The April Fools' Day Murder (13 page)

“That was Mom and me. Mom’s going to start driving again. She hasn’t been at the wheel since that terrible accident and she just wanted to reacquaint herself with the car. I sat next to her and she drove up and down the hill, made some turns, that kind of thing. She did very well. I think that’s going to solve a very big problem for her.”

“Does she still have a valid license?”

“Yes. It turns out she kept renewing it. I think she’ll do fine. She won’t have to take those awful nighttime walks anymore, even though she said she enjoyed the exercise.”

The news didn’t make me particularly happy. “That sounds good,” I said halfheartedly. “She’ll be able to keep her independence.”

“And that’s so important when you get older,” Toni said, as though she really knew what it felt like.

“I’d better get Eddie home for lunch,” I said. “I appreciate your calling, Toni. This is really a very important discovery. Are you leaving tomorrow?”

“Sunday. Thanks for everything, Chris.” She offered her hand and we shook. “I hope you come up with something. I keep telling myself Mom is safe here, because she wants to stay and it’s her home. If the police have learned anything, they haven’t confided in us.”

Nor in us, I thought. “They probably don’t have anything. There are no neighbors here to see a car or a stranger walking.”

“You know, I’ve been thinking about the cane. I don’t think a lot of people knew about the canes having knives inside, but if Dad sensed a problem, he could’ve pulled out the knife and then had it used against him.”

That had been one of my theories. “We won’t know till we find out who the killer is.”

We found Eddie and Mrs. Platt, both seemingly enjoying themselves. I told Mrs. Platt to call if she had any problems I could help with, and Eddie and I took off.

I hated to think that Jack was right, that Winnie Platt was a viable suspect, but this new development certainly pointed in that direction. The cane I had seen in the basement was either the same one I had seen on the lawn or one that looked very much like it. And Winnie knew the secret of the canes. I had only her word that she hadn’t heard me ring and knock at the front door when I saw her husband lying on the grass. By her own admission, she was in the house at the time of the murder. She could so easily have walked out to the garage, taken the cane from wherever Willard had left it, taken out the knife and plunged it into him. She could then have taken it down to the basement, left it where we found it, and opened the window slightly to allow for the possibility that someone else had flung it through the opening.

Until the moment I knew she still had a driver’s license and was planning to resume driving, I had a good case that she had not done the homicide. Now it didn’t look that way anymore. Now it looked as though she might well have played the greatest April Fools’ Day joke of them all.

14

When Jack called in the afternoon, I told him what had happened.

“I think Mrs. Platt ought to get herself a lawyer at this point,” he said. “I’d say she’s our best suspect.”

“There’s something else though. I think the story the mayor told was a sanitized version of what happened between Willard and the nursery. The mayor talked about disagreements. Mr. Vitale said he and Willard actually had a contract that Willard pulled out of. And it cost the nursery because they’d hired a lawyer and arranged for a loan.”

“You’re telling me he’s a better suspect than he was yesterday.”

“Right. Except for one thing. He didn’t have to make Willard look as bad as he did. If he was trying to protect himself, he could have just glossed over everything. He even said if they found a killer, he’d like to shake his hand, or something like that. I don’t think I’d say that if I was the killer.”

“You never know. But OK, you’ve got two people with let’s say equal opportunity. They’re both practically on the spot. One knows about the cane, the other doesn’t, but
I’d bet Vitale could overpower Willard Platt without much difficulty. And he could walk up there and not be noticed, dump the cane through the window, and get back in about ten minutes from start to finish.”

“I’ll keep them both on my list. I wonder if Arnold’s intern will dig anything up.”

“Don’t count on it. He’ll probably get bogged down in dust and bureaucracy.”

“She.”

“Ah. She. Then maybe you’ll get something.” I smiled at that and went back to my class papers.

Later in the afternoon Toni called. “The police were here,” she said. “I thought they’d just take the cane and leave, but they stayed a long time. They took pictures and they tried to take fingerprints off the window frame.”

“They have to do that,” I said. “I’m sure your mother’s and father’s prints are all over them.”

