A New York Haunting: Pt. 08

There were so many questions to ask! Where should he begin? Without forethought, he posed the obvious one, "Who benefited from Peter's death?" In sudden chagrin, he realized Ondine probably had. Fortunately, her response was uttered with the same methodical tone as her narrative so far, betraying no offense.

"Peter's brother Hugo produced a will dated three years prior making him the sole beneficiary, but it was eventually ruled a forgery. Peter died intestate, and as his widow, I legally inherited everything.

"However, unbeknownst to all his associates --- even to Bram --- Peter was heavily in debt. He had outrageously overspent in anticipation of securing further government contracts. The factory had to be sold to satisfy his creditors, and I ended up with nothing." One corner of her mouth lifted slightly. "Ironically, my aunt and uncle may have been right about Peter's intentions from the outset."

For a moment, Anders pondered the surprising development, now understanding why she was still financially dependent on her aunt and uncle. Yet --- even if Van der Veen had been after Ondine's money, he didn't doubt the man's honest attraction to her. Certainly the ghost's lustful acts and injunction against her remarrying testified to Peter's unmitigated obsession with the girl.

Anders turned back a page in his notes, racking his brain for clues that might shed light on the shocking discovery. He debated asking Ondine about the woman who had interrupted the reception demanding to speak to Peter, then hesitated, fearing it would cause her distress that would undermine her trance state. Looking at her still face, he said, "Mrs. Van der Veen, with the new clarity in your memory, let's return to the moment you saw a hand reach over to Peter's glass. Breathe deeply as the details grow clearer."

Ondine's eyelids trembled.

"Can you see the hand?"

"Yes."

"What does it look like?"

"There's a black suit jacket sleeve and an inch or so of white shirt cuff."

"Follow the arm up. Can you see the face of its owner?"

"No. It happened too quickly and, from where I'm standing, I see mostly the men's backs, all clad in black suits."

Anders paused and regrouped. "Tell me more about this cluster of men with Peter and Bram. You said they are behind the head table. Can you describe it further?"

Ondine's eyes shifted slowly under her lids. "The head table runs almost the entire length of the ballroom, approximately seven feet from the wall upon which hangs the flower mural coat of arms. People are standing between the back of the table and the wall. I'm in a group with my aunt, uncle, the Roosevelts, and another couple. To my left, clustered behind Peter's and my chairs, are the men --- they are in a loose circle, starting some five feet away from us."

"How many men are in the group?"

"A dozen or so."

"Think of the circle of men as the face of a clock, with those nearest you being at 6 o'clock. Where is Peter?"

"3 o'clock, near the wall."

"And your brother?"

"Standing next to him."

"Where is the man whose hand you see?"

"The 8 to 10 o'clock area, closest to the table."

"How far away from you is this hand?"

"Perhaps a dozen feet."

"Do you notice any details about the hand? Is it that of a young man or an older man?"

"All the men in that group are in their twenties and thirties."

"Is it a left hand or right hand?"

"Left."

"Is there anything distinguishing about it? Is it broad or slender? Is there hair upon the back? A ring? A cufflink of note?"

"It appears average in size. There's a simple looking ring, but I cannot tell about hair with the distance and low lighting." She paused. "The cufflink is hidden by the jacket sleeve."

"Is there anything noteworthy about the jacket? You said the military officers are in this group --- are they in uniform?"

"All the men are wearing black tuxedos or tailcoats, including the officers and the waiters. They are essentially indistinguishable from the back."

Ah yes, the waiters! They too had been there at the very moment of the incident! Several questions sprang to Anders' mind simultaneously. "Where are the waiters in relation to the clock face?"

"The one assisting the inebriated guest is around 8 o'clock. The second one is at 10 o'clock, transferring plates from the table to his tray."

So, they both had been at the scene of the crime. "Could the hand you saw have simply been a waiter's --- about to pick up Peter's glass, then changing his mind?"

"I - I don't think so. It moved so purposefully --- so furtively."

He tapped the pencil tip against the paper. "Did you notice Peter's brother Hugo in the hotel during the reception? In the lobby outside the ballroom? Talking to any of the waiters or staff?"

"No. But I only left the room when we went to the ambulance. I did not notice him inside the ballroom, but then there were 600 guests. I suppose it's possible he was there and I didn't see him."

