Murder Can Ruin Your Looks (15 page)

88

Selma
Eichler

the English always appear to be so much more polite than we are. Probably because with
that
accent even something like ‘‘You bastard, you’’ sounds like a pleasantry.) It was hard to believe the man was actually an American. Or at least he was when he started out in life.

‘‘You must have been very young when you moved to London,’’ I commented.

‘‘I was close to fifteen. But the twins weren’t even a year old yet,’’ he replied, smiling cordially.

I figured I’d get the heavy question out of the way first.

‘‘Would you mind telling me where you were last Monday night—when your sisters were shot? Let’s say between seven-forty-five and nine o’clock.’’

End of cordial smile. ‘‘I’ve already given the police a statement about that.’’

‘‘Yes, I know. This is just for my records.’’

‘‘And because I’m considered a suspect. That
is
the case, isn’t it?’’

‘‘At this point, I consider everyone who even said hello to your sisters a suspect.’’

‘‘Apparently the New York City Police Department

does, too,’’ Foster observed dryly. ‘‘Don’t misunderstand me. I appreciate the need to be thorough; I really do. But your police here take it to an extreme. Did you know I’m not allowed into the hospital room—even with a twentyfour-hour guard stationed there?’’ He shook his head in disgust. Then, looking at me through narrowed eyes, he threw down the gauntlet. ‘‘Tell me, Ms. Shapiro,’’ he said in this low, even voice, ‘‘if I shot my sisters, what the hell was my motive supposed to be?’’

‘‘Well, you and Meredith weren’t exactly on the best of terms, and—’’

‘‘God! Do y’know how long that’s been going on?’’ Fos

ter cut in. ‘‘And Merry’s the one who was furious with
me;
I’ve been trying for years to make things right between us.’’

He sat there in silence for a moment or two, caught up in thought. Then he challenged me again. ‘‘But let’s put
that
aside. Why would I want to harm Mary Ann?’’

‘‘There’s evidently a lot of money involved here. And you
are
the closest living relative.’’

‘‘For all I know, the money might have been left to the boyfriends. Or to some society for the preservation of onelegged orangutans.’’

MURDER
CAN
RUIN
YOUR
LOOKS

89

‘‘I gather, then, there was a will.’’

‘‘Actually, I haven’t the vaguest notion whether there was or not; I said as much to your Sergeant Fielding. But it’s a moot point, since I’ve quite enough money in my own right, thank you. Plus, for those records of yours, I have an excellent position—vice president of New Delhi Imports, which is a large and very solid company with offices round the world.’’

‘‘I’m not—’’

‘‘But what matters most, Ms. Shapiro,’’ Foster concluded

almost fiercely, overriding my words, ‘‘is that I loved my sisters very much.
Both
of them.’’

‘‘Listen,’’ I told him quietly, ‘‘I’m not asking you these questions to trap you. I’m just looking for information—

information that could conceivably even
remove
you from suspicion.’’

‘‘I doubt I can provide anything like that,’’ Foster re

sponded with a wry smile. ‘‘At least, it didn’t work that way with the police. But if I can help you to find out who shot Mary Ann and Merry—although I honestly can’t think

how
. . .’’ He broke off. Then, straightening his spine, he said decisively, ‘‘Well, let’s have at it anyway. You wanted to know where I was that night.

‘‘We had an office meeting until almost seven. My em

ployers are very kindly allowing me to work out of the New York office until things are . . . resolved,’’ he ex

plained. ‘‘It’s certainly preferable to sitting around and thinking for twenty-four hours a day.’’ He paused before adding grimly, ‘‘About what some
fiend
did to my sisters.’’

‘‘And where did you go after you left work?’’ I asked gently.

‘‘I went for a bite of supper. This little hamburger place on Fifty-third, right off Park. It’s two or three blocks from the office.’’

‘‘Do you think anyone there might remember you?’’

Foster shook his head. ‘‘The police already checked; showed them a photo, but absolutely no one recognized me. It hurt my feelings, too, that this face—which my mother had always told me was one in a million—left no impression whatsoever.’’ Then, more seriously: ‘‘It’s not surprising, really. I’m not known there—it was only the second or third time I’d been in the place. And before you ask, I paid cash. The Heavenly Burger,’’ he informed me,

90

Selma
Eichler

smiling, ‘‘is not the sort of establishment to accept Ameri

can Express.’’

‘‘What time did you finish eating?’’

‘‘I’m not too certain. I would say about twenty before eight.’’

‘‘And then?’’

‘‘I returned to the hotel—the Grand Hyatt over on Forty-second Street. I’d had a rather tiring day, and I de

cided I’d do a bit of reading and go to bed.’’

‘‘You got to the hotel a little before eight, then?’’

‘‘I would guess it was close to eight-fifteen. I walked over, and I’m an awful dawdler; I stopped and looked in every shop window I passed.’’

‘‘Did anyone at the hotel see you when you came in?’’

‘‘It appears not. Or so the police say.’’

‘‘You had asked Mary Ann to have dinner with you that

night. Is that right?’’

‘‘That’s right. But she’d made previous arrangements. My

fault. I hadn’t let her know what date I’d be here.’’

‘‘Were you angry that she didn’t cancel her plans? After all, you’re not in town that often.’’

‘‘She offered to. But I insisted she go ahead and meet with her friend, and we made it lunch on Tuesday instead. To be honest, I wasn’t
too
disappointed she couldn’t come out with me on Monday. I was a bit under the weather when I got here Sunday—that’s when I called her, Sunday evening—and the way I felt then, I wasn’t at all sure I’d be able to manage food the next day.’’

I was about to say something when Foster made a point.

