Blood Relatives (11 page)

According to Carella’s notes, Muriel Stark had worked as a bookkeeper at the Mercantile Trust on Nestor and Sixth. Carella looked at his watch now. It was indeed a little past 2:30. He’d have to hurry if he wanted to get to the bank before closing.

He was not looking for trouble.

Patricia Lowery had identified her brother as the killer; the grand jury would undoubtedly indict; there was an excellent chance for conviction even without further evidence. So Carella was not looking for trouble when he went to the bank. But the man in charge of the bookkeeping department was named Jack Armstrong, and he had brown hair and blue eyes. And Carella could not forget that Patricia Lowery—when she’d been lying to protect her brother—had first said the killer was a man as tall as Carella, with blue eyes and hair that was “either brown or black, but very dark.” As he stood opposite Armstrong now and shook hands with him, he was looking directly into the man’s blue eyes, and the top of the man’s brown-haired head was level with his own. He knew there were possibly 2,365,221 dark-haired, blue-eyed men in this city (Patricia had in fact picked one of them out of a lineup when she was still pursuing her initial lie), but it now
seemed extraordinarily coincidental that the man who’d been Muriel Stark’s boss
also
happened to have dark hair and blue eyes. So whereas Carella was not looking for trouble, he nonetheless wondered whether Patricia had ever
met
Jack Armstrong, and whether this might have triggered an unconscious association. Why, for example, while she was inventing a killer, hadn’t she said his hair was blond and his eyes green; or his hair brown and his eyes brown; or his hair red and his eyes blue? Why dark hair and blue eyes—which Jack Armstrong, Muriel’s boss, most definitely had? He also had the name Jack Armstrong, and he immediately explained to Carella that this had caused him no end of embarrassment over the years.

“We’re both too young to remember this,” he said, “but there used to be a radio show called ‘Jack Armstrong, the All-American Boy.’ I take a lot of ribbing about it. I’ll meet a man in his forties, he’ll remember the show and begin singing the theme song the minute I introduce myself. Well, not literally, but I’ll always get some comment on it. I’m thirty-four, I grew up mostly on television. But you get some of these older fellows, they can name every radio show that was ever on the air. And Jack Armstrong was one of them, believe me.”

They were sitting in Armstrong’s office at the rear of the bank. A panel of glass some five feet square was on the wall beside Armstrong’s desk, affording him a view of the girls working outside. He was smoking a cigar, which he constantly flicked at an ashtray, even when the ash was short.

“I suppose you’re here about the Stark girl,” he said.

“Yes.”

“A terrible thing. Terrible.”

“How well did you know her?” Carella asked.

“Not well at all, I’m afraid. I was only transferred from our Calm’s Point branch in August, the beginning of August.

We hardly had time to get acquainted. But she seemed like a lovely person.”

“Mr. Armstrong, as you may know, a young man named Andrew Lowery has been arrested and charged with the murder. He’s her cousin, you may have read that in the newspapers.”

“Yes, a terrible shame,” Armstrong said.

“His sister’s name is Patricia Lowery,” Carella said. “She’s the one who’s identified him as the killer.”

“Yes.”

“Had you ever met her?”

“Who?”

“Patricia Lowery.”

“No. How would I have met her?”

“Well, Muriel worked here, I thought perhaps her cousin might have come to the bank one day—”

“No, I never met her,” Armstrong said, and shook his head and flicked his cigar at the ashtray. “I hardly even knew
Muriel,
it’s not likely I’d have met her cousin. I don’t understand. Is that why you came here? To find out whether or not I knew—?”

“No, no,” Carella said. “Actually, I was interested in talking to some of Muriel’s friends here at the bank, people she might have—”

“You’d want to talk to Heidi then,” Armstrong said. “The Stark girl worked at the desk alongside hers, I’m sure they were friends. That’s Heidi Beck, shall I ask her to come in?”

“Please,” Carella said.

Armstrong buzzed his secretary and asked her to have Miss Beck come to his office. Some three minutes later a tentative knock sounded on the door, and Armstrong said, “Come in.” Heidi Beck was a good-looking blonde in her early twenties. She was wearing form-fitting slacks, and very high platform shoes, and a short-sleeved sweater over a long-sleeved blouse. When Armstrong
introduced her to Carella, she seemed relieved that she hadn’t been called to the office for a reprimand. Armstrong came from behind the desk, told Carella to take all the time he needed, and then left the office. Through the glass panel on Carella’s left, he could see Armstrong working his way through the bookkeeping department, stopping to chat with one or another of the girls at their desks.

