“What did you find?”
“There’s a file about an inch thick on Moss Sampson. He was every bit the brute that Dunhill made him out to be. Supposedly, he killed two guys down in Mississippi who molested one of his girlfriends, then spent ten years in the pen, where he became an ordained minister before his release. He moved up to Boston and lived with some relatives. He worked a couple of odd jobs before the Delphic hired him.”
“But why would a club like the Delphic hire someone like Sampson?”
“Nothing in the file explained that,” Dalton said. “Just said he worked there fifteen years, then left.”
“When did he leave?”
“About two years after the Abbott case.”
“Did the cops talk to him about Abbott?”
“Five different times. He never deviated from his story.”
“What did he say?”
“He wasn’t in the Delphic on Halloween. He spent the night at home with one of his cousins. They were playing cards and drinking. He didn’t know anything about a break-in, and he never met anyone by the name of Erasmus Abbott.”
“Did they believe him?”
“One of the investigators had his doubts, but the cousin verified Sampson’s alibi. Said he beat Sampson for about three dollars, then they went to bed.”
“So maybe Dunhill didn’t see Sampson in that window,” I said.
“No, I think he did,” Dalton said. “I think Sampson panicked about everything and lied to the cops.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Because they also talked to one of the cousin’s girlfriends, who said that Sampson wasn’t acting like himself for a couple of weeks. He was quiet and avoiding people. She also said that she had spent Halloween night with the cousin and Sampson didn’t come home until early the next morning. She remembers waking up to the sound of him running bathwater.”
“Did the cops follow up on her story?” I asked.
“They couldn’t. The next day, she and the cousin were found dead on the wharf, a gunshot to each of their heads. They found twenty-five thousand dollars in cash in the cousin’s pockets.”
“That’s a ton of money,” I said.
“Especially back then. The detectives couldn’t figure out why the killer didn’t take the money. It was practically falling out of his pockets.”
“The killer was after something other than money.”
“And that’s where the case went cold.”
15
LUNCH AT THE Delphic couldn’t have gone better. I met three new members, all with three names each, but who seemed curiously familiar with my background. We ate in a large room in the basement that had been supplied with enough expensive china and glassware to serve a state dinner. Two staff members who seemed as old as the club itself waited on us the entire time, continually filling our wineglasses and attending to every other need that hadn’t even crossed my mind. We heard courageous stories of hiking in the Himalayas and white-water rafting in Nepal, mixed with the recounting of late-night escapades into the dormitories of Wellesley College. It was made crystal clear that the Delphic brethren were men of the world whose physical and intellectual brawn were matched only by their voracious sexual appetites.
Later that afternoon, I could feel the tension as I walked into the gym. The early birds were practicing free throws and jumping rope, Coach Beasley’s office was dark, and the assistants weren’t out chatting up the team as they usually did before the start of practice. Our little fan club of four old men who usually sat on the bleachers near the front door was absent for the second day in a row. The blood had been cleaned up, and the floor had been waxed and buffed to a shine. I walked into the locker room and saw Mitch sitting in front of his locker with his street clothes on, talking to Geilton. It was obvious he wasn’t going to practice with us today.
“I’ve already talked to my dad about it,” Mitch was saying. “He was upset that I only had a chance to hit him once.”
“Coach’s pride is hurt more than anything else,” Geilton said. “Just give it some time, and I’m sure this will all blow over.”
“Someone said I might have to go in front of the Ad Board,” Mitch said.
The Ad Board was Harvard’s disciplinary committee, which handled everything from academic violations like plagiarism to charges of sexual misconduct. They make the recommendation to the dean’s office of what penalties should be meted out for the offense.
“I wouldn’t worry about that,” I said. “Coach pushed you first. I don’t think he wants to take this any further. Technically, he assaulted you.”
“That’s what has my father so pissed,” Mitch said. “He wanted to fly up here and talk to President Bok but I convinced him to sit cool for a while.”
