The April Fools' Day Murder (21 page)

I was rather happy to hear that myself. “Are the lots zoned for any particular size?”

“Minimum one acre. You thinking of buying?”

“I don’t think I can afford an acre up there. That’s pretty pricey land, I hear.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if it went for up to half a million an acre.”

That was a lot more than Roger’s estimate. “Are you aware of anyone wanting to buy that land from the Platts?”

“Willard Platt didn’t take me into his confidence,” the mayor said shortly.

“But I’m sure you know what’s going on in town,” I said, hoping to prod him into being more forthcoming.

“I know everything that goes on in Oakwood. And yes, there is interest in building on that land. I’d guess if Mrs. Platt put it up for sale, she could close a deal in twenty-four hours. That’s prime land up there. I could give you the names of three builders who would drop everything to get their hands on it.”

“Thank you, Mr. Mayor.”

Prime land. I had the image of builders crouching at a starting gate, just waiting for the signal that would let them dash up to the Platts’ and make an offer they couldn’t refuse. Even if the mayor had exaggerated the value of the land, it would surely net Winnie several million, and with one acre zoning, no one would be very close to her house. Her privacy would be preserved and she would be able to live more than comfortably.

But there was another aspect to the value of the land, and that was Mr. Vitale. What if he had learned only recently what the current asking price was? From what he had said to me so candidly, he still felt a strong antipathy to Willard because of the land sale that hadn’t happened. I had just discovered the value of the land a few minutes ago; maybe he learned of it in the last few weeks and the festering anger had become inflamed. If he owned that land now, he might be able to sell it at a huge profit, especially if he had built a house on it. What was good for Winnie made Vitale look more like a suspect. It would also account for the long time that may have elapsed between the land deal and Willard’s murder.

I called Joseph and told her what had happened since our last conversation. There was a lot to report and she listened quietly.

“So it’s possible that someone killed Mr. Platt in order to make an offer for the land to Mrs. Platt.”

“Exactly. I’m pretty convinced that Willard didn’t want to sell, but that doesn’t mean Winnie didn’t.”

“But why would she want to sell, Chris?”

“For the money. I can’t think of any other reason. I don’t think it would be for the company.”

“You’d think that Willard would have agreed to sell some of the land if he needed the money. He could have sold the land across the road or up the hill, leaving plenty of land around his house to preserve his privacy.”

I could tell she wasn’t convinced that my new motive was sound. “Maybe I’m grasping at straws.”

“Not at all. The value of the land is startling. And then there’s the will. I do hope Mrs. Platt doesn’t do what she indicated she might.”

“So do I.”

“Tell me again what Roger said when you told him of its existence.”

“He was shocked. He couldn’t understand why this would have been done. But a little later something occurred to him.”

“Did he share it with you?”

“No, he didn’t. He seemed to light up as though he knew why his father had changed his mind. But he didn’t give me an inkling of what it was about.”

“But you’ve learned something, Chris. You’ve learned that there is a reason. Willard Platt felt he owed his son. What did his son do to make him feel that way?”

I had no idea. “Whatever it was, he didn’t make an agreement with Roger. He just changed his will, knowing that Roger wouldn’t find out about it till he died.”

“Even if there wasn’t an explicit agreement, Willard may have said something like, ‘If you do this, I will make it worth your while.’ And Roger may have done what was asked of him.”

“Do you think it has something to do with Roger moving out of his house?”

“It might. That might be a jumping-off place for you. Find out when and why he left his wife.”

“OK.”

“Look at it this way, Chris. Mrs. Platt called you and told you obliquely that she intended to hide or destroy the second will. She didn’t say, ‘Keep quiet about it and I’ll make it worth your while.’ ”

“Not at all.”

“But if she came to you with a handsome present, you would have the feeling that it was a payoff.”

“I certainly would. And I hope she doesn’t.”

“That may be what happened between father and son.”

“I think I’ll take a walk over to the Sound and sit and think.”

