by Leah Burke
Marissa sucked in a shocked breath. It was already Tuesday. Was it possible, even for a celebrity, to come up with that much money, in cash, in that amount of time? What bank even kept that kind of cash on hand? And more interestingly, why wouldn’t Siena Marlow have mentioned that?
“Have the police been notified?” she asked Ming.
Ming nodded. “Miss Siena’s assistant was the one who opened it and as soon as she realized what it was, she called the police. The detectives left right before you got here, maybe an hour ago.”
“Did they mention any theories as to why it took the kidnapper so long to make a ransom demand? The girls have been missing for five days already.”
“They didn’t say, I’m sorry.”
Marissa finally pulled out her recorder and notebook. “Do you mind if I take notes and a recording of the rest of our conversation? It sounds like it could be very important with things taking such a turn.”
Ming took a deep, shaking breath and tried to smile. “No, I don’t mind, but please, I’d like to remain anonymous. I’d lose my job if Miss Siena found out I was talking to you.”
“You have my word that I’ll keep your name out of it,” Marissa promised.
“Thank you so much,” Ming covered her eyes and Marissa thought she was crying, but after a moment she dragged her hands down her face and her eyes were dry. “It is a relief to finally talk to someone who seems to care about Julia and Jessie. They’re such dear girls and their mother…” she trailed off with a shrug.
“I take it she doesn’t spend much time with her kids?” Marissa guessed.
“No. Thomas—Thomas Duvall—spent more time with them than Miss Siena ever did.”
“Thomas? Is that the ‘loser bodyguard’ Miss Marlow mentioned this morning?” Marissa asked as she made a checkmark next to his name in her notes.
“Yes, but he is anything but a loser!” Ming said earnestly, “She only says that because, well, I suspect because he would not sleep with her. He took his job very seriously and was always very professional.”
What a shocker, Marissa thought.
Ming continued. “Thomas was with the twins every day. He took them to school, watched over them while they were there, and took them to the set and back home again. He was at every one of Jessie’s soccer games. He loved them and no, not the way you are probably thinking. The girls thought of him as a big brother and he treated them like little sisters.”
“Thomas sounds like a good guy. Do you know where he is? I’d like to talk to him.”
“He’s dead,” Ming said bluntly, her eyes full of tears, “They found his body about 24 hours after the girls disappeared. The police told Miss Siena that he was shot execution-style in the back of the head and dumped in a vacant lot on the north side of L.A.”
“Oh, my gosh! That’s awful!” Marissa gasped.
Ming wiped her eyes with a Kleenex she pulled from her uniform pocket. “The girls will be devastated.”
“Was Thomas with Jessie and Julia the day they disappeared?”
Ming nodded. “He was. It was Saturday, so there was no school and Jessie didn’t have a game—she plays soccer—until later in the afternoon. He left the house with the girls at 8:30 to go to the set of their show. The girls are in the middle of filming the next season of Gossip Queens.”
I still can’t believe that’s the name of a show staring fourteen-year-old girls, Marissa mused. Out loud, she posed her next question. “What else can you tell me about that morning? Did anything unusual happen before they left?”
“Miss Julia was fighting with her mother. They’ve been fighting a lot lately.”
“What about?”
Ming smiled wistfully. “A boy, of course. Miss Julia was seeing someone and Miss Siena did not approve of him.”
“Who was the boy? Do you know?” Marissa twiddled her pen between her fingers, ready to make note of the name.
“His name is Ryan Chase and he’s sixteen,” Ming hesitated, biting her bottom lip between her teeth nervously. “He’s my cousin.”
Marissa’s eyebrows rose. “Really? Is that how they met?”
“Yes. Ryan hasn’t had an easy life. His father left before he was born and his mother...works a lot. I’m the only one looking out for him.”
The way Ming hesitated when mentioning Ryan’s mother made Marissa curious and she pursued the issue. “What kind of work does Miss Chase do?”