“Good idea,” I said. “Let the dust settle. It’ll be good for everyone. Who’s running practice today?”
“Zimowski,” Geilton said. “Coach had some work done on his mouth this morning and is still loopy from the medication.”
Mitch grabbed his gym bag and got up to leave.
“Did they say when you could come back?” I asked.
“I’m meeting with him tomorrow morning,” Mitch said.
“Hey, look on the bright side,” I said. “If basketball doesn’t work out, you could always join the boxing team.”
It was probably the first time Mitch had smiled since the now infamous punch.
* * *
PRACTICE WAS RELATIVELY uneventful, and everyone went out of their way not to mention what had happened between Mitch and Coach. Zimowski took it easy on us, letting us scrimmage most of the day and releasing us fifteen minutes early. I made it back to the dining hall before the kitchen was closed, hoping to find Ashley, but no luck. So, I grabbed a plate of turkey with mac and cheese and headed back to my room.
Percy’s door was closed, but I could hear him with Hartman running up and down the scale, then belting out one of their show tunes. I put my dinner in the microwave, poured myself a tall glass of sweetened iced tea I’d smuggled out of the dining hall, and stretched out on the couch. Just as I turned on the TV, the phone rang.
It was Dalton. “We’ve got a problem,” he said.
“What?”
“I just got a call from Uncle Randolph’s secretary. He wants to know if I removed anything from the house when I was there last, and if so, I’m to return it immediately. Uncle Randolph was very upset that something special was missing from his study.”
“I thought you said your uncle barely knew his own name,” I said. “How in the world could he know that you had taken the box?”
“Beats the hell outta me, but we have to return it.”
“We?” I said.
“You and me, Spense. I took the damn thing for us.”
“I can’t go down to New York,” I said. “I’m way behind in Mettendorf’s class and there’s a paper due next week. Plus, I have basketball practice.”
“Missing one day of classes isn’t gonna kill you,” Dalton said. “And we’ll be back in time for your practice. I give you my word.”
I sat there for a minute, thinking of the trouble I’d be in if I didn’t make it back in time for practice. Coach would spit fire. After the incident with Mitch, he’d be looking for any reason to explode. But missing a day of classes wouldn’t be the end of the world.
“Your uncle doesn’t even know who I am,” I said.
“Doesn’t matter. I could use your company. The drive’s pretty long.”
“How long?”
“About four hours each way. If we leave at five in the morning, return the box, and get back on the road, we’ll be back here by two. You guys have late practice this week, right? So, you’ll be back in more than enough time.”
“I’ll go on one condition,” I said.
“What’s that?”
“You keep the needle under eighty.”
“C’mon, Spense, at least give me eighty-five.”
“Why do I always let you talk me into this
crazy shit?”
* * *
WE BURNED OUT of Cambridge a little after five the next morning and arrived at the gates of the Wild Winds Estate in just over three hours. Dalton pressed the intercom button on the post, gave his name, and the tall wrought-iron gate with two mounted cameras slowly rolled back. We must’ve driven for another five minutes along a curvy road that carried us through a forest, over a lake, and across a meadow that was as large as any park I had ever seen in my life. I thought we had mistakenly entered a wildlife preserve.
“Is this his property?” I asked.
“Pretty amazing, isn’t it?” Dalton said. “It’s the largest tract of private land in all of New York. At the turn of the century, his father bought it from some railroad tycoon who used it as a country home. Wait till you see the actual house.”
We drove another minute or so through a heavily wooded area that opened suddenly onto a clearing. A monstrous structure rose up behind a row of tall hedges. Gothic towers, stone archways, peaked windows, pointed turrets, and pinnacled roofs. It was a massive stone castle.
“The views from the second-floor terraces are insane,” Dalton said. “Now you can see why this was my favorite house to visit when I was a kid. Every room was a new adventure, and Uncle Randolph and Aunt Teddy would set up all kinds of stuff for me like rock-collecting expeditions and treasure hunts. I never wanted to leave this place.”
