October Challenge, Day 8

Upstate New York, 1923

The cold, crisp late October air hit Nathan Jacob Lydecker in the face as he stepped out of his ornate mansion and onto the marble and granite porch. The police did not wish to question him inside, fearing that some associates of the thieves stayed behind.
“Do you know of anyone that would want to steal the painting?” an officer asked. Franklin Harrison had joined the Schenectady police when he returned from the Great War, a sergeant that had seen far too much death, but still had a calling to help his fellow man.
“No,” the businessman and heir to part of the American Locomotive Factory Works answered quickly. It was the truth: No one’s name came up when he was looking for it.

“Are you sure? This looks like it was done with military precision.”


Lydecker cocked his head at the law officer. “What do you mean?”
“Come with me,” Harrison said. He walked further down the porch, away from the front door and stairs, away from ears that may be associated with the crime.

Feeling comfortable, Harrison spoke, “The timing of the lights being turned off, the removal of the painting from your study quickly, the getaway done fast. It all smelled of the military.” The police officer bent down and whispered. “Again Mr. Lydecker, has there been talk of anyone else?”

He thought for a moment, remembered if there were names brought up as Lydecker searched for the painting, paid money to museum officials and art professors for information. He remembered two names; one another wealthy man from Boston, the other a local family with claims to the painting itself.

“Turner and Van Rossum,” Lydecker said. “A professor told me that Ian Turner had made inquiries among the art educators.”
Harrison wrote down the name. “What about the Van Rossums? I’ve heard of them; know them to be fairly close-knit.”

“A museum docent in New York City informed me that the head of the family, Ardent, was claiming he and his kin had rights to the painting, since it was done on their land. The docent disagreed with him, though, said that the painter himself, and therefore his family, had the true rights to it.”

Before the cop could ask further questions, another came up and interrupted. “Sir, there’s a disturbance in the back.”
“Where?” Lydecker asked.

“In the kitchen. Some of the staff are holding someone, says he doesn’t belong there.”

“Follow me,” the businessman said, answering the unasked question.


“What’s this all about?” Harrison asked, entering the kitchen.

“We found this man hiding in the pantry,” a cook said. “He doesn’t belong here.”

“He’s not part of the party staff either,” a maid added. “I’ve not seen him around before.”

Harrison walked up to the man, dressed in a cook’s outfit. He had a bloodied lip and a bruise was beginning to show under his left eye. “Who are you?”

The man spit on the cop’s shoe and smiled. He appeared to start to talk, but was stopped with a slap to the face by one of the help.
“Get him back to the station,” Harrison said to the other police. The staff pushed the intruder away.


“I thought you had this all planned,” Ardent Van Rossum said from the back of his Cadillac.

The man dressed in black tried to look away, tried to hide his eyes from his employer. He had a plan to steal the painting himself this night, too, had hired several men and women to infiltrate the party. At midnight, the plan was to start, but now, it could not happen. Someone else beat him to it.

“None of my people, none of those I paid off, said anything about another team looking to steal the painting.”
“Not good enough,” the older man snapped. “I paid far too much money, invested too much time in this endeavor for it not to end as I had anticipated.”

“What’s so important about this painting?” the man asked.

“An answer you’ll never know.” Van Rossum exited the large car as two men entered, keeping the hired thief between him. Two muffled shots informed him that the failure was dealt with swiftly.