(Note to admin: story contains bold and italics ------------- please remove this line)
Author's note:
Due to the mystery/suspense plot, the individual parts of this tale are unlikely to make sense as stand-alone reads. Please see note at the beginning of Part 1 for more information.
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Chapter 34. TOWN TOPICS
The waiting began.
Although he knew well that the strictures of Ondine's life prevented her from easily replying or arranging a meeting, Anders could not help repeatedly checking the hall table and inquiring of Mrs. Sullivan about messages for him. But no message arrived.
Too impatient to simply wait for her reply, he used the weekend to delve further into his suspect list. His first gambit was at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel. In preparation, he pinned to the inside of his lapel the brass Harsen prize medal he had won last year for best clinical report --- pray God no one looked at it too closely! He rehearsed his story on the way there, arriving as planned between lunch and dinner.
Stepping into the opulent Astoria lobby, Anders scanned the occupants. Fulton Fordyce lived upstairs --- if his friend saw him and called out a greeting, the ploy would be ruined.
The coast was clear. With a deep breath, he approached the marble front desk, attempting a confident swagger.
"Can I help you, sir?" the young man behind the counter said.
"Yes, sir. I'm a detective with the Pinkerton agency." With an air of discretion, he opened his suit jacket and flashed the brass medal. "I'm investigating a missing person case and was hoping to converse with the head waiter."
Was it a crime to impersonate a private detective?
The clerk blinked a few times, evidently uncertain what to do, then he said, "Of course, sir. I'll take you back there."
With a brief explanation to his fellow clerk, the young man stepped out from behind the counter and led Anders from the lobby into a corridor. After a turn around a corner, a door transported them from the lavish hallway into a simple one clearly intended for staff. They passed through an enormous, savory-smelling kitchen bustling with activity, then proceeded into another corridor.
The clerk stopped at the open door to a small office wherein sat a man at a desk. "Mr. Albright, this gentleman is a Pinkerton detective who would like to speak to you."
A man of about forty with neatly trimmed ginger sideburns, Mr. Albright looked up from what appeared to be a diagram of tables in a room. His face bore an expression of curiosity as he set aside his pencil and stood.
Anders again flashed the medal and extended his hand. "Spencer Lawton."
"Charles Albright."
They shook hands. The clerk left them.
"Thank you for speaking with me, sir. You are the head waiter?"
"I am. What is this regarding?" Albright nodded at a chair across the desk.
Anders seated himself. "I'm conducting a missing person investigation. A young man who has not been seen by his parents for over a year. His last known whereabouts date to September 1899. After that, we have a lead that he might have worked here as a waiter."
"I wasn't employed here then. I don't know if I'll be able to offer much help."
"Would the hotel have a list of the waitstaff in September and October of that year?"
Mr. Albright pursed his lips for a moment, then his face brightened. "The payroll office would have a ledger with the names. Let's go there."
Keeping to the staff areas, Mr. Albright led him through another series of hallways. As they walked, the man asked, "You said he's been missing a year? Why has the family waited so long to investigate?"
Anders replied smoothly, "They had been working with the police initially, then frustrated with the lack of progress, attempted to investigate the matter themselves. They only recently applied to our agency."
They entered a large office containing a half-dozen desks where sat male clerks and female secretaries. Above the clacking of several typewriters, Mr. Albright introduced him to a Mr. McPherson and explained his quest. The clerk nodded and crossed to a bookcase from which he extracted a tall ledger. He pointed to a chair by the window. "You can sit here. September and October 1899, you wanted?"
Mr. McPherson handed him the book, pointing out the pages for the months in question, and explaining that the names were grouped by position. "From this line to the bottom of the page are the waiters."
Anders thanked him. For the next twenty minutes, he pored over the columns of names, writing them in his notebook. There were forty of them under the heading of waiter. Forty! In the adjacent columns were a series of numbers, no doubt corresponding to their wages. There was no indication of where in the hotel the waiters had worked on any given night. And none of the names meant anything to him --- but he hadn't had high hopes in that regard. At last, he conceded to himself this was a wild goose chase.
On his way back to the lobby, he peered into three grand ballrooms in succession --- all presently unoccupied. One of these was presumably where the reception had been --- where the crime had taken place. The hushed, softly glittering marble and gilt trimmed walls offered up no clues.
