession back in the light.“

“Yeah.“ Eve nodded. “I’m thinking that matters here.“

“With Bobbie’s remains found, identified, and her killer identified – at least in the media – he’s fulfilled his obligation. If the killer is the grandson – or connected to the grandson, as even if he did die in the Urbans, it’s certainly possible to have produced an offspring at seventeen – he or she knows how to blend.“

“Likely to just keep blending,“ Eve added.

“Most likely. I don’t believe your killer will seek the spotlight. He doesn’t need acknowledgment. He’ll slide back into his routine, and essentially vanish again.“

“I think I know where to find him.“

“Yancy does good work.“ Eve held the photos of John Massey – youth and maturity – side-by-side.

“He does,“ Roarke agreed. “As do you, Lieutenant. I doubt I’d have looked at the boy and seen the man.“

“It’s about legacies. Redheads ran in Bray’s family. Her father, her daughter. Her grandson.“

“And Yancy’s work indicates he’s alive and living in New York.“

“Yeah. But even with this I’ve got nothing but instinct and theories. There’s no evidence linking the suspect to the crime.“

“You’ve closed a case on a murder that happened decades before you were born,“ Roarke reminded her. “Now you’re greedy.“

“My current suspect did most of the work there. Discovered the body, unearthed it, led me to it. The rest was basically lab and leg work. Since the perpetrator of that crime is long dead, there’s nothing to do but mark the file and do the media announcement.“

“Not very satisfying for you.“

“Not when somebody kills a surrogate figuring that evens things up. And plays games with me. So it’s our turn to play.“ Eve shifted in the limo. She felt ridiculous riding around in the big black boat.

But no one would expect Roarke to ride the subway, or even use a common Rapid Cab. Perception was part of the game.

“I can’t send you in wired,“ she added. “Never get a warrant for eyes or ears with what I’ve got. You know what to say, right? How to play it?“

“Lieutenant, have a little faith.“

“I got all there is. Okay,“ she added, ducking down a little to check out the window when the limo glided to the curb. “Showtime. I’ll be cruising around in this thing, making sure the rest of this little play is on schedule.“

“One question. Can you be sure your suspect will hit his cue in this play of yours?“

“Nothing’s a given, but I’m going with the odds on this. Obsession’s a powerful motivator. The killer is obsessed with Bray, with Number Twelve – and there’s a sense of theatrics there. Another legacy, I’d say. We dangle the bait, he’s going to bite.“

“I’ll do my best to dangle it provocatively.“

“Good luck.“

“Give us a kiss then.“

“That’s what you said last night, and look what happened.“ But she gave him a quick one. When he slipped out of the limo, she pulled out her ‘link to check on the rest of the game.

Roarke walked into Bygones looking like a man with plenty of money and an eye to spend it as he liked. He gave Maeve an easy smile and a warm handshake. “Ms. Buchanan? I appreciate you opening for me this afternoon. Well, it’s nearly evening, isn’t it?“

“We’re happy to oblige. My father will be right out. Would you like a glass of wine? I have a very nice cabernet breathing.“

“I’d love one. I’ve met your father, though it’s been three or four years, I suppose, since we’ve done business.“

“I’d have been in college. He mentioned you’d bought a particularly fine Georgian sideboard and a set of china, among other things.“

“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?“