“Mr. Armstrong tells me you and Muriel Stark were friends,” Carella said.

“Yes,” Heidi answered. “Well, I
guess
so. I mean, we weren’t
close
friends or anything, but we’d go out to lunch together every now and then. And we’d talk during the day. I guess we were friends as far as the bank goes, do you know what I mean? We never saw each other
away
from the bank, except like I said to have lunch every now and then.”

“Did you and Muriel ever discuss personal matters?”

“Well, there was quite a bit of age difference between us,” Heidi said.

“How old
are
you, Miss Beck?” Carella said.

“I’m twenty-four. Muriel was only seventeen, you know. So we really didn’t talk about too many personal matters.”

“Ever talk about boyfriends?”

“No. We’d say this or that fellow in the bank was cute, something like that, but we never talked about boys we were going out with, no.”

“Did Muriel think any of the boys in the bank were cute?”

“Oh, sure.”

“Who in particular?”

“Well, nobody in particular that I can remember. But she had an eye for the boys, she liked boys. In the beginning, anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“When she first started working here.”

“When was that?”

“She began in February. And, like I said, she used to, you know, give the boys more of a once-over when she first started. Then, I don’t know, she didn’t seem too interested any more. I had the feeling she’d found herself a boyfriend.”

“Did she ever mention a boyfriend?”

“No.”

“Then what gave you the idea she had one?”

“Well, like I said, fellows would stop at the desk and make a comment to her—she was a very pretty girl, you know, dark hair and really beautiful brown eyes, and a good figure, too—so the fellows would stop to talk to her or, you know, make comments, flirt with her. And in the beginning she used to encourage that a lot, but then it sort of tapered off, she wouldn’t pay too much attention.”

“When was that? When it began tapering off?”

“Oh, I don’t know. April sometime? Yeah, before Easter, I guess it was.”

“That she stopped paying attention to the fellows.”

“Yeah. Well, I mean she didn’t give them the cold shoulder or anything, but you could see she wasn’t really interested.”

“And you think that’s because she found herself a boyfriend.”

“Yeah, that’s what I think. But that’s only my opinion. Like I said, she never mentioned having a boyfriend or anything. I just put two and two together, that’s all.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well…” Heidi shrugged. “I’m a little embarrassed talking about this.”

“Think of me as a priest,” Carella said, and smiled.

“I’m Jewish,” Heidi said, and smiled back. “Besides, I’d be embarrassed even if you
were
a priest.”

“Well, give it a try,” Carella said.

“Well, this must’ve been in August sometime, I don’t know exactly when, the beginning of August sometime. Muriel came over to my desk and started hemming and hawing around, and finally asked me if I knew a good gynecologist. Well, I don’t know what that means to
you,
but to
me
…well, it meant a lot.”

“What did it mean to you?”

“Well, she’s a seventeen-year-old kid, right, she lives with her aunt, right, so if she’s having some sort of problem a gynecologist should look at, why doesn’t she ask her
aunt
about it? Instead of coming to a stranger? So I figured it had to be one of two things. I figured either she was pregnant already or else she didn’t want to
get
pregnant. You know what I mean?”

“I think so,” Carella said.

“I could spell it out for you,” Heidi said, “but it embarrasses me.”

“Did she say
why
she needed a good gynecologist?”

“She said she had some kind of itch, or…God,
listen
to me, will you? You’re only a
cop,
I shouldn’t be talking to you about such things.”

“Muriel was killed,” Carella said simply.

Heidi looked into his eyes, nodded, and then flatly and matter-of-factly said, “She was complaining about a vaginal itch, I think it was. Or a discharge, I’m not sure I remember. I gave her the name of my gynecologist and I also mentioned that he’d fitted me for my first diaphragm. In case that was why she wanted to see him. I didn’t
suggest
she was seeing him for that reason, but at the back of my mind I figured I’d put her at ease, if that’s what she wanted. Or if she wanted to be put on the pill. She was only seventeen, you know, a kid going to a strange gynecologist. But I’ll tell you, it was my idea she was pregnant. You know why? I shouldn’t have to tell you this, you’re a detective, you probably figured it out already. But when she asked me that morning, she didn’t just say
did I know a gynecologist. She said did I know a
good
gynecologist, you see the difference?”

“Yes,” Carella said, and nodded.