“I’d really rather not say. It’s disgraceful and depressing but I know she’s doing the best she can for her children. She just isn’t around enough to keep them in line. Ryan especially, and he’s her oldest,” she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger.
Drugs or prostitution, Marissa decided, the mom has to be into one or the other, or possibly both.
“Forgive my curiosity, but is Ryan involved in a gang? Drugs?”
“Ryan is a good kid and I’m trying to keep him off of the streets,” Ming insisted, “I thought that if I showed him how good his life could be, he’d try harder, get away from the gangs, and stay out of trouble. I got him a job with the Marlow’s landscaper and he’s been doing really well.”
“I’m sure he appreciates your kindness. So, he and Julia must have met while he was working and they hit it off?”
“Yes.”
A modern-day Romeo and Juliet. The corners of Marissa’s mouth turned up in a smile. “And Miss Marlow didn’t like it?”
“No. No she didn’t. She and Miss Julia fought about him constantly. I felt bad for her, she just wanted someone to love her and the only male figures in her life were Thomas and Ryan. And now Thomas is dead.” Ming started to cry and Marissa reached across the table and squeezed her hand. Ming continued, “I’m afraid the girls are, too, and I haven’t seen Ryan since before they disappeared. What if they’re all dead?”
Now that was another interesting tidbit of information. Could Ryan be involved with the twins’ kidnapping? And if so, where would a sixteen-year-old gangbanger stash two starlets without someone noticing?
“Thank you for what you’ve told me, Ming. It’s been very helpful. If you think of anything else, please don’t hesitate to call me.” Marissa scrawled her cell number on the back of one of her business cards and handed it to the other woman.
Ming nodded, wiped her eyes, and slipped the card into her pocket. Marissa rose to take her leave, but the housekeeper stopped her.
“Miss Larkin, before you go…” she handed Marissa the thick purple book that had been lying on the table when they first sat down. “It’s Julia’s journal. I’m not in the habit of prying, because Lord knows those poor girls have little enough privacy, but I found it lying on the floor beside her bed. The last few entries might help you.”
“Why didn’t you give this to the police?” Marissa asked incredulously even as she accepted the little book.
Ming looked uncomfortable. “I didn’t find it until after they’d already gone and—and I just couldn’t bear the thought of those big, loud men reading her private thoughts! She’d never want that.”
“You know that if there’s pertinent information in here, I won’t have a choice but to turn it over,” Marissa warned her, “I could be charged with obstruction if I don’t, and that wouldn’t help anybody.”
“Yes, I know,” Ming said wearily. And I trust you to do what’s best. I just want to see them come home. Please, Miss Larkin, please help us find Julia and Jessie.”
“Ming!” Siena shouted from the parlor, “I need you! Now!”
Ming flinched and her face screwed up in an expression somewhere between fear and loathing. “Coming, Miss Siena!” she called back.
“Well, Ming, thank you for your help,” Marissa said as she rose from the table. “I’ll show myself out.”
Chapter 10
As Marissa shut the door of her rental car, her cell phone started ringing and it was the standard tone that only played when the person calling wasn’t saved in her contacts. Sh
e picked it up, saw it was a private number, and debated letting it go to voicemail. Those were usually telemarketers or scammers. Then it occurred to her that it could be Detective Lawson and she quickly pressed the ‘answer’ button.
“Marissa Larkin,” she answered.
“Miss Larkin, this is Detective Ranger Lawson of the Beverly Hills PD Major Crimes Unit,” a deep male voice replied, “I got your message that you’d like to speak with me regarding the Marlow Case. Is that right?”
“Yes it is.” Marissa snagged her notebook and pen and propped them on her knee.
“Are you a friend or member of the family?” he asked.
“I’m afraid not. I’m actually a reporter from The World at Large Magazine based in New York.”
