The Doll Maker (38 page)

Jessica, Byrne, Bontrager and Maria Caruso entered the home. Jessica and Maria went upstairs, Byrne and Josh took the first floor.

Upstairs were four bedrooms and two full baths. Everything seemed to be in place. Jessica saw what Marvin Skolnik meant about Andi’s room. There were a few items of clothing on the floor. Jessica picked up a dark, long-sleeved crewneck sweater. On it was attached a nametag from American Apparel.

Jessica took out her iPhone. She quickly got the number for American Apparel at King of Prussia Mall. She dialed, heard:

‘Thank you for calling American Apparel. This is Martina. How can I help you?’

‘Martina, my name is Jessica Balzano, I’m with the Philadelphia Police Department. No cause for alarm, but I have a couple of quick questions for you.’

‘Um,
okay
.’

‘I’m trying to reach Andrea Skolnik,’ Jessica said. ‘Is she there, by any chance?’

‘Andi? No, she got off at, I think, four. Let me check.’

Jessica heard the tapping of keyboard keys.

‘Yeah. She got off at four. She’ll be here tomorrow at noon. Can I give her a message?’

‘Did you see her at all today?’

‘I did, actually. I got to the mall around two. I had some shopping to do.’

‘And you saw Andrea?’

‘I did. She was sitting in the food court.’

‘Was she by herself?’

‘No,’ Martina said. ‘She was with this cute guy.’

‘Can you describe him for me?’

‘Dark hair, good-looking. And he was wearing a suit. Real dreamboat.’

‘Have you ever seen him before?’

‘The guy? No way. I’d remember.’

‘Did you see them leave together?’

‘No. When I came into the store at around quarter to four Andi was in the back. When she came out I was with a customer. We just waved. I was going to ask her about Mr Movie Star, but she was gone.’

‘I’m going to give you my number,’ Jessica said. ‘If you hear from Andrea, please ask her to give me a call.’

‘Sure.’

Jessica gave the girl her cell number, clicked off. She looked around the girl’s room. A feeling of dread began to creep slowly up her spine.

She was with this cute guy.
 

Where are you, Andrea Skolnik? What’s happening to you? What are you doing at this very second?

When Jessica looked up, and saw Byrne standing in the doorway, she knew.

There was a section of Center City, Philadelphia – from approximately Seventeenth to Eighteenth Streets, from Walnut to Sansom – that was known as the French Quarter. Although not an officially designated neighborhood, around 1999 the area was recognized by the city with orange signs bearing its name.

Contained within the area were French restaurants, French cultural societies, as well as Sofitel, one of the French upscale chain hotels.

Jessica and Byrne parked at Eighteenth and Moravian Streets, about a half-block from where the sector car was deployed. A group of PPD personnel were gathered at the mouth of an alley. They had learned on the way that John Shepherd had been assigned the case.

Shepherd was partnered with a young detective named Bình Ngô. Bình was second generation Vietnamese American. Different homicide detectives bring different skills and assets to the job. Among other skills – including obvious language assets – Bình was one of the best at diffusing tense situations when two warring parties were about to escalate their disagreement. Quiet and observant, Bình was proving himself a more than capable investigator.

When Jessica ducked under the yellow tape at the mouth of the alley, she was once more struck by how dreamlike the setting was.

At the end of the alley, just beneath a security light in a mesh cage, was a bench. Even from twenty feet away Jessica could see that it was painted a pale yellow.

The girl lay across the bench, her hands folded across her chest. Beneath her head was a pillow. It smelled of gardenia perfume.

Between her hands was a small container of what looked like strawberries.

While Byrne was briefed by John Shepherd, Jessica approached, hugging the wall. When she got to about ten feet from the bench she stopped. The victim was pretty, had light blond hair, nails painted a pastel pink. Jessica took out the picture they had been given by Marvin Skolnik. There was no doubt.

Beneath the bench were four objects, each with a yellow crime scene marker next to it, each tented by a piece of white paper, paper put there by CSU officers to preserve the integrity of the evidence, and to shield it from the elements.

Jessica heard someone approaching from behind her. It was Bình.

‘What do we have there?’ Jessica asked, pointing to the objects.

‘You’re not going to believe this,’ Bình said. He crouched down, lifted the small paper tent. Underneath was a bird.

