"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 vic 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 vic, 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.