Dalton pulled around the circular gravel driveway. By the time we reached the top step of the staircase, the doors were already opened. An old tank of a woman with curly white hair and stubby fingers stood there with a crooked but warm smile lighting up her circular face. She wore a light blue dress with a large white apron that had smudge marks along the hemline.
“Good to see you, Master Winthrop,” she said in a thick brogue. “What a beautiful morning for a drive, eh?”
“Couldn’t be better, Muriel,” Dalton said, stepping inside. “This is a friend of mine from college, Spenser Collins.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Master Collins,” she said with a short bow of her head. “Would the two of you like a bit of breakfast?”
“Unfortunately, we can’t stay that long,” Dalton said. “We have to get back to Cambridge right away. We just came down to see Uncle Randolph for a few minutes. He’s expecting us.”
“You picked a good day,” Muriel said. “He’s really been doing well this past week. Even left his room yesterday for a short trip around the gardens.”
“Where is he now?” Dalton asked.
“Finishing up breakfast in his room,” Muriel said.
Dalton gave the old woman a peck on the cheek and said, “Good seeing you again, Muriel, and thanks for looking after Uncle Randolph. You know he thinks the world of you.”
“If you change your minds about breakfast, there’s plenty of food in the kitchen,” she said. “Axel can put together anything you’d like.”
I followed Dalton through a maze of large, drafty hallways with their Venetian tiled floors and soaring domed ceilings. We passed several uniformed men and women, most of whom called Dalton by name as they dusted and polished the antique furnishings. We approached the west wing of the house and entered a foyer with a grand marble staircase. A short walk down a carpeted hallway, and we arrived at two ornate steel doors that were slightly ajar.
Dalton knocked on one of the doors, then pushed it open. There on an enormous four-poster bed in front of a tall stained-glass window sat Randolph Winthrop. A young black woman was sitting by his side, arranging the food on his tray. She offered us a timid smile and went on pouring milk in his cereal bowl. Uncle Randolph looked up when we entered, but he didn’t seem to recognize Dalton until we were standing next to the bed. I quickly took in the room. Gilt-framed paintings hung on the dark walls, and several slip-covered couches and chairs had been scattered about on ornamental Persian rugs. One entire wall was covered with a religious mural while the ceiling had been layered in shiny gold leaf. Several sculptures rested in lighted wall niches, and a row of male busts was perched high up along the far wall overlooking the room.
Uncle Randolph looked like he belonged in this room, ancient and withered, his translucent skin exposing a tangled network of blood vessels. He had a smattering of white hair around his oblong cranium, and dry lips that were slightly open. He moved his head with great effort, and seeing the pained expression on his face even made me wince.
“How are you, Uncle Randolph?” Dalton said. “I hope you don’t mind that I brought a friend of mine with me. He’s a Harvard man too.” The mention of Harvard brought a glimmer of a smile to the old man’s craggy face.
He reached up and grabbed the napkin from his shirt collar and pointed at the woman to take the tray and leave the room. When she had left and closed the door, he motioned for us to take a seat on the chairs next to the bed.
Uncle Randolph wiggled the hearing aid in his right ear and said, “Good to see you, Dalty. Who is your friend?”
“His name is Spenser Collins,” Dalton said. “He’s from Chicago. Class of ’91. Lowell House.”
“Good to meet you, Spenser,” Uncle Randolph said, extending his frail hand. “You look like a basketball player.” He lifted his hands up as if taking a shot, and I was afraid the motion might knock him over. “I haven’t been to the Windy City in many years,” he said. “One of my investment partners lived there. We always enjoyed sailing on Lake Michigan. What a great town.”
“I couldn’t agree more, sir,” I said. “Chicago is one of the country’s greatest cities. And better yet, home of the White Sox and Chicago Bulls.”
Uncle Randolph smiled with great effort.
“I got the message that you wanted to see me,” Dalton said. “Your secretary told me that it was urgent.”
