Peabody shifted her weight. „Ran hot for a couple of decades, then hit a serious patch of bad luck. The even more legendary Bobbie Bray – she was – “

„I know who Bobbie Bray was.“ Eve hooked her thumbs in her pockets, rocking back on her heels as she continued to study the body, the scene. „I’m not completely oblivious to popular culture. Rock star, junkie, and a cult figure now. Vanished without a trace.“

„Yeah, well, she was his wife – third or fourth – when she poofed. Rumor and gossip figured maybe he offed her or had her done, but the cops couldn’t find enough evidence to indict. He went spooky, did the hermit thing, lost big fat piles of dough, and ended up OD’ing on his drug of choice – can’t remember what it was – right here in New York.“

Peabody pushed to her feet. „From there it’s urban legend time. Place where he OD’d was upstairs from the club, that’s where he’d holed himself up. In the luxury apartment he’d put in on the top floor. Building passed from hand to hand, but nobody could ever make a go of it. Because…“

Peabody paused now, for effect. „It’s haunted. And cursed. Anyone who’s ever tried to live there, or put a business in, suffers personal and/or physical misfortunes.“

„Number Twelve. Yeah, I’ve heard of it. Interesting.“

Hands still in her pockets, Eve scanned the large, dilapidated room. „Haunted and cursed. Seems redundant. Guess maybe Radcliff C. figured on bucking that.“

„What do you mean?“ Then Peabody ’s jaw dropped. „This is the place? This? Oh boy. Jeez.“

„Anonymous tip does the nine-one-one. Gonna want to review that transmission, because it’s likely it was the killer. What I’ve got is the vic owned the building, was having it rehabbed, redesigned. Maybe looking for some of his grandfather’s glory days. But what’s our boy doing hanging around in a cursed, haunted building at two in the morning?“

„This is the place,“ Peabody repeated, reverently now. „Number Twelve.“