The Doll Maker (37 page)

Was this the girl from Miss Emmaline’s shop? Was this the young man in the sketch they had gotten from Denny Wargo? It was impossible to tell.

After a few moments, the young man on Nicole’s left turned to her. Nicole looked at him. They spoke for a short while. Other people gathered behind them and to Nicole’s right, further obscuring the view. It was maddening.

When the light changed, the group proceeded across the street, then disappeared from the frame.

‘Do we pick them up on another cam? One of ours?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘I checked all our pole cams for three blocks.’

‘What about private security?’

‘Nothing yet,’ Maria said.

Jessica was just about to pick up the phone and call the Comm Unit when she heard hard-soled shoes coming down the hallway. Fast. Both she and Maria looked at the doorway, and saw Josh Bontrager nearly run by the entrance to the Video Monitoring Unit.

Josh Bontrager had a tendency to run whenever he had important news.

‘I followed up on your visit to Woodside,’ Bontrager said to Jessica. ‘And also on the lead that David Solomon – along with other personnel from Woodside – did some consulting work with Philadelphia County, as well as the Pennsylvania Department of Corrections.’

‘What kind of work?’ Maria asked.

‘Well, they had two psychiatrists and four social workers on staff then. If the sheriff’s office or the courts were backlogged with the therapists they usually contracted with, and they needed help with an evaluation, they called Woodside, or some other mental health provider, and they sent someone over.’

‘And you’re saying Solomon did some of this work for the courts?’

‘Yes,’ Bontrager said. ‘But only six times. I cross-referenced his name on the log-in sheets with every name associated with these cases. I found one instance that jumped off the page. I think you’ll see why.’

Bontrager put the printout on the table. It was an intake log of people signing into one of the hearing rooms at the Criminal Justice Center. The readout listed names, room number, as well as the date and times signed in and out.

The date was ten years ago.

Jessica scanned the names. When she saw them her blood ran cold. Those in attendance were:

The Honorable Michael J. Gillen

David Solomon LCSW

Marvin Skolnik, Esq.

‘Why were they there that day?’ Maria asked.

‘It was a competency hearing,’ Bontrager said.

‘Whose hearing?’ Jessica asked.

The voice came from behind them.

‘It was Valerie Beckert’s.’

They all turned to see Byrne standing in the doorway.

‘How do you know?’ Jessica asked.

‘I was supposed to be there.’

Byrne explained to the task force the details of Valerie Beckert’s arrest, and that he had been scheduled to testify at her competency hearing, but was never called. He never entered the hearing room, and did not know who else was present.

‘So, David Solomon knew,’ Jessica said. ‘When Nicole was killed, her father saw that invitation, and
knew
. Someone was getting back at him for helping to put Beckert on Death Row.’

‘You were right,’ Bontrager said to Byrne. ‘Solomon probably believed Judge Gillen still lived in that house. That’s why he called.’

Byrne held up a fax. ‘Just got this from Mateo. He sent the voicemail recording of David Solomon to the Philly field office of the FBI, who sent it off to Quantico. They cleaned it up enough to hear what Solomon said. He did not say “not now” on that recording.’

‘What did he say?’ Jessica asked.

Byrne put the fax down on the table. The other detectives looked at it. It read:

Sha’aray dimah lo ninalu.
 

‘It’s Hebrew,’ Byrne said. ‘From The Talmud.’

‘Do we have a translation?’ Bontrager asked.

‘We do,’ Byrne said. He read from a second fax. ‘It means “the gates of weeping are not closed”.’

‘He thought he was warning Judge Gillen,’ Jessica said.

‘Probably so,’ Byrne said. ‘Obviously he was pretty unstable at that point.’

Byrne handed the videotape he had gotten from Dr Allen to Bontrager, who cued it on a VCR. For the next ten minutes everyone watched the recording of the boy and girl. At the moment the camera showed the little girl wearing the barrette, Byrne hit Pause.

‘Does that look like the girl who was working in Miss Emmaline’s shop?’ Byrne asked.

Jessica had no doubt. ‘It’s her,’ she said.

The next two videos to be played were the security video from Home Depot – in which the male subject who purchased the paint met up with a woman by the door – and the SafeCam video of the young man and woman meeting up with Nicole Solomon on the street.

