The April Fools' Day Murder (24 page)

Everything was ready when I heard Jack’s car pull up the drive.

“Daddy’s home,” Eddie called from the family room where he was waiting eagerly.

“OK,” I called back. I dried my hands on a paper towel and heard the car door slam. I started for the back door. Then I heard it slam again.

I stopped, bits of information whirling in my head. The door opened and Jack came in. Eddie dashed to him, showing off his new shoes.

“Fantastic,” Jack said. “They look just like mine. They’re terrific. Gimme a hug.”

That done, I got my kiss. “What’s up?” Jack said, looking at my face, which must have indicated some of what was going on inside.

“Why did you close the car door twice?”

“I didn’t. I got out and closed the front door. Then I got my briefcase and tie out of the back and closed that door. Why? Did I make too much noise?”

“No. You didn’t make enough. I think I know what happened, Jack. I think I see it. It was right there all the time.”

“The Platt case?”

“Uh-huh. It wasn’t the way we all pictured it was. I think I know who did it.”

27

I refused to talk about it while Eddie was with us, but I felt light and springy as we ate and I got him ready for bed. There was a motive now and a reason for the second will. Just the way it had always been in the past, the pieces were falling into place and unexplained happenings were starting to make sense.

“OK, tell me,” Jack said as I came downstairs. “You’ve cracked this case because I took my briefcase out of the back of the car?”

“I have to check a couple of things but yes, I think I’ve got it. Hold on. I want to make a phone call.” I got the local phone book, a skinny thing put out by one of the service organizations in town, and looked up Goldman. There were a few, but only one on Oakwood Avenue. I dialed and a woman answered. “Is this Fran Goldman?” I asked.

“Yes it is.”

“This is Chris Brooks. I was over the other day talking to you about the terrible accident that happened a few years ago.”

“Oh, sure. Hi, Chris.”

“Fran, you said something that has been bothering me.
You said that after you heard the crash, you heard a car door slam a couple of times.”

“I think that’s right.”

“Not once, a couple of times. Is that what you heard?”

“Yes. I remember that.”

“Did you tell the police that?”

“I don’t remember. Why?”

“It might be significant. It didn’t bother you that it slammed twice?”

“I don’t know if I thought about it. If I did, I suppose I assumed Mrs. Platt tried to get her grandson out and couldn’t so she closed the door on his side.”

But that side of the car had been smashed and twisted. They had needed the jaws of life to extricate the child. From the condition of the passenger side, she could never have opened the door. “Thank you,” I said. “I just wanted to make sure that was what you heard.”

Jack poured our coffee as I hung up. “Sounds like you’re on to something,” he said. “You’ve got a witness that heard a car door slam twice after the accident?”

“Yes. And it couldn’t have been Winnie trying to get the boy out of the car because that door wouldn’t have opened in the first place.”

“So someone else got out of the car.”

“Willard Platt,” I said. “I think Willard was driving and Winnie lied for him.”

“Keep going. Why did she lie?”

“Because maybe he was speeding and he was afraid of losing his license. If Winnie lost hers, it wasn’t so bad; he could still take her shopping. But if he lost his, he lost his freedom. I think something was going on there. I have to talk to Roger.”

“Finish your coffee. You can’t go to a killer’s house by yourself, and we don’t have a sitter.”

“He didn’t do it, Jack. He just kept it under his hat.”

“And his father gave him half his estate for keeping his mouth shut.”

“I think so.” I was ticking off points in my head.

“You look like you’re solving one of the world’s great puzzles.”

“I am.” I put my cup down and Jack went for seconds. I had to do this right or I’d never get a confession. They were all protecting each other.

“Another cookie?”

“Huh?”

“Oh Chris, you are really out of it.”

“Thanks, honey. Yes, I’ll have another cookie.”

“He really loves those shoes.”

“He wanted to go to your office to show them to you.”

“I’ll take him in someday. He should see where his daddy works.”

“We’ll both go. I’ve never been there either.”

Jack actually works in an office these days, not in a precinct, as he did when I met him and until he passed the bar. He’s in police headquarters now at One Police Plaza in Manhattan. His job is to review situations of police activity that might result in legal action. He has to determine whether cops may have used too much force, or may have acted illegally in other ways. It’s a desk job but it uses the new knowledge that he has acquired in law school. Although I suppose there isn’t much to see, I thought it would be nice for Eddie and me to make a visit.

I looked at my watch. It was still early enough to pop
in on someone, but I didn’t rush through my coffee and cookie. When I was done, I told Jack where I was going. He looked troubled but I assured him I trusted Roger.

“Take my car,” he said. “It’s in the driveway.”

I stood outside Roger Platt’s door. Inside there were male voices and I hesitated. He must have a friend over. I couldn’t decipher any of the conversation and finally I pushed the bell.

Roger Platt opened the door and said, “Come in.”

In the living room was a young man who stood when I entered.

“This is my son Todd. Todd, Mrs. Brooks.”

We shook hands and Roger said, “I thought my children should know what was going on in my family. Todd’s in for the weekend and my daughter’s coming in next Friday.”

“That sounds good,” I said. “I need to talk to you. It might be better if we talked alone. It won’t take long.”

“I’ll go in the other room,” Todd said. “I haven’t checked my e-mail yet and I’m expecting some messages. Nice meeting you, Mrs. Brooks.”

I waited till he was gone and the door had closed. “Mr. Platt, your father was driving the car that killed your son.”

Roger Platt’s eyes closed and he blew out a lot of air. “That’s not true,” he said. “Who told you this fairy tale?”

“Mr. Platt, I’m sure your family decided a long time ago to present a united front on your story, but it’s a fiction, and I know it.” I had to make him think I had some evidence so he would tell me the truth.

