Slow Burn (9 page)

I
FOUND
Loomis down the hall and around the corner in the library. It was another oak-paneled affair lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with thick, expensive looking books. Loomis was watching a maid tend to Mrs. Van Dorn, who was lying on a deep leather couch. her face buried in her arm. Her body shook with deep, heavy sobs that would’ve made me want to cry, too, if I had any tears left.

Loomis didn’t look very happy and I couldn’t blame him. Watching a mother cry over a dead child isn’t the best way to end a shift. Catching Floyd’s eye, I waived him into the hallway.

We found a quiet spot and I filled him in on what Mr. Van Dorn had told me: the kidnapping, the girl being their daughter, the old man dying of a heart attack. Everything.

His reaction was vintage Floyd Loomis. We’d just found ourselves in the middle of a murder-kidnapping involving one of the wealthiest families in New York City. Floyd acted like I’d just told him today was Tuesday.

“Sounds like the kidnappers had the Van Dorns on the slow burn,” he said. “Making them wait like that before they had the girl bring the money to The Chauncey.”

“Looks that way. It’s a perfect place for a drop. Tons of lowlifes, no one to notice much. Anyone sober enough to see anything would never admit to being there anyway.”

“But she brought the money like she was told,” Loomis said. “So why kill her? The family played ball. They did everything the kidnappers told them to do. Killing Jessica doesn’t make any sense.” Loomis shrugged. “That’s for better heads than ours to figure out, anyway. I think the brass’ll be impressed as hell that we were able to take it this far.”

I didn’t like what I heard. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Loomis checked his pocket watch. “Our shift’s almost up, and we’ve taken this as far as we can. This isn’t just a murder anymore, Charlie. Kidnapping makes it a federal beef now. You know that. Nothing else for us to do but call it in and call it a day.”

“Like hell,” I said. “We’re not calling anything in. Not yet, anyway.”

Loomis shook his head. “Fun’s over, Charlie. We both know there’s no way the bosses will let us keep this case, especially now that it’s federal. Let the Washington boys handle it. They’ll want it, and Chief Carmichael will be only too glad to give it to them.” He lowered his voice even further.

“We both know the Van Dorn kid is probably dead by now, anyway.”

But I didn’t know that. And I didn’t want to think about Chief Carmichael, or the Feds, or anyone else. I didn’t want to panic Loomis by telling him what I was cooking up, either. So I only gave him a taste. “Of course we’ll call it in. But not yet.”

Loomis struggled to keep his voice to a whisper. “Don’t try to placate me, you little son of a bitch. We’ll be lucky if they don’t crucify us just for holding out on them this long. What do you think they’ll do to us if we sit on a kidnapping? A Van Dorn kidnapping, for Christ’s sake.”

I threw up my hands and made like I backed off a bit. “I’m not talking about holding out on anyone. I’m talking about finishing up what we came here to do, which is finding Jessica’s killer. Jessica’s murder is our case, remember? It just so happens that we’ll have to find her brother’s kidnappers to do it.”

“Yeah, but what if—”

“I’m only talking about delaying calling it in for an hour, maybe two. Just enough to give a chance to find a foothold on this thing so that the Chief or the Feds can’t kick us out so easily.”

“But they’ll do that anyway,” Loomis said. “There’s no way Carmichael—”

“Working Jessica’s murder is our best shot at finding the kidnappers. You know Carmichael and the Feds will forget all about Jessica and focus on the kidnapping, which’ll take them hours to coordinate. Her killers could be long gone as it is. Do you really want to give these bastards even more lead time? The Feds’ll waste hours getting up to speed, and I say that’s time you and I could be using to work the case ourselves. Our own way.”

“What way?” Loomis asked. “What the hell are you babbling about?”

“Our way,” I said. “We know we already got everything we can from the crime scene at The Chauncey Arms. The coroner might tell us if she was drugged or not. So what? And working the kidnapping angle alone is a dead end. There’s no ransom note and probably no witnesses, either. By the time all the Feds and Carmichael’s boys figure that out, who knows what’ll happen to Jack? Besides, we’re already asking the biggest question of all.”

“What question?”

“Why Jack Van Dorn?”

Loomis looked around. “It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it? They’re loaded.”

I shook my head. “This town’s lousy with rich families. Famous, rich families with names that’d catch headlines. Astors. Vanderbilts. Rockefellers. Why this family in particular? Why grab Jack Van Dorn?”

Loomis blinked a couple of times. I knew I was close to hooking him, so I kept it up. “I say the kidnappers grabbed him for who he was more than what he was. I say, if we find out more about him, we just might find out who took him.” I wasn’t surprised that Loomis went where I was

leading him. “And who killed Jessica.”

