by Lee Harris
“When did you see him again?”
“I called him from the hospital. He drove over in his car. He was wearing his glasses.” Her eyes filled. “I told the police I was driving. It didn’t matter. Eric was gone. They couldn’t save him.”
“Did you tell anyone the truth, that your husband had been driving?”
“Roger guessed. I didn’t tell him at first, but Roger sensed it.”
“Was your husband driving too fast?”
She didn’t answer.
“Does Toni know?” I asked.
“I don’t know who knows. Roger said he wouldn’t tell. The police were very nice to me. There were no charges. I was a grandmother taking her grandson home and the car skidded. I had a clean record and I kept my car in good shape. It was better the way we did it.”
“And your husband wrote a second will leaving half his estate to Roger to thank him for keeping the truth hidden.”
“There is no second will,” Winnie said.
There was no use pursuing that. “The day your husband was killed, that was your son’s birthday, wasn’t it?”
She nodded. “It was Roger’s birthday. I asked Will if we could take him and his family out to dinner that night, but he didn’t want to. He said the drama group had something planned and he didn’t know how long it would take. We could have done it, couldn’t we? The treasure hunt didn’t take all day. It was over in the afternoon. He just didn’t like spending time with Roger. There was nothing I could do about it. They were two men who didn’t get along. It’s very sad.”
“It is sad, Winnie,” I said.
“April Fools’ Day,” she said reflectively. “Will made a joke about it. He said his son had been an April Fools’ joke on him.” I recalled Roger saying very much the same thing to me. “I went into the hospital the night of March thirty-first when my labor started. I was excited and happy. In those days you didn’t know whether it would be a boy or a girl the way they all know today. He was born about two in the morning. I wasn’t thinking about the date. I was just glad he was healthy. When things started to go wrong between him and his father, I wondered if all our lives might have been different if he’d been born a few hours earlier, when it was still March. Will wouldn’t have had anything to joke about, as though someone had played a trick on him. Do you think things would have been different?” She looked over toward me.
“I don’t think so, Winnie. I think it was a matter of personalities, not timing.”
“I suppose you’re right,” she said tiredly. She stood up as though every muscle in her body ached. “It’s late. I think you should go.”
She was right. Jack would be nervous, and I didn’t want the police showing up because my husband was unable to leave the house to look for me. I got up and picked my bag up off the floor. In a bucket nearby, part of the cane collection stood. I walked over to look at them.
“Don’t touch the canes,” Winnie said sternly.
“What?”
“Don’t touch them. Please. Just keep your hands off them.”
“Sure,” I said, wondering what was bothering her. “Thank you, Winnie. Good night.” I went to the door and walked outside before she could catch up with me.
“So?” Jack said. “You got it aced?”
“Almost. I think I can do it tomorrow. I might want to call Joe Fox. Think I could rouse him on a Saturday?”
“If he’s home, sure. Just leave a message that you’ve cleared the case. He’ll call you back in ten seconds.”
I smiled. “It’s all very unhappy, Jack. Everybody’s a loser.”
“Except you.”
“I’m certainly not a winner. I just put it together. It was Joseph who said I should look into the accident more carefully. I wonder if she suspected that Willard was driving.”
“Sure she did.”
The cups and saucers had disappeared while I was gone. I sat down next to Jack and rested against him. His books and notes were on the coffee table. He put his arm around me and I felt warm and safe.
“Winnie told me to stay away from the canes. She sounded very authoritarian.”
“Maybe she was afraid you’d use one on her.”
“I’m a real menace,” I said with a laugh.
“Let’s turn in. It’s been a long day.”
28
I woke up on Saturday knowing I had to do something difficult and unpleasant and I had to do it well. It was two weeks to the day since Willard Platt had been murdered, and today I had to elicit a confession or give it all up. I knew all that there was to know, all that was relevant. The police might have more information, especially technical stuff like fingerprints and DNA evidence, but they hadn’t made an arrest because they didn’t have enough, and I was pretty sure they were looking at the wrong suspect.
