Eve turned back to Roarke. „Damn right, they will. Hopkins would have known that. He’d have had visions of money falling on him from the sky. Number Twelve wouldn’t just be a club, it would be a freaking cathedral. And he’s got the main attraction. Fame and fortune off her bones. You bet your ass. Killer’s not going to tolerate that. ‘You think you can use her? You think I’d let you?’“

„Most who’d have known her personally, had a relationship with her, would be dead now. Or elderly.“

„Don’t have to be young to pull a trigger.“ But she frowned at the cut in the wall. „But you’d have to be pretty spry to handle the tools to do this. I just don’t think this part was Hopkins’s doing. Nothing in his financials to indicate he’d bought or rented the tools that could handle this. And he doesn’t strike me as the type who’d be able to do this tidy a job with them. Not on his own. And the killer had the gun, the hair clips. The killer opened this grave.“

The cold was sudden and intense, as if a door had been flung open to an ice floe, and through that frigid air drifted a raw and haunting voice.

In my dark there is no dawn, there is no light in my world since you’ve been gone. I thought my love would stand the test, but now my heart bleeds from my breast.

Even as Eve drew her weapon, the voice rose, with a hard, throbbing pump of bass and drums behind it. She rushed out to the level overlooking the main club.

The voice continued to rise, seemed to fill the building. Under it, over it, were voices, cheers and whistles. For an instant, she thought she could smell a heavy mix of perfume, sweat, smoke.

„Somebody’s messing with us,“ she murmured.

Before she could swing toward the stairs to investigate, there was a shout from the nearly gutted apartment above. A woman’s voice called out:

„No. Jesus, Hop. Don’t!“

There was the explosion of a shot and a distinct thud.

Keeping her weapon out, she vaulted up the stairs again with Roarke. At the doorway, his hand clamped over her shoulder.

„Holy Mother of God. Do you see?“

She told herself it was a shadow – a trick of the poor light, the dust. But for an instant there seemed to be a woman, her mass of curling blond hair falling over her shoulders, standing in front of the open section of wall. And for an instant, it seemed her eyes looked straight into Eve’s.

Then there was nothing but a cold, empty room.

„You saw her,“ Roarke insisted as Eve crawled around behind the wall.

„I saw shadows. Maybe an image. If I saw an image, it was because someone put it there. Just like someone flipped some switch to put on that music. Got some electronics set up somewhere. Triggered by remote, most likely.“

He crouched down. Eve’s hair, face, hands were all coated with dust and debris. „You felt that cold.“

„So, he dropped the temp in here. He’s putting on a show, that’s what he’s doing. Circus time. So the cop goes back and reports spooky happenings, apparitions. Bull-shitl“

She swiped at her filthy face as she crawled out. „Hopkins left debts. His son is beneficiary of basically nada. Building’s no-man’s-land until it goes up to public auction. Keep the curse crap going, keep the price down. Snap it up cheaper than dirt.“

„With what’s happened here, discovering the body here, that could go exactly the opposite way. It could drive the price up.“

„That happens, you bet your ass someone’s going to have some document claiming they were partners with Hopkins. Maybe I was wrong about it being personal. Maybe it’s been profit all along.“

„You weren’t wrong. You know you weren’t. But you’re sitting there, in a fairly disgusting state, I might add, trying to turn it around so you don’t have to admit you’ve seen a ghost.“

„I saw what some mope wants me to believe is a ghost and he apparently pulled one over on you, ace.“

„I know electronic imagery when I see it.“ The faintest edge of irritation flickered into his eyes at her tone. „I know what I saw, what I heard, what I felt. Murder was done here, then adding to it, the insult, the callousness of what was done after.“

He glanced back into the narrow opening, toward the former location of the long-imprisoned bones. And now there was a hint of pity in his eyes as well. „All while claiming to be so concerned, so upset, offering rewards for her safe return, or for substantiated proof she was alive and well. All that while she was moldering behind the wall he’d built to hide her.“

„If her body never left here, why should her spirit?“

„Because – “ With a shake of her head, Eve scattered dust. „Her body’s not here now. So shouldn’t she be haunting the morgue?“

„This place has been home to her for a long time, hasn’t it?“ Pragmatism, he thought, thy name is Eve. Then he took out a handkerchief, used it to rub the worst of the dust and grime from her face.

„Homemade crypts aren’t what I’d call home, sweet home,“ she retorted. „And you know what? Ghosts don’t clean guns or shoot them. I’ve got a DB in the morgue. And I’m ordering the sweepers, with a contingent from EDD in here tomorrow. They’re going to take this place apart.“

She brushed some of the dirt from her shirt and pants before picking up her coat. „I want a shower.“

„I want you to have a shower, too.“

As they went downstairs, she called in the order for two units to search Number Twelve for electronic devices. If she thought she heard a woman’s husky laugh just before she closed and secured the door, Eve ignored it.

When she’d showered and pulled on warm, comfortable sweats, Eve gave another thought to pizza. She figured she could down a slice or two at her desk while she worked.

She was headed toward the office she kept at home when she heard Bobbie Bray’s voice, gritting out her signature song.

Broken, battered, bleeding, and still I’m begging, pleading Come back. Come back and heal my heart Come back. Come back and heal my heart.

With her own heart thudding, Eve covered the rest of the distance at a dash. Except for the fat cat, Galahad, snoring in her sleep chair, her office was empty.

Then she narrowed her eyes at the open door that joined her office to Roarke’s. She found him at his desk, with the title track beginning its play again through the speakers of his entertainment unit.

„You trying to wig me out?“

„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.“