Read Online Broken Angels by Richard Montanari - Free Book Online

long have you known her?”
“Maybe three months.”
“I’m afraid we have some bad news,” Jessica said.
Sonja’s brow narrowed. “What happened?”
“Kristina is dead.”
“Oh my God.” Her face drained of color. She grabbed the counter. “How did this...what happened?”
“We’re not sure,” Jessica said. “Her body was found this morning in Manayunk.”
Any second Sonja was going to topple. There were no chairs in the dining area. Byrne retrieved a wooden crate from the corner of the kitchen, set it down. He eased the woman onto it.
“Are you familiar with Manayunk?” Jessica asked.
Sonja took a few deep breaths, puffing out her cheeks. She remained silent.
“Sonja? Are you familiar with that neighborhood?”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “No.”
“Did Kristina ever talk about going there? Or if she knew someone who lived in Manayunk?”
Sonja shook her head.
Jessica made a few notes. “When was the last time you saw Kristina?”
For a moment, it appeared as if Sonja might be ready to do the floorkiss. She weaved in that special way that indicated a fainting spell on the rise. In a moment it seemed to pass. “Not for maybe a week,” she said. “I have been out of town.”
“Where were you?”
“In New York.”
“City?”
Sonja nodded.
“Do you know where Kristina worked?”
“All I know is that it was in Center City. A receptionist job for an important company.”
“And she never told you the name of the firm?”
Sonja dabbed her eyes with a Kleenex, shook her head. “She did not tell me everything,” she said. “She was sometimes very secretive.”
“How so?”
Sonja frowned. “Sometimes she would come home late. I would ask her where she was and she would get quiet. It was as if she was doing something about which she was ashamed maybe.”
Jessica thought of the vintage dress. “Was Kristina an actress?”
“Actress?”
“Yes. Either professionally, or maybe in community theater?”
“Well, she liked to dance. I think she wanted to dance professionally. I don’t know if she was that good, but maybe.”
Jessica consulted her notes. “Is there anything else you know about her that you think would help?”
“She sometimes worked with the kids at St. Seraphim.” “The Russian Orthodox church?” Jessica asked.
“Yes.”
Sonja stood, picked up a glass on the counter, then opened the freezer, extracted a frosty bottle of Stoli, and poured herself a few ounces. There was hardly anything to eat in the house, but there was vodka in the fridge. When you are in your twenties, Jessica thought—a demographic she had just recently, grudgingly, left behind—there are priorities.
“If you could just hold off on that for a minute, I’d appreciate it,” Byrne said. He had a way about him that made his commands sound like polite requests.
Sonja nodded, put down the glass and the bottle, retrieved the Kleenex from her pocket, dabbed her eyes.
“Do you know where Kristina did her laundry?” Byrne asked.
“No,” Sonja said. “But she would often do it late at night.”
“How late?”
“Eleven o’clock. Maybe midnight.”
“What about boyfriends? Did she have someone she was seeing?”
“Not that I know of, no,” she said.
Jessica pointed toward the stairs. “The bedrooms are upstairs?” She said this as amiably as she could. She knew that Sonja was well within her rights to ask them to leave.
“Yes.”
“Do you mind if I have a quick look?”
Sonja thought about it briefly. “No,” she said. “It’s okay.”
Jessica mounted the stairs, stopped. “Which bedroom was Kristina’s?”
“The one at the back.”
Sonja turned to Byrne, held up her glass. Byrne nodded. Sonja let herself down to the floor, took a huge gulp of icy vodka. She immediately poured herself another.
Jessica continued upstairs, walked down the short hallway, entered the back bedroom.
Next to the rolled futon in the corner was a small box with an alarm clock on it. A white terry-cloth bathrobe hung on a hook