He again considered asking her about the flamboyantly dressed woman, and again hesitated.

A faint but unmistakable knock sounded on the hall door --- Anders nearly jumped from his skin. Rigid on his chair, he observed the handle slowly turning, then encountering the lock. His heart pounded even as Ondine breathed slowly in her trance state, insensible to the low sound. Rising to his feet, he silently crossed the few steps to the door.

"Dr. Røkke?" said a female voice with soft urgency. "It's Hildy, Mrs. Van der Veen's maid."

An immediate sensation of relief was curtailed by the realization she was interrupting for reason. Unlocking the door, he opened it a few inches.

The young woman bobbed a quick curtsey. "Mrs. Cornelissen's carriage has just pulled up to the front door, sir."

His pulse accelerated anew; he managed a flustered nod. "Thank you, Hildy."

Closing the door, he hastened back to his chair beside the sofa and swiftly flipped the pages in his notebook back to his outline. He cleared his throat. "Mrs. Van der Veen, it's now time to awaken from your trance. I'm going to count to three, and as I count you will bring yourself out of the trance. At the count of three you will open your eyes feeling relaxed and clear in your memory."

Ondine's steady breathing continued.

"One."

Her lips parted.

"Two."

Her lashes fluttered.

"Three."

Her fingers went limp on the green crystal. But her eyes did not open.

Good God! Wake up! Wake up! Was Mrs. Cornelissen heading this way even now?! "Three," he said again, trying to sound calm.

Still her eyes remained shut.

Herregud! What if he could not bring her out of the trance?! Frantically, he shifted from his chair to the edge of the sofa, his hip touching hers. Eyes darting between the door and Ondine's motionless face, he murmured, "When I touch your hand, you --- you will know it's safe to awaken." Holding his breath, Anders gently tapped his fingers upon a small pale hand resting in her lap.

One ... two ... three seconds passed.

Ondine's long lashes jerked open, and her hazel eyes flashed wide. With a gasping intake of breath, she abruptly sat up, clutching his arm. "Someone poisoned Peter!"

"Yes!" He urgently tugged on her hand. "Hildy just informed me your aunt has returned!"

The girl shot to her feet and rushed towards her art studio, re-tying the strings of her apron behind her back. Anders seized his knapsack and chair, sliding the latter towards the desk as he followed her.

In the sunlit conservatory, they halted by the door where she handed the green crystal to him, their fingers momentarily touching. "Mr. Røkke." Ondine's luminous eyes lifted to his. Then she took a quick step back and opened the glass door by which he had entered. "Go back through the garden, the way you came! Be careful!"

He had taken but a half-dozen steps when he heard her loud whisper, "Wait, your hat!" She tossed his bowler to him and shut the door behind him.

He made his escape through the rear gate, breaking into a run when he reached Central Park.

Chapter 31. INVESTIGATION

Anders paced up and down in his room at the boardinghouse, struggling to restore order to the chaos in his mind. PETER VAN DER VEEN HAD BEEN MURDERED! This must be the unpunished wrong to which the medium Sophia Occhi had alluded!

At least, Peter appeared to have been murdered. How much stock could he put in Ondine's recovered memory under hypnosis? Could she have mistaken the motion of the unknown hand? Perhaps there was an innocent explanation for the incident. Before all else --- before going to the police --- he must uncover concrete evidence of the crime.

But how?

His unruly thoughts at once careened past this measured consideration to wild speculation as to the identity of the murderer.

Grabbing his notebook, he flipped to a blank page and drew a rectangle to represent the ballroom in which the reception had been held. Inside it, near one wall, he drew a second, long, narrow rectangle to represent the head table and marked the center with an 'O' and a 'P' for Ondine's and Peter's seats.

Between the seats and the wall, he drew twelve small squares in an elongated clock face layout, corresponding to the circle of men. Ondine had said there had been approximately a dozen of them. And two waiters --- he mustn't forget the two waiters.

Now for the identities of the men. Closest to the wall, in the 3 o'clock position, Anders labeled two squares with a 'P' and 'B' respectively for Peter and Bram. On the opposite side of the circle, closest to the table, he added two additional squares which he marked with a 'W' for the waiters. His pencil paused --- he knew neither the identities nor positions of all the other men.

