The April Fools' Day Murder (17 page)

“Did the same lawyer draw up both wills?” I asked.

“It doesn’t look that way. There’s a business card clipped on the new will with a name I’ve never heard of. Maybe the other lawyer died.”

Or Willard decided to start with a clean slate, hiring someone who didn’t know the history of his relationship with his son. I wanted to ask her if she knew about Willard’s first marriage, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I thought the chances of her knowing about it were fifty-fifty, but I didn’t want to be the one to let her know.

She started talking to Eddie at that point, and I decided not to pursue any of the unanswered questions I still had. When we finished eating, we left with three doggie bags. On the way back, Winnie drove with more confidence, but still at a slow speed. I had the feeling she would work on that too.

Eddie took a nap and Jack called while I was finishing up my papers for my class the next day.

“OK, talked to Joe Fox. He remembers that accident investigation very well, mostly because there was a child involved. He said the boy was killed instantly.”

“Was Winnie hurt very much?”

“Cuts and bruises. But she was completely traumatized, could hardly talk. Joe said he really felt for her.”

“Any chance there was another car involved?” I asked.

“Not from what he said. He figures she was driving too fast for the condition of the road. She began to use the
brake and the car went into a skid she couldn’t pull out of. He said the skid marks on the road were a real clincher. They helped him reconstruct the path of the car right into the tree. And by the way, no one ever told him not to discuss the case. He’s with the county so that doesn’t surprise me. And I heard about the cane.”

“What about it?”

“There are prints, or at least partials, all over it: Willard’s, Winnie’s—”

“They took Winnie’s prints?”

“They had to. You have to exclude prints when you’re looking for a killer’s. So they had hers. But finding her prints on the cane really doesn’t mean very much. She probably touched it when it was in her way. The top of the cane had been wiped fairly clean.”

“So the killer thought about that. Do the police know there’s a housekeeper who comes to clean? She probably dusts the canes and polishes the metal tops.”

“I gotta believe they know what they’re doing, Chris. Although they’re grudgingly grateful that you brought the cane up in the first place. Also the stuff about Platt’s legs. They’re pretty sure he walked just fine without a cane, that he carried one for effect. You call his first wife back today?”

“I did.” I told him what had happened and that I felt she was very ill. “I don’t expect I’ll be talking to her again. I hope her sister knows how bad her condition is.”

“So I guess that’s a secret that’ll stay with her. Look, what do you say I ask Joe Fox over for tonight? He sounded willing and he could bring the file on the accident.”

“That’s fine. I’ll pick up something to munch on with coffee.”

“Gee, we could have him over every night.”

“We’d get fat as pigs.”

“Well, I tried. By the way, I haven’t been able to get hold of the cop who was first on the scene at the accident, but I’m still trying.”

I didn’t think he’d have much luck but I had an idea of my own.

19

It was a simple idea. Later in the afternoon, I took Eddie and went out to buy a cake that I could serve in the evening. On the way home I stopped at the corner of Oakwood and a street with a lot of houses. The accident had happened right near that corner. I pulled into the driveway of the house I thought was the closest to that spot and rang the doorbell. When the woman inside opened the door, I recognized her from church.

“You’re Chris Brooks,” she said.

“Yes, and this is my son, Eddie. I think you’re Carolyn.”

“Yes, Carolyn Haney. Come on in.”

She was about my age and had a couple of kids who came down to see who the visitor was. In a minute Eddie had been whisked away upstairs.

“I wanted to ask you about the accident a few years ago in which the little boy was killed.”

“The Platt boy. I get a chill when I think of it. It happened right across the street. I heard the crash. You never forget a sound like that.”

“So you were home.”

“I was right here in the kitchen cooking dinner. I heard the sound but I had something on the stove and I couldn’t
leave right away. When I could, I went to the dining room window and looked out. I couldn’t see anything from there so I went into the living room. It was dark out and the weather was terrible. I could sort of see the lights from the back of the car and then the doorbell rang. It was Mrs. Platt. She was almost hysterical, crying and saying, ‘Help me, help me. I need an ambulance.’ She said something about her grandson. I told her to come in but she said she couldn’t leave him and she went out again. I called the police and said there’d been an accident, and when I gave them the address, they said they knew about it and they were on their way. I heard the sirens after I hung up.”