Outside, the spring-blooming trees made Pine Brook Road a rainbow of pink and purple, with a touch of white. The forsythia were fading, their green leaves replacing the yellow blossoms. If ever it was good to be alive, it was on a day like this. Rain was forecast for tonight, rain that we needed, but the day would be sunny.
I reminded Jack that someone from Vitale’s nursery would be around to plant our new tree, so we couldn’t both go out at the same time. That was all right with him.
“You going somewhere?” he asked.
“Eventually.”
“I thought you said something about calling Joe Fox.”
“I’m still thinking about it.”
We had breakfast together, and Jack took Eddie out for a while and I stayed home. I was sorry I hadn’t asked whether they would come in the morning or afternoon, but it was too late now. They had their schedule made up and were probably out on the truck at their first appointment. An hour wouldn’t make much difference anyway.
When Jack came back, we talked about where we should have the new tree planted. I wanted to be able to see it from the living room window and I wanted it clearly visible from the street. We walked around on the front lawn and finally decided on a spot.
“What about the sun?” Jack asked. “All we’ve thought about is seeing it.”
“There’ll be sun. The front of the house faces east. Or sort of east. It’s very bright in the morning.”
As I finished speaking I saw one of the Vitale trucks coming down Pine Brook Road. Two young men got out in front of our house and started unloading our little tree. We showed them the spot we had chosen and they agreed it was a good place for it.
We moved away and watched them as they started digging up the lawn. Eddie asked a lot of questions, and Jack and the men answered them. I went inside the house and called Joe Fox’s number, which Jack had written down in our address book.
He was there and came to the phone. I explained what I wanted to do.
“You think you’ve got this doped out?”
“I’m pretty sure, but you never know.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“That won’t be necessary. None of the people in this case is violent. There was a motive and there was anger, but it was all directed against the victim.”
“You sound very sure of yourself.”
“I am.”
“At least give me the address.”
“I’ll leave it for Jack. I just wanted you to know that I hope to have a confession later today, and if I don’t, I’m giving myself a vacation from this case. I don’t think anyone will ever turn up any hard evidence.”
“Just a confession,” he said.
“Just a confession. And a lot of circumstantial evidence that could probably be used against several people.”
“Don’t get yourself hurt.”
“Thank you. I’ll be careful.”
I left a note for Jack with several addresses. I wasn’t sure which one I wanted to start with. If I did it right, I might not have to talk to all of them.
I left things for lunch in case I didn’t get back in time. Then I told Jack more or less where I was going and got in the car.
/> The driveway beside Roger Platt’s house was empty and the garage doors were closed. Not sure whether anyone was at home, I went up to the front door and rang the bell. A moment later Todd Platt opened the door.
“Mrs. Brooks,” he said with surprise.
“Hi, Todd. Is your mother home?”
Doris appeared at that moment, wearing a brown pantsuit with a pale yellow blouse showing at the neck. A gold circle pin was on her lapel. I wondered if I was interrupting something.
“Chris,” she said. “Come in. It’s nice to see you. Have you met my son?”
“Yes, I have. Do you have a few minutes?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll disappear,” Todd said knowingly. “Can I take the car, Mom? I want to see if Rick’s home.”
“Go ahead. Got your license in your wallet?”
“Uh-huh.” He grinned and rolled his eyes at me.
I smiled back. Mothers will always be mothers.
He pulled his keys out of his pocket and headed for the kitchen. Doris suggested the living room and we went there. For the first time I noticed the mantel over the fireplace. There were several family pictures there, all of them including a boy who must have been Eric, the lost child.
“He seems like a fine young man,” I said, speaking of Todd.
“Thank you. He’s in for the weekend. Roger decided to tell him about our living arrangements. I’m not sure it’s such a good idea, but that’s what he wants to do. Todd seems to be taking it pretty well, but you never know what goes on inside a person.”