‘It’s a seagull?’

Bình nodded. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘There are four of them.’

‘All dead?’

‘All dead.’

Jessica pointed at the victim, at the container in her hands.

‘Are those strawberries?’

‘Believe it or not.’

Jessica was having a hard time believing any of it. It was clear that they had missed Andrea Skolnik’s killer by hours, if not minutes. What they had in their favor was that, in this part of Center City – an area that contained hotels, upscale restaurants, just a block or so from the city’s toniest addresses at Rittenhouse Square – there were the highest concentration of police and private surveillance cameras.

When Jessica returned to the street, John Shepherd was talking to a man in his thirties. The man wore a red vest over a long-sleeved white shirt. There was a nametag on his vest,
Yves
, and the logo for Sofitel.

He appeared to be badly shaken.

‘I’m here almost every night,’ Yves said. ‘I’ve never seen anything like this.’

‘Why do you come down here?’ Shepherd asked.

‘I step out for a smoke when I’m on break,’ he said. ‘You’re not allowed to smoke within a hundred feet of the hotel. They’re really strict about it.’

‘You tend bar?’

The man nodded. ‘I work the lobby bar at Sofitel.’

‘Did you see anyone when you came down the alley?’

Yves shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Except for Jazzie.’

‘Jazzie?’

Yves pointed to a man – late fifties, clearly homeless – who was leaning against a sector car, talking to one of the patrolmen.

‘Where was Jazzie when you saw him?’ Shepherd asked.

‘Right about where he’s standing now. By the mouth of the alley.’

‘Was he walking in or out of the alley?’

‘Neither. He just kind of hangs out there. Sometimes he panhandles from the people coming in and out of the hotel. Management doesn’t really like it, but he’s not on hotel property. Besides, he’s harmless.’

‘Do you recognize the victim?’

‘No,’ Yves said. ‘I’ve never seen her before.’

‘What time did you take your break today?’

‘Right at six o’clock. I only get fifteen minutes, so I was probably here at around 6:02.’

Shepherd made the note. ‘We might need to talk again tonight. What time do you get off?’

Jessica saw some color drain from the man’s face. Perhaps it hadn’t occurred to him that he had to go back to work after all this.

‘Eleven,’ he said. ‘I get off at eleven.’

Shepherd handed him a card. ‘Sorry you had to see this. If you think of anything else, call me immediately. My cell is on the back.’

The man put the card in his pocket, then pulled out a cigarette with a shaking hand.

Shepherd and Bình stood at the mouth of the alley, interviewing Jazzie. Jessica and Byrne observed.

Norman ‘Jazzie’ Garrett wore three or four sweaters, a pair of patched workpants, fingerless gloves.

‘Why do they call you Jazzie?’ Shepherd asked.

‘I used to play a little piano back in the day. Brubeck, Bill Evans, O.P. Mind you, this was back when Philly was a jazz town – not like now – back when a white boy with fat fingers could make a living.’

Shepherd nodded. ‘What, if anything, did you see tonight?’

‘Nothing, really. Same tune, different arrangement. I hang around here because sometimes he brings out food.’

‘Yves?’

‘Yeah. He’s a good guy.’

‘Did you see anyone come in or out of this alley?’ Shepherd asked.

‘No, sir,’ Jazzie said. ‘But my eyes ain’t what they used to be.’

Shepherd produced the subject sketch. ‘Did you see this man anywhere around here tonight?’

Jazzie squinted at the drawing they had obtained as a result of interviewing Denny Wargo. The man called Mercy.

‘Yeah, yeah. I seen him. But only ’cause he walked right by me.’

‘Where?’

Jazzie pointed down Sansom Street.

‘Show me exactly where,’ Shepherd said.

Jazzie and the four detectives walked a half block down the street.

‘Right here?’ Shepherd asked.

Jazzie nodded.

‘What was he doing?’

‘Nothing,’ Jazzie said. ‘But he had one of those things with him.’

Shepherd stared at the man, as did the other detectives. When the man didn’t continue, Shepherd prodded. ‘He had
what
with him?’

‘One of those ladder things,’ he said. ‘But smaller.’

‘Like a stepstool?’

‘Yeah, but taller. When he came back he got into this red van.’

‘Where was the van?’

Jazzie pointed across the street.

‘Can you recall anything about the van?’