“They would be, yes. I just wonder who else’s are there.”

“Any word on your brother?”

“No.” She sounded very down.

“He’ll turn up when he’s ready.” I said it as though I believed it, but down deep I wondered if he might be planning to leave the area or if he had already done so. Doris must have had a terrible time explaining things to her children, but by now was probably an expert at manufacturing excuses for why Daddy wasn’t where he should be.

“I hope so.” Toni sounded very worried. “I’m starting to be concerned for his well-being.”

“Whatever you do, don’t report him missing to the police till you check with Doris. She’s his wife.”

“Yes. Thanks, Chris.”

I felt bad when I got off the phone. Toni sounded so low. She had so many things to contend with, and even if she didn’t perceive that her mother might be a suspect, she had lost her father and, in a way, her brother. And if Roger didn’t turn up, the well-being of Mrs. Platt might fall heavily on Toni’s shoulders. Although Doris had seemed to be a concerned daughter-in-law, I wondered if that would be enough for Toni.

I didn’t get any more news till Jack came home, and as usual, we waited until Eddie was off to bed before talking.

“I talked to the Oakwood cops before I left. No question the cane is the murder weapon,” he said. “Not that that’s a surprise, but it just confirms what we’ve been thinking.”

“Is there blood on it?”

“Some. And the shape of the blade matches the wounds. They’re checking out prints on the cane. Maybe that’ll tell us something.”

“I want to find Roger,” I said. “If he’s still in that apartment, he should turn himself in to the police.”

“Why? He’s not even a suspect.”

“He is in my book.”

“I guess you could knock on doors.”

“How did I know you would say that?”

I didn’t want to knock on doors, but I couldn’t think of any other way to find him. I didn’t want to do it at night, which gave me a convenient excuse to wait for tomorrow, which was Saturday. I pulled my papers over, as Jack was deep in the newspaper, and the phone rang.

“I don’t know how you do it,” Arnold Gold said. “You must just get the better cases.”

“What’s up?”

“My intern hit pay dirt. I can’t say she did as well looking for what I needed, but something about the Forties just captured her imagination.”

“You mean she found something?” I said.

“I’ve got the date of the marriage ceremony and the names of the witnesses.”

“Arnold, that’s wonderful.”

“Tell it to my client who’s still waiting for this intern to turn up something that’ll save his cookies. Got a pencil?”

“You bet.”

“One witness was Harry Franks. He the guy you already met?”

“Yes.”

“The other was Maureen Benzinger. I’d say that last name is good news. If the bride’s maiden name was McGonagle and Maureen was her sister, Maureen must’ve already been married, so there’s a chance you can find her with that name. Her address at that time was in the Pelham section of the Bronx.” He dictated it. “They did a lot of building out that way after the war. Maybe she got into a new apartment and decided to spend the rest of her life there. Lots of folks did.”

“Arnold, this is just great. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it. Tell your intern—”

“To get on the stick,” he interrupted me, “and do some of the work I pay her to do.”

“I’ll take you both to lunch next time I’m in New York.”

“What? Tuna on white bread and a glass of milk? I’ll take you. Don’t forget. It’s a date.”

“Thanks, Arnold.”

I went for the Bronx phone book the minute we were off the phone. I found a couple of Benzingers, neither at the address Arnold had given me, and I wasn’t sure if either of them was in the right geographical place. That’s the kind of thing Jack knows best so I bothered him with it.

“This one looks right,” he said, pointing to J. J. Benzinger on a street I had never heard of.

“Well, here goes.” I went to the kitchen and dialed the number. When a man answered, I said, “I’m trying to reach Maureen Benzinger.”

“She’s resting right now. Can I help you?”

The voice sounded more like that of a son than a husband. If this was the woman I was looking for, she’d have to be about seventy and could be more. “I’m trying to locate her sister Amelia.”

“Just a minute.”

I heard a woman’s voice from a distance, then his. After a brief conversation, he came back. “My mother’ll pick up. She can tell you whatever she knows.”

I waited and finally heard a woman’s voice. “Mrs. Benzinger, my name is Chris Bennett,” I said, using my maiden name. I understand you’re Amelia’s sister.” I didn’t want to say Platt.

