by D. L. Wood
Like modern-day police files, this one included reports, witness statements, and diagrams of the scene of the crime. Unlike modern-day police files, it lacked photographic evidence or any sort of forensics.
There was a photographer present. Why didn’t they get photos of the scene after the fact? Especially the corpse?
Had the family refused to allow them to take a photo of Lily’s body? Maybe. It wasn’t as if they would have needed it to prove cause of death. That was obvious and witnessed by over forty people.
The statements of the people interviewed that night and over the course of the following weeks—guests, family, and staff—all told essentially the same story. The events in the banquet hall were described with hardly any discrepancies. Time was one factor that varied slightly, most witnesses gauging the robbery as lasting anywhere between five to ten minutes. Chloe’s heart did a little leap when she came to Governor Roosevelt’s statement among the rest. He told the same story as everyone else.
The bodyguard shot twice. The first bullet missed Will Rader and instead, according to the diagram in the file, ended up in the paneling. The second bullet struck Lily Stone in the chest. There seemed to be a bit of confusion regarding exactly how she ended up in the path of the bullet. It seemed Florence Stone had pushed Cora to the floor and was reaching for Lily. She was unsure if perhaps she had accidentally shoved Lily into the bodyguard’s line of sight.
That uncertainty must have plagued Florence for the rest of her days. It certainly added to the explanation for her insurmountable depression.
Other witnesses indicated that there was so much shoving and chaos after the first shot, there was no way to know who, if anyone, had bumped, slammed, or otherwise caused Lily to stumble into the fatal position. Many expressed guilt and remorse, horrified that their own panic might have caused Lily’s demise.
More interesting than the interviews was the report by the chief constable. Sometime shortly after midnight, the Hyde Park Police Department—which at the time consisted of only two constables—received a call from a footman at Stonehall Estate claiming that an armed gunman had broken into the house and was in the progress of robbing the party guests. The chief constable summoned the Dutchess County Sheriff’s Department to assist, and both arrived at the Stonehall Estate property at approximately the same time. Chloe perused the report slowly.
Upon entering the home, we were informed of the situation and shown the body of Miss Lily Stone on the banquet hall floor. We took part in the hunt for the robber, who was on the run and eluding capture by Mr. Roosevelt’s guards and others who had undertaken a search for him for nearly twenty minutes. Two sheriff’s deputies and I joined the manhunt on horseback. At approximately 12:35 a.m. on January 1, 1931, one of the deputies, tracking prints left in the accumulating snow, captured a man in the woods south of the house attempting to escape on foot. He was held in one of our vehicles while we secured his identification as the robber by more than one guest, based on his clothing and appearance. He had his weapon in his possession, which was not loaded, but not the stolen valuables. He refused to answer questions regarding the location of the stolen property and was transported to the Dutchess County Jail.
That was it. No more than a paragraph to tell the entire tale. It seemed a small amount of words to describe something so monumental. Attached to the report was a list of the stolen items and their owners. It was quite long, handwritten, and covered two sides of one sheet. The next report was from the sheriff’s department regarding the detention and interview of the robber, and was only a bit more telling.
The perpetrator has identified himself as William Rader, Jr., of Lower East Side, New York City. Rader works as a stock and delivery boy for the grocery a few blocks from the Stones’ home in Manhattan. He became aware of the family and Stonehall Estate and its functions through that affiliation. Rader refuses to answer any questions regarding the robbery, its planning or execution. Rader refuses to divulge the location of the stolen property. When informed that he was being charged with not only first-degree robbery but also the felony murder of Miss Lily Stone, Rader appeared visibly shocked and remorseful, requesting an explanation of how the death had occurred, stating that he had only fired once at a window, and in fact, there was only one bullet in his gun. (The gun was not loaded when we confiscated it from him upon his arrest, although there was one empty shell in the cylinder.) When the circumstances of Miss Stone’s death were explained, Rader stated he would not be answering any further questions. He requested we convey his sympathies to the family and refused to speak during the remainder of the questioning. The interview was terminated and Rader returned to his cell.
January 1, 1931. Deputy Orville Lucas.
A diagram attached to the report marked the approximate location where Rader had been captured in the woods with an X. There wasn’t a scale to indicate relative distance, but it looked like Rader had managed to run fairly far before they caught him.
A half a mile, at least, maybe?
What had been his plan? Leaving on foot in the dead cold of winter seemed a ridiculous notion. Unless he was a complete idiot, he must have had something else in mind. Turning to the next page, Chloe found notes from Deputy Lucas’s continued investigation and discovered she wasn’t the only one who thought Rader’s plan seemed half-baked.
After a week, Rader still refuses to speak about any matter related to the robbery. He does not seem unintelligent, however his attempt to escape on foot is exactly that. I believe he must have had some other plan to ensure his escape, but for some reason, it did not come to fruition. I have attempted to elicit information regarding this from Rader by offering guesses as to what he may have actually planned, such as whether he stashed a horse which somehow got loose or perhaps had an accomplice who did not follow through or otherwise failed him. He refuses to speak to the matter or reveal what happened to the stolen items, even though I have informed him that the judge might be more lenient with him if he were to cooperate and return the stolen items to their owners.
