The Body in the Ballroom

by R. J. Koreto

  “But you said you were moving?”

  “No thanks to any of them. A business deal came through—but never mind. What in God’s name are you getting at? Who sent you here, and why do you even care? This is something the police should be handling.” Yes, he was nervous. The why of it all was less important to him than the fact that we were there asking about things he didn’t want to talk about.

  Alice didn’t respond to him. She was busy noticing things. “You’re missing a ring on your right hand,” she said. I looked, and there was a pale white band of skin on his ring finger. He seemed surprised but only for a moment.

  “It was a family signet ring. I had to hock it to keep myself in this luxury.” But he was shifty, and I saw him look at the door yet again.

  “I think it may have been the ring of the XVII,” she said.

  “And I think he was expecting someone else from the way he keeps looking at the door,” I added, looking at Alice.

  “That makes perfect sense, Mr. St. Clair. He thought someone else was coming and had his ring on. He removed it quickly when he saw was us. I bet he has it in his pocket. You’re one of the XVII, aren’t you? Did you know about those men sent to bother me when I was going about my business on Houston Street? Show me that ring. Now.”

  CHAPTER 22

  Van Dijk just put his head in his hands like someone who had run out of options. But like some card players I’ve known, he was planning to take it to the end.

  “Mr. St. Clair, search him,” said Alice. Normally, I would’ve stopped it there, but this guy was acting like a threat. Also, I definitely didn’t like him. I stood.

  “Come on, pal. Stand up and put your hands up. Work with me, and this won’t take long.”

  “I’m still a Van Dijk. I’ll see you in hell before I let some cowboy search me. You have no legal authority here. I’ll call the police on both of you.”

  “Yeah, police,” I said. “You really want to bet your word with a bunch of cops against the president’s daughter and a Secret Service agent?”

  He thought that one over, then sulkily reached into his pocket and pulled out a heavy ring just like the one we saw in Marcus Linde’s bedroom dresser. He slammed it on the low table in front of us, and Alice picked it up.

  “What is the XVII?” she asked. “And what does it have to do with me?”

  “You will never tie me to anyone who may have accosted you, and there’s no law against carrying a ring. I still don’t know what the hell you want or what you’re talking about. If you’re done, I’d like you to leave my house.”

  But he was too late. I heard a motorcar engine on the quiet street. Van Dijk looked nervous again, and I knew we’d have company.

  “Miss Alice, stand by the fireplace over there. I need you out of the way for a moment.” She didn’t like being ordered around, but she could see some excitement was coming, so she obeyed without comment. At least I wasn’t asking her to leave the room.

  I stood and took out my Colt. “Mr. van Dijk, get facedown on the floor behind this couch.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “I’m really starting to hate asking you everything twice. The next time I have to ask you something twice, I’m going to shoot you.”

  “He’ll do it,” said Alice. “I think you should listen to him.” With bad grace, he lay down flat on the floor, and before he knew what had happened, I had cuffed his hands behind his back. I could see he was about to protest again but then thought better of it.

  “Don’t say anything, and we’ll be fine,” I ordered. The motorcar stopped in front of the house. I peeked through a curtain and saw two men, much like the ones who had stalked us on Houston Street. Again, they weren’t professionals. If these were the people Brackton had recruited from his warehouses to serve as the muscle of the XVII, they needed better training. They should’ve noted another car parked in front of the house and been more cautious. But they rang the doorbell, and I opened the door fast. Their eyes got big when they found themselves looking at the Colt.

  “Hands up,” I said, and with my free hand, I pulled them one by one into the house and pushed them face-first again the wall.

  “You’re not police,” said the older of the pair, half startled, half angry. He was dressed in a suit that was in even worse shape than mine. The other didn’t look much older than Alice and was dressed more like a workman. He seemed too surprised to talk.

