Ed McBain - Eight Black Horses

‘But she’d been living here, hadn’t... ?’

‘Yes. For the past three years now.’

‘What was her address here, Miss Turner?’

‘Eight-oh-four South Ambrose.’

‘Any apartment number?’

‘Forty-seven.’

‘Do you still live in California?’

‘Yes.’

‘You’re just visiting here, is that it?’

‘Yes. Well, I came specifically to see my sister. We—do I have to go into this?’ She looked at the detectives, sighed, and said, ‘I suppose we do.’ She uncrossed her legs, leaned over to an ashtray on the night table beside the bed, and stubbed out her cigarette. ‘We had a falling-out,’ she said. ‘Lizzie moved east. I hadn’t seen her in three years. I felt it was time to ... she was my sister. I loved her. I wanted to ... set things straight again, on the right course again.’

‘You came here seeking a reconciliation?’ Brown asked.

‘Yes. Exactly.’

‘From where in California?’ Carella asked.

‘Los Angeles.’

‘And when did you arrive?’

‘Last Thursday.’

‘That would have been...’

‘The twenty-seventh. I was hoping ... we hadn’t seen each other for such a long time ... I was hoping I could convince her to come home for Christmas.’

‘So you came here to...’

‘To talk to her. To convince her that bygones should be bygones. I think I had in mind ... I guess I thought if I could get her to come home for Christmas, then maybe she’d stay. In California, I mean. We’d ... you know pick up where we left off. We were sisters. A silly argument shouldn’t...’

‘What did you argue about?’ Brown asked. ‘If you’d like to tell us,’ he added quickly.

‘Well...’

The detectives waited.

‘I guess she didn’t approve of my life-style.’

Still they waited.

‘We led very different kinds of lives, you see Lizzie worked at a bank, I was...’

‘A bank?’ Carella said at once.

‘Yes. She was a cashier at Suncoast Federal. Not a teller, you understand, but a cashier. There’s a big difference.’

‘And what sort of work do you do?’ Brown asked.

‘I’m a model,’ she said.

She must have caught the glance that passed between the detectives.

‘A real model,’ she said at once. ‘There are plenty of the other kind out there.’

‘What sort of modeling do you do?’ Carella asked.

‘Lingerie,’ she said. ‘Mostly stockings and panty hose.’ She reached into her bag, took out another cigarette, lighted it, and said, ‘I have good legs,’ and crossed them again.

‘And you say your sister disapproved of this?’

‘Well, not the modeling as such ... though I don’t suppose she was too happy about my being photographed in my underwear.’

‘Then what was it about your life-style... ?’

‘I’m a lesbian,’ Inge said.

Carella nodded.

‘Does that shock you?’

‘No,’ he said.

‘You’re supposed to say something like, “What a waste,”’ Inge said, and smiled.

‘Am I?’ Carella said, and returned the smile.

‘That’s what most men say.’

‘Well,’ Carella said, ‘actually we’re only interested in finding whoever killed your sister. You don’t believe your life-style—quote, unquote—had anything to do with her murder, do you?’

‘Hardly.’

‘But you did argue about it.’

‘Yes.’

‘In what way?’

‘She disapproved of the friends I invited to the house.’

‘So she came all the way east...’

‘Not immediately. She moved into an apartment on La Cienega, a temporary arrangement until she could find work here.’

‘Did she find work here?’ Brown asked.

‘Yes,’ Inge said.

‘Where?’

‘A bank someplace.’

‘Here in the city?’

‘Yes.’

‘Which bank?’

‘I have no idea. This was all hearsay. A friend of mine used to live here in the city, and occasionally she’d run into my sister...’

‘Does that mean you’d had no word from her ... directly, I mean ... in the past three years?’ Carella said.

‘That’s right. Not since she left California.’

‘But you came here to see her...’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you know where she lived?’

‘Her address is in the phone book.’

‘Did you write to her first?’

‘No, I was afraid to do that. Afraid she wouldn’t want to see me.’

‘So you just came east.’

‘Yes.’

Carella looked at his notes.

‘Would you know your sister’s social security number?’ he asked.

‘I’m sorry, I don’t.’

‘The bank she worked for was Suncoast Federal, did you say? In California, I mean.’

‘Yes.’

‘And the bank she worked for here in the...’

‘I told you. I don’t know which...’

‘Yes, but when was this, would you know? When you heard from your friend that she was working for a bank here.’

‘Oh. Two years ago? Perhaps a year and a half. I couldn’t say with any accuracy.’

‘Would you know if she was still working at this bank? Immediately before her death, I mean.’

‘I have no idea.’

‘You haven’t stayed in touch with your friend?’

‘I have. But she’s living in Chicago now.’

‘Then for the past two years—a year and a half, whatever it was—you really didn’t know what your sister was doing.’

‘That’s right. We lost touch completely. That’s why I came here.’

‘And you arrived on October twenty-seventh, is that right?’ Carella said.

‘Yes. Last Thursday.’

‘Checked into this hotel, did you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Planning to stay how long?’

‘As long as was necessary. To see my sister, to ... make amends ... to ask her to come home.’

‘For Christmas.’

‘Forever.’ Inge sighed heavily and leaned over to the ashtray again, crushing out her cigarette. ‘I missed her. I loved her.’

‘When you arrived, Miss Turner, did you try to contact your sister?’

‘Yes, of course. I phoned her at once.’

‘This was on the twenty-seventh of October?’

‘Yes. My plane got in at six, a little after six, and it took a half hour to get into the city from the airport. I phoned her the moment I was in the room.’

‘And?’

‘There was no answer.’

‘Was she living alone, would you know?’

‘Yes. Well, I didn’t learn that until later. When I went to her apartment.’

‘When did you do that?’

‘Two days later. I’d been calling her repeatedly and ... well ... there was no answer, you see.’

‘So you suspected something was wrong, did you?’

‘Well, I didn’t know what to think. I mean, I’d been calling her day and night. I set my alarm one night ... this was the night after I arrived ... for three a.m., and I called her then and still got no answer. I went to her apartment the very next day.’

‘That would have been...’

‘Well, the twenty-ninth, I suppose. A Saturday, I guess I was hoping she’d be home on a Saturday.’

‘But she wasn’t, of course.’

‘No. She ... was dead by then. But I ... didn’t know that at the time. I went up to her apartment and rang the doorbell and got no answer. I found the superintendent of the building, told him who I was, and asked if he had any idea where my sister might be. He ... he said he hadn’t seen her in ...in ... three or four weeks.’

‘What did he say exactly, Miss Turner? Three weeks, or four?’

‘I think that’s exactly what he said. Three or four weeks.’

‘And he told you that she was living there alone?’