“So someone else called first.”

“I don’t know who, but there are a lot of houses around here. Someone probably heard the crash and called right away.”

“Did you go out to the car?”

“Oh yes. I grabbed my coat and my keys and called upstairs to the kids to stay put. It was a terrible night, cold and snowy. I dashed over and got just a quick look at the boy. It was terrible.” Her eyes filled. “It’s hard to think about it,” she said. “He was just a child.”

“Was anyone else there when you went out?”

“People were stopping their cars, people were coming out of their houses. It was a real mess when the ambulance and police cars got there.”

“Was the boy alive?” I asked.

She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“What about Mrs. Platt? Was she hurt?”

“Nothing that I could see. If you saw how the car hit the tree, you’d understand. The tree went right through the passenger side. He never had a chance. But the other
side of the car didn’t look that bad. I’m sure the alignment was all off, but it was really just the passenger side that suffered.”

“Did you stay long?”

“I couldn’t. I asked Mrs. Platt if she’d like a cup of tea or to come inside but she turned me down. Then I saw my kids coming out and I didn’t want them to see what happened, so I went back inside. Can I ask why you’re interested in this?”

“I’m trying to figure out who murdered Willard Platt,” I said. “I just wanted to know more about the accident.”

“There can’t be any connection, it happened so long ago. The boy was their grandson. I think Mrs. Platt was driving him home from Boy Scouts or something.”

“You didn’t see any other car that could have been involved in the accident?”

“A second car? No. And she never said anything about a second car. It was snowing and there were icy patches on the road. She was probably driving too fast.”

Which might account for how slowly she had driven us this morning. “Thanks, Carolyn,” I said, getting up.

“Did I help?” she asked with a smile.

“Not really. I keep learning new things but they don’t fit together. Yet.”

“Well, you could ask Fran Goldman across Oakwood Avenue. I saw her at the car that night. Maybe she saw something.”

I said I would, but not today. I retrieved Eddie with some difficulty and we drove home.

“It was Officer Malcolm who was first on the scene,” Jack said over dinner. We knew Officer Malcolm. He was
a young man and must have been fairly new on the police force when the accident happened. “It really shook him up.”

“I can imagine.”

“He said Mrs. P was falling apart, but she didn’t seem to be hurt beyond some cuts.”

“What about the boy?”

“Looked very bad. They needed the jaws of life to get him out, and by that time he was gone.”

“What a horror.”

“Yeah.”

I got Eddie off to bed before Detective Joe Fox arrived. It was the first time I’d seen him since our somewhat contentious relationship the year before. This time he was not only in a good mood, he brought me a small bunch of flowers.

Jack had a fire going and we sat and gabbed a bit before Joe Fox patted the file on the sofa next to him and asked what I wanted to know.

I told him what was going on, and he said he didn’t think the accident could have played any part in the current homicide. It appeared to be a one-car accident that happened the way Mrs. Platt had described it. “The only broken glass came from the car she was driving,” he said.

“And I guess if there’d been paint scrapes you would have seen it.”

“You bet I would. Good cup of coffee, Mrs. Brooks.”

“Thank you.” I glanced at Jack, who had made the coffee.

Joe Fox opened the file jacket and looked through several sheets of paper. “She was properly licensed, she was
wearing the required glasses, the car was registered to her, it looked to be in good condition. Why would you think this has anything to do with the homicide of her husband five or six years later?”

“Actually, it was Sister Joseph’s idea. You remember Sister Joseph?”

“I do indeed. Fine lady. I gave her a hard time, as I remember, which she didn’t deserve.”

“I’ll tell her you said that.”

“I’m not involved in the current homicide investigation,” he said, “but it sounds like an interesting case, a man killed with his own weapon.”

“A cane that held a two-edged blade.”

“And the scuttlebutt is he didn’t need a cane. Is that true?”

“Apparently.”