  “Secret Service. I’m federal. Now lean.” When you really made someone lean with their hands up against a wall, you had them good because it would take them too long to regain their balance to come at you. I reached in their pockets and removed both their guns, then told both of them to lay down next to Van Dijk. He looked up, and it was clear from the way their eyes flashed at each other that they were all friends.

  “Just shut up,” said Van Dijk, and that told me everything. As bad as things were for him, he was the manager, and these guys were the help.

  “My goodness!” said Alice. She stepped forward, and there was excitement and delight all over her face.

  “You had a girl here?” asked Cheap Suit of Van Dijk. He seemed astonished.

  “She’s Alice Roosevelt, the president’s daughter, you idiot. She was visiting. Now don’t say anything.”

  “Mr. St. Clair, if you give me one of their revolvers, we can march them to the police together,” offered Alice.

  “For God’s sake, don’t give her a gun,” said Cheap Suit, his voice full of panic. He was no doubt wondering what the president’s daughter might do with one. I thought that was funny.

  “Don’t worry. She’s such a bad shot she’ll probably miss all of you and shoot me,” I said.

  “That’s a disloyal remark,” said Alice, and I realized I had to take charge before things got any stranger. Fortunately, Alice got back on track.

  “But never mind all that. You’re no doubt agents of the XVII, comrades of the men who assaulted me on Houston Street. There’s a lot I don’t know. But let’s start with who you are, what your goals are, and most importantly, why are you interested in me? All I did was involve myself in the death of one of your members, Lynley Brackton, and the death of the wife of another, Delilah Linde.”

  “Miss Roosevelt,” said Van Dijk with great patience. “Understand this. I haven’t the vaguest idea of why anyone attacked you. These two men are associates of mine who have done nothing illegal. I have done nothing illegal. And yet I’m being held cuffed, at gunpoint, by a crazy cowboy. I have nothing more to say, except to ask how long you’re planning to hold us here.”

  “Oh, we have a lot to discuss, Mr. van Dijk. I’m assuming these idiots don’t have anything useful to say. Mr. St. Clair, could you get rid of them?”

  “You have a coal cellar here?” I asked

  “In the back,” said Van Dijk.

  “All right, guys, get up slowly and head out the front door.” I marched them around the back and had them open the metal doors that led to the cellar.

  “How long are you going to keep us here?” grumbled one.

  “That depends on your boss. Will he tell us what we need to know in half an hour, or will it take half the night?” They walked down the stairs, and I slammed the door shut, turning the latch to keep them there. When I was back inside, I found Alice was living up to the Roosevelt policy of never being idle. She had sat down at a small desk and was going through various papers.

  “Mr. St. Clair,” complained Van Dijk, still cuffed on the floor. “If you are a Secret Service agent, you know full well she can’t go through my papers without a warrant. In fact, this whole thing is illegal. Forcible detention, kidnapping—”

  “Stop fussing. All I see here are bills from your tailor and wine merchant. No wonder you’re stuck here in Queens if you spend so much on cases of Bordeaux. I don’t see anything here about the XVII, however.”

  “That’s because there’s nothing to see,” said Van Dijk, clenching his teeth. “It’s a club. We get together and
drink too much and complain about the government. That’s it.”

  “The government? You complain about my father?” He wasn’t making a good case for himself.

  “No, the city government.”

  “I don’t like that, either. Mayor Low and Manhattan District Attorney Jerome are both Republicans,” said Alice. I thought Van Dijk was going to cry.

  “How about this? I’ll uncuff you and let you sit on the couch,” I said. “No reason we can’t be comfortable while we talk. You have any beer here? We’ll see how fast we can get through this. I told your friends that their residency in the cellar is based on how quickly you tell us what we need to know, so if this takes us into the night, it’ll be your fault.”

  “That sounds good,” said Alice. She marched into the kitchen and found some beer and glasses. I uncuffed Van Dijk. He gave me a wounded look and rubbed his wrists while making himself comfortable on the couch. We each had something to drink.

