“You saw him yesterday?”
“Oh, yes. I was here when he came, around four o’clock.”
“And there was nothing suspicious, nothing out of the way?
“Nothing at all. He went off to make a couple of telephone calls while he should have been helping me, and he didn’t finish the dishes, but those are just my complaints, nothing to do with being a murderer.”
Frost wanted to ask the woman about Robyn, but decided there was nothing to be gained, at least at the moment, in doing so; better to see and talk to the lady herself.
Robyn Vandermeer was weeping as she came down the stairs and entered the living room, her tears increasing as she rushed to embrace Cynthia and then Reuben. “Recourse to the water works,” Reuben thought, recalling Thackeray’s phrase.
“Let’s not stay here,” she said, trying to compose herself. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to sit in this room again.”
Robyn steered her guests to the library, where she noticed that the message button on the telephone answering machine was blinking.
“My God, it’s so awful,” she said. “People have been calling all day. Everyone I ever knew, it seems. They all mean well, but what a strain! I turned the phone off an hour ago and put the machine on—now look, one, two, five messages in that short time.” She pushed the replay switch and the new accumulation came forth as Robyn and her two guests stood around it:
“Mrs. Vandermeer, this is Sarah Cromer of the New York Press. Please call me as soon as you can.…”
“The reporters are shameless,” Robyn said. “There’s no respect for one’s privacy. Ms. Cromer must be the tenth one to call today—everything from cable news to the Enquirer. It’s utterly tasteless.”
“Robyn, it’s Norman, the Mayor. I just heard the news and I’m horrified. Please call me if there is anything I can do. And we must talk about your award later this month. So long.”
“Dear Norman,” Robyn commented. “What shall I do about that ceremony at Gracie Mansion. Ssh—we can discuss it later, here comes another one.…”
“Robyn, this is Wayne Givens. It is five-twenty in the afternoon on Monday and I was just calling to see how you are. No need to call back unless you want to talk. Barbara and I both send you our love.…”
“Poor Wayne, that’s the second time he’s called.”
The tape in the answering machine gave off a shrill whistle, which then disappeared as the next message came through:
“Robyn, carissima! I just heard the news …”
“My God, it’s Enrico, my ex-brother-in-law!”
“… here in London and wanted to call you right away! I’m so sorry about … Tobias. Will you call me if there’s anything I can do? I’m at double four one, six zero six, one double two one. My love to you, dear Robyn.”
The recipient of Enrico’s message—“Robeen”—seemed genuinely moved at what she heard, but did not have time to speak before the last message began:
“Hi, Mr. Vandermeer, this is Betsy Goodridge of Shearson Lehman. We have some very special bargains in tax-free municipals—triple-tax-free …”
Robyn snapped off the answering machine before Ms. Goodridge could complete her sales pitch. “Indecent!” she spat out loudly. “How dare they!”
“There’s no honor any more,” Reuben observed. “It used to be only the bucket-shop operators that made ‘cold’ calls like that, between stays in jail. Now even the respectable houses do it.”
“Well, I guess she had no way of knowing that Tobias was dead.”
“It’s still indecent; you were right the first time,” Reuben said. “Calling complete strangers at home during the dinner hour to sell them securities.”
“Who was the caller before that, Robyn?” Cynthia asked. “Did you say it was your brother-in-law?”
“Ex-brother-in-law. Gianfranco’s younger brother. And the only member of the noble family of Montefiore del’Udine that you could call anything close to being honest.”
Cynthia would have loved to pursue the subject of Gianfranco; all she really knew about him was that he had converted Robyn into a Principessa through their brief marriage. But this was hardly the time to discuss Robyn’s penultimate husband.
“See what I’ve been through? Calls like that all day,” Robyn complained.
“If you want to return any of them we’ll be happy to wait,” Reuben said.
“No. I’d just like to sit for a few minutes with my old friends. Tell me what you’ve heard. The police have told me nothing. That black detective was here, going over every move people made last night. But he was closemouthed about everything.”