They were the same people.

They were hunting a man and a woman.

‘I’ll get hard copies of these still frames out to the districts,’ Maria said. She sat down at a laptop and began the process.

‘Does this attorney, Marvin Skolnik, still practice in Philadelphia?’ Dana Westbrook asked.

Bontrager sat down at a computer terminal. ‘Hang on.’

He did a search, and soon came up with a website.
Skolnik Powell Reedman
. He clicked on a tab labeled
The Partners.
A fresh page loaded with three photographs. The top photograph and bio was for a Marvin Skolnik.

‘It has to be him,’ Westbrook said.

Jessica picked up a phone, put it on speaker, called the office number.

‘Good afternoon, Skolnik Powell Reedman. How may I direct your call?’

‘My name is Jessica Balzano. I’m a detective with the Philadelphia Police Department. May I speak with Mr Skolnik, please?’

‘I’m afraid Mr Skolnik is gone for the day. Would you like to—’

‘Who am I speaking to?’ Jessica asked.

‘This is Julie.’

‘Julie, it’s important that I speak with Mr Skolnik. Do you have a number where I could reach him?’

As Jessica said this she looked at Josh Bontrager. He shook his head. He had done a search for Marvin Skolnik’s home address. It wasn’t listed. This was not surprising.

‘I’m afraid I can’t give that information out.’

Jessica had, of course, hit this wall many times before. It didn’t make it any less frustrating.

‘I’m going to trust you here, Julie. By that I mean I’m going to tell you something, and I need it to stay between you and I.’

Pause. ‘Okay.’

‘Do I have your assurance on this?’

Another pause. ‘Yes.’

‘It’s possible that Mr Skolnik might be in danger. So, here’s what I want you to do. I’m sure part of your reluctance to give me this information is based on you not knowing that I am who I say I am. Yes?’

‘Yes.’

‘I understand. I want you to take two phone numbers down. Are you ready?’

‘Yes.’

Jessica gave Julie the non-emergency number for the PPD, followed by her cell number.

‘I want you to call Mr Skolnik,’ Jessica said. ‘If you reach him, have him call the second number I gave you. Tell him it’s extremely important that he calls me immediately. If you don’t reach him, I want you to call the first number I gave you – that’s the main number for the police – and ask for me. They will patch the call through to me. Again, my name is Detective Jessica Balzano.’

Jessica spelled her last name.

‘Will you do this?’ Jessica asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Good. If you don’t get hold of Mr Skolnik, I want you to be prepared, when you call me, to give me all of Mr Skolnik’s phone numbers, as well as his home address. Are you okay with this, Julie?’

A long pause. Too long.

‘Julie?’

‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I just … okay.’

‘What time do you have?’ Jessica asked.

‘It’s four-fifty.’

Jessica started the timer app on her iPhone. ‘Okay. I expect you or Mr Skolnik to call me within three minutes. Have you got that?’

‘I do.’

Two minutes later the desk phone rang. Jessica picked up the receiver, punched the blinking red button. ‘Homicide, Balzano.’

‘This is Julie Glassman over at Skolnik Powell Reedman.’

‘Yes, Julie.’

‘I got Mr Skolnik’s voicemail, on both his home phone and his cell.’

‘Did you leave the message we discussed?’

‘I did,’ she said. ‘I left your cell number, and told him to call you immediately.’

‘Fine,’ Jessica said. ‘I’ll need both his numbers, as well as his home address.’

This time the young woman hesitated again, but not nearly as long as the first time. She gave Jessica two phone numbers, as well as an address in Mt. Airy. Jessica wrote it all down.

‘You did the right thing here, Julie,’ Jessica said. ‘I appreciate it.’

‘Is Mr Skolnik going to be okay?’

‘I’m sure he’s just fine. Most of my job is just about taking precautions. You’ve been a big help.’

‘Okay.’

‘And if for some reason you talk to Mr Skolnik, and he didn’t get your voicemail, the message still stands. Have him call me immediately.’

‘I will.’

Jessica clicked off, punched the button for another line. She called dispatch.

Within seconds, four PPD sector cars would be heading to the Skolnik home.

