Haunted in Death (In Death #22.5)(5)

A playback of the desk ‘link was loaded with oily conversation with the recently deceased pitching his project to potential backers or arranging meetings where she supposed he’d have been doing the same.

“Let’s have EDD go through all the data and communication.“ The Electronic Detective Division could comb through the transmissions and data faster and more efficiently than she. “Doesn’t look like he’s entertained here recently, which jibes with our doorman’s statement. Nothing personal in the last little while on his home ‘link. It’s all about money.“

She walked through the apartment. The guy wasn’t living there so much as surviving. Selling off his stuff, scrambling for capital. “The motive’s not all about money, though. He couldn’t have had enough for that. The motive’s emotional. It’s personal. Kill him where the yellowing bones of a previous victim are hidden. Purposeful. Building was auctioned off six months ago? Private or public?“

“I can check,“ Peabody began.

“I got a quicker source.“

It seemed to her the guy she’d married was always in, on his way to or coming back from some meeting. Then again, he seemed to like them. It took all kinds.

And she had to admit when that face of his filled her screen, it put a little boost in her step to think: mine.

“Quick question,“ she began. “Number Twelve. Any details on its auction?“

His dark brows raised over those intense blue eyes. “Bought for a song, which will likely turn out to be a dirge. Or has it already?“ Roarke asked her.

“You’re quick, too. Yeah, current owner’s in the morgue. He got it on the cheap?“

“Previous owners had it on the market for several years, and put it up for public auction a few months ago after the last fire.“

“Fire?“

“There’ve been several. Unexplained,“ he added with that Irish lilt cruising through his voice. “Hopkins, wasn’t it? Descendent of infamy. How was he killed?“

“Nine millimeter Smith and Wesson.“

Surprise moved over that extraordinary face. “Well now. Isn’t that interesting? You recovered the weapon, I take it.“

“Yeah, I got it. Fill you in on that later. The auction, you knew about it, right?“

“I did. It was well-publicized for several weeks. A building with that history generates considerable media attention as well.“

“Yeah, that’s what I figured. If it was a bargain, why didn’t you snap it up to add it to your mega-Monopoly board?“

“Haunted. Cursed.“

“Yeah, right.“ She snorted out a laugh, but he only continued to look out from the screen. “Okay, thanks. See you later.“

“You certainly will.“

“Couldn’t you just listen to him?“ Peabody let out a sigh. “I mean couldn’t you just close your eyes and listen?“

“Snap out of it, Peabody. Hopkins’s killer had to know the building was up for sale. Maybe he bid on it, maybe he didn’t. He doesn’t move on the previous owners, but waits for Hopkins. Goes back to personal. Lures him, kills him, leaves the weapon and the hair clips with the skeleton behind the brick. Making a statement.“

Peabody huffed out a breath. “This place doesn’t make much of a statement, personal or otherwise.“

“Let’s toss it anyway. Then we’re going dancing.“

The Gill School of Dance was on the third floor of a stubby post-Urban War building on the West Side. It boasted a large, echoing room with a mirrored wall, a barre, a huddle of chairs and a decorative screen that sectioned off a minute desk.

The space smelled of sweat heavily covered with floral air freshener.

Fanny Gill herself was skinny as an eel, with a hard, suspicious face and a lot of bright blond hair tied up with a red scarf. Her pinched face went even tighter as she set her tiny ass on the desk.

“So somebody killed the rat bastard. When’s the funeral? I got a red dress I’ve been saving for a special occasion.“

“No love lost, Ms. Gill?“

“Oh, all of it lost, honey. My boy out there?“ She jerked a chin toward the screen. On the other side, a man in a sleeveless skinsuit was calling out time and steps to a group of grubby-looking ballerinas. “He’s the only decent thing I ever got from Rad the Bad. I was twenty-two years old, fresh and green as a head of iceberg.“

She didn’t sigh so much as snort, as if to signal those salad days were long over.

“I sure did fall for him. He had a line, that bastard, he had a way. Got married, got pregnant. Had a little money, about twenty thou? He took it, invested it.“ Her lips flattened into one thin, red line. “Blew it, every dollar. Always going to wheel the deal, strike the big time. Like hell. Cheated on me, too. But I stuck, nearly ten years, because I wanted my boy to have a father. Finally figured out no father’s better than a lousy one. Divorced him – hired a f**king shark lawyer – excuse the language.“

“No problem. Cops hear words like lawyer all the time.“

Fanny barked out a laugh, then seemed to relax. “Wasn’t much to get, but I got my share. Enough to start this place up. And you know, that son of a bitch tried to hit me up for a loan? Called it a business investment, of course. Just a couple months ago. Never changes.“