To be able to stealthily and quickly reach Peter's champagne glass next to his plate, the murderous arm could have only belonged to one of the waiters or to approximately three or four of the guests standing closest to the table. So logically, only five or six of the fourteen men in the circle were truly suspects.

Under the drawing, he reconstructed a list of the men Ondine had said were gathered next to the table:

Peter

Bram

Military officers from West Point and Fort Hamilton (how many?)

Former suitors (how many?)

Other guests (how many?)

Waiters (2)

Damn! This inexactitude was maddening! He needed to question Ondine again --- perhaps she would be able to recall more details about the circle of men.

Taking a different tack, Anders considered the question of who benefited from Peter's death --- or, given his unforeseen financial circumstances --- who expected to benefit from his death. He wrote:

- Hugo (lying in wait with his forged will)

- Jealous former suitor of Ondine?

Ondine had indicated her former suitors had, in a spirit of 'gentlemanly sportsmanship', approached the head table to congratulate the groom. Perhaps for one of the men, it had been a sham to conceal his deadly purpose. Who were these suitors? That was indeed a salient point. Checking his notes, he confirmed Ondine had mentioned one was a member of the Vanderbilt family. As to the others --- that was another question to ask her.

And what about these military officers? Could any of them have borne a grudge against Van der Veen? For now, until he had further information, he left them off the list of suspects.

Next, recalling the agitated woman who had demanded an audience with the groom, Anders added another candidate:

- Jealous lady friend of Peter?

His brows lifted with yet another thought, and he scribbled:

- Ondine's aunt +/- uncle

Could the Cornelissens have attempted to restore the family's reputation after being 'besmirched' by its association with this crude social climber?

He stared at the list of suspects. There was one more name to add, if only for objective completeness:

- Ondine

But of course, if the girl was the murderer, she would have hardly suggested the hypnosis session.

Reviewing the names, he realized that, apart from one of the suitors, all the other suspects would have needed to employ an accomplice with access to Van der Veen's glass --- possibly, one of the waiters. What a remarkable degree of trust one would have needed to place in such an accomplice! What a remarkable incentive one would have needed to offer to secure their participation in such a heinous crime!

As he continued to review the pages of notes from the morning's hypnosis session, Anders observed the not-so-subtle place where his handwriting grew sloppy, then almost illegible. It was during Ondine's description of the picnic with Peter, Bram, and Miss Sayre --- when she had described Peter commanding her to unfasten his trousers.

The heat rose anew in his face and cock as he recalled the sensation of her small hand fumbling with his own trousers and drawers --- and what had most gloriously followed. Ah, sweet, lovely girl!

Hastily he retrieved the green Mohr's salt crystal from his knapsack and examined it. A subtle sticky film was detectable on the surface, doubtless transferred with the grip of her hand. Evidently, his awkward attempt to wipe his spunk from her fingers had not been completely successful. Christ! Had she marked the residue on her skin after he had departed? If so, what would she have supposed it was? Pray God she attributed it to the crystal!

Guilty excitement thrilled through Anders' body at the thought of the secret love token he had left with her. In short order, his trousers and drawers were down around his clenched thighs --- one hand braced on the desk while the other stroked his roaring jack.

The images deluged his mind --- Ondine touching her cunny before a mirror, the glowy trail of her girl nectar oozing from her aroused orifice, her hand squeezing and pumping his pulsing organ, her nimble naked body doubled over then arched on all fours, her secret holes gaping wide in the throes of unrestrained fornication ... not with the ghost but with him. His hoarse breaths swiftly grew spastic and his face strained upwards. "Ondine!" he choked out as his hot letch milk spouted forth.

For some time, Anders lay dazed upon the bed where he had subsequently collapsed.

When he at last came to himself, his marginally clearer thoughts returned to the mystery of Peter's death. Speculation about the murderer was irresistible, but it was essential to procure hard evidence of a crime. Would the police open an investigation based on a vague, year-old memory resurrected through hypnosis?

