The Golem of Paris

Chapter thirteen

Dolly Duvall met Jacob at the door to her house, an outlier on an otherwise ramshackle block of 113th Street. Fresh paint along the trim; flower beds brimming with bright winter annuals to match her yellow floral-print skirt suit, which in turn matched yellow lizard-skin pumps.

“Please come in, Detective.”

Jacob stepped into the living room, where the same level of order prevailed, not a doily askew. Ceramic doodads lined up in height order. A wall tiled with photographs of children and grandchildren — Marquessa and TJ at its center.

“Punctual,” Dolly said. “I appreciate that.”

He’d arrived early in order to knock at noon on the dot. He was operating on stolen time. The weekend was over, his extracurricular activities — that’s what Marquessa and TJ were, a side project — eating into the massive task that awaited him at the archive.

It felt good to stick it to Mallick, however trivially.

Sinking into a champagne-colored brocade sofa, he accepted a cup of coffee, reaching for a slice of crumb cake out of politeness; then reaching for seconds.

Dolly regarded him with amusement. “You like my baking.”

“Yes, ma’am. Outstanding.”

“I’m glad. You should be, too. It’s a privilege not many people get to enjoy.”

“I appreciate it.” He wiped his mouth. “And, Mrs. Duvall, thanks for seeing me. I know revisiting this has to be tough.”

Dolly shifted, looked away, as if readying herself for an injection. “Go on, then.”

He opened his notebook. “First off, let me ask if there’s anything you’d like to share with me about Marquessa.”

She didn’t answer.

“Unless that’s too—”

“I’m thinking, Detective. It’s not easy to sum up your own child.”

Jacob nodded.

“She was my baby,” Dolly said. “I didn’t baby her, mind. Everyone else did, though. She had a way about her that made you want to sweep her up. Her brothers and sisters used to pass her back and forth like she was a rag doll. They called her Dolly Two, because she took after me.”

Dolly Duvall had smooth skin, regal bone structure, elegant calves — a glimpse of Marquessa’s uprooted future.

“How many in the family?” he asked.

“Five boys and four girls, and I raised them on my own after my husband passed. Marquessa was eighteen when she had TJ. He was like one of my own. Then they moved all the way across town.”

Dolly took a sip of coffee. “I taught my children to choose their own paths. My other girls live up the corner. My boys, too. Their children. Everyone comes over on Sundays.” She pressed her lips together. “Marquessa chose to leave.”

“Did you get to see them much?”

“I don’t drive.”

“I’m wondering why they moved. TJ’s father—”

Dolly cut him off with a shake of the head. “He never came around. I wouldn’t let him in the house.”

“Were he and Marquessa in touch?”

“I was given to believe that Thomas Sr. wasn’t considered a suspect.”

“No, ma’am, he’s not. I ask because romantic relationships can be relevant in different ways.”

She snorted. “There’s nothing romantic about a silly young girl falling for an older boy with a fancy car. I never understand about cars. A fellow comes into some money, that’s the first thing he runs out and spends it on, a new ride.”

Her scorn put I don’t drive in a new light — staking out the moral high ground.

She said, “I don’t see how he could’ve hurt her, though. He was incarcerated.”

People had friends. Nasty guys had nasty friends. He said nothing, though.

“No,” Dolly said, “I never will believe it was him. He was lazy and crude, but I never saw him show a temper.”

Having checked Thomas White Sr.’s record, Jacob tended to agree. A whole mess of drug offenses, but nothing violent. On top of that, both Ballard and Krikorian had worked the personal angle exhaustively. Still, Jacob knew that a neglected question could prove disastrous.

He said, “How come Marquessa moved away?”

“She couldn’t get what she wanted living here with me. I told her, ‘Fine, then, you go and get it your own self.’”

“What did she want?”

“Money. She always had an eye for nice things. She’d cut out pictures from her sisters’ fashion magazines and strut around the house. Everybody laughed and gave her attention. It was cute when she was four. Then she grew up, and we started rubbing up against each other. Do you know how you get to be after you raise nine kids?”

Jacob shook his head.

“Tired,” Dolly said. “You get bone-tired. Marquessa, I loved her, but she was an arguer, and I was done arguing. More coffee?”

“Please.”

She was gone longer than necessary, and when she came back from the kitchen, he noticed retouched lipstick.

“Marquessa talked about wanting to be an actress,” she said, sitting down. “I asked why she needed to move so far, and she told me she had to get close to the action.”

“Action, meaning...?”

“Movie people, I guess. And she did work, I’ll grant her that. She never asked me for help. She paid her own bills.”

“Acting.”