“We saw him, too,” Reuben said noncommittally. “I know they’re still operating on the theory that Tobias was poisoned, but they claim they’re not sure how.”
“You mean by whom?”
“No. They’re not sure whether the poison was in one of Tobias’ drinks or whether it was in capsules he took upstairs.”
Frost’s simple declaration set off a new round of deep sobs. Then, as they talked, it became clear that the police had not spelled out for her the possibility of Tobias taking poisoned capsules.
“Reuben, I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I thought for a minute you were suggesting that Tobias had killed himself. I couldn’t believe it when Wayne Givens said Tobias was poisoned last night. But he must know what he’s talking about, and the police certainly believed him. My first thought was that Tobias had at last destroyed himself with drink, which the Lord alone knows he tried to do.”
Frost seized his opportunity. “I’m afraid we all noticed that Tobias was drinking more lately—”
“Lately? He was on one long binge for almost five years, drinking morning, noon and night. Of course he’d always been a drinker, ever since I first knew him. It used to be steady, quiet drinking, but for the last few years he’s tried to absorb just as much alcohol as his system could take.”
“You say it’s been five years, Robyn?” Frost said.
“Yes, almost. I remember exactly when it started. Our twentieth wedding anniversary came up in December of eighty-four. It was a very busy time—the President gave a wonderful lunch to honor READ at the White House early that December—but I pleaded with Tobias to go to Paris. We hadn’t been for over two years and I remembered very fondly the good time we’d had there on our tenth. And Tobias loved Paris. He’d been there in the mid-fifties—it’s where he met the dear Ines, in fact—and always said it had been the happiest time of his life, exploring the jazz clubs and being out from under his father’s thumb.
“This time, he suddenly started behaving horribly midway in the trip,” she continued, then broke off into crying. “I’m sorry. It’s a painful memory. Tobias had to be physically carried out of the Grand Véfour. Passed out with his face in his plate.”
Frost tried to imagine panicked waiters trying to cope with Tobias’ giant deadweight amid the splendor of Le Grand Véfour.
“That was just one incident. I won’t bore you with the others. It was a ghastly trip, and things never got better when we came home. Except for the nightclubs, he seldom went out. Just sat here drinking, or playing the piano, or trying to. You heard him the other night. Drink finally dissolved whatever talent he had. Or he would fiddle with that damnable needlepoint. Occasionally he would show some interest if Sherman came up with a new painting to buy, but that was rare. Drinking was his vocation, everything else was a hobby.
“I was desperate. I wanted to have an office. There was no room for one at READ, and I didn’t want to impose on anyone else. I asked Tobias over and over if there wasn’t some space in the Great Kill empire I could use. He refused absolutely, and clearly had instructed Bill Kearney never to talk to me about it.
“It wasn’t just the money for the office, either. I had no money at all! Oh, yes, I had a free hand with my charities. All I had to do was call up Kearney and a check would be sent to READ or your National Ballet, Cynthia, or whatever the cause might be. And
the American Express card I had was supposed to take care of all of my needs. But ever since the start of Tobias’ decline, I haven’t had a cent of cash except exactly one hundred dollars a week—practically a child’s allowance. Kearney had stopped all my charges and I had to close my checking account at the Bank of New York—there was no money, and I kept running up penalties. Can you imagine, being married to a multimillionaire and having no money, no bank account, no charge accounts?
“You say you had an American Express card,” Cynthia said. “Can’t you get cash advances with that?”
“Not with the one I have. It’s the lowest form of card they issue.”
“What about things like taxi fares?” Cynthia asked, both appalled and curious.
“There was always the limousine. That was crazy, too. If I was going out at night, I’d have to keep Justin and the car for the whole night because I didn’t have the money to get home in a taxi! It was madness. Awful madness.”
“How do you account for it?”