“That’s right. Do you know her?”

“No, I don’t. I need some information about her ex-husband.”

“Barney?”

Oh gosh, I thought. Amelia’s had more than one. “No, Willard.”

“Willard? Willard Platt?”

“That’s right.”

“That was an awfully long time ago. I haven’t thought about Willard for years. They were married just after the war.”

“That’s the one. Could you tell me where your sister is living right now?”

“She’s got an apartment a few blocks from me, but I have to tell you, she isn’t doing very well.”

“I’m sorry to hear it.”

“But you know, I bet she’d like the company. Here’s her number.” She dictated it from memory and I wrote it down quickly. “But don’t call tonight. She’ll be sleeping. She isn’t well.”

“What’s a good time to call?”

“Oh, tomorrow morning is fine. She’s up and about by nine.”

“Thank you so much, Mrs. Benzinger.”

“Well, I just can’t imagine why anyone would be interested in Willard Platt.”

I laughed when I got off the phone. “I found her, Jack,” I called as I went into the family room. “She’s alive and not very well and lives a few blocks from her sister.”

“It’s your magic touch. That’s an easy place to get to from here. You don’t have to go all the way into the city. Parking’ll be a problem, but what else is new?”

“I’ll call her first thing in the morning.”

I was so energized by the discovery that I was up early, even though it was Saturday. We all ate together and then I called the number Mrs. Benzinger had given me.

I realized the moment the phone was picked up that I
had not asked for Amelia’s current last name. “Is this Amelia McGonagle?” I asked, for want of a better name.

“Well, no one’s called me that in fifty years but I guess that’s who I am,” a rather thin voice said. “Who are you?”

“My name’s Chris Bennett. I talked to your sister last night and she gave me your number. I wonder if we could talk—”

“About what?” she asked tartly before I could finish my sentence.

“About Willard Platt.”

“Willard? Why in God’s name would anyone in his right mind want to talk about Willard Platt?”

“Something’s happened and I need some information. I wonder if—”

She stopped me again. “You’ll have to come here. I’m not feeling too good and it’s hard to hold the phone.”

“When is good for you?”

“One o’clock?”

“One is fine. Where do you live?”

She described it the way people who don’t drive give directions. I jotted down what she said, knowing that Jack would have a map that could help me.

“And your last name?” I asked finally.

“Chester,” she said. “L. B. Chester next to the bell.”

“I’ll see you at one.”

15

I decided finding Roger would have to wait. I dashed out to do some shopping and put together lunch. I ate mine early, then drove to New York. Jack had located the street, just a few turns off Pelham Parkway, a wide road packed with cars. When I finally found Amelia’s street, it was one-way the wrong direction and I wasted several minutes trying to get myself to her building by trying one narrow parked-up street after another and nearly losing the right one in the process. Then I made circles looking for a place to park. Finally, someone pulled out of a space just as I approached and I was able to squeeze in before the aggressive car behind me took it away.

I was two blocks from the address I was looking for, and I found L. B. Chester when I got there. Up on the fourth floor, Mrs. Chester opened her door and looked me over. “What did you say your name was?”

“Chris. Chris Bennett.”

“Come in. You can leave your coat wherever you want. I can’t hang things up anymore. Coats are too heavy.” She had a walker that she leaned on wearily as we went into her living room. She shuffled in slippers although she
was fully dressed and rather garishly made up with powder and rouge and a bright lipstick that looked very out of place. “Sit down.” She motioned toward a sofa and set herself down in a chair with arms.

She was very thin, her arms bony, her fingers almost skeletal. Her eyes seemed to be set too deeply in her wan face and she had outlined them with dark pencil. I didn’t think it added to her looks.

“So what’s the story on Willard?” she asked when she had settled herself.

“Willard Platt was murdered a week ago today,” I said, stopping for effect.

“Hah!” she said, a grin spreading over her face. “I knew someone would get him eventually. Just took some time.”

“What would they be getting him for?” I asked.

“For being a mean bastard. That’s enough, isn’t it?”