Broken Angels by Richard Montanari Read Free Book Online

looked the BlackBerry type. “About a week ago,” he said.
“And you haven’t been back?”
“No.”
“Not even just to drive by and check on things?”
“No.”
Hornstrom’s answers were coming a little too fast and a little too
pat, not to mention curt. Most people were at least somewhat rattled
by a visit from the homicide police. Jessica wondered why this man
was not.
“The last time you were there, was there anything out of the ordinary?” Byrne asked.
“Not that I noticed.”
“Were those three abandoned vehicles on the lot?”
“Three?” Hornstrom asked. “I remember two. Is there another
one?”
Byrne flipped back his notes, for effect. Old trick. This time it didn’t
work. “You’re right. My mistake. Were the two vehicles there last week?” “Yes,” he said. “I’ve been meaning to make the call to get them
towed. Is that something you guys can take care of for me? That would
be super.”
Super.
Byrne glanced at Jessica, back. “We’re with the police department,”
Byrne said. “I may have mentioned that earlier.”
“Ah, okay.” Hornstrom leaned over, made a note on his calendar.
“No problem at all.”
Cocky little bastard, Jessica thought.
“How long have the cars been there?” Byrne asked.
“I really don’t know,” Hornstrom said. “The man who was handling that property recently left the company. I’ve only had the listing
for a month or so.”
“Is he still in the city?”
“No,” Hornstrom said. “He’s in Boston.”
“We’ll need his name and contact information.”
Hornstrom hesitated a second. Jessica knew that if someone was going
to start to resist this early in an interview, and over something seemingly
minor, they might be in for a battle. On the other hand, Hornstrom did
not look stupid. The MBA on his wall confirmed his education. Common
sense? Another story.
“That’s doable,” Hornstrom finally said.
“Has anyone else from your company visited the property in the past
week?” Byrne asked.
“I doubt it,” Hornstrom said. “We have ten agents and over one hundred commercial sites in the city alone. If another agent had shown the
property I would know about it.”
“Have you shown the property recently?”
“Yes.”
Awkward moment number two. Byrne sat, pen poised, waiting for more information. He was the Irish Buddha. No one Jessica had ever
met could outlast him. Hornstrom tried to match his gaze, failed. “I showed it last week,” Hornstrom finally said. “A commercial
plumbing company out of Chicago.”
“Do you think anyone from that company has been back?” “Probably not. They weren’t too interested. Besides, they would
have called me.”
Not if they were dumping a mutilated body, Jessica thought. “We’ll also need their contact information,” Byrne said. Hornstrom sighed, nodded. Whatever cool he may have projected at
Center City happy hours, whatever Sporting Club macho he floated
with the Brasserie Perrier crowd, he was no match for Kevin Byrne. “Who has keys to the building?” Byrne asked.
“There are two sets. I have one, the other set is kept in a safe here.” “And everyone here has access?”
“Yes, but like I said—”
“When was the last time that building was operational?” Byrne asked,
interrupting him.
“Not for a few years.”
“And all the locks were changed since then?”
“Yes.”
“We’ll need to look inside.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem.”
Byrne pointed to one of the photographs on the wall. “You’re a
climber?”
“Yeah.”
In the photograph, Hornstrom stood alone on a mountaintop, with
a bright blue sky behind him.
“I’ve always wondered, is all this gear heavy?” Byrne asked. “Depends on what you bring,” Hornstrom said. “If it’s a one-day
climb you can get away with the minimum. If you’re camping at base
camps, it can get cumbersome. Tents, cooking gear, et cetera. But, for
the most part, it’s designed to be as lightweight as possible.” “What do you call