“I know that.” It seemed an apt point of departure for me. “I wanted to ask you something, Doris. About the accident, if you feel you can talk about it.”
“Go on.”
“Did you know it was Willard who was driving the car that night?”
She pressed her lips together and looked down at her hands. “Not at first,” she said. “At first I believed what I was told, that it was Winnie. How do you know about this?”
“A witness told me.”
“Someone saw the accident?”
“Not exactly. But she heard something that led me to believe Willard was in the car. Your husband acknowledged that it was true.”
“We were never supposed to talk about it.”
“When did you find out?”
“That whole period is so hazy. I was under a doctor’s care for a while. I don’t remember when I was told, but it was after a while, a few weeks or months after it happened. I was told not to say anything and I did what I was told.”
“Did Roger tell you that his father promised to make it worth his while if he kept quiet about it?”
She looked at me as though she were just figuring things out. “The second will,” she said slowly.
I didn’t answer.
“They made a deal?” she said disbelievingly.
“I don’t think they made a deal. I think your father-in-law asked Roger to keep quiet about it and promised vaguely to reward him in some way.”
“I didn’t know. This is the first I ever heard about it. I guess the rumors must have been true.”
“What rumors?”
“That Willard was speeding. That he’d been drinking.”
“I heard he’d had a drink,” I said.
“Maybe more than one. Depended on the hour. He wouldn’t let Winnie drive because the weather was bad. If she’d been driving, my son would still be alive. Winnie was a plodding driver. When I sat next to her I always felt like saying ‘Giddyap’ to make her go faster.”
I’d had the same reaction myself when I accompanied her in the car the other morning. I decided the moment had come. “Why did you wait so long to kill him, Doris?”
There was no reaction. She looked as calm as she had before I asked the question. “I didn’t go there to kill him,” she said, and I knew I would learn the truth.
“It was Roger’s birthday,” I prompted.
“Yes. It was my husband’s birthday, the husband I loved and couldn’t live with anymore because he was collapsing under the weight of his grief. Not to mention the hatred of his father. His father treated him like a nothing, but Roger’s children loved him and Eric loved him the most. Eric was born on Roger’s birthday, did you know that?”
“No,” I said, feeling a terrible chill.
“Roger considered that a gift. They used to celebrate together, the two of them. There was something so special between them. Willard never made fun of Eric’s birthday. He reserved that for Roger. He was a terrible person, Chris. I don’t care how philanthropic he was. I don’t care how many starving children in Africa his donations saved. He had a duty at home that he never fulfilled.”
“You said you didn’t go there to kill him.”
“I didn’t. I got up that morning and I knew it was my husband’s birthday and my son’s birthday. My husband didn’t want to share it with me, and my son was more than five years gone. I wanted to do something to heal the rift. I knew Willard had a reputation for working with the high school kids. I thought, Why can’t he see that his own son needs him the way those young strangers do?
“I thought about it all day. Winnie had said maybe the four of us would go out to dinner, but the invitation never came and I knew it was because Willard had said no. She didn’t have the heart to tell me so directly. I drove over to see if I could talk to him, if I could be a peacemaker on that most important day. He’d always liked me. We’d always gotten along. I thought it was worth a try.”
I watched her as she spoke. Her face was very somber and her eyes were somewhere else, perhaps looking at an event that had happened two weeks ago.
“Will was working on something in the garage. The door was open and I saw him as I pulled into the driveway. I might have parked on the road but I saw that the red flag was up for the mailman and I didn’t want to block his access to the mailbox.
“I got out of the car and Will turned around and saw me. I said hello and he kind of nodded and stopped working at whatever he was doing. He had the hood of his car open. He took good care of his car. He took good care of things that were important to him.