“Mostly it was modeling. Nobody could say she wasn’t something to look at. That was the trouble.”

He waited in vain for her to expand. “Besides TJ’s father, were there men in her life?”

Dolly stiffened. “I’ve talked about all this before to those other detectives.”

“I know, ma’am.”

“Once she left my house, she could do as she pleased.”

“What about an agent? A manager?”

“She didn’t discuss it with me. Her sister might know. They were close. I can call her if you’d like.”

“Would you mind? It’d be helpful.”

Dolly left the room again, allowing him to sneak a third piece of coffee cake.

“Farrah will be by shortly,” Dolly said, returning. She glanced at the half-empty plate. “I can see you’ve got a healthy appetite. Take another.”

“Thanks. I really shouldn’t.”

“Well, you do what you do.”

He let her ease into talk of simpler things — the weather, gardening. Ten minutes later, the front door opened and a woman stepped in. Farrah Duvall was heavier than her sister but still striking. Three small boys scurried in behind her. They saw Dolly and came to attention.

“Hello, Gram.”

“Hello, Gram.”

“Hello, Gram.”

Dolly inspected them, fussed with them, gave them each a piece of cake on a napkin, and sent them to the backyard. Once they’d gone, she aimed a scowl at Farrah. “You didn’t say nothing about bringing them kids.”

“Mama. What’m I supposed to do? Leave them so they can destroy my house?”

Dolly shook her head. “Have some cake.”

“I’m not hungry,” Farrah said.

Dolly rolled her eyes.

Farrah sat in an armchair. “My mother said you asked about an agent,” she said, handing Jacob a wrinkled silver business card.

A URL but nothing more. Commerce in the Internet age.

“Can I hang on to this?” he asked.

Farrah nodded.

“Thanks. Any idea what sort of modeling Marquessa did?”

“Clothing,” Dolly said. “I have some of her catalogs.”

“In the file it says she also did some hostessing,” he said.

“I guess,” Farrah said.

“We’re talking parties?” He was thinking of the limousine Jorge Alvarez had described. “Events?”

“She made sure I knew she was living the good life,” Dolly said. “Getting paid for standing around and looking nice. ‘That’s all I have to do, Mama. Look hot.’”

“Was she dating anyone?” he asked Farrah.

She gave a noncommittal shrug, but Jacob noticed her squirm. He wished Dolly would go outside to supervise the boys — he could hear them raising hell — so he could speak to Farrah unchaperoned. But when one of the boys began to wail, she sighed and got up and went to check.

Dolly said, “More cake?”

He left with a full stomach, but unsatisfied. Started the Honda, began to back out.

Farrah came hustling out of the house, carrying a plastic shopping bag.

He rolled down the window.

“She wants you to have the rest of the cake,” she said.

Despite himself, Jacob laughed. “Thanks.”

Farrah smiled nervously, shifting from foot to foot. “I don’t like to talk about it in front of my mom, cause it makes her upset. But a couple of months before it happened, Marquessa started acting strange.”

“Strange how?”

“Not strange,” Farrah said. “Erase that. More like — okay, she always liked to brag, this and that. But all of a sudden, she’s got bank to back it up. Don’t ask me where she got it from. I’d tell you if I knew.”

“A neighbor of hers told me a limo used to come pick her up,” Jacob said.

“Wouldn’t surprise me. She used to work those events, like you said. She told me about it. Like, they put her in a string bikini and she stands up on a table, sticking her butt out. I remember one time she brought me this bag they gave her, and it had a ton of stuff in it, gift certificates, and a three-hundred-dollar pair of headphones. And it was like a nice bag, not some piece of plastic. I still have it. The card I gave you, that was in there, too. I was like, ‘They just give you this? For free?’ She told me all the models get them. And I was like, ‘Damn, I need to lose me twenty-five pounds.’”

“Running with a rich crowd.”

“Absolutely.”

“Did she mention any names?”

“I asked her sometimes — like, did she know anybody famous? But she just got all high and mighty about it. ‘I can’t tell you that.’”

A breeze stirred. Farrah hugged herself. “I’m sorry. I know how I sound. I used to feel angry. I thought it was her fault she got herself into trouble. Now I’m just sad.”

Jacob nodded.

“My sister,” she began, before falling silent.

She said, “My sister had dignity. She expected people to treat her like a princess, so they did.”

A curtain parted in the front window. Dolly’s face appeared. She rapped sharply.

“I need to go,” Farrah said, and she double-timed it up the front walk.

Jacob held up the shopping bag, mouthed, “Thank you,” at the window.

Dolly let the curtain fall back into place.