Jazzie shrugged. ‘It was rusty. No rims. Rims don’t last too long around here these days.’

‘Anything else?’

‘License plate said “Moochie.”’

‘Can you spell that for me?’ Shepherd asked.

Jazzie did. Bình Ngô opened his phone, stepped down the sidewalk a few paces, called it in.

‘And you say he came out of this other alley?’ Shepherd asked.

‘Yeah.’

Jessica and Byrne took out their Maglites, walked down the short passageway, a narrow corridor that met the end of the alley where Andrea Skolnik’s body was found. They ran the beam of their flashlights above eye level, along the brick window sills.

Halfway to the end, they saw them.

There, on the window ledge across the alley, looking down at the dark and grotesque tableau that was Andrea Skolnik’s body, were two porcelain dolls.

Boy dolls.

One wore a blue and red striped polo shirt. The other wore an identical shirt in solid green.

The dolls were Robert and Edward Gillen.

As they waited for the ME’s investigator to release the scene, Bình Ngô returned.

‘We have a hit on the red van with the Moochie vanity plate,’ he said. He checked his notepad. ‘It’s registered to a man named Anthony Mucinelli.’

‘Let me guess,’ Byrne said. ‘He’s either in jail, on parole, or out on bail.’

‘Door number three,’ Bình said. ‘Charged with assault. I cross-referenced him with Jeffrey Malcolm, and it turns out they both used the same bail bondsman.’

‘And that bondsman is Liberty 24 Bonds,’ Byrne said.

‘Right again,’ Bình said. ‘They’re located on—’

‘Lancaster Avenue,’ Jessica said. It all started to click. Liberty 24 Bonds was two doors down from Miss Emmaline’s shop, The Secret World.

‘Okay,’ Bình said. ‘You guys are spooky. I heard about this.’

‘And I’ll bet you called Liberty 24,’ Byrne said.

‘I did,’ Bình replied. ‘The guy told me they were broken into about three months ago. He said they had some files stolen.’

‘That’s how they’re targeting the vehicles they’re using,’ Jessica said. ‘They’re stealing cars from people who would never call the police.’

‘I asked the guy at Liberty 24 to compile a list of the other files that were missing,’ Bình said. ‘He jacked me around for a few seconds, but I let him know that these files are related to homicides, and that I was going to make his life quite difficult. He came around. I asked him if he had any clients who worked for an exterminating company. He said yes.’

‘The van that was spotted near the Gillen crime scene in Strawberry Mansion,’ Jessica said. ‘The one with the faded cockroach logo on the door.’

‘The same. It turns out the man in question
used
to own his own bug service, but that was before he turned to a life of crime, and before his current stint in Curran-Fromhold, where he’s been for the past three months.’

‘What about the other files?’ Westbrook asked.

Bình held up his cell. ‘Waiting for that call now.’

At this, the ME’s investigator emerged from the alley, having pronounced Andrea Skolnik dead. The detectives were now free to begin to process the scene.

Jessica snapped on a latex glove, stepped forward. She looked beneath the bench on which the victim was in repose. As expected, there was an envelope.

Knowing that CSU had photographs of the envelope
in situ
, Jessica reached under, carefully peeled off the tape, removed the envelope. She handed it to Bình, who was on the lead team with John Shepherd.

It was another invitation.

You are invited! 

December 2 at Midnight 

See you at our
thé dansant!
 

Jessica glanced at the card. Unlike the first two invitations, it was not a week away. The killers were stepping up the game. It was two
days
away.

And, for the first time, there was a time of day listed.

‘There’s something else in the envelope,’ Bình said.

He held it up to the light.

‘Two invitations?’ Shepherd asked.

‘I don’t think so.’

Bình reached inside, pulled out the card by its corner. It was a rectangular document, light blue in color. It looked to be old, corners bent, colors faded. He handed it to Jessica. It read:

Pan American World Airways System
 

Passenger Contract Ticket
 

Baggage Check
 

It was an old airline ticket from the now defunct carrier, Pan Am.

Byrne took out his phone. ‘You remember that email you sent me? The email about the search you did after the Gillen boys were found?’

‘What about it?’

Byrne found what he was looking for. ‘Some of the hits were about how to paint a swing set, one was about the oil painting of the girl on a swing, another one was about the Fred Astaire movie.’