‘‘Incidentally,’’ he said, ‘‘if I intended to do in both my sisters, as you suggested, I wouldn’t have chosen that night, when I had every reason to expect that Mary Ann would be at dinner with a friend.’’

I’d have to think about that. But at the moment I couldn’t come up with a response. So I moved on to some

thing else. ‘‘Could you tell me about your feud with Mere

dith? You objected to her marriage; was that it?’’

‘‘I objected strenuously. Merry was just twenty when she

began seeing this Garibaldi punk—that was his name: Gene

Garibaldi.’’
That
figured;
according
to
Peter,
the
guy’s
name
began
with
a
C
or
an
R. ‘‘He was well in his thirties,’’

Foster was explaining, ‘‘and heavily into drugs. At the time they met, Merry was studying theater and she’d already

MURDER
CAN
RUIN
YOUR
LOOKS

91

been cast in a few small parts on the BBC. Which is quite a coup for a young girl, don’t y’think? At any rate, our parents were still alive then, and they begged her to stop seeing him, to concentrate on her career. Well, Merry made it clear she had no intention of giving up either her career
or
this Garibaldi. She was quite taken with him. He was

. . . uh . . . handsome, I guess you’d say,’’ Foster admitted grudgingly, ‘‘and he treated her like a little queen. Natu

rally, he swore he was quitting the drugs, and Merry be

lieved him.’’

‘‘And did he? Quit, I mean.’’

‘‘Not at first, anyway. He may have done later on; I can’t be certain.’’

‘‘So you intervened?’’

‘‘Yes. But not when I should have—in the beginning, when it might have done some good. I was married and living in Dorking by that time, y’see, so I was pretty re

moved from things. I was aware of how concerned my fa

ther and mother were, of course. As a matter of fact, they kept after me to have a talk with her. The girls had always looked up to me, y’know, my being so much older. But at any rate, I was far too wrapped up in my own life to put myself out that much,’’ he confessed, his voice filled with self-loathing. ‘‘So I convinced myself it wouldn’t do any good for
me
to badger her, too. Eventually, though, my mother persuaded me to go and see what I could do. But by then Merry was hopelessly infatuated with the man.’’

He looked so despondent that this damned bleeding

heart of mine went out to him (just as it seemed to be doing with practically everyone I talked to in this case).

‘‘How did Meredith react?’’ I made myself ask.

‘‘Not surprisingly, she deeply resented my meddling. And

then, a short while after our talk, she and Garibaldi became engaged, and she cut off all contact between us.’’

I don’t know what I’d expected—probably that the split between brother and sister would have had a more dra

matic origin. I found that I was almost disappointed. ‘‘And that’s why she hasn’t spoken to you in all these years?’’

‘‘Not quite,’’ Foster admitted, flushing. ‘‘Because of Gari

baldi’s drug habit, I was terribly afraid for Merry.’’ He looked at me intently. ‘‘Please understand,’’ he said softly,

‘‘I know that I was out of line. But what I did, I did for
her
sake. I was desperate for her to be rid of the man.’’

92

Selma
Eichler

He hesitated for a few seconds, while I sat there waiting anxiously. I think I may even have been holding my breath.

‘‘So I went to see him,’’ Foster finished, seeming to cringe at his own words, ‘‘and offered him money if he would get out of Merry’s life.’’

Well, that certainly made Meredith’s hatred of her brother a little easier to understand! ‘‘And?’’

‘‘And he told me to go to hell.’’

‘‘Garibaldi, I suppose, reported back to Meredith?’’

Foster nodded. ‘‘And she rang me up and said she would

never again have anything to do with me.’’ There was a catch in his voice when he added somberly, ‘‘And she never did.’’

‘‘I’m sorry.’’ It was all I could manage with that lump in my throat.

‘‘It’s the biggest regret of my life,’’ he murmured, ‘‘what happened between Merry and me. My sisters are my only family, y’know. I’m divorced—close to two years now, it’s been—and Zoe and I never had any children.’’ And then he just sat there for the better part of a minute, staring at nothing, saying nothing. Finally, he seemed to work his way out of the mood. Shifting around in his chair, he glanced over at me. I got the idea he might be getting impatient.

‘‘Just one more question,’’ I said before he had a chance to maybe suggest (very politely, of course) that it was time for me to leave. ‘‘How long ago did Meredith and Garibaldi get married?’’

‘‘It was that same year; just a couple of months after I went to him about the money—1988, I think it was.’’

‘‘His death—was it drug related?’’

Foster shook his head. ‘‘A short while before he died, I had lunch with Mary Ann. I asked her how Merry was doing—as I always did—and she told me that Garibaldi was gravely ill. An inoperable brain tumor. It was a matter of months at most, she said. And a few months later, he was gone.

‘‘You know, this is only the second time I’ve been to New York since my sisters moved here,’’ he informed me.

‘‘And the last time I was in town, back in October, I didn’t see as much of Mary Ann as I would have liked. I was taking an extra three days this trip just so we could have a decent visit and so there’d be a chance to meet her fiance´. We planned on having dinner later that week—Mary Ann

MURDER
CAN
RUIN
YOUR
LOOKS

93

and Peter and I. And now . . .’’ Turning away from me, Foster reached into his pocket for a handkerchief and took a furtive swipe at his eyes.

‘‘Peter and I did have a late supper together one night last week,’’ he continued, facing me again. ‘‘But, of course, it was only the two of us.’’ He swallowed hard. ‘‘Nice chap, that Peter, very nice. We talk every day, y’know. He keeps me advised on how things . . . uh . . . on how things are.’’

I nodded before saying ‘‘Just one more question’’ one more time. ‘‘What do you know about the man Mary Ann was engaged to?’’ I asked. ‘‘Before Peter, I mean.’’