I called the Hall of Justice and talked to a Homicide inspector I knew slightly named Craddock. I told him what I'd found, and about my little skirmish with Jack Bisconte, and said that yes, I would wait right here and no, I wouldn't touch anything. He didn't tell me not to look around and I didn't say that I wouldn't.
Somebody had started banging on the door. Ferry, probably. I went the other way, into one of the bedrooms. Ashley Hansen's: there was a photograph of her prominently displayed on the dresser, and lots of mirrors to give her a live image of herself. A narcissist, among other things. On one nightstand was a telephone and an answering machine. On the unmade bed, tipped on its side with some of the contents spilled out, was a fancy leather purse. I used the backs of my two index fingers to stir around among the spilled items and the stuff inside. Everything you'd expect to find in a woman's purse-and one thing that should have been there and wasn't.
Gianna Fornessi's bedroom was across the hall. She also had a telephone and an answering machine; the number on the telephone dial was different from her roommate's. I hesitated for maybe five seconds, and then I went to the answering machine and pushed the button marked "playback calls" and listened to two old messages before I stopped the tape and rewound it. One message would have been enough.
Back into the living room. The knocking was still going on. I started over there; stopped after a few feet and stood sniffing the air. I thought I smelled something-a faint lingering acrid odor. Or maybe I was just imagining it.
Bang, bang, bang. And Ferry's voice: "What's going on in there?"
I moved ahead to the door, threw the bolt lock, yanked the door open. "Quit making so damned much noise."
Ferry blinked and backed off a step; he didn't know whether to be afraid of me or not. Behind and to one side of him, the two deliverymen and the fat woman looked on with hungry eyes. They would have liked seeing what lay inside; blood attracts some people, the gawkers, the insensitive ones, the same way it attracts flies.
"What's happened?" Ferry asked nervously.
"Come in and see for yourself. Just you."
I opened up a little wider and he came in past me, showing reluctance. I shut and locked the door again behind him. And when I turned he said, "Oh my God," in a sickened voice. He was staring at the body on the floor, one hand pressed up under his breastbone. "Is she-?"
"Very."
"Gianna… is she here?"
"No."
"Somebody did that to Ashley? It wasn't an accident?"
"What do you think?"
"Who? Who did it?"
"You know who, Ferry. You saw me chase him out of here."
"I… don't know who he is. I never saw him before."
"The hell you never saw him. He's the one put those cuts and bruises on your face."
"No," Ferry said, "that's not true." He looked and sounded even sicker now. "I told you how that happened…"
"You told me lies. Bisconte roughed you up so you'd drop your complaint against Gianna. He did it because Gianna and Ashley Hansen have been working as call girls and he's their pimp and he didn't want the cops digging into her background and finding out the truth."
Ferry leaned unsteadily against the wall, facing away from what was left of the Hansen woman. He didn't speak.
"Nice quiet little operation they had," I said, "until you got wind of it. That's how it was, wasn't it? You found out and you wanted some of what Gianna's been selling."
Nothing for ten seconds. Then, softly, "It wasn't like that, not at first. I… loved her."
"Sure you did."
"I did. But she wouldn't have anything to do with me."
"So then you offered to pay her."
"… Yes. Whatever she charged."
"Only you wanted kinky sex and she wouldn't play."
"No! I never asked for anything except a night with her one night. She pretended to be insulted; she denied that she's been selling herself to men. She… she said she'd never go to bed with a man as
… ugly…" He moved against the wall-a writhing movement, as if he were in pain.
"That was when you decided to get even with her."
"I wanted to hurt her, the way she'd hurt me. It was stupid, I know that, but I wasn't thinking clearly. I just wanted to hurt her.."
"Well, you succeeded," I said. "But the one you really hurt is Ashley Hansen. If it hadn't been for you, she'd still be alive."
He started to say something but the words were lost in the sudden summons of the doorbell.
"That'll be the police," I said.
"The police? But… I thought you were…"
"I know you did. I never told you I was, did I?"
I left him holding up the wall and went to buzz them in.