ing Mary Ann was involved with someone else. Even my own client set himself up with a phony alibi. But Foster’s lie was different from all the rest. Because once it was un
covered, it put him directly at the scene of the crime.’’
I started clarifying the statement immediately. ‘‘Remem
ber how I told you he seemed to know just which way to turn the day we both went up to the twins’ apartment?’’
‘‘Of course,’’ Ellen replied. ‘‘But that was because he’d gone there once before to surprise Mary Ann, wasn’t it?’’
I shook my head. ‘‘He never went to the apartment that time. It was a lie—and a lie that could only serve one pur
pose: to conceal when he’d really been up there before.’’
Ellen thought that over for a few seconds. ‘‘I see what you mean, Aunt Dez. But how did you find out he wasn’t telling the truth?’’
‘‘Look, in October—when Foster claims to have made that visit of his—Meredith was in Show Boat. And she was playing Julie.’’ I emphasized the name to the point where I was almost shouting it. ‘‘But Foster said that when Mere
dith opened the door that night, he initially thought it was Mary Ann.’’
‘‘So?’’
‘‘So, a while back, when I went to see Claire Jospehs—
this childhood friend of the twins’—she talked about how dedicated an actress Meredith was. Even when she was a little girl playing Annie, Meredith refused to wear a wig; she dyed her hair and got a home perm. And then, not too long ago, when she was Joan of Arc—she cut off all her hair.’’
Ellen’s face was completely blank.
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‘‘Evidently, you’ve never seen Show Boat.’’
‘‘Once, when I was a kid, but I don’t remember too much
about it.’’
‘‘Well, Julie was a mulatto.’’
‘‘Ohhh, I get it. That means Meredith would have been a brunette at that time. Am I right?’’
‘‘It would have been totally out of character for her not to be.’’
‘‘So Eric couldn’t have mistaken her for Mary Ann.’’
‘‘Not for a second.’’
‘‘You are really something, you know?’’
‘‘Don’t be too impressed,’’ I protested modestly. ‘‘I didn’t link up Foster’s story and what Claire had told me for the longest time. And when I finally did, it was only because I came across Raging Bull in this video store.
‘‘Raging Bull?’’
‘‘It was a movie, a biography, about this fighter—Jake LaMotta, his name is—and Robert De Niro gained I-don’t
know-how-many pounds to play the part. And that’s what made me remember about Meredith and how she ap
proached her roles the same way.’’
Ellen nodded. Then, a minute or two later: ‘‘I have a question, though. Why would Foster even mention anything
about Meredith being home that night?’’
‘‘That threw me in the beginning, too. But after I thought about it a while, I could see his reasoning. Mary Ann must have said something to him about Meredith’s having to take a few days off from the show at that time. And by telling me she was home sick the night he supposedly went up there, he’d be lending credence to his story if I checked with anyone in the company. And, incidentally, I did—
check, I mean. And he was right; it did make the lie more believable.’’
‘‘A pretty fast thinker, wasn’t he?’’
‘‘I’ll give him that—although he evidently didn’t think about that hair business. At any rate, once I realized Eric Foster had been lying through his teeth, I looked at every
thing a lot differently. And suddenly it all started to fall into place.’’
‘‘You said a few minutes ago that it was essential for him to . . . uh . . . do that to their faces.’’
‘‘That’s right. You see, it has to do with Meredith’s will. We haven’t located it yet, but according to what Peter was
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told—and he does seem to be straight on this—Meredith left a will providing that if she died first, everything she had would go to her sister. But if Mary Ann predeceased her, Meredith’s money would go to some AIDS foundation.
I don’t know if I mentioned this, but Meredith’s husband—
Garibaldi, his name was—died of AIDS.’’
‘‘He died of AIDS?’’