“Just liked to walk around with a deadly weapon, I guess.”

“He’d been shot when he was a young man,” Jack said. “Just after the war. Chris thinks he may have been afraid that the shooter might come back and get him.”

“This is fifty years later. The shooter’s probably dead and buried by now. Wild story.” He looked at the blazing fire thoughtfully. Then he turned to me. “If there’s something you know about this homicide that you’d like to tell the police,” he said, “you can tell me and I’ll let them know.”

There were things I knew but nothing I wanted to tell the police at that point. “I don’t think so,” I said.

“It’s over a week, Mrs. Brooks. From what I’ve heard, there’s someone they like for this, but they don’t have anything concrete.”

“I don’t know who did it. If I figure it out, you can be sure I won’t keep it to myself. I told you what I knew, didn’t I?”

“You certainly did. And you didn’t even brag about how much more you uncovered than I did.”

I smiled and offered him another piece of cake, which he accepted. That was the end of our conversation about the accident. There was nothing I wanted to tell him and not much more he could tell us. As I had heard, no charges were ever pressed against Winnie for the accident. What she suffered was self-inflicted, and it was a life sentence.

After Joe Fox left, we cleaned up the dishes, watched some late news, and went upstairs. As I was getting ready for bed the phone rang, giving me an uneasy feeling.

“This is Maureen Benzinger,” the voice said. “Is this Chris Bennett?”

“Yes it is. Is something wrong, Mrs. Benzinger?”

“Everything’s wrong. My sister was taken to the hospital this afternoon.” A sob escaped her. “She’s in very bad shape. I don’t think she’ll make it this time.”

“I’m terribly sorry.”

“She asked to see you.”

“What?”

“She said she wants to see you. Can you come tomorrow?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I teach in the morning.”

“Well, if you don’t get there soon, she won’t be there anymore. It’s Jacoby Hospital in the Bronx. It’s not too far from Amelia’s apartment.”

“I can find it,” I said, meaning that Jack would tell me how to get there.

“Come soon.” She hung up.

I stood with the phone in my hand till Jack asked what was the matter. I told him.

“She wants to get it off her chest.”

“I guess so.” I hung up the phone, which was making annoying noises. “I’ll drive down after my class. Can you route me to Jacoby Hospital?”

“No problem. Here’s what you do.…”

20

I took my leftover lunch from Monday to the college, grabbed a bottle of cold juice, and stuffed my lunch in my mouth the minute my class was over, apologizing that I could not stay to answer questions. I try to be available, especially right after class, as I don’t rate an office, but I was literally fighting against time. For all I knew, Amelia had passed from the earth overnight, but I had to make the effort.

And it was truly an effort. I felt queasy just thinking about what was in store for me. Amelia Chester had looked so bad when I’d seen her on Saturday, I didn’t want to have to look at her in worse condition. Still, this was almost a dying wish, and I had to respect it.

I was down at the hospital before two, my lunch sitting uncomfortably in my stomach. I found my way to the desk and was told someone was in Mrs. Chester’s room, but I could go up. I assumed the visitor was her sister.

I gathered myself together before I reached the door, knocked, and walked in. An old woman sat in a chair looking tired and worn. A thin pale figure lay on the bed, the head raised slightly.

The woman in the chair got up and looked at me. “Are you Miss Bennett?”

“Yes,” I said softly. “Mrs. Benzinger?”

She nodded. “I’m her sister. She’s sleeping. I don’t know if she’ll wake up.”

“Did she give you a message for me?”

“She just said to call you. Said she wanted to tell you something.” She walked over to the bed and put her hand on the pale white hand that lay on the cover. “Amelia? Amelia, dear, someone’s here to see you.”

A shudder ran through Amelia’s upper body but her eyes remained closed. Whatever makeup she might have been wearing when she was taken to the hospital had been washed off, leaving her face as pale as her hand. A little red color still marked her lips like the memory of a better time. On the far side of the bed a clear fluid dripped from a bag to a tube and into her other hand. I stood away from the bed and watched, sensing I was too late, understanding the meaning of the phrase: “She took the secret to her grave.”