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Authors: Lee Harris
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get home. I’m interested in something else at the moment. Do you know what things the police picked up at the crime scene? Like his wallet, his keys, his cane?”
“I didn’t ask. You want me to give them a call?”
“If you have a minute. And one other thing. I don’t know how far an autopsy goes, but I’d like to know what kind of damage one of his legs sustained to make him need a cane.”
“I don’t have that. I’ll get back to them. I’m working my way through a very boring document. It’ll be my pleasure.”
My pleasure was to start dinner.
8
“So what would you like to know?” We had gotten the dishes done and Eddie to bed. The coffee was brewing in the kitchen, its scent traveling to where we sat. Jack took some folded paper out of his briefcase and opened it up. It had notations on it that I assumed had to do with the Platt homicide.
“Start with the property,” I said. “What do they have?”
“No wallet, but that’s probably because he was working in the garage. But his keys were in his pocket, a few coins, a couple of tissues, the watch he was wearing, and that’s about it. They have his clothes and shoes, nothing out of the ordinary.”
“What about his cane?”
“No cane listed.”
“Mrs. Platt says she doesn’t have it.”
“Maybe it’s still in the garage. He could have set it aside when he was working and the cops didn’t see it. There wouldn’t have been any reason to take it.”
“I’ll go up to the Platts’ house tomorrow and see. Tell me about the autopsy.”
He looked down the top sheet of handwritten notes.“He was stabbed four times, one wound piercing his heart. He died quickly and bled profusely.”
“Anything on the weapon?”
“Yeah, it’s double-edged.”
“How do you walk around with a double-edged knife?”
“I suppose it had a sheath of some sort. We used to see a lot of them back when I was a young cop. They fall into the dagger and dirk category of knives—needle point, slender, sharp edges.”
“You’re still young,” I said.
“Yeah, but it ain’t the same.” He sounded almost wistful. “A knife like that, it’s really a weapon.”
“You bet.”
“So it wasn’t that someone came along and had an argument with Willard Platt and pulled this thing out. Someone went over there to kill him.”
“I’d say so. And maybe it wasn’t the first time in his life someone tried.”
“What do you mean?”
“Autopsies often turn up surprises. Your Mr. Platt took a bullet a long time ago.”
“Someone shot him?”
“Sure looks like it.”
That was a surprise. Then I had a thought. “Jack, he fought in World War Two. Could that have been when he was shot?”
“I’d have to ask the M.E. They said it was an old wound. I don’t know if they can date it.”
“Anything else?”
“I asked them about his legs. They didn’t seem to have anything but they said they’d take some X rays and see if anything turned up. I’ll hear tomorrow.”
“Well, even without that, this has been pretty interesting. I wonder how many people are walking around with a healed gunshot wound.”
At that moment the phone rang. I got up and answered it in the kitchen. It was Mrs. Platt.
“Chris,” she said, “I went out to the garage after you called to look for Will’s cane. There’s no cane out there at all.”
“I see. My husband talked to the police today and asked what possessions of your husband they had. There was no wallet.”
“No, I have that. He left it in the house when he went out to work.”
“And there’s no cane.”
She was silent for a moment. “I don’t understand it. He had a cane with him when he was waiting for the drama students. I know because I saw it on the grass when I looked out the window. I’m sure he had the same one when he went out to the garage. Where could it be?”
“We’ll have to find out.”
“I’ll look again, but I don’t think it’s there.”
“Don’t do it tonight, Mrs. Platt.
“I didn’t ask. You want me to give them a call?”
“If you have a minute. And one other thing. I don’t know how far an autopsy goes, but I’d like to know what kind of damage one of his legs sustained to make him need a cane.”
“I don’t have that. I’ll get back to them. I’m working my way through a very boring document. It’ll be my pleasure.”
My pleasure was to start dinner.
8
“So what would you like to know?” We had gotten the dishes done and Eddie to bed. The coffee was brewing in the kitchen, its scent traveling to where we sat. Jack took some folded paper out of his briefcase and opened it up. It had notations on it that I assumed had to do with the Platt homicide.
“Start with the property,” I said. “What do they have?”
“No wallet, but that’s probably because he was working in the garage. But his keys were in his pocket, a few coins, a couple of tissues, the watch he was wearing, and that’s about it. They have his clothes and shoes, nothing out of the ordinary.”
“What about his cane?”
“No cane listed.”
“Mrs. Platt says she doesn’t have it.”
“Maybe it’s still in the garage. He could have set it aside when he was working and the cops didn’t see it. There wouldn’t have been any reason to take it.”
“I’ll go up to the Platts’ house tomorrow and see. Tell me about the autopsy.”
He looked down the top sheet of handwritten notes.“He was stabbed four times, one wound piercing his heart. He died quickly and bled profusely.”
“Anything on the weapon?”
“Yeah, it’s double-edged.”
“How do you walk around with a double-edged knife?”
“I suppose it had a sheath of some sort. We used to see a lot of them back when I was a young cop. They fall into the dagger and dirk category of knives—needle point, slender, sharp edges.”
“You’re still young,” I said.
“Yeah, but it ain’t the same.” He sounded almost wistful. “A knife like that, it’s really a weapon.”
“You bet.”
“So it wasn’t that someone came along and had an argument with Willard Platt and pulled this thing out. Someone went over there to kill him.”
“I’d say so. And maybe it wasn’t the first time in his life someone tried.”
“What do you mean?”
“Autopsies often turn up surprises. Your Mr. Platt took a bullet a long time ago.”
“Someone shot him?”
“Sure looks like it.”
That was a surprise. Then I had a thought. “Jack, he fought in World War Two. Could that have been when he was shot?”
“I’d have to ask the M.E. They said it was an old wound. I don’t know if they can date it.”
“Anything else?”
“I asked them about his legs. They didn’t seem to have anything but they said they’d take some X rays and see if anything turned up. I’ll hear tomorrow.”
“Well, even without that, this has been pretty interesting. I wonder how many people are walking around with a healed gunshot wound.”
At that moment the phone rang. I got up and answered it in the kitchen. It was Mrs. Platt.
“Chris,” she said, “I went out to the garage after you called to look for Will’s cane. There’s no cane out there at all.”
“I see. My husband talked to the police today and asked what possessions of your husband they had. There was no wallet.”
“No, I have that. He left it in the house when he went out to work.”
“And there’s no cane.”
She was silent for a moment. “I don’t understand it. He had a cane with him when he was waiting for the drama students. I know because I saw it on the grass when I looked out the window. I’m sure he had the same one when he went out to the garage. Where could it be?”
“We’ll have to find out.”
“I’ll look again, but I don’t think it’s there.”
“Don’t do it tonight, Mrs. Platt.
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