We have attempted to locate the stolen property ourselves, scouring the house, estate land and surrounding areas, including the woods and riverbank and even attempted dives in the frigid Hudson waters, all to no avail. Unfortunately, the search party hunting for Rader on the night of the robbery made significant tracks of their own in the snow, making it impossible to distinguish or follow Rader’s tracks on the estate property in the hopes of finding where he hid the stolen property.
One note: while chasing Rader in the woods, I came across the tracks of a single horse. As my focus was on locating Rader, and at the time could see him fleeing in the woods ahead, I did not follow those tracks, nor was I able to locate them again upon returning to the area the following day due to the heavy snowfall overnight and my uncertainty as to exactly where I had come across them in the dark. It’s quite possible they are unrelated. However, they might suggest that Rader did indeed have a horse prepared that broke free, or worse, an accomplice who is unnamed and still at large.
“An accomplice,” Chloe muttered, running her hand over the faded page protected by a clear vellum sleeve. A heavy sense of injustice flooded her. She thought the deputy was right. Something about the faulty design of Rader’s on-foot escape plan didn’t sit well with her. According to the statements of the witness, he was cool, calm, and collected during the robbery. He acted quickly and efficiently with confidence. Why would someone like that plan to escape on foot in that kind of weather?
He wouldn’t.
Which meant something had gone wrong. The deputy’s suggestions of a tied-up horse that somehow got away explained the tracks he came across and even Rader being in the woods. But how likely was it that Rader wouldn’t secure—really secure—his getaway horse?
The deputy’s other suggestion makes more sense. What if Will Rader had an accomplice who either got scared or double-crossed him? What if that’s where the stolen jewels went—riding off into the darkness with some nameless,
faceless traitor who left Rader to the mercy of the people whose daughter he’d just killed?
All of this left Chloe with two burning questions. One, why wouldn’t Rader divulge the location of the stolen property if doing so would have secured him a lesser sentence? And two, if there was an accomplice, especially if it was one who failed Rader or even betrayed him, why wouldn’t he name him?
Chloe was still pondering the possibilities, reaching for the file that contained the records of Rader’s journey through the court system, when her phone rang.
“It’s Deidre. I’m at the front desk.”
Chloe’s thoughts immediately departed the robbery investigation, her insides bubbling in giddy anticipation. “And?”
“Your package has arrived.”
15
“I’m right behind you,” Jack said, laughing as Chloe held him by the hand, pulling him across the second-floor landing to the grand staircase.
“Come on! You’re too slow, I just can’t wait for you to see this!”
“Babe, I was in the thick of writing—”
“You were not. When I walked in, you were watching hockey on your phone.”
“I was taking a break.”
“Well,” she announced as they reached the center of the grand staircase, “break time is over.” She flung one arm out, like Vanna White displaying vowels, her hand coming to rest in the direction of a man standing in the middle of the foyer.
“Riley!” Jack shouted and hustled down the steps, slapping his arms around his friend and hugging tightly. At six foot six Aaron Riley towered over Jack. Though in his early forties, he was still as fit as a man half his age. Even his coat couldn’t disguise the muscled form beneath.
“Whoa, there brother,” Riley bellowed, laughing as he hugged Jack back just as hard. The two men stepped away from each other, shook hands exuberantly, then went in for one more spirited embrace.
Jack’s reaction left Chloe smiling so widely she was sure the corners of her mouth must be practically at her ears. “Told you I had a good surprise for you,” she said to Jack, walking up to Riley and allowing herself to be gathered up into a huge hug herself. “Hey, friend,” she said. He had a beard now, trimmed close but thick on his ebony face. The hairs grazed her own cheeks, evoking fond memories. Warm gratitude flowed through her. It had been far too long since she had seen this man who had once saved her life and Jack’s. Everything she and Jack had together, the very life they shared, they owed to him.
“What’re you doing here?” Jack asked.
Riley released Chloe and nodded toward her. “It’s your wife’s doing. Said you needed a little help. And as you know”—he tapped his chest—“rescuing you is something of a hobby of mine.”
“Who said I needed rescuing? Chloe, what’s he talking about?” Jack asked, genuine confusion clouding his face.
“You’ve been saying how you don’t feel inspired. You don’t feel connected. That it’s been too long since your tours, and you’re not sure you can capture it anymore. I thought, ‘Who better to remind of you of all that, than the man who went through it with you?’”
Jack’s eyes brightened. “Seriously? You’re here to help with the book?”
“Seriously,” Riley answered. “Or at least to help you find your way to it. And…if you want to give me a co-author credit—”
“Acknowledgment credit,” Jack countered.
“A consultation fee?” Riley rebounded.
Chloe slapped the two on the back. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out. In the meantime, let’s get him checked in so you can start arguing about it properly.”
Riley headed for the front desk as Jack turned to Chloe, beaming. “You did this?”
“When a Navy SEAL needs inspiration, you call another Navy SEAL.”
