Mike added his historical military details. “The tribute to the two hundred sixty sailors who perished in Havana when the Maine exploded in the harbor, sparking the Spanish-American War?”
“That’s more than I knew about it,” Mia said.
The oversized memorial dominated the southwest entrance to the Park and was a striking landmark for New Yorkers. High atop the two-story base was a gilded figure of a triumphant Columbia-the quasi-mythical name given to female figures representing America-leading her chariot of horses and sea creatures.
“Was Dalton’s copy of the memorial gilded, too?” I asked.
“Twenty-four-carat gold leaf.”
“That must have been a standout.”
“In the case of Archer Dalton,” Mia said, “all that glittered was indeed gold.”
“And Lavinia,” Mike asked. “Did she have a favorite?”
“She adored the Carousel, of course. Each of the horses was decorated in vibrant colors, like the ones in the Park, with enamel. And they actually moved up and down as the piece spun around.
“But Lavinia loved the Bethesda angel best, she told me when we were spending time together planning the exhibit.”
I didn’t know whether to be surprised by the coincidence of a body found near the angel or to accept that the magnificent figure was a natural to be anyone’s favorite.
“She liked to play near the Lake and the fountain when she was a child. And that early stubborn feminist streak in her enjoyed the fact that the statue, designed by Emma Stebbins, represented the first time a woman was commissioned to create a major piece for New York City in the nineteenth century.”
“I so want to meet Lavinia,” I said. “I hope there’s a spark of her spirit left.”
“You must ask to see the angel when you go to visit,” Mia said. “Archer insisted on placing jewels in the figure’s eyes. He stopped short at sapphires, but there are blue topaz or some semiprecious stones that bring the sculpture to life. Almost haunting, in fact.”
“You mentioned calling her nurses and lawyer. What about her family? Isn’t there family?” I asked.
“It’s a terribly sad story, Alex. But there is no family.”
“She never had children?”
“When Lavinia was nineteen, she eloped with an Englishman-a viscount, in fact-who had all the charm in the world, and his title, but absolutely no money. Within a year, Lavinia had become pregnant, and the viscount had managed to have her move a fair amount of money into his name. But he had also fallen in love with a stage actress, very scandalous in those days. He abandoned Lavinia, and she came home to her father. She also took back the Dalton name and raised her son as Archer Dalton the third.”
“What became of him?”
“Lavinia raised Archer by herself till he went off to Groton and Yale. He actually married and divorced twice, then lived the bachelor life for while, before settling down for the third time with a young woman Lavinia was very fond of-a terrifically bright Vassar grad-and they had a baby girl together a couple of years later. They went off on a ski trip to Chamonix, leaving the child at home with Lavinia and the nanny. The small plane they’d chartered to fly in from Paris crashed in the Alps. Archer and his wife were killed instantly.”
“That’s tragic,” I said. “I’m almost afraid to ask about the baby.”
“I know it happened before you were born,” Mia said, “but surely you’ve heard of the Dalton kidnapping case? 1971?”
“Baby Lucy?” Mike said. “That’s this Dalton family?”
“That story was as big in its day as the Lindbergh kidnapping was in 1932,” I said. “Was it ever solved?”
One round of waiters was removing the salad plates while a second group behind them placed the dinners in front of each of us.
Mia shook her head. “I was a teenager when Lucy disappeared, and I don’t think there were parents in New York who didn’t clamp down on their kids, no matter their age or how rich or poor they were. The child was snatched right out of her home, so it seemed.”
“Out of the Dakota?” I asked. “The place looks like a fortress.”
“Charlie Lindbergh was taken out of a second-story window in a country house with no other homes around for miles. How the hell do you get someone out of the Dakota?” Mike asked. “Did Lavinia ever talk to you about it?”
Mia Schneider reached for her wineglass. “Once, Mike. Only once. Before I went to meet with her I had my office pull up all the clippings about the case. I got to know the story pretty well, although I had no intention of bringing it up. One day we were having lunch at the apartment, in the dining room overlooking the Park, and Lavinia asked me if I knew-if I remembered-the story of Baby Lucy.”
We were both riveted on Mia as she recounted the crime.
“The child had just celebrated her third birthday at the end of May, and this happened a week or two later. Lavinia had gone out for the day, but when she came home and went into the nursery to see Lucy, the room was empty.”
“Weren’t there servants?” Mike asked.
“Too many of them. The driver had been with Lavinia, of course. There was a cook, a laundress, two housemaids, a butler, a secretary, and two nannies. One of them had put Lucy down for her nap, and when she went in to check on her an hour later, the child wasn’t in her bed.”
“What did she do?”
“Nothing. For three hours she did nothing, which gave someone a pretty good head start.”
“Why?” I asked. “How could that be?”
“Because it had become fairly common, when Lucy woke up, for her to go into the kitchen to get a snack from the cook, or follow the laundress around, or put a little apron on and help the housemaid dust the big empty rooms day after day. There were staff quarters one flight above, and I’m told children used to love playing there on rainy days. Lavinia loved all the attic spaces as a child, she used to say. I’m sure Lucy was no stranger there either.”
“Poor little rich girl. It sounds like the staff thought she was just in some other part of the apartment,” I said.
“The entire eighth floor of the Dakota, Alex,” Mia said, stretching her arms out to either side. “More than twenty rooms, with more ways in and out than in an amusement park funhouse. Staircases and elevators for the residents, and other sets just for the servants. Staff quarters, as I said, mostly all above the apartment, on the ninth floor of the building. A gym and a playroom under the roof, and croquet lawns and tennis courts behind the building.”
“And then there’s Central Park out in front. You’d hardly have to force a child to want to go into the Park,” Mike said. “Most of the servants must have been suspects.”
“All of them were. Their families, their boyfriends and girlfriends, too. Even the staff in the rest of the building-doormen, handymen, janitors. But Lavinia refused to fire any of them unless they were charged with the crime, which never happened. I think one of the housemaids and the social secretary are still with her today.”
“Charlie Lindbergh’s body was found a couple of months after the kidnapping,” Mike said. “Dumped in the woods not very far from where he was taken, if I’m right.”
“Yes,” I said. “A blow to his skull, possibly from being dropped when the guys were trying to carry him down the ladder.”
“But Lucy was never found, was she?” he asked Mia.
“Never. Not a trace.”
“Ransom notes, like Lindbergh?”
“Lavinia told me that was one of the most painful parts of the case. Because she was so wealthy, all kinds of lowlifes jumped in and began to demand money for Lucy’s return. Vultures of every sort.”
“Did the police deal with them?” I asked.
“She had great respect for the way the NYPD handled the case. They ran down every lead, although the detectives and the FBI agents involved never believed it was the work of strangers. It would have been too hard to penetrate the Dakota, and too unlikely not to encounter one of the staff inside the apartment, as vast as it is.”