I gave him a light rap on the chest. “Now you’re thinking. And you’re thinking in a way you know Carmichael and the feds won’t bother with. They’ll run around the city, kicking in doors and making a mess. If we do it our way — the quiet way — for just a little while longer, we just might bring back Jack alive.” And think how grateful the Van Dorns will be after that, I thought, but kept that part to myself.

“If he’s alive,“ Loomis added. “And that’s a damned big ‘if’.”

“But big enough for us to find out on our own. Our way. The way it should be done.”

Appealing to the detective in Loomis was the smartest play I’d made in years. I watched as every one of his objections tumbled in his mind. He looked at his pocket watch again. “But it’s after eight, Charlie. We’re already overdue back at the precinct as it is. We’ve got to call something in before they come looking for us.”

“So call it in and tell them I’m out running down a hot lead on the dead girl. Tell them it’s a big one and you’re waiting for me to call you back with more information. Tell them you don’t know where I am, but that I said it’s a whopper. That way we still tell the truth, just delay it a little.”

“I don’t know, Charlie,” Floyd said. “Jessica’s been dead for hours and the fact they haven’t called for more ransom or dropped the kid off isn’t good. Remember how those bastards jerked around the Lindberghs and the kid was dead the whole time.”

“Maybe, but I say we find that out on our own. What’ll it hurt?” Loomis dug his hands into his pockets and walked away from me. He was thinking it over hard, but I could tell he was starting to slide my way.

When he turned around, he said, “The best we can do is buy ourselves an hour, maybe two at the most.”

“It’s not much,” I admitted, “but it might just be enough time.”

“Time to do what?” Floyd asked. “We’ve got two crimes and no leads. The mother’s in no shape to talk and the father’s a basket case.”

And for the first time ever, I was one step ahead of Floyd Loomis. “That leaves one man left to question. And I think I’ve got a good idea of where I’ll find him, too.”

T
HE KITCHEN
of the Van Dorn mansion was three times bigger than my apartment, and twice as clean.

Glistening pots and pans hung from hooks around the center island. Nothing was out of place on the counters. No stains, no plates in the sinks. The whole place was as white and clean as a hospital. Everything smelled like lemons. The butler who’d let us in was sitting alone at a small wooden table tucked away in a corner.

Now that I had a better look at him, I saw he was thin all over, and mostly bald, save for a crown of light brown hair around the edges. He had deeply set eyes and a solemn, angular face. I watched him dunk a tea bag in and out of a small blue and white cup on a saucer. His heart didn’t seem to be in it.

“I assume you’ve spoken to Mr. Van Dorn,” the butler said, not bothering to look up.

“I did. He told me everything about what happened to Jack. And about what happened to Silas Van Dorn. I’ll bet you’re having a pretty rough time of it. You’ve probably been with the family for years.”

The butler hardly moved. “I take it that Miss Jessica…” He couldn’t say the words.

I slipped my hands into my pockets. “Yeah.”

The butler looked into his cup. “I knew she was dead when we didn’t hear from her right away. Poor girl didn’t deserve that. I’m not sure anyone does, but she certainly didn’t.” He set the tea bag on the saucer. The chair creaked as he sat back in it and looked at me for the first time. His eyes were pale blue, but still had a line of red about them.

“You said your name’s Doherty, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Charlie Doherty. And yours?”

“Gerard Soames, sir.” The “sir” was too automatic to be sincere. “And I’ve been in service to the Van Dorn family for twenty-three years.”

“Long time,” I said. “Bet you’ve seen a lot.”

“I have. Some good. Some not so good. These past few days have been the worst of it, I’m afraid.”

I could tell that Soames wasn’t the type who said more than he had to. Not even a nod. I knew he was feeling me out, but time was short. I decided to prod him a little. “Mr. and Mrs. Van Dorn are understandably preoccupied, so I was hoping you could answer a few questions for me in the meantime.”

“Oh?” His eyes narrowed just a bit. “What kind of questions?”

“Questions that might help me run down who’s behind all of this.”

“Such as?”

I decided to start with the basics. “For instance, I was wondering if you’ve hired any new help recently?”

He thought for a moment, then: “Yes. Our newest employee is the cook.”

I pulled out my notebook and began writing things down. “When did you hire her?”

“It’s a he, actually,” Soames said. “And I hired him about fifteen years ago.” A small smile and a tilt of his head. “He seems to be working out fine, but only time will tell.”

I smiled, too, as I lowered my notebook. “You’re not going to help me, are you, Soames?”

His smile disappeared. “I don’t see why I should. I’m sure you want to be helpful, Detective. Just like all of those nice policemen who used to bring young Master Van Dorn home all those drunken nights. Irish policemen, just like you, with their affable smiles and their hands out. A greased paw makes for a shut mouth, as they say. I’m sure you’ll have your hand out, too, before all of this is said and done. One way or the other.” Soames sipped his tea. “Yes, you look the type.”