“I said, ‘Will, you know what day this is,’ and the smile left his face. I said, ‘You’re a father, Will. You have such a good son. Couldn’t you manage somehow to get back together with him? It would mean so much to everyone in the family.’ ” Her eyes were tearing as she recalled the painful conversation. “I promise you,” she said to me, “I spoke in a conciliatory way. I didn’t threaten him; I pleaded with him. It didn’t do any good. He said something like, ‘What do you know of my relationship with my son?’ I almost laughed at that. ‘I’ve been his wife for almost a quarter century, Will,’ I told him. ‘Of course I know. How could I not know?’ ”
I watched her almost reenact the dialogue. Her voice told the whole story.
“He became angry, nasty. He said the problem wasn’t with him, it was with Roger. I listened to this man who had never given his son a fair hearing telling me how Roger had failed him. What he wanted was for Roger to come to him and beg forgiveness for his sins. He didn’t put it in those exact words, but that was what he was saying. I think if Roger had decided to do that, if he could have demeaned himself the way his father wanted him to, they might have been able to renew their relationship, but on what terms? Roger would have spent the rest of his life walking on eggshells, wondering every time he opened his mouth whether he was saying the right thing, whether he might accidentally be offending his father. There was no way, and I knew it at that moment. All the anger I had suppressed for all the years that I knew Will came to the surface. I said, ‘You’re a nasty, mean old man. You have a wonderful son and you can’t acknowledge it.’ ”
“That couldn’t have gone over very well,” I said.
“It didn’t. It enraged him. And you know what enraged him the most?” She smiled. “It was the word ‘old.’ He said, ‘You bet I’m nasty. You bet I’m mean. I live in a world where you can’t let people t
ake advantage of you.’ It was ‘old’ that got to him. He couldn’t acknowledge that he was old, and maybe he wasn’t. Maybe I just threw that in to be nasty myself. I said, ‘It’s your loss, Will. I feel sorry for you.’ That got him even madder. He picked up the cane and swung it at me, shouting at me to get out, to leave him alone. He hit me with the cane and I grabbed it, the bottom of it, hoping to pull him over, hoping to hurt him just a little for what he had done to his son. As I held it, he unscrewed the top, and when the two parts separated, I kind of fell backward because I was still holding the bottom of the cane so tightly. I looked at him and he was standing there triumphantly, holding the curved top of the cane, a long knife protruding from it, pointing it at me. I was terrified. I thought he would kill me. It was one thing to whack me with the cane, but here he was pointing a dangerous weapon at me.”
“I can understand how you felt,” I said.
“Can you? Here was a man filled with hate coming after me with what looked like a sword. I took my half of the cane in both my hands, as if it were a baseball bat or a golf club, and I ran toward him till the cane pushed into his chest. He went backward, dropping the cane handle, and I grabbed for it and launched at him again, this time with the knife aiming for his chest. I was so angry, I was so furious. It wasn’t just Roger anymore. It was Eric. That man killed my son, Chris. It was his fault. He was at the wheel with liquor in his system and his glasses on the kitchen counter. If Winnie had been driving, Eric would be alive. I felt it all through me and I just plunged that blade into him again and again. I didn’t know how many times till I heard the report from the Medical Examiner.”
Four times, I thought. She had run at him four times. “Then what did you do?”
“Will was bleeding and I was shaking, just absolutely shaking. I grabbed up the other half of the cane, tossed both pieces in the back of my car, and backed out of the driveway. As I got to the curb I saw the red flag up on the mailbox and I got out and put it down, hoping if there wasn’t any mail, the mailman would just drive on and not look in the garage. Then I went home.” She seemed exhausted. She breathed deeply a few times and wiped at her eyes. “I didn’t know if Will was dead or alive and I couldn’t call or Winnie would know I was responsible. I took the pieces of the cane into the house, wiped them off to remove my fingerprints, screwed them back together, and stuck them under my bed. I thought it was safe enough there until I decided what to do with it.”