When Andi opened the door, she was glad to see that the cleaning service had come to the house. It wasn’t as if they were slobs or anything – far from it. But things did tend to get untidy from time to time. Friday night was usually movie night in front of the sixty-inch plasma in the living room, and the popcorn bowls and soft drink cans and potato chip bags had a way of lingering on the end tables until Saturday night, or even Sunday morning, all depending on how much her stepmother had to drink.

Now the place looked pristine and
Architectural Digest
pretty: pillows fluffed, carpet vacuumed, glass sparkling, magazines cascaded.

‘What a lovely home,’ Mr Marseille said.

‘Thanks,’ Andi said. ‘I’ll just be a minute.’

She flew up the stairs.

I could not seem to stop glancing at my pocket watch.

I looked out the front window. The street was calm and still. I expected that it would not remain so for long.

The home of Marvin Skolnik, Esquire was indeed lovely. A little too modern for my taste, but clearly well-appointed, with quality furnishings. In a small den off the large living room I noticed a beautiful mahogany desk. On it was an answering machine, red light blinking.

I glanced at the door at the top of the stairs, then stepped into the office, slipped on a single leather glove. I tapped the answering machine’s volume to low, then pressed the button to play the single unheard message.

From the machine, softly:

‘Andi, it’s Dad. I tried you on your cell phone, but got your voicemail. I’m terribly concerned about a call I received from the police. Please call me the moment you get this.’
 

I once more looked at my watch. We did not have much time.

I deleted the message, and walked to the foot of the stairs.

As Andi clanged through her closet, she suddenly wished she’d bought that skater dress.

Hanger after hanger:
No, no no, no no.

In the end she selected a burgundy Lola dress, ran a brush through her hair, spritzed herself with two blasts of Houbigant
Quelques Fleurs
from an atomizer, slipped on her best heels.

Record time.

She was out of breath.

Before she could leave her room her cell phone beeped in her purse. She’d either gotten a text or a voice message. Whoever it was, they would have to wait.

Calm
, Andi. She tried to remember her yoga practices, her Andrew Weill meditation courses. Zip. Her pulse was probably 120 and her blood pressure 200 over 190.

A few seconds later, when she walked down the steps, the young man who called himself Marseille was glancing through an issue of
Travel & Leisure.

He looked up and smiled, put down the magazine, held out a hand.

‘Miss Andrea Skolnik,’ he said. ‘You are a living doll.’

The Skolnik home – a large, well landscaped stone colonial in West Mt. Airy – was lit by the flashing bar lights from a pair of sector cars deployed at the curb.

When Jessica and Byrne pulled up, Jessica saw Dana Westbrook standing on the sidewalk in front of the entry door. Next to her was a tall, tanned, well-dressed man of about fifty.

Jessica and Byrne clipped their badges to their coats.

‘Mr Skolnik, this is Detective Byrne and Detective Balzano,’ Westbrook said. They all shook hands. The fact that the first PPD personnel on scene – besides the patrol officers – was a supervisor, spoke not only of the seriousness of the possible crime, but also the community and political standing of Marvin Skolnik, Esq.

‘I was in meetings all afternoon,’ Skolnik said. ‘I had my phone off. I just got Julie’s message about five minutes ago. On the way I called Andi’s cell and the landline here. Nothing.’

‘Is there anyone else home now?’ Byrne asked.

Skolnik shook his head. ‘My wife and son are at our house in Key West.’

‘Where does your daughter work?’

‘At King of Prussia Mall.’

‘Which store?’

The man looked gutted. He didn’t know. He said so.

‘Are you certain she’s not here?’ Byrne asked.

‘I looked,’ Skolnik said. ‘She’s not home. But she was just here, I know that.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I checked her room. She’s usually pretty neat and tidy. Plus, I can smell her favorite perfume. She only wears it for special occasions. It’s expensive.’

‘Do you know if she had a party, or maybe a wedding to attend?’ Byrne asked.

‘No. We have a big calendar in the mud room. One of those dry erase white boards. We all put down things we have planned on there. We have a different color for each of us. Andi uses red. There’s nothing on the calendar for today.’

‘Can you call your wife and ask her about this?’

‘I just did,’ Skolnik said. ‘I got voicemail. I tried my son, too. Same result. They’re probably at a show.’

‘Would it be all right if we gave a quick look around the house, inside and out?’ Byrne asked.

‘Of course.’