“Because a girl who just wants a diaphragm or some pills, she’ll go to any
shlepper,
am I right? She’ll pick one out of the phone book, what does she care? But Muriel wanted a
good
gynecologist, which meant this was something important, never mind a vaginal itch. I figured she was pregnant.” Heidi looked up sharply. “
Was
she pregnant?”

“The autopsy report didn’t say anything about it,” Carella said. “Normally, they don’t look for something like that unless they’re specifically asked to.”

“It might’ve been
worth
looking for,” Heidi said, and then immediately added, “Look, who am I to tell you how to do your job? I’m probably wrong, anyway. They were very strict with her, you know, so the chances of her being pregnant were probably—”

“
Who
was strict with her?”

“Her aunt and uncle. Wouldn’t let the poor girl breathe.”

“Is that what she told you?”

“No, it’s just something else I figured out.”

“On what evidence, Heidi?”

“On the evidence that every afternoon he was waiting outside the bank to take her home from work.”

“Who? Her uncle?”

“No, her cousin. Andrew Lowery. The one who killed her.”

“I took better care of her than I did my own daughter,” Frank Lowery said. “No one can fault me for the way I took care of Muriel.”

It was 3:30 in the afternoon, the men were sitting in Lowery’s auto body shop on Boomer and Third. Outside the small cluttered office, Carella could see workmen restoring fenders and
panels. The sharp stench of lacquer and enamel hung on the air, and intermittently the sound of a hammer banging on metal punctuated the conversation.

“Wasn’t an easy thing taking a new member into the family,” Lowery said. “This was two years ago, I didn’t own the shop then, I was struggling to make ends meet as it was. But this was my wife’s niece, I didn’t figure I could turn her out in the cold, there were no other relatives could take her in. Man has responsibilities, don’t he?” Lowery said. “Man loves his wife, he’s got to love her kin, too. I’ll tell you though, may God forgive me, if I’d known it would come to this, I’d have turned her over to a home, I’d have never taken her in. You try to do the Christian thing, and then…” Lowery shook his head.

“Mr. Lowery, what I’m trying to find out is whether there was any indication that something like this might be brewing. Had Muriel and Andrew argued, had they—?”

“Got along beautifully,” Lowery said. “Look, they were brother and sister, that’s it. You can write that down. They were brother and sister, that’s the way I raised them, and that’s what they were. Anybody in the family wanted anything, I considered them all like my own kids. Muriel wanted something, same as if Patricia did. Or Andy. They were all my children, that’s the way I felt about it from the day I took Muriel in my house. She called me Uncle Frank, that’s true, but she could’ve just as easily called me Dad, because that’s what I was to her. And a good father, too, I think. Got her anything she wanted, but I laid down the law, too, that’s part of a father’s job, ain’t it? Laying down the law? Did it for Patricia,
still
do it for her, and did it for Muriel, too.”

“Laid down the law in what way?” Carella asked.

“Well, dating for one thing. I
still
won’t let Patricia date boys, she’s too young for that. Now I know you’ve got kids nowadays, they’re going steady at thirteen,
twelve
some of them, but I won’t
permit that, no, sir. I wouldn’t let Muriel date till she reached her seventeenth birthday, and even then I insisted on meeting every boy she went out with. Had to come to the house to pick her up, had to look me right in the eye, shake hands with me. None of this blowing the horn downstairs, anything like that. And she had a strict curfew, too, had to be home by midnight, not a minute after. Night of the party we made sure they’d be coming home by
eleven
—that’s because they were alone, just the two girls. I’d have gone to pick them up, but I was sick that night, a touch of the flu, and it was raining so bad.” Lowery paused, looked at his hands. In the shop outside, a cloud of green paint struck the fender of a car like a plague of grasshoppers. “I keep thinking…what if I
had
gone to meet them? What if I’d seen my own son…my…my own son hurting those two girls? Mr. Carella, this is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me in my life, ever. If I live to be a thousand, there’s nothing can happen to me will ever be worse than this. I’ve lost Muriel, who I loved like a daughter, and I’ll be losing my boy, too—he’ll be going to jail for life, I’m sure. And God knows what this whole thing will do to Patricia, what effect it’ll have on the girl’s mind. She’s only fifteen, to have a terrible thing like that happen, seeing what she saw, and then Andy turning on her like a wild animal. Mr. Carella, I don’t think any of us will ever be the same again, after this. Ever. I sometimes believe Muriel is the lucky one, at least she’s out of it.
We’ll
have to live with this for the rest of our lives, and there are times I wonder if I can make it.”