Ellen’s tone immediately put me on the defensive. ‘‘I only found out about it recently myself, and then every
thing happened so fast these last few days.’’ But Ellen’s nose was definitely out of joint; I’ve accustomed her to expect to be filled in on these things. ‘‘I really did mean to tell you about it,’’ I offered apologetically before hurrying on. ‘‘Anyway, since it doesn’t look like Mary Ann made out a will, in the event of her death, her next of kin would inherit whatever it was she had.’’
‘‘Eric,’’ Ellen murmured.
‘‘Eric. Or if Mary Ann died before her sister, Eric and Meredith. The thing is, though, Mary Ann didn’t have a dime in her own right.’’
‘‘I don’t understand. I thought they were wealthy.’’
‘‘ They weren’t wealthy; Meredith was wealthy. I assumed they both had money, because I somehow got the idea they’d inherited from their parents. The fact is, though, the parents died practically broke. The money came from Meredith’s husband, who was an inventor. It seems he de
signed some kind of gadget and sold it for millions.’’ Then, after a moment’s pause—and sounding exactly like Peter—
I added reluctantly, ‘‘I guess I didn’t get around to telling you about that either, huh?’’
‘‘No, you didn’t, ’’ Ellen responded, and the look she threw me did not warm my heart. But almost immediately her expression was more benign. (Unlike me, Ellen doesn’t hold a grudge. But listen, she’s a Libra.) ‘‘Go ahead,’’ she urged, ‘‘continue.’’
‘‘Well, Foster apparently wanted money badly. Very
badly. And he must have known something about the terms
of Meredith’s will; he probably pumped Mary Ann like crazy. Anyhow, he realized that in order to get his greedy little paws on any of those Garibaldi bucks, Mary Ann would have to die—but after inheriting from her sister. In other words, he would have to get rid of Meredith first and then dispose of Mary Ann.
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‘‘So he goes to their apartment on a night when there’s a good chance he can catch Meredith alone, and, a few hours later, have a shot at Mary Ann—literally. If you re
call, Mary Ann had already told him she’d be meeting a friend for dinner and a movie that evening. But the way things worked out, at the last minute her appointment was canceled. So when Foster rings the doorbell, who opens the door? Mary Ann.
‘‘I can take a few passes at what happened next. Mary Ann undoubtedly asks what he’s doing there, and he thinks up something to satisfy her. Maybe he even tells her he’s come hoping to make peace with Meredith. Whatever, they
go into the living room; that much we’re sure of. Now, I would guess that at this point Foster’s intention is to wait until Meredith comes home, shoot her, and then—no doubt after keeping Mary Ann at gunpoint for a time—let her have it, too.
‘‘Naturally, I don’t know that for a fact—although it does seem to fit. But what I do know is that he can’t postpone the murders. He has to make his move during this trip, because once Mary Ann gets married—and she’s already engaged—he’ll no longer be her next of kin. And this one night could be his only chance at both his sisters before he has to go back to England.
‘‘But, at any rate, something forced his hand. And I’m willing to bet it was Chuck Springer. I—’’
‘‘Chuck Springer?’’ Ellen interjected.
‘‘Their
neighbor—the one who found them after they were shot. Maybe everything changed because Mary Ann mentioned that Springer had called and would be stopping by in a few minutes. Or maybe it was when Springer actu
ally rang the doorbell. Either way, though, this Springer business tears it. It was bad enough finding the wrong sister home. But now there’s this neighbor who wants to come in and maybe hang around for hours. Well, Foster certainly can’t allow Mary Ann to let this guy into the apartment. So—’’
‘‘So he shoots her,’’ Ellen finished for me in a voice barely above a whisper.
‘‘That would be my guess. It’s also possible, though, that he held a gun on her for a while, waiting for Meredith to show. But then she may have tried to make a break for
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it or something, and he had to do away with her ahead of schedule.’’
Ellen stuck out her hand. ‘‘Wait a minute. If Mary Ann had been shot at the time this neighbor guy was standing right outside the door, he would have heard something, wouldn’t he?’’