“Paranoid, drunken jealousy. That simple. Drink made Tobias crazy and inflamed his worst thoughts about me. Starting on that trip to Paris, he abused me terribly. Said I was only interested in READ and the glory I got from it. It was all so startling. He’d been an angel at the Reagans’ lunch in Washington, and even stayed sober for it. Then the awful change, without any warning, and after our trip had started beautifully. When we got back, just before Christmas, things didn’t get any better, and all the troubles over money—pocket money—started. And every time I was mentioned in the press, or got an award, or made a speech, he would ridicule me without mercy.
“Somehow, Tobias felt that if he could control the cash I had, he could control me. It was insane, but Reuben, you saw last night the kind of trivial, humiliating problems it caused. I’m going to pay you back, by the way, just as soon as—”
“—Don’t think anything of it.”
“There’s one thing I don’t understand, Robyn,” Cynthia said, as gently as possible. “You said that Tobias was willing to continue helping READ and your other charities, yet he wouldn’t give you pin money. How do you explain that?”
“That’s easy. Deep down, he was pleased with our public image as philanthropists. He liked that. And he knew—I told him so—that if the philanthropy stopped I would have no choice but to leave him. He didn’t want that, he didn’t want another domestic battle, like the one with Ines.
“It’s awful to speak this way about someone who’s only been dead for a few hours, but you asked, Cynthia, and that’s my candid answer. I shouldn’t run on like this, but I feel as if a bubble has burst and I have to talk to someone.
“We’re here to listen, my dear,” Reuben said, though in his own mind he was steeling himself to ask Robyn what she knew about her financial situation now that she was a widow. Before he had formulated a discreet way of introducing the subject, Robyn’s new basenji, Neil, came into the room. Reuben, no dog lover, had to admit that he was an attractive animal, though his muteness was rather pathetic.
“You all remember my lovely retriever, Dolly,” Robyn said. “She was gentle, and as quiet a dog as you could want. But she wasn’t quiet enough for Tobias. For months there was a war of nerves in this house as he became more and more hostile to Dolly. If she barked, Tobias would scream at her to be quiet. That made her all the more nervous, so that four or five times a day there would be these wild confrontations between the barking dog and my screaming husband.
“Finally, almost two months ago, I had to do something. Had to get rid of the beautiful dog I’d owned for ten years. I’d always had a dog for as long as I could remember, so I was very sad. Then someone told me about basenjis. I got one immediately, up in Connecticut. And now I have my silent little Neil,” she said, reaching out to the dog and patting him affectionately.
“He’s really very nice,” Cynthia said.
“I probably won’t keep him, now that I can have a real dog again. Now that I can afford a new dog.”
“Yes, I suspect you’ll have enough to get by,” Reuben said, though thinking how sad it was that the widow would have to go through the embarrassment of electing against her late husband’s will—Tobias’ final humiliation.
“Whatever my problems, I don’t believe that’s one of them,” Robyn said. “I assume, Reuben, that the Vandermeer Trust still goes up in value every year?”
“I’m sure it does, but …”
“Fortunately, that all got settled before Tobias went crazy.”
“How do you mean?” Frost asked, puzzled.
“That was another trip to Paris. A second honeymoon for our tenth anniversary. Tobias did have a romantic side, at least in happier days, and he completely bowled me over on that stay in Paris.
“I’ll tell you the story. Around the time we got married, Tobias’ father made a will that cut out Tobias from the Vandermeer fortune. Tobias was to get the income for life, but everything else was left to the Bloemendael Foundation or in trust for Tobias’ children. You must know the details of all that, Reuben.”
Frost nodded.
“Hendrik Vandermeer very much disapproved of Tobias’ messy divorce from Ines, and also disapproved of me. He himself made it very clear to me that I could expect nothing from the trust fund. I think it was a test to see if I really loved Tobias, and was not just after the family money.
“Luckily for me, dear old Hendrik changed his mind—and his will—so that I could get the Trust income, if Tobias was willing to give it to me. Hendrik died in the summer of 1974, and his estate was still being settled when our anniversary came up and we went to Paris.