A thought occurred to him. Van der Veen's postmortem no doubt had been conducted at Bellevue Hospital. Reviewing the autopsy report was the first logical step in gathering evidence. He glanced at the clock --- it was almost 4 pm. From his previous summers' employment at the morgue, he knew that on Sundays, pending autopsies were performed promptly in the morning, following which the staff left for the day. Leaping to his feet, he refastened his garments, grabbed his knapsack, and rushed out.

Between the El train and his brisk stride, he reached Bellevue Hospital on the opposite side of Manhattan shortly before 5 pm. The small, windowless antechamber to the morgue suite in the basement was unlocked, however the desk where normally sat an orderly was unoccupied, and the door into the morgue proper was locked.

*****

The following day, Anders was back on his surgery clerkship, repeatedly reminding himself to keep his attention upon his work as his thoughts again and again veered to Ondine, the ghost, and the mysterious hand that had paused above Peter's champagne glass at the wedding reception. Through morning rounds, clinic, lecture, and a session of Operative Surgery on the Cadaver, he tempered his impatience to return to the morgue at Bellevue Hospital.

Even now in the operating theater, when he should be savoring the honor of standing at the table rather than sitting on an observation bench with his fourth-year classmates, he was beset with agitation --- fearing he would once again fail to reach the morgue before it closed. The preceding thyroid resection had taken Dr. Weir longer than expected, and Dr. Mullenix was not able to start the appendectomy case until midafternoon.

As he held one side of the abdominal incision open with a retractor, Anders' eyes reflexively followed the motions of Mullenix's and the resident's hands. Another theory was brewing in his mind --- yesterday he had added the Cornelissens to his list of suspects. Could Ondine's aunt have had a more specific motive for dispatching Peter: a spiteful checkmate of Ondine's gambit to circumvent her authority?

But --- the aunt wouldn't have known about Peter's true financial status (would she?); as far as she would have known, the outcome of killing Peter would have been to leave Ondine a wealthy, independent widow --- hardly a miserable fate. If punishing the girl had been Mrs. Cornelissen's motive, then she must have believed her niece truly loved Van der Veen.

Clearly --- as he previously hypothesized --- Mrs. Cornelissen would have required the assistance of an accomplice: most likely one of the waiters. Money was no object, of course --- if it was money that had persuaded the assassin. What had become of the accomplice in this theoretical scenario? Would it be possible to obtain from the Astoria Hotel the names of the staff who had served during the Cornelissen - Van der Veen wedding?

He shook his head inwardly. That was a tall order --- a wedding of 600 guests no doubt necessitated dozens of waiters. And it was a year ago. Even if he were able to review such a list of employees, would any name on it mean anything to him? Unlikely. Nonetheless, it still might be worth pursuing.

"Evidently, Mr. Røkke has no interest in suturing."

Anders' attention snapped back to his present circumstances. Dr. Mullenix's voice had a teasing note, but his face bore a puzzled expression.

"I'm sorry, sir?" Anders flushed in embarrassment.

"I asked if you would like to close the skin. But if that doesn't suit your mood, Dr. Hale here would be happy to do it."

"Of course, sir. I would be honored to suture the skin."

Mullenix nodded at the nurse, who handed Anders a needle forceps. The brief look the surgeon and resident exchanged did not escape his attention, and he applied himself renewed diligence, demonstrating his suturing and hand tying skills. To his relief, Mullenix observed him with a satisfied expression.

Following the operation, the resident accompanied the patient back to the ward while Dr. Mullenix beckoned Anders. "Come with me to speak to the patient's family." Washing their hands and donning their suit jackets, they proceeded to the waiting room where Anders stood respectfully aside as the surgeon apprised the patient's wife and children of the successful operation and answered their questions.

He stole a glance at a clock on the wall --- it was a quarter till five. They still needed to round on the patients before he could head for Bellevue Hospital.

Soon enough, they were walking to the ward, at which point Mullenix turned to him. "I've been hearing some curious chatter about you, Anders."

He felt an immediate nervous pang. "In what regard, sir?"

"Some of the residents and faculty feel your work is not up to its usual snuff." The corner of Mullenix's mouth rose. "That's the problem with setting an extraordinary precedent --- people look at you askance when you perform only satisfactorily."

Anders opened his mouth but found himself at a loss for words.

"You're the top man in your class, if not in the medical college. You've striven and sacrificed for three years now --- don't let your investment be put asunder in the home stretch by a pretty face."