Hornstrom took a few moments. 'We have a lot of important clients, okay? The market is very volatile now, and one hint of scandal could topple the whole thing. I panicked. I'm… I'm sorry.'
'Did you place the 911 call?'
'Yes,' Hornstrom said.
'From an old cell phone?'
'Yes. I just changed carriers,' he said. 'But I did call. Doesn't that tell you something? Didn't I do the right thing?'
'So what you're saying is, you want some sort of commendation for doing the most basically decent thing imaginable? You find a dead woman on a riverbank and you think calling the police is some sort of noble act?'
Hornstrom buried his face in his hands.
'You lied to the police, Mr. Hornstrom,' Jessica said. 'This is something that is going to be with you for the rest of your life.'
Hornstrom remained silent.
'Ever been to Shawmont?' Byrne asked.
Hornstrom looked up. 'Shawmont? I guess I have. I mean I've driven through Shawmont. What does-'
'Ever been to a club called Stiletto?'
Pale as a sheet now. Bingo.
Hornstrom leaned back in his chair. It was clear that he was about to shut down.
'Am I under arrest?' Hornstrom asked.
Jessica was right. Time to slow down.
'We'll be back in a minute,' Jessica said.
They stepped out of the room, closed the door. They entered the small alcove with the two-way mirror looking into the interrogation room. Tony Park and Josh Bontrager had been observing.
'What do you think?' Jessica asked Park.
'I'm not convinced,' Park said. 'I think he's just a player, a kid who found a body and saw his career going in the toilet. I say cut him loose. If we need him later, he might still like us enough to come in under his own power.'
Park was right. Hornstrom didn't strike any of them as a stone killer.
'I'm going to take a ride up to the DA's office,' Byrne said. 'See if we can't get a little closer to Mr. HORNEE1.'
They probably did not have enough to get a search warrant of David Hornstrom's house or vehicle yet, but it was worth a try. Kevin Byrne could be very persuasive. And David Hornstrom deserved to have the thumbscrews applied.
'Then I'm going to meet with some of the girls from Stiletto,' Byrne added.
'Let me know if you need backup on that Stiletto detail,' Tony Park said, smiling.
'I think I can handle it,' Byrne said.
'I'm going to hole up with those library books for a few hours,' Bontrager said.
'I'll get on the street and see if I can track down anything about these dresses,' Jessica said. 'Whoever our boy is, he had to get them somewhere.'
48
There lived a young woman named Anne Lisbeth. She was a beautiful girl, with gleaming teeth, shiny hair, and a pretty complexion. One day she had a child of her own, but her son was not very pretty, so he was sent to live with others.
Moon knows all about this.
While a laborer's wife brought up her child, Anne Lisbeth went to live at the count's castle, surrounded by silk and velvet. No breath was allowed to blow on her. No one was allowed to speak to her.
Moon watches Anne Lisbeth from the back of the room. She is as fair as the fable. She is surrounded by the past, by all that has lived before. In this room dwells the echo of many stories. It is a place of discarded things.
Moon knows about this, as well.
In the story, Anne Lisbeth lived for many years, became a woman of respect and station. The people in her village called her Madame.
Moon's Anne Lisbeth will not live this long.
She will wear her dress today.
49
There were about one hundred secondhand clothing and thrift-type stores in Philadelphia, Montgomery, Bucks, and Chester Counties, including those small boutiques that had sections devoted to consignment clothing.
Before she could plot her itinerary, Jessica got a call from Byrne. He had struck out on a search warrant for David Hornstrom. Plus, there was no manpower available to put a tail on the man. For the time being, the DA's office had decided not to move forward with a charge of obstruction. Byrne would keep the pressure on.
Jessica began her canvass on Market Street. The shops closest to Center City tended to be more expensive, specializing in consignment of designer clothes, or offering versions of whatever vintage style was popular du jour. Somehow, by the time Jessica reached the third store, she had picked up an adorable Pringle cardigan. She hadn't meant to. It had just happened.
She left her credit card and cash locked in her car after that. She was supposed to be conducting a homicide investigation, not building a wardrobe. She had with her photographs of both the dresses that had been found on the victims. So far, no one had recognized them.
The fifth store she visited was on South Street, tucked between a used record shop and a hoagie shack.
It was called TrueSew.
The girl behind the counter was about nineteen, blond and delicately pretty, fragile. The music was some kind of Euro trance, volume low. Jessica showed the girl her ID.
'What's your name?' Jessica asked.
'Sa'mantha,' the girl said. 'With an apostrophe.'
'And where would I put that apostrophe?'
'After the first a.'
Jessica wrote Samantha. 'Got it. How long have you worked here?'
'About two months. Almost three.'
'Good job?'
Sa'mantha shrugged. 'It's okay. Except for when we have to go through the stuff that people bring in.'
'What do you mean?'
'Well, some of it can be pretty skanky, right?'
'Skanky how?'
'Well, one time I actually found a moldy salami sandwich in the back pocket of a pair of overalls. I mean, okay, one, who puts a frickin' sandwich in their pocket? No baggie, just the sandwich. And a salami sandwich at that.'
'Yuck.'
'Yuck squared. And, like, two, who doesn't even bother to look in the pockets of something before they sell it or donate it? Who would do that? Makes you wonder what else this guy donated, if you know what I mean. Can you imagine?'
Jessica could. She had seen her share.
