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Had to be an act of passion, heat of the moment. Hop had the money, the means. If he’d planned to kill Bray, why would he have done it in his own apartment?
But the second murder was a deliberate act. The killer lured the victim to the scene, had the weapon. Had, in all likelihood discovered the previous body. The killing had been an act of rage as well as deliberation.
"Always meant to kill him, didn’t you?" she murmured as she studied the crime scene photos on her board. "Wanted whatever you wanted first - but whether or not you got it, he was a dead man. What did she mean to you?"
She studied the photos of Bobbie Bray.
Obsessed fan? Not out of the realm, she thought, but low on her list.
"Computer, run probability with evidence currently on active file. What is probability that the killers of Bray, Bobbie and Hopkins, Radcliff C. are linked?"
Working…
Absently, Eve picked up her wine, sipping as she worked various scenarios through her head.
Task complete. Probability is eighty-two-point-three…
Reasonably strong, Eve mused, and decided to take it one step further. "What is the probability that the killer of Hopkins, Radcliff C. is linked with the first victim, Bray, Bobbie?"
Working…
Family member, Eve thought. Close friend, lover. Bray would be, what… Damn math, she cursed as she calculated. Bray would be around about one-oh-nine if she’d lived. People lived longer now than they did in the mid-twentieth. So a lover or tight friend isn‘t out of the realm either.
But she couldn’t see a centenarian, even a spry one, cutting through that brick.
Task complete. Probability is ninety-four-point-one that there is a connection between the first victim and the second killer…
"Yeah, that’s what I think. And you know what else? Blood’s the closest connection. So who did Bobbie leave behind? Computer, list all family members of first victim. Display on wall screen one."
Working… Display complete.
Parents and older brother deceased, Eve noted. A younger sister, age eighty-eight, living in Scottsdale Care Center, Arizona. Young for a care center, Eve mused, and made a note to find out what the sister’s medical condition was.
Bobbie would have had a niece and nephew had she lived, and a couple of grandnieces and nephews.
Worth checking into, Eve decided, and began a standard run on all living relations.
While the computer worked, she set up a secondary task and took a closer look at Hopkins.
"Big starter," she said aloud. "Little finisher."
There were dozens of projects begun, abandoned. Failed. Now and then he’d hit, at least enough to keep the wolves from the door, set up the next project.
Failed marriages, ignored offspring. No criminal on any former spouse or offspring.
But you had to start somewhere, she figured.
* * *
She went back to the board. Diamond hair clips. Bray had worn them for her first album cover - possibly a gift from Hop. Most likely. The scene told Eve it was likely Bray had been wearing them when she’d been killed, or at least when she’d been bricked up.
But the killer hadn’t taken them as a souvenir. Not a fan, just didn’t play. The killer had shined them up and left them behind.
"She was a diamond," Eve murmured. "She shined. Is that what you’re telling me? Here’s the gun he used to kill her, and here’s where I found it. He never paid and payment needed to be made. Is that the message?"
She circled the boards, studied the runs when the computer displayed them. There were a couple of decent possibilities among Bobbie’s descendents.
They’d all have to be interviewed, she decided.