“But our anniversary celebration—”
“We’ll have our time alone on our anniversary. He promised not to be a third wheel and said he had no interest in the New Year’s Eve Ball. Said he’d probably head into the city.”
“Have I told you lately that you’re perfect?” Jack clasped her face with both hands and kissed her.
“Umm,” she said as they pulled apart, “once or twice maybe. But feel free to keep reminding me.”
16
RILEY
Riley stepped away from Chloe and Jack, leaving them at the center of the foyer while he returned to the front desk to finish checking in. Chloe had told him that his coming to Stonehall Estate was a surprise for Jack, so he wasn’t shocked when, after giving his name to the desk clerk, she had immediately called Chloe. What had surprised him was his intense reaction to the woman.
His heart started racing the moment he laid eyes on her—this gorgeous woman in a pristine navy suit standing behind the counter. He’d rolled his luggage up to the desk and slung his duffel off his shoulder and onto the floor, all without taking his gaze from her. She was busy reading something on a computer screen and didn’t look up right away. This gave him the opportunity to take in her long, jet-black hair, her mile-long eyelashes, and her generous lips, which he was certain hid a strikingly perfect smile.
He had watched her silently until she looked up, apparently sensing someone at the desk. Her mouth broke into a smile that was, just as he’d guessed, perfect. Electricity he hadn’t felt in longer than he could remember zinged him from head to toe when she spoke.
“I’m so sorry. How can I help you?” she’d said, her voice sounding like a melody in his ears. Perfect notes played in perfect pitch.
Riley eyed her brass name tag, letting the corner of his mouth rise up. “Ms. Nolan, is it?”
“Yes,” she answered, and he thought he saw amusement working its way into her smile before she fought it back.
“I see it says ‘manager’ there.”
“That’s right.”
“Well, doesn’t that make me the important one? Checked in by the manager herself.”
She let out a smothered chuckle. “All our guests are important, Mister…I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”
“Riley. Aaron Riley.”
“Ah.” A knowing look emerged behind her beautiful cocoa-brown eyes. “Then I suppose you actually are one of our more important guests.”
She had phoned Chloe then, and he’d listened to her report his arrival. He had actually felt a sting of embarrassment when she hung up the phone and caught him watching her intently. It wasn’t a feeling he was used to. There wasn’t much that rattled him.
“She’ll be down in a minute. She’s getting Mr. Bartholomew.”
“Is it always last names around here?” Riley asked.
She tilted her head. “Usually.”
“Sounds like there’s room for exceptions then. I’m Aaron.” He held his hand out. When she shook it, his hand tingled. “Is there a first name to go along with the last on that name tag?”
She paused as if considering whether to answer. “Deidre,” she finally surrendered, as if against her better judgement, then eyed him carefully.
“Deidre,” Riley repeated.
Several minutes passed while she typed his information into the computer, pulled out a map of the estate, and marked points of interest for him. She had just collected his key from the wall behind her, where old-fashioned brass room keys hung on brass studs, and was about to hand it over when Jack called to him from the large staircase at the back of the room.
Now, back at the desk, he collected the key Deidre had been attempting to give him before.
“I hope you’ll enjoy your room, Mr. Riley. I’ve placed you on the same floor as the Bartholomews, just down the hall. It has an excellent view of the rear gardens and the river.”
“Enough of this ‘Mr. Riley.’ It’s Aaron. And if I have any problems…who should I get in touch with?”
“The front desk is manned twenty-four hours a day. I’m only filling in because the clerk had to step away for a moment. So feel free to call anytime if you need anything.”
�
�And if the clerk isn’t here…would I get you?” he asked.
“You might.”
“Well, then,” he said, winking as he rapped a knuckle on the desktop, “here’s hoping the room’s a disaster.”
17
CHLOE
As it was nearly lunchtime when Riley arrived, they caught up at the resort restaurant over thick burgers with crispy fried onions and Gouda cheese on toasted sesame buns. Sweet potato fries and spinach salad with orange sections rounded out the meal. Chloe barely got through half of hers. After an hour, the men went off to start rescuing Jack’s book and Chloe returned to the gallery, where she found Deidre looking over her progress.
“I see you’re deep in it,” Deidre said, perusing the work table.
“I’m planning on making the final selection of photos for display today and getting those on the walls. Your curator actually left this in a lot better condition than it seemed at first glance. By the way, could you give me her information so I could contact her now that I’ve looked it over? I want to get her take on things.”
Deidre tapped a sticky note on the desk. “I actually came up here in part to leave you this. Her name is Tara Hollis, and there’s her cell and email. She’s expecting your call.”
“Great.” Thinking about the curator and her accident sent Chloe’s mind drifting to Nate Lewis. “Has there been any news from the authorities about Mr. Lewis’s case? Was it an accident?”
Every muscle in Deidre’s body seemed to tense. “The state police homicide detectives have the case now, and they’re not sharing much. They’ve interviewed all the staff at this point. I know they talked to you as well.”
“And Jack. But he didn’t know anything.”