‘‘Uh-uh. The building’s soundproof. And for all I know, Foster could have used a silencer, besides.’’
‘‘Okay. Sorry. You were saying?’’
‘‘Well, anyway, once he shoots Mary Ann, Foster’s whole
scheme is a shambles. But you were right before; this son of a bitch is a quick thinker. He comes up with what I think was a rather brilliant alternative.’’ I paused to give the next words—which truly defined the strange circum
stances of the tragedy—the impact they deserved:
‘‘He’s going to fix things so no one can tell who died first.’’
Ellen sat there stunned, her eyes widening in horror. Then she said softly, ‘‘So that’s it. That’s why they were both shot . . . the way they were.’’
‘‘That’s why. After he shot them initially, he very deliber
ately blasted them in the face so it would be impossible to figure out who was who.’’
‘‘But did he really have to go through all that—disfigur
ing them, I mean?’’ Ellen wanted to know. ‘‘The medical examiner probably wouldn’t have had any idea which of them was killed first, anyway. Every mystery book I’ve ever read says things like: ‘The murder occurred between twelve and one’ or ‘between two and four.’ ’’
‘‘Well, we don’t know just how far apart the shootings took place, of course, and there are a lot of different factors that come into play. But from what I’ve been told, a good pathologist can sometimes determine the time of death to within a half hour. Maybe Foster was aware of that. Or,’’
I suggested in a lighter vein, ‘‘maybe he doesn’t read mur
der mysteries.’’
For the first time since I’d been reconstructing the crime for her, something crossed Ellen’s face that might have passed for a smile. It didn’t last long. ‘‘I’m surprised he didn’t examine them to make sure they were dead,’’ she said with a little shiver.
‘‘Obviously, the poor guy was too sensitive for that,’’ I
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responded caustically. ‘‘Or else he just made a mistake—
two of them, in fact.’’
‘‘I don’t know how you figured everything out,’’ Ellen enthused then.
‘‘It was the only solution that tied in with all the facts. And,’’ I admitted, ‘‘it really wasn’t that hard to arrive at, once the Showboat thing sunk in and I started concentrat
ing on Foster.’’
‘‘That’s what you say. Did I tell you before that I think you’re a genius?’’ There was a kind of awe in Ellen’s voice, and by all rights I should have felt uncomfortable. But I didn’t. Even though her appraisal was completely out of whack with reality, it was still nice to hear—especially since I’d been having such frequent doubts about my ability lately.
‘‘I don’t think you ever used those exact words—not re
cently, anyhow,’’ I responded, ‘‘so please feel free to rave on.’’
Ellen grinned. But in a few moments she was thoughtful again. ‘‘I was just wondering,’’ she said. ‘‘Suppose Foster’s plan—to confuse his sisters’ identities, that is—had worked out the way he wanted it to. Would he have come into all of Meredith’s money?’’
‘‘I was wondering the same thing. So, to satisfy my curi
osity, I checked with Pat Sullivan—you know, one of the law partners in my office—to find out what he would legally have been entitled to. Pat says that under New York State law, if the twins were judged to have died simultaneously—
which would be the case if no one could determined the order of their deaths—Foster would have inherited half of what they held as joint tenants. In other words, Mary Ann’s share of the assets. And we know that the condo, at least, was in both names, so he would have gotten a nice little bundle when that was sold. Oh, I wish you could see that place, Ellen; it’s really something,’’ I gushed.
Ellen forced me to get back to business. ‘‘And the other half of the money from the apartment? That would have gone to an AIDS charity?’’
‘‘Uh-huh. According to this phantom will of Meredith’s. But listen, Tim Fielding’s been saying all along that those girls must have a lot of money around somewhere. And from what Peter told me last week about Garibaldi’s suc
cess with his invention, I’ve got to believe that. Anyway, if
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it does turn out to be true, Mary Ann may be listed as a joint tenant on a lot of things. So Foster could actually have made a real killing.’’ I was aware of my unfortunate choice of expression almost instantly. ‘‘Oh, geez,’’ I muttered.