He sighed. “Miss Larkin, if you’re seeking a statement, you’ll need to contact the department spokesman—“
“No, no,” she hurried to assure him, “I’ve read the official statements, what there are of them, anyway. I just have a few questions for you, but I’d actually like to talk to you in person. Can we meet somewhere?”
The detective paused for a thoughtful moment, long enough that she pulled the phone away from her ear to make sure their call hadn’t disconnected.
“Aw, heck,” he finally relented, “Why not? Can’t give you all the gritty details, but I can discuss the case in general. Where are you staying?”
“The Hotel Hollywood. Do you know it?”
“Yup. There’s a little dive bar about four blocks from there. The Dry Barrel on Savannah Ave. Meet me there tomorrow about 1? I work an overnight shift so that’s the earliest I can meet.”
Marissa noted the name of the bar and the street—she’d look up the exact address later—and agreed to meet the detective at 1:00 sharp.
They hung up and Marissa sat quietly for a long moment, before making a sudden decision. She brought up another number in her phone and waited while it rang.
“Hi, sweetie!”
“Hi, Mom,” Marissa said, “Is Dad around?”
“Oh, he just walked in.” Marissa’s mother covered the phone and shouted, “Robert! Marissa’s on the phone! She wants you!”
There was a moment of scuffling noises as the phone changed hands and then Robert Larkin’s deep voice filled the line.
“Hi, Missy. How’s things?”
“They’re...things are good, Dad. Can I ask you something?”
“Sure thing, kiddo. What’s on your mind?”
She bit her lip, considering her question for a second. “When you were on the force, how did you find the balance? I mean, between doing your job but knowing when to give it up?”
Robert Larkin was silent for a long time, then asked a question of his own. “I take it you’re on an assignment. A tough one.”
“Yeah,” she agreed, “There are kids involved. Kids that don’t seem to have anybody looking out for them.” She gave him the scoop, leaving out any names like a good journalist always did. “I’m torn. As much as I want to write a great story for The World at Large...Ugh, Dad, after talking to the adults in these girls’ lives, I find myself wanting to do more. I want to help them...they’re probably scared to death right now.”
“You’ve got a big heart, Missy, and I know how you’re feeling. I don’t like the idea of those girls alone in the city any more than you do.”
He had good reason to feel the way he did, she knew. As a retired cop, he’d seen just how dangerous the street could be. When he was working, her father had always tried to keep his work and private lives separate. The problem was that certain cases, as she herself had discovered, weighed heavy on the mind. When he was involved with those kinds of cases, he tended to talk with her mother about it and curious little Marissa had listened. She’d learned things that she could not forget.
His voice interrupted her thoughts. “All I can tell you, kiddo, is that you need to follow your gut. It’s never led you wrong before, right?”
“Right,” she agreed.
“Well, then there’s your answer!” he said, “Just be smart and try not to get arrested. The guys are still giving me guff about that and I thought your poor mother was going to have a heart attack by the time you got out.” There was no disapproval in his voice. It was just a statement of fact.
Marissa laughed. She knew the guys he was talking about and she’d apologized to her mother a thousand times. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Welcome, Missy.”
Hanging up the phone and starting the Corolla, she gave the Marlow house one last glance before driving away.
She pulled into the ABC compound about an hour later but it took her another fifteen minutes to find Studio 56. It was a hive of frantic activity, with people running to and fro with set pieces, equipment, and armloads of clothing. Marissa stopped a frazzled-looking woman and asked where she could find the director. The woman nodded, jabbered into her headset for a moment, then pointed towards the far side of the room.
“That’s Mr. Hoppenheim in the plaid shirt,” the woman explained before hurrying away.
Marissa threaded her way across the large space, stopping a few paces shy of the man in question and waiting politely for him to finish his current conversation.
Morris Hoppenheim was a tall, lanky man with a mop of chocolate-brown curls and fair, freckled skin. His long-fingered hands waved expressively as he talked and he seemed to be full of nervous energy. He reminded Marissa of a stork.
A few moments later, the stage hand strode away and the director looked up to find Marissa standing beside him.