“That seems like just the right thing to do. And you can hear the splash of the water and inhale that wonderful air.”

“I’ll let you know if it works,” I promised.

It was the right thing to do. I took my notebook and a lightweight beach chair and set out for the cove. A group of local homeowners own it in common and pay to have it kept clean. It’s very private, a crescent of beach on that section of the Atlantic Ocean that is called the Long Island Sound. Across the Sound from where we live is the north shore of Long Island. One of the things that will probably keep me here forever is this little piece of land and the lapping saltwater. I used to come here as a child when we visited Aunt Meg. Gene and I swam—or, more correctly, jumped the waves—while my good aunt sat with her mother’s eyes riveted on the two of us. Many years later, when Jack and I were beginning the relationship that would end up as our marriage, we walked this beach in bare feet or sandals, talking about the things young lovers talk about, or not talking at all.

The beach is one of Eddie’s favorite places. Although he’s too small to do much besides wade in the shallow water, he loves the feel of it. Our serious swimming is done at the Oakwood pool, but that’s a different thing altogether.

I opened my chair on the sand and sat so the sun was
not in my eyes. No one else was there. It was breezy, as it usually is near the water, but not too cold, and the sun was brilliant. I could feel its warmth, like a healing salve, through my jacket. I was sure it was making me healthy although what I really wanted was for something to make me more insightful, something to explode in my mind and give me answers.

What was I missing in this tragedy? I closed my eyes and started thinking about the marriage of Roger and Doris Platt. If there was something that Willard wanted from Roger, maybe it was to keep that marriage together. Perhaps Roger and Doris told Winnie and Willard that they were planning to separate, perhaps even to divorce, and the elder Platts prevailed upon them not to. That could have been the reason for Roger moving out but pretending to remain at home. In reality, they were separated, but to the world they were living together. Willard, pleased that his son had adhered to his wishes, changed his will.

That would certainly explain the facts as I knew them. What other explanation could there be? I got up and walked along the edge of the beach. I was wearing sneakers and I moved closer to the water, leaving footprints in the wet sand behind me.

The death of the child. Perhaps Roger wanted to sue his mother for the death and Willard convinced him not to do it. It wasn’t unheard of to sue a friend or a relative in an accident case. I didn’t think, from what I had heard, that Winnie would have suffered in any way from being sued; that is, any more than the loss of the grandchild caused her to suffer. Detective Joe Fox had made a point
of saying that she was properly licensed, the car was registered and in good condition, and it appeared that the road conditions had caused an unavoidable accident.

But someone had mentioned to me that she was probably speeding. I thought about that. Probably speeding. But there were no witnesses to the accident. The women who lived on or near Oakwood Avenue had heard the crash, but had not seen it happen. They would have had to bring in experts to testify that the car was traveling at a speed unsafe in those conditions. Could Roger have intended to sue?

I bent over and ran my hands through the dry sand beside where I was walking. It felt warm to the touch. It was spring and my favorite months of the year were coming soon, when the trees leafed out and the spring flowers bloomed, when the air became so hot that you could hardly stand to wait to get into the water. And here I was thinking of a cold, snowy evening in winter.

Maybe Roger had hired a lawyer when his son was killed and the lawyer had suggested a civil suit that he had set aside at his father’s bidding. Maybe that was what this was all about.

I didn’t like it, not any part of it. There was nothing substantial. Everything was guesswork. Even finding that second will proved nothing. Yes, it gave Roger a motive. But Winnie hadn’t known of the second will, I was sure of that, and Roger seemed stunned to learn of it.

Think about the land, Kix, I told myself. Maybe there was something in the Vitale deal. Roger was familiar with the terms of the sale, that was sure. Maybe it was Roger who’d had the foresight to include the clause forbidding Vitale to develop the land for residential use.
That would surely have pleased Willard, who might have seen it as a close call.