“I’ll never forget it. We were having dinner at an intimate, tucked-away table at Taillevent. Once we’d finished and were toasting our anniversary, Tobias produced a legal document from his jacket pocket and handed it to me with a flourish. ‘I’ve always loved you, Robyn, and now that we can lead our own lives, now that my father is gone, I want to make sure that you’re taken care of if anything happens to me,’ he grandly announced.
“He made me read the legal language. I didn’t fully comprehend it, but he explained that it was a deed irrevocably granting me the right to the Vandermeer Trust income from the time of his death to my own. ‘The lawyers tell me I could do this in my will,’ he said. ‘But you can change a will. This document you can’t. It’s forever, and its yours.’
“I was overwhelmed. It was about the most romantic thing Tobias ever did.”
Reuben, glancing at his wife, asked Robyn if she had a copy of the deed.
“It’s in my safe-deposit box at the bank.”
“You’re sure it’s there?” Frost asked cautiously.
“It was at two o’clock this afternoon.”
Frost was uneasy, though uncertain whether his discomfort arose from the surprise Robyn had sprung on him or Robyn’s calculation in visiting the bank almost immediately after being widowed. Or from thinking that the autographed picture of President Reagan across the room, showing him shaking hands with Robyn at the White House, was like the portrait of King George that Becky Sharp had bought at Colnaghi’s after being presented at court.
“I’m glad for your sake that was taken care of, Robyn. You see, I didn’t know about your deed.”
“No, that’s right. Tobias said it was nobody’s business but ours. He didn’t even have it drawn up at Chase & Ward, so that your people wouldn’t know about it.”
“Well, it’s a happy surprise,” Frost said. “Bob Millard and I were afraid that Tobias had never exercised his power and the Trust would terminate without you getting anything.”
“What exactly does happen, Reuben? Let me make sure I understand.”
“If the deed we’re talking about says what I think it does, you’ll get the income from the Vandermeer Trust as long as you live and the Trust won’t terminate until you die. Then the Bloemendael will get everything, assuming that Tobias didn’t have any children.”
“I can assure you of that. Hav
ing children was something we never quarreled about. You two are probably not aware of it, but I was married when I was very young. I had a miscarriage—a bloody, horrible, painful miscarriage. I never had the slightest desire after that to have a child. And Tobias simply didn’t care one way or the other.”
“And you never thought of adopting, I suppose?”
“Never. Children, or the desire for children, were just not a part of our lives.”
“Have you talked to Bob Millard?” Reuben asked, shifting the subject.
“I talked to him this afternoon and am going to see him tomorrow.”
“I’d take that deed of appointment with you,” Frost advised.
“I will. I’ll get it out of the bank first thing tomorrow. Your Mr. Millard is very nice, by the way.”
“Yes, he’s both nice and competent. A good man.”
“My only regret is that I’ll still have to deal with Bill Kearney. I’ve never liked him, you know—how could you like such a sycophant? His whole life’s been nothing but catering to Hendrik and, later, Tobias. I used to tease him about not having any personal life, but that didn’t seem to bother him at all, as long as he stayed on their good side. He’s like some sort of spooky priest, giving up the world, not for God, but for the Vandermeers and the Almighty Dollar. And in spite of the sadistic way Tobias treated him. Like making Kearney report to him every Sunday afternoon, for example. There was no excuse for that.”
Frost now recalled the folder he had surreptitiously examined in Tobias’ study. “I didn’t know about this. Kearney came here on Sundays?”
“If Tobias was in town.”
“Including yesterday?”
“Yes. Kearney was here yesterday.”
“What time?”
“Two o’clock. Always two o’clock.”
“And what time did he leave?”
“Yesterday, I’m not sure. Their meetings never lasted more than two hours, so he must have been gone by four.”
Frost darted a glance at his wife, sitting beside him. She saw it and returned it. Their brief eye contact signaled a mutual recognition of a new fact: Kearney could easily have left poisoned capsules in the dead man’s bathroom.
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