His eyes met mine. He looked miserable. Finally he said, “You’re right.”

“How did you find out?”

“I don’t even remember. That whole period was like a fog. Maybe my mother told me when she was sedated. Maybe I figured it out myself.”

“Why the deception?”

“He wasn’t wearing his glasses. He’d had a drink. He wasn’t a heavy drinker. He just liked a glass of scotch and water in the late afternoon.”

“Why was he driving?”

“Because he knew better than anyone in the world. He didn’t trust my mother at the wheel in that weather, so he said he’d drive. That’s what she told me. They went outside to the car—her car—and she got in behind him so my son could sit next to him when they picked him up. After he’d started down the hill, Mom noticed he wasn’t wearing his glasses and he said not to worry, he could see fine. Maybe he could and maybe he couldn’t but his license said he had to wear them. He’d just had a strong drink and if he took a Breathalyzer test, the alcohol would show up. When the cops came, they’d smell it on his breath. And without his glasses—It was a split-second decision. The car hit the tree, he got out and walked home and she stayed and took the responsibility. I knew about it almost from the first day. I didn’t know what to do. I hated having my mother blamed for the accident but if I said anything, there’s no telling what would have happened to my father. He’d lose his license for sure. There was a chance he’d go to jail for vehicular homicide. Mom said to keep quiet.”

“Did you talk to your father about it?”

“I did. He said he was sorry but that the accident hadn’t been his fault.” Roger looked over at me. “What else could he say? That he’d been drunk and blind and he killed my son because of it?”

“So you told him you’d keep quiet.”

“Yes. He said he’d make it worth my while. That was the phrase. ‘I’ll make it worth your while, Roger. Just don’t say anything.’ He never did, of course, and I didn’t care. There was nothing he could do to pay me back. Eric was gone, my life was—” He opened his hands, palms up. “And then you told me about the second will.”

“And you knew that was how he had made it worth your while.”

“I made that assumption, yes. It wasn’t anything I had given much thought to. He was the same person after the accident as before, maybe a little warmer to me, I don’t know. I never imagined he had changed his will. I mean, when you told me, it was like the most absurd thing I’d ever heard.”

“And then you remembered.”

“And then I remembered. That was how he made it worth my while to keep quiet about who had been at the wheel when my son died.”

“Thank you, Mr. Platt. I hope we don’t have to talk about these things again.” I got up and went to the door.

“How did you know?” he called after me.

“Someone heard a car door close twice, well, not one car door as it turns out. She heard two car doors close and I guessed that there was another person in the car, your father.”

“A little sound like that,” he said.

“Have a good weekend with your son.” I let myself out.

I stopped at a drugstore and called Jack to let him know I was alive and on my way to Winnie’s.

“Stay away from that cane collection,” he said.

“I will.”

“And make sure Mrs. Platt stays away.”

I turned up the hill, Jack’s more powerful car taking it with greater ease than my own little one. The nursery was dark except for a light in the checkout area. The trees and shrubs were graceful silhouettes in the dark. I reached Winnie’s and turned into the driveway. The garage door was closed and there were some lights on around the house, all on the first floor. She was downstairs reading or watching television.

I got out and walked over to the front door where, almost two weeks ago, I had banged and called to get her attention. Now I pressed the bell and heard a brief melody of chimes. Would she hear it or would she be sitting as Toni had described, her bad ear to the front of the house?

“Who’s there?” her voice called tensely from inside, not too close to the door, far enough back that she could feel safe.

“Winnie? It’s Chris Brooks. I’d like to talk to you.”

“Go away. There’s nothing to talk about.”

“It won’t take long, I promise. I’ve just been talking to Roger and I need to clear something up with you.”

No answer and no sound. I wondered if she had simply gone back to her retreat in the big room she liked to sit in. “Winnie?” I called.

Nothing.

I stood there for several seconds, trying to discern any
sound from inside. Then I turned to leave. Behind me the front door opened.

“Come in,” Winnie said.

I walked past her and she shut and bolted the door. Then we went into the living room and she turned some lights on.

“Where did you see Roger?” she asked almost accusingly. “I called and Doris said he wasn’t home.”

Oh, dear, I thought. I said the wrong thing. Roger might tell his children about his strange living arrangements, but I was sure he didn’t want his mother to know. “I guess I caught him when he was coming in.” I looked at my watch pointedly. “He wouldn’t be there now. He said he was going out.”

“All this running around. Why don’t they sit down for an hour? Why are they always going somewhere?” She said it more to herself than to me.

“Winnie,” I said, “I know you weren’t driving the car the night of the accident.”

She stared at me. “Roger told you that?”

“No, he didn’t. I told Roger.”

“How would you know such a thing?”

“There was a witness.”

“There were no witnesses,” she said.
“There were no witnesses.”

“Your husband wasn’t wearing his glasses.”

“You’re making this up.” She looked agitated.

“I’m telling you what I know to be true. I just want you to fill in the details.”

“There are no details,” she said wearily. “It happened. My grandson died. He was taken from us. If I’d been sitting in the front seat, it would have been me. I wish it had.”
I wondered if she was aware she had confessed. “You were sitting behind your husband?”

She put her head in her hands and I thought of Eddie asking me if I were crying. Winnie wasn’t crying, she was just tired of it all. She had lost two people very dear to her and she was alone in a big house with money to burn and nothing she wanted to spend it on. She was a bereaved woman who couldn’t locate her son when she called. “I was in the backseat,” she said slowly. “I was sitting behind my husband.”

“And he wasn’t wearing his glasses.”

“No. We ran out of the house too fast. He forgot to put them on.”