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"I’d have been in college. He mentioned you’d bought a particularly fine Georgian sideboard and a set of china, among other things."
"He has an excellent memory."
"He never forgets a thing." She offered the wine she’d poured, then gestured to a silver tray of fruit and cheese. "Would you like to sit? If you’d rather browse, I can point you in a direction, or show you whatever you’d like. My father has the piece you inquired about. He wanted to make sure it was properly cleaned before he showed it to you."
"I’ll just wait then, if you’ll join me." As he sat, he glanced toward the portrait of Bobbie on the far wall. "It’s actually Bobbie Bray who put me in mind to come here."
"Oh? There’s always interest in her and her memorabilia, but in the last day it’s piqued."
"I imagine." He shifted as he spoke so he could scan the black-and-white photographs Eve had told him about. And two, as she’d mentioned, were desert landscapes. "Just as I imagine it won’t ebb any time soon," he continued. "Certainly not with the publicity that will be generated from the case finally being solved."
Maeve’s hands went very still for a moment. "It’s certain then?"
"I have an inside source, as you might suspect. Yes, it’s certain. She’s been found, after all these years. And the evidence proves it was Hopkins who hid her body."
"Horrible. I - Daddy." She got to her feet as Buchanan came into the shop. He carried a velvet case.
"You remember Roarke."
"I certainly do. It’s good to see you again." They shook hands, sat. "Difficult circumstances when you were here recently with your wife."
"Yes. Terrible. I was just telling your daughter that they’ve confirmed the identity of the remains found at Number Twelve, and found Hopkins’s - the first’s - fingerprints on the inside of the wall, on several of the bricks."
"There’s no doubt any longer then."
"Hardly a wonder he went mad, locking himself up in that building, knowing what he’d done, and that she was behind that wall, where he’d put her. A bit of ‘The Telltale Heart,’ really."
Keeping it conversational, Roarke settled back with his drink. "Still, it’s fascinating, isn’t it? Time and distance tend to give that sort of brutality an allure. No one can speak of anything else. And here I am, just as bad. Is that the necklace?"
"Oh, yes. Yes." Buchanan unsnapped the case, folded back the velvet leaves. "Charming, isn’t it? All those little beads are hand-strung. I can’t substantiate that Bobbie made it herself, though that’s the story. But it was worn by her to the Grammy Awards, then given by her to one of her entourage. I was able to acquire it just last year."
"Very pretty." Roarke held up the multistrand necklace. The beads were of various sizes, shapes, colors, but strung in a way that showed the craftsman had a clever eye. "I think Eve might like this. A memento of Bobbie, since she’s the one who’s finally bringing her some sense of justice."
"Can there be, really?" Eyes downcast, Maeve murmured it. "After all this time?"
"For my cop, justice walks hand-in-hand with truth. She won’t let the truth stay buried, as Bobbie was." He held up the beads again. "I’m hoping to take her away for a quick tropical holiday, and this sort of thing would suit the tropics, wouldn’t it?"
"After this New York weather?" Maeve said with a laugh as she lifted her gaze once more. "The tropics would suit anything."
"With our schedules it’s difficult to get away. I’m hoping we can find that window. Though with what they’ve found today, it may take a bit longer."
"They found something else?" Buchanan asked.
"Mmm. Something about a bank box, letters, and so on. And apparently something the former Hopkins recorded during his hermitage. My wife said he spoke of a small vault in Number Twelve, also walled in. Hopkins must have been very busy. They’re looking for it, but it’s a good-sized building. It may take days."
"A vault." Maeve breathed the words. "I wonder what’s in it."
"More truth?" But Buchanan’s voice was strained now.
"Or the ramblings of a madman, one who’d already killed?"
"Perhaps both," Roarke suggested. "I know my wife’s hoping for something that will lead her to Rad Hopkins’s killer. The truth, and justice for him as well."
He laid the necklace on the velvet. "I’m very interested in this piece." Roarke sipped his wine. "Shall we negotiate?"
Ten
In Number Twelve, Eve stood in the area that had once held a stage. Where there had been sound and light and motion, there was silence, dark and stillness. She could smell dust and a faint whiff of the chemicals the sweepers used on-scene. And could feel nothing but the pervading chill that burned through the brick and mortar of an old building.