  “The XVII,” said Alice. “There have been two murders connected to them, and a good friend of ours is going to be arrested and hanged if we don’t figure it out. And if you don’t satisfy my curiosity, I will truly have your men in the cellar marched to a police station where they will implicate you and the other men who were harassing me in about an hour, and then you’ll follow them to jail. So please tell us who you are and what you’re up to. First of all, where does that name come from? The number of members?”

  He thought that over, weighed his options, and then began to talk.

  “No. It’s a reference to the seventeenth century. To belong, your family has to have been here at least that long.”

  My grandmother was a Cheyenne Indian, so maybe I’d qualify, but I don’t think that’s what they had in mind.

  “What is your goal? We’ve heard you were harassing residents in some of the poorer neighborhoods—immigrants and Negroes. Why?”

  “Miss Roosevelt, we’re just about the public good. Even though you’re young, it can’t have escaped your notice how the city has changed in recent years, with immigrants pouring in from a score of countries. They bring their food, their languages, their religion. New York has been the largest and most powerful city in this country since the revolution. It is one of the most important cities in the world. We don’t want to see it destroyed, diluted until it is not recognizable, until it is no longer powerful. That’s all.”

  “And you think you’re going to fix this problem by harassing the impoverished families who live in those neighborhoods?”

  “Not harass—merely provide a level of discipline and security the police and city government are not in a position to impose.”

  Alice leaned back and considered that. I don’t think she believed what he said. Heck, I don’t think he believed what he said, and he finished his beer and looked down at his feet.

  “I notice that you don’t mind when those same immigrants work cheaply in the manufacturing business. Dear God, I come from as wealthy and privileged position as any man in the XVII, but at least I’m not a hypocrite.”

  “Miss Roosevelt—”

  “Never mind,” she said, waving her hand. “If we get into a political discussion, we’ll be here into the night, and I have other things to do. So you sent thugs into poor neighborhoods to frighten poor people—”

  “It wasn’t my idea. That’s not what we were supposed to be about. Our goal was to be more of a private police force to augment what city authorities offered. It was Brackton who started taking it in new and violent directions. The others thought he had gone too far, as well. There was talk of trying to rein him in.”

  “It sounds to me that he had become … unreliable.”

  Van Dijk nodded sadly and bent his head. “That’s well put.”

  Alice gave me a quick look and a smile, and I winked at her.

  “You mentioned others. Who else is in the XVII? I know Marcus Linde and Simon Rutledge are. Is there a list?”

  “I’m not in a leadership position. I don’t know if there is a list or who would have it. Brackton recruited me to help him with the ‘ward work,’ as we called it.”

  “And that’s your new job, isn’t it? You’re taking over from Brackton as the director of this ‘ward work,’ aren’t you? You’re getting money from the leadership of the XVII, which is why you can afford to leave here. Those two men now locked in your coal cellar are from Brackton’s businesses but will now be under your authority.”

  “Miss Roosevelt, I am not Brackton. We are going to be returning to our original mission. We will be curbing Mr. Brackton’s excesses. You misunderstand me.”

  “I doubt it,” she said coldly. “But I am going to offer you some advice, which you badly need, because I don’t believe you’re much smarter than the two apes locked in your cellar. There is a whole city police force that doesn’t want your help. A police force full of immigrants and the sons of immigrants. But that’s not your worst problem. Soon, you’ll be getting in the way of the gangs—the Irish, the Italians, the Chinese, the Jews, the Negroes. The first time your men cross any of them, they’ll be found floating in the Hudson.”

  Van Dijk was looking worse and worse. Alice had made it clear that not only was he completely lacking any sense of Christian morality, he was incompetent, as well. It was a bad combination.

  “So we’ve established the reign of terror the XVII was visiting on the slum neighborhoods. Now let’s look at some other people. What about the Roth family? What threat did they pose to the XVII?”

