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whatever. Bricks up the body, which takes some doing. Guy liked cocaine. That’ll keep you revved for a few hours. Has to cover up the brick, put things back into reasonable shape. I’m trying to access the police reports from back then. It hasn’t been easy so far. But anyway, no possible way the cops just missed a brand new section of wall, so he paid them off or blackmailed them.“
    “Corrupt cops? I’m stunned. I’m shocked.“
    “Shut up. Hop goes over the edge – guilt, drugs, fear of discovery. Goes hermit. Guy locks himself up with a body on the other side of the wall, he’s going to go pretty buggy. Wouldn’t surprise me if he wrote something down, told someone about it. If cops were involved, they knew or suspected something. The killer, or Hopkins does some homework, pokes around. Gets lucky, or unlucky as the case may be.“
    “It takes eight and a half decades to get lucky?“
    “Place gets a rep,“ Eve said as they walked from the car toward Number Twelve. “Bray gets legend status. People report seeing her, talking to her. A lot of those people, and others, figure she just took off ‘cause she couldn’t handle the pressure of her own success. Hop has enough juice to keep people out of the apartment during his lifetime. By then, there’re murmurs of curses and hauntings, and that just grows as time passes. A couple of people have some bad luck, and nobody much wants to play in Number Twelve anymore.“
    “More than a couple.“ Roarke frowned at the door as Eve uncoded the police seal. “The building just squats here, and everyone who’s tried to disturb it, for whatever reason, ends up paying a price.“
    “It’s brick and wood and glass.“
    “Brick and wood and glass form structure, not spirit.“
    She raised her brows at him. “Want to wait in the car, Sally?“
    “Now you shut up.“ He nudged her aside to walk in first.
    She turned on the lights, took out her flashlight for good measure. “Hopkins was between those iron stairs and the bar.“ She moved across the room, positioned herself by the stairs. “From the angles, the killer was here. I’m seeing he got here first, comes down when Hopkins walks in. Hopkins still had his coat on, his gloves, a muffler. Cold in here, sure, but a man’s going to probably pull off his gloves, unwrap his scarf, maybe unbutton his coat when he’s inside. You just do.“
    Understanding his wife, Roarke moved into what he thought had been Hopkins’s standing position. “Unless you don’t have the chance.“
    “Killer comes down. He’d told Hopkins to bring something, and Hopkins walks in empty-handed. Could have been small – pocket-sized – but why would the killer shoot him so quickly, and with such rage, if he’d cooperated?“
    “The man liked to spin the wheels. If he came empty, he may have thought he could work a deal.“
    “So when he starts the whole Let’s talk about this, the killer snaps. Shoots him. Chest, leg. Four shots from the front. Vic goes down, tries to crawl, killer keeps firing, moving toward the target. Leg, back, shoulder. Eight shots. Full clip for that model. Reloads, shoves the body over, leans down. Looks Hopkins right in the eyes. Eyes are dead, but he looks into them when he pulls the trigger the last time. He wants to see his face – as much as he needs to echo the head shot on Bray, he needs to see the face, the eyes, when he puts that last bullet in.“
    She crossed over, following what she thought was the killer’s route as she’d spoken. “Could have gone out the front. But he chooses to go back upstairs.“
    Now she turned, started up. “Could have taken the weapon, thrown it in the river. We’d never have found it. Wants us to find it. Wants us to know. Cops didn’t put Hop in the system. Why should we do anything about his grandson? Took care of that himself. Payment made. But he wants us to know, everyone to know, that Bobbie’s been avenged at last.“
    She stopped in front of the open