But Ellen was too caught up with finances to notice.
‘‘And if it was found that Mary Ann had actually died first, he wouldn’t have gotten anything?
‘‘Pat said that if any assets in both names stipulated the right of survivorship—which is very common—Meredith
would automatically have inherited Mary Ann’s share. So Foster would have been out of luck.’’
‘‘What if the—what is it called— wasn’t stipulated?’’
‘‘Right of survivorship. Well, I’m not positive, but I imag
ine, in that case, Foster would have had to split Mary Ann’s share with Meredith’s estate, since he and Meredith would both have been in line to inherit.’’
Ellen’s forehead scrunched up, and she cocked her head to one side as though listening to her own thoughts. After a while, she asked, ‘‘Do you think Foster knew about all this stuff when he concocted the scheme to disfigure them?’’
‘‘Oh, I doubt it; I mean, why would he? It was a lastminute thing, remember? Most likely he was desperate after shooting Mary Ann, and he just figured it would be his best chance to glom onto at least a piece of those millions.’’
‘‘Well, now we know the real reason the devoted brother
wanted to hang around here; he was worried about his sis
ter’s regaining her memory.’’
‘‘You’d better believe it,’’ I said. ‘‘ And he wanted the money. He probably couldn’t wait to have another crack at her.’’
And that led right into my describing my own aborted scheme to catch Foster in the act.
And that led to my describing the terrifying fiasco that precluded it.
As I recounted the previous night’s attack in every lurid detail, I watched the parade of expressions march across Ellen’s face: surprise, apprehension, horror, and, ulti
mately, relief.
‘‘I’m so glad you’re all right,’’ she said, close to tears when I finished. With that, she leaned across the sofa and grabbed me in a hug that was almost fatal. (Ellen, I discov
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ered for the very first time, is a lot stronger than she looks.)
�
�‘What made him follow you to that place, do you think?’’
she asked when she released me.
‘‘Oh, I don’t think he followed me at all,’’ I replied as soon as I was breathing normally again. ‘‘I suppose he came to the same conclusion I did: that there was a good possibil
ity Bromley was already back from her vacation. He must have heard she was a jewelry designer and that she might very likely have some knowledge about who owned the ring. Which means he had to get to her before she talked to the police.’’
‘‘Do you think he actually went there to . . . ?’’ It was left to me to fill in the rest.
‘‘Look,’’ I told her, ‘‘Foster had no idea whether that ring was found on the survivor or on the corpse. So he wasn’t about to risk Bromley’s giving out any information that could establish who it belonged to.
‘‘Trust me, Ellen, if she’d been home last night and Fos
ter had gotten in to see her, there’s an excellent chance Charlotte Bromley would have been victim number three.’’
Chapter 39
‘‘I’m sorry I didn’t return your call yesterday,’’ Peter was saying. ‘‘But I didn’t check my machine all day. And then, after the hospital, I met one of the guys at the agency for a couple of drinks, and, well, it turned out to be more than a couple. I didn’t get home until two.’’
I looked at the clock: six-thirty. No one seemed to give a damn about my beauty sleep.
‘‘I didn’t wake you, did I?’’
‘‘Don’t worry about it,’’ I answered, trying unsuccessfully to swallow a yawn.
‘‘I guess I did,’’ Peter murmured contritely. ‘‘I wouldn’t have called so early, but your message said you had news and to get back to you as soon as I could.’’
That shook me awake. ‘‘We’ve got the killer.’’
There was a long pause. ‘‘Who was it?’’ Peter finally asked, his voice low and even. I could appreciate the effort it took to maintain that kind of control.
‘‘Eric.’’
‘‘That son of a bitch,’’ he said in the same quiet tone. Another long pause. Then, his voice growing more forceful with every word, he demanded, ‘‘Why? Why did he do it?’’
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