  “That was different. The Roth family threatened us in other ways. You may not be aware of this, Miss Roosevelt, but Jews are becoming increasingly influential in the finances of this city, upending the old Dutch and English families. Young Abraham, it was said, was expanding internationally, involving foreigners.”

  He took on a new tone, less embarrassed and more lecturing, explaining to this little girl how business was done in the city. It was the wrong idea. Alice hated been lectured by anyone, and especially by Miles van Dijk.

  “And you were going to fix this by sending a few men to threaten him? The Roths aren’t poor immigrants who can be bullied. What is wrong with you?”

  Van Dijk shook his head. “Miss Roosevelt, it’s not just a couple of men. The XVII is larger than that, made up of powerful men from the best families. I don’t think you realize who you’re dealing with here.”

  “Yes, she does,” I added. “That’s your problem, sir. She knows exactly who she’s dealing with.”

  Alice giggled. “Nicely said, Mr. St. Clair.” She turned to Mr. van Dijk. “People keep underestimating both of us. As I said, we’ll discuss economics and politics another time. For now, let’s talk about the death of Mr. Brackton.”

  “Why would we want to kill him? He was one of us. But plenty of other people wanted to.”

  “I’m sure.” She paused as I watched her think. “Would you be surprised to learn that it wasn’t Mr. Brackton’s glass that was poisoned, but Mrs. Brackton’s? She handed it to him at the last moment. She was supposed to be killed, not him. There were just three of them there. I thought the murderer might be your sister until she was killed herself. One woman was murdered, and another was supposed to be murdered. Both of them were married to men of the XVII. Now, tell me what that was about.”

  Van Dijk was reaching his end. He was in an especially unfortunate position, stupid enough to get himself involved in something he couldn’t understand and couldn’t control, and yet smart enough to realize it.

  Alice could read him. She was only eighteen, but Roosevelts were politicians, and she could see what was going through his mind.

  “Mr. van Dijk,” she said, and she was quieter now, almost gentle. “The only way this ends well is if you trust us. Two people are dead.”

  “The police will find someone,” he offered lamely.

  “No, they won’t. Because I won’t let them. Why did someone want Mrs. Brackton dead? Why did someone want your sister dead? I know you cared for Delila
h.”

  He pushed his hand through his hair. “Delilah was a sweet girl, and she was a good girl. She did what she felt was right to live her life. If she was with child because her marriage was less than … complete, I don’t know anything about that. She was no longer the girl who I once knew. Our lives have been somewhat separate for some years now, and apparently, I didn’t realize how separate. We do what we feel we must, Miss Roosevelt, and perhaps I misunderstood her. Or her husband.”

  I almost felt sorry for him.

  “I accept that,” said Alice. “But what about Mrs. Brackton? If you knew Lynley, you must’ve known Victoria.”

  “Somewhat,” he said with a little hesitancy. “Not very bright, from my limited discussions with her. She tended to fade into the background. Absolutely devoted to Lynley, willing to do anything to make his life comfortable. One almost felt at times that she was more like his dog than his wife.”

  “What a delightful metaphor,” said Alice, her voice full of chill.

  “You asked me about her, so I told you honestly. If you don’t like it, don’t ask.”

  “Fair enough. But see if you can express yourself with a little less vulgarity.” That was rich, coming from Alice. “But you can think of no reason why the wives of two prominent members of the XVII were targeted, the same way, so close together?”

  “You’re sure it wasn’t a mistake?”

  “Yes. Someone knew your sister would drink the punch. And no one could’ve known that at the last minute, Victoria would give her glass to her husband. Fortunately, she’s been warned to be careful now.”

  “It must be a lunatic then. I don’t see anything here that connects the XVII with those deaths. Many prominent men belong to this group. That certain people—like you and the Roth family—were harassed is unfortunate. I am sorry Lynley saw that as an appropriate response to what is just a political disagreement. I realize you are upset and have me at a certain disadvantage—both of you—and so I have answered your questions. But I will remind you again that you are keeping me against my will and have locked up two men in my cellar.”