The Taking of Adam Cornelisz

It's beautiful country-side out there, isn't it? Yes, this train ride is always one of my favorites. It's so peaceful to watch the forest roll by, almost untouched by human hands. In fact, the only signs of life at all out there are the rails underneath us and the... no, I'm sorry, my ears must be deceiving me. For a moment, I thought I heard the cry of a child, but that couldn't be, could it? Or... could it have been little Adam Cornelisz? What? You haven't heard of him? Well... It was rather a long time ago.

It was never a question that... things... happened in those mountains that cut between New York and the smaller states of New England. Geographically, they separated Schenectady from Springfield, but they were a cultural barrier too. The rich, high-class New York set looked down their noses at their more rural cousins even as they lived off their backs. That's why when he first disappeared-- No, no, I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me start at the beginning.

It was 1935, and the old Dutch family Cornelisz was still a very well-known name. Four state representatives, two senators, and more than a few generations of local clergymen had come from the family. Still, the Corneliszes wanted more, and in 1935, Jacob Cornelisz, the pater of the family then, threw his hat into the ring for President.

To celebrate, he threw a party in January of that year for his friends, family, and most prestigious supporters. (By prestigious, I mean of course those that filled his coffers the most.) They all came out to his huge estate out on the north face of Greylock Mountain, and to all accounts, a wonderful time was had by all.

A few stayed on for a few days after the party: Agathe D'Aurevilly, the artist -- you may have heard of her and her hauntingly beautiful paintings. Why just last week, I was in the Met late at night and I could swear that her Ghost in the Dark followed me around the room. Leviticus Lawson was there too with a friend, a journalist of some kind, if I recall correctly; he was a second cousin -- Leviticus that is -- and he was quite important later in the -- yes, I know, I'm rambling again.

Anyway, on the third day, the baby disappeared. Taken as some would say later. And that's where this story begins...

It's mid-evening when you're called into the sitting room by Colonel Ellis.

Those who'd been in the house, knew that he was an old family friend, and the one who Jacob Cornelisz asked to look for his son, not wanting any publicity around the case for obvious reasons. The Colonel was about sixty, sporting long, white mustaches and a severe crew-cut that was still just as orderly as it probably ever had been.

Those who'd been called in had just finished driving up the perilous mountainside road that cut a slender zig-zag into the trees. It had been snowing off and on for a week now, and when they got close to the house, the fog began to close around them, making them very thankful for their driver and escort, the local police chief, Smith, a portly, mostly forgettable man, if not for the strange scar he sported that ran from one ear to the other under his chin.

As they all gathered, Chief Smith and Colonel Ellis shared a glance, and then the Colonel harrumphed, which inevitably meant he was about to speak. "We're all here then. Good. I uh... Well, that is, Mr. Cornelisz would like you all to uh... assist me in finding out what happened to little Adam. I'm sure I don't need to remind you what happened a few years ago to the Lindberghs. What a tragedy that was... Anyway, we mean to prevent that if we can. You who were here in the house, we need you to recall anything you can and be eyes and ears for the investigators, and for them, we need your help... Please. You'll have our full cooperation. It's just that once word of this gets out it will be a disaster, I know it. We don't -- the Corneliszes don't need that."

He stopped there, waiting to judge reactions by the look of things.

I pull out a notepad and my lucky pen. What was this child's name again? Alex? Andrew? Something like that. I ask, scratching my face with my pen.

"Just call him Junior. He's got the same name as his dad," said the thuggish looking investigator you knew as Tony.

Tony turned back to the colonel and asked, "Can you tell us the last place the child was seen and who it was that saw him?"

Some would accuse Miss D'Aurevilly of rudeness: She sluggishly looks around with disinterestedness and even yawns after the Colonel ends his plead. Her hair, half-tugged inside a silky headscarf, was still messy; her dress was also somewhat risky, especially considering that she found herself in a room full of men - Though those that know her, the Colonel, for example, are aware that she tends to go for utterly decadent rather than somewhat risky. She had just gotten up, however, and her head was still hurting from a terrible headache from the night before. It didn't show. Yet, she is worried for the little boy that had disappeared. Even though she didn't have any special bond with him - He called her creepy once -, his family had done so much for the Dilettante.

"I always preferred to call him Little Adam". Says Ms D'Aurevilly, a nostalgic and amoral smile appearing in her face. Her eyes settle on the Colonel, but she's not quite looking at him. "Like a moth in a sea of murk, you seek the brightness. You've done a wise thing, Colonel, coming to us. After all. . . What can the shinning do but to bright?" She lets out a wistful giggle, just like she had told an old joke.

"You're also quite right" She pauses for more than an awkward second. " The Cornelisz burn the brightest. They've helped this little Firefly many times." She stops again, now reorganizing her thoughts. "My evening was one full of drinks and chatter, arms in arms with Ms. Cornelisz. I remember some of my pictures. Frankly... Details are rather foggy. They say alcohol makes your flames burn stronger, but... I most likely separated my person from her at some point, and yet, at this moment, I cannot recall anything useful... Perhaps if you ask the right questions?" She listens to the Detective without acknowledging his presence, but do add. "Yes. Details of Little Adam's disappearance may bring us clarity."

Well, you see, I spent most of my evening in the kitchen, don't care too much for the rich and famous, unless I'm allowed to take their pictures, see. Anyway, I was enjoying some of those pieces of celery stuffed with crab meat and talking to the staff. Nothing out of the ordinary in the kitchens. I say all of this, while simultaneously writing it down my self. Adding a little bit of flavor text to my own writing Too much paprika on the smoked salmon...

"And what about Olga? Did she disappear too?" Tony seems only slightly self conscious about being an outsider.

I’d like to see his room. Maybe there are some clues.

Carson stands in a corner near a window, silently. He fiddles with a lighter in his hand. Carefully looking the room over. If he has learned one thing in his time as a detective it's that people reveal more through their attitudes and body language than they ever did in conversation.

Mr. Farganello seems to at least know what questions to ask, and the journalist has direction which is good, but there's too much family and too many emotions in the room to trust anyone else for now.... He thinks to himself.

He steps up to the large man who just entered the room, looks him up and down and asses the physical risk the man might pose to him if he became violent.

He tips his at upwards to reveal his eyes and stretches out a hand, "Mr. Cornelisz? Detective Carson, NYPD. I apologize if we stepped into something uncomfortable for you, but I am here to help, I promise you that. If you'd be so kind to show me the way, I'd like to see the room where the child was last seen as my journalistic friend here mentioned."

I look into the room, not closely but just in general. Hoping to get a sense for the room.

Oh sorry as I take a step back. You want me to come with you I can do that, sure. Have you found anything out? I look at the four doors, I am thinking why did he stop at the one. Shall we go in? What's in there?