“Can I help you?” he asked distractedly.
“Mr. Hoppenheim, my name is Marissa Larkin and I’d like to talk to you about Jessie and Julia Marlow.”
A worried expression clouded his gray eyes and he straightened up, clapping his hands sharply. The hectic chaos halted for a moment and all eyes turned in their direction.
“Okay, people, take fifteen!” he shouted, then turned his attention back to Marissa. “I’m afraid we’re on a tight deadline today, but I’ll give you what time I have. Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“That would be great, and thank you for taking the time to talk to me.”
They went to the small break room that had been set up for the actors and stagehands to use between scenes. It smelled of coffee and fresh pastries and Marissa inhaled appreciatively. Mr. Hoppenheim guided her to the Keurig machine on the table and offered her a choice of three different coffees.
Steaming styrofoam cups in hand, they sat across from each other at an empty folding table.
“Are you with the police?” Morris Hoppenheim asked.
“No. I’m a reporter with The World at Large Magazine,” she explained.
His expression softened. “Ah, you’re that Marissa Larkin. I read your Naked Eye articles with great interest. They gave me some excellent ideas for future projects.”
“Thanks,” Marissa said, feeling a wash of pride. She hadn’t realized her articles had been so widely read. Harlan had said as much, but this was the first time she’d met someone who’d read them.
“So, what can I do for you?” Morris Hoppenheim prompted.
“I’m trying to help find Julia and Jessie. I’ve already spoken with Siena Marlow and Jensen Davis.”
He exhaled heavily. “I’m not sure what I can tell you. I didn’t see the Marlow twins off the set.”
“I understand.” Marissa took a careful sip of her coffee, not wanting to burn her lips and tongue. “How did they get along on the set?”
“With each other or with the other actors?”
Marissa shrugged. “Both.”
Morris Hoppenheim smiled. “They were angels. Kind, patient, respectful...not the qualities one usually finds in those who’ve been in the business all their lives.”
Or the qualities one would expect with a mother like theirs, Marissa thought.
“They got along well with each other as well as the other actors, both the adults and the teens,” the director
continued, “Julia was quiet compared to Jessie and she always had a book with her.”
“What did she read?”
“One Hundred Years of Solitude was the last one I saw her with.”
She whistled. “That’s pretty advanced for a thirteen-year-old.”
Morris Hoppenheim nodded, but he was still smiling. “She’s a very intelligent girl. Probably too intelligent for a show like Gossip Queens, to be honest. I’ve tried to write her character a little truer to her personality. She’s surprisingly popular.”
“What about Jessie?” Marissa asked after making a few quick notes.
“Ah, Jessie.” He sat back and rubbed a hand over his hair. “An active girl. I’ve seen her kicking a soccer ball around with a few of the other kids between takes and I heard her tell my assistant that she runs track-and-field at school. She’s certainly more vocal and outgoing than her sister.”
“Can you think of anyone who’d want to hurt them? Anyone with a grudge?”
Morris Hoppenheim shook his head. “As far as I know, everyone liked them. Now their mother, on the other hand, is a piece of work. We’re lucky she only rarely comes by the set.”
“Did the twins’ bodyguard, Thomas Duvall, stay on set with them?”
“He did and it’s a tragedy what happened to him. He seemed like a quiet guy, but was always polite and professional. He never got in the way, mostly just watched from the sidelines. The girls really seemed to like him and he was clearly fond of them. They honestly interacted more like siblings.”
Marissa sighed and rubbed her eyes. She wasn’t really getting anywhere. Everyone who had a story was telling the same one; the twins were sweet, normal-sounding kids, Thomas Duvall was an upstanding guy, and there was nothing shady going on in their lives besides Siena Marlow’s antics.
“Are you familiar with the name Ryan Chase?” she inquired.
“I’m afraid not. Should I be?” Morris Hoppenheim sounded concerned. “Does he have something to do with the girls’ disappearance?”