But where did that leave me? It gave a motive for the second will, but not for murder. The whole idea of the second will was very intriguing. It was the exact opposite of what one would expect. Usually, a new will is found cutting one of the heirs off. In a typical mystery, someone hears about a new will being written, denying an heir his inheritance. The heir then attempts to kill the benefactor before he can sign the new will, making the old one invalid.

Here everything was the reverse. No one knew about the new will until after the death of the benefactor. The person whose benefits were substantially reduced by it was Toni, the sister who lived halfway across the country, and she had not known of its existence until a week after her father’s death.

I sat down on the chair, having made a full circle of the beach, took my sneakers off and shook out the sand. Then I put them back on and went home.

The phone rang almost immediately after I got inside. I picked it up and heard a man’s voice say, “Mrs. Brooks?” and then, “This is Roger Platt. I don’t know what game you’re playing here, but I’ve spoken to my mother and she assures me there is no second will.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. I then told him about the call from his mother last night, after I had returned from talking to him.

“I don’t believe you,” he said angrily. “I think you made this entire story up to trick me into saying something
that would make me appear to be a killer. But you can’t trick me, Mrs. Brooks. I didn’t kill my father.”

“You don’t have to believe me, Mr. Platt. Call your sister and ask her about the new will. She’s the one who found it and called me to tell me about it.”

“I’ll just do that,” he said, and hung up.

I had no idea whether Toni would tell him the truth. I had begun to wonder whether anyone I had talked to in this whole case had been honest. I wondered if maybe I should just stop thinking about it for a day or two and see if the police could make sense out of it.

24

When Eddie came home from nursery school, excited about all he had done that morning, we had lunch and then he went to sleep. About two in the afternoon the doorbell rang. I saw a police car in the driveway as I went to open the door and wondered whether someone had decided that maybe I was a suspect, since no one else had emerged as the killer.

Officer Malcolm stood at the door and asked if he might come in. We sat in the family room.

“I understand you wanted to talk to the officer first on the scene in the Platt accident a few years ago.”

“That’s right. I thought maybe there was a connection between that and the murder of Willard Platt.”

“I hardly think so, Mrs. Brooks.”

“Could you tell me what you remember?”

“Sure. I got a call on the radio that there had been an accident on Oakwood Avenue, and I was only a couple of blocks away, so I put my siren on and went there. I arrived before anyone else—all the cars came eventually—and the first thing I did was to see if anything could be done for the boy.”

“He was still in the car.”

“Yes, ma’am. The grandmother was out of the car. She’d gone to a nearby house to call for help, but someone else had phoned in before that. In fact, when I got there I think she wasn’t back yet. The boy was in awful shape. He was really smashed up. I don’t know if he was dead or alive, but I talked to him, just in case he could hear me. He was dead when they got him to the hospital. I called for an ambulance, but they’d already sent for one.”

“Did anyone call for the boy’s parents?”

“I didn’t. I think one of the neighbors might have. I had a lot to do at the scene what with the terrible weather and cars coming. It was one of the worst nights of my life.”

“I can imagine. Did the parents show up?”

“Oh boy.” He looked as though he were trying to remember. “Maybe the mother, maybe not. They all went to the hospital because that’s where the boy was. I really didn’t see much of that.”

“What about the grandmother?”

“I think she rode in the ambulance with the boy.”

“Did you issue her a summons?”

“No, ma’am. In my judgment, it was road conditions that caused the accident, not her driving.”

“What did she look like?” I asked. “How badly was she hurt?”

“Not bad. It was just the right side of the car that hit the tree. She escaped with almost nothing, a scratch maybe. But she was taking it very hard.”

“I heard they needed the jaws of life to get the boy out of the car.”

“I called for that right away, when I called for the ambulance. I could see he was pinned in there.”

“So it took some time before they went to the hospital.”

“That’s right. But I’ll tell you, they worked very quick. They really did their best.”

“Did you have any reason to think that Mrs. Platt was speeding?”

“She said she wasn’t, and I can’t believe any right-minded person would have been going fast in that weather. She’s not your typical kid in a sports car.”