Uncle Randolph turned to Dalton, and his expression grew serious. “Indeed, it is,” he said. “We need to have a talk, Dalty. I think you might have something of mine that you took without asking.”
Dalton reached into his bag and pulled out the small wooden box with the diamond garter. “Forgive me, Uncle Randolph,” he said. “I meant to return it sooner. I’ll put it back in your study right away.”
Uncle Randolph looked at me, then back at Dalton. “I think it’s best we have this conversation in private,” he said.
I took my cue and left the room. I found a chair at the end of the hallway near a window and sat down. The views were spectacular. A blanket of green treetops descended into the valley, and the mist rose off the Hudson River stretching into the horizon. Sitting there gazing over the estate, I couldn’t help but wonder how one family could amass so much money and grow accustomed to living in such excess. I knew all about the Winthrop fortune and how they had accumulated their vast riches, but it wasn’t until I was sitting there in that quiet hallway overlooking the spectacular property full of water fountains, rock gardens, and leafy meadows, that I fully appreciated the magnitude of the family’s wealth.
Minutes later, I heard the creaking of the heavy steel doors. Dalton poked his head out of the bedroom and waved for me to come back.
“What’s going on?” I said.
“He wants you to come in and hear this,” Dalton whispered. “Play it cool. I think we might’ve hit the jackpot, Spense.”
Uncle Randolph was now reclining in his bed, his emaciated body enveloped by the wide silk sheets. Light trickled in through the stained-glass window, making him look like a sacrifice on an altar. Dalton and I pulled up two chairs next to him.
“I want you to do exactly as I say,” Uncle Randolph said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Go over to that wall over there.” He pointed his curved finger across the room. “Lift up the bust of my grandfather. Be careful, it’s very heavy. It will take both of you to do it. Underneath it, you’ll find a small door. Open it and take out the key inside.”
Dalton and I walked across the room and did as we had been instructed. Neither of us could’ve lifted the bust alone. Dalton grabbed the small
gold key and we walked back to the bed.
“That key belongs to a safe-deposit box at the Union State Bank in Tarrytown,” Uncle Randolph whispered. “Tell Muriel to give you a tote bag. Put the key and the garter box in the tote bag, then go to the bank. When you get there, ask for Mr. Tippendale, the manager. Be certain you deal only with him. He’ll be expecting you. He’ll escort you to the deposit box. Make sure he leaves the vault before you open the box. This is very important, Dalty. No one can see what you’re putting into the box or taking out.”
Uncle Randolph put his head back on the pillows and pursed his lips as he struggled to catch his breath. When his breathing had slowed, he continued with the instructions. “When you take out the safe-deposit box, there will be a small blue book in it. Take the book and put it in the tote bag so that no one can see what you’re carrying out of the bank. Put the jewelry box just as it is inside the deposit box, then lock it back up.”
“What should I do with the book?” Dalton said.
“Bring it directly back to me. But don’t dare open it.”
Dalton nodded.
“I’m very serious, Dalty,” Uncle Randolph said firmly, lifting his head off the pillow. “You must never open that book. You’ve already seen a lot more than is good for you.”
“What’s so important about this book?” Dalton asked.
Uncle Randolph waved his hand for Dalton to come to him. When Dalton was by his side, he put his hand behind Dalton’s neck and said, “No more questions, Dalty. I’m trying to protect the two of you and correct the mistakes you’ve already made. Do exactly as I’ve instructed and never tell a soul, not even your father. Give me your word, Dalty.”
Dalton made the sign of the cross over his chest, saying, “You have my word.”
Then Uncle Randolph looked in my direction and said, “I need a few minutes alone with Spenser.”
Dalton and I looked at each other. “You want to speak to Spenser alone?” Dalton said.
Uncle Randolph nodded firmly.
Dalton shrugged his shoulders, then quickly slipped out of the room and closed the doors behind him.
The Ancient Nine Page 16