His next undertaking began when he reached the lobby. Noticing the city directory on the front desk counter, an idea struck him. He turned through the listings until he found the following:
Van der Veen, Hugo, driver
A Lexington Avenue address was listed.
Thence did Anders proceed to discover an elegant brownstone mansion --- no doubt the residence of Hugo's employer. Did he still work for the man Ondine had described as a lawyer of ruthless repute? Slowly walking along the sidewalk, he made a covert survey of the property, but apart from a man raking leaves, he saw nothing of note.
Exploring further, he eventually found an alley by which the rear of the properties along the block were accessed. Here he ambled with his hands in his pockets, eventually loitering behind the house of interest without finding a good hiding place for a discreet observation post.
Squatting and pretending to tie his shoe, his attention was captured by a motion next to the carriage house where an unharnessed brougham stood idle. A uniformed man emerged from a side door and climbed up onto the driver's seat of the carriage --- a red-haired man in his early thirties! Was this the mysterious Hugo Van der Veen? Anders' heart beat faster as he watched the man rummage in the seat box, apparently searching for something.
A moment later, the fellow descended, and as he did so, his eyes landed upon Anders --- still crouched over his shoelace. Even at that distance, there was something about the hard stare that made Anders shiver inwardly. Was this man a murderer?
Unnerved by the steady gaze, he rose to his feet, gave a polite nod, and continued walking. Christ! What had he been thinking?! He had come here without a plan. Had he thought he would simply approach the suspect and ask, "Did you poison your brother?"
Retreating, he made his way back across town to the boardinghouse. To his frustration, no message had come from Ondine.
He was scheduled to pose at the Art Students League that evening, but as agitated as he was, he initially regretted having agreed to the session. Then recalling the depleted state of his finances after the visit to the medium, as well as the possibility of encountering Ondine at the class, Anders proceeded there in a more agreeable frame of mind --- further improved after a quick, precautionary frig.
Alas, when he arrived at the art class, there was no sign of the dark-haired beauty he longed to see --- neither as herself nor Simon Sellers. Such was his state of preoccupation while he posed, he did not accomplish much reading of the textbook he had brought.
Contemplating the day's investigatory efforts, a humorous memory arose of the very first conversation he had had with Ondine in the park --- when she had advised him not to abandon his medical ambitions for a career as a Pinkerton detective. How funny it would be to relay to her his ruse today at the Waldorf-Astoria! It had at least passed muster, even if it hadn't yielded any leads.
Anders forced himself to consider the hard question: what was the objective of his inexperienced efforts at detective work?
Ondine and he had identified the unpunished wrong doubtless responsible for Peter's restless spirit. What degree of restitution was necessary to terminate the haunting? Presumably, simply identifying the wrong would not suffice. Would the ghost be appeased if the murderer were arrested? Convicted? Received a life sentence?
In the hands of the police and courts, how long would an investigation and trial last? How many months of continued unwelcome visits would Ondine have to endure? And what if the guilty party escaped conviction through the vagaries of a fallible human justice system?
Would Old Testament justice be necessary to break the spell? Would the murderer have to die?
*****
Sunday dawned. When breakfast was finished and a message had still not come from Ondine, Anders set out on his bicycle. In the November cold, there were far fewer wheelers in Central Park than usual, and having the paths almost to himself, he rode vigorously over the next two hours, fast growing oblivious to the chill. His alert eyes roved over the leaf strewn landscape, seeking in vain the alluring girl who had beguiled his heart.
Twice did he lurk at the park entrance across from the Cornelissen mansion --- the second time recalling the post-church parade of millionaires along Fifth Avenue. Last month, he had glimpsed Ondine walking with her family in that ironic ritual. As the haughty New Yorkers in pairs and groups began to stroll past in their fur-trimmed finery, there was no mistaking that the promenade was underway --- but, despite observing for almost an hour, no sign was there of Ondine, nor the Cornelissen family for that matter.
This struck Anders as odd. It had been two days now since he had sent the message to her. Wondering if it had gone astray, he debated crossing the street and seeking out Braddock, but stopped himself. No --- not knowing what her present situation was, he could not risk being caught by her aunt and uncle and thus compromising the enterprise. He would simply need to contain his impatience.
Once returned home, he committed himself to catching up with his neglected studying. For several hours, he managed to remain focused on this endeavor. Come late afternoon, he went downstairs --- ostensibly to fetch a cup of coffee, but his eyes immediately went to the hall table.
