"That had nothing to do with it."
"And the louder you say that, the more the press will suggest that it did. So will most of their readers."
"I don't believe that. I've always had a good relationship with the press."
"Oh, Eliot, how naive can you possibly be?" The Banker pressed his hand against his forehead. "No one has a good relationship with the press. They'll be friendly if there's a story in it, sure. And they'll turn on you in a heartbeat, if there's a story in it. Their only allegiance is to the headline."
"I've made plenty of those for them."
"Which is exactly the problem. In a very real way, you've brought this on yourself."
Ness rose to his feet, his face uncomprehending. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying this is your own fault. You courted the press. You used them to make your name, both in Chicago and here. You gave yourself a high profile. If you were less known, there would be no story. But when a shadow falls on the famed gangbuster, the press circle like vultures."
"I never courted the press. They always came to me."
"Let's not play word games, Eliot. I warned you a long time ago that you had no head for politics. And now politics are going to eat you alive."
"It's this blasted investigation that's eating me. I never wanted it. I tried to avoid it."
"Did you, Eliot? Did you really? Wasn't there even some small part of you that said, Hey, I nabbed Capone. I can bring in this murderer, too?"
"No."
"Did you envision the headlines? The accolades? NESS SAVES CITY FROM THE MAD BUTCHER. That had to be tempting."
"You're totally wrong."
"Maybe you aren't content with the Office of the Safety Director. Maybe you saw this as your ticket to greater things. Maybe you fancied a run for mayor."
"You're barking up the wrong tree."
"Doesn't matter. The important thing is that you drop this business with Sweeney's cousin."
"I've already released him. I don't even know where he is. His lawyer seems to have spirited him away."
"I think it would be best if you offered Congressman Sweeney a formal apology."
"What?"
"I'm not the only one who thinks so. I've talked to the others and they agree."
Ness fell back into his chair. "I don't believe it. You want me to apologize to that man? After everything he's done and said?"
"Doesn't have to be anything formal. Definitely don't put anything down on paper. Just call the man up. Scratch his ears a little bit. Might do more than just smooth over this current kerfuffle. Might work to your advantage in the long run." He paused. "Especially if you have political ambitions."
"I will not apologize to that blowhard."
"Eliot." The Banker leaned against the edge of Ness's desk. "Maybe I need to make myself clearer. This is not merely a request. This is something we want you to do."
"Are you giving me an order?"
"We're asking for a favor. After all we've given you-our support, our money-it seems little enough to give us in return."
"I'm sorry. I won't do it. For all I know, Sweeney's cousin really is the killer."
The Banker sighed heavily, shaking his head. "Then I'm sorry, Eliot. If that's the way you're going to be about it-I'm afraid this is the end of the Unknowns. We're not going to continue to fund an operation that might prove... embarrassing."
"You're scared of Sweeney?"
"We're businessmen, Eliot. Businessmen during the hardest economic crisis this nation has ever faced. We can't afford to get on the wrong side of a congressman."
"I don't believe it."
"Doesn't look to me as if our money has accomplished much anyway. Your man is no closer to solving this case than you are. Nothing personal, Eliot-but I think you should have stayed at the Treasury Department."
"The mayor hired me to clean up this city."
"The mayor hired you because he thought he would get favorable coverage and it would fulfill his promise to be a Reform mayor. But he's been distancing himself, Eliot."
"What?"
"Surely you've noticed. If you'd brought in the killer, fine, he'd reclaim you as his own. But you haven't." He shook his head. "If I were you, I'd start looking for another job. Before it's a necessity."
"I got rid of the crooked cops, the labor racketeers. Brought juvenile crime down to nearly nothing. Reduced traffic fatalities to a tenth what they were. I have been a good safety director!"
"But that isn't the point, is it? When are you going to see that? You're only as good as your last success. And one mistake can erase everything."
Ness's fists clenched. "I have done all I could think of to solve this case."
"Maybe so." The Banker took his hat off the rack. "But as long as people keep on dying, that's not going to be enough."
The Banker left the office without saying another word.
Ness grabbed the phone, furious. The Banker thought he could be fired, after all he'd done? Ridiculous. He'd been a huge plus to the mayor's administration. Accomplished more than all the previous safety directors combined. And he was still following up leads on the Torso Killer. It was only a matter of time...
The operator connected him with the mayor's office.
"Eliot Ness. I need to speak to the mayor. Immediately."
"Just a moment."
The line went silent. About a minute later, the female voice returned.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Ness. The mayor isn't able to speak with you right now."
"When will he be able to speak to me?"
"The mayor was unable to give me a time."
"Well, look at his calendar. When will he be free?"
There was a moment of hesitation. "I don't think he's ever going to be free... for you, Mr. Ness."
"What the heck does that mean?" Ness said, practically shouting into the phone.
She cleared her throat. "I believe it means that the mayor doesn't wish to speak to you."
"But I need to talk to him!"
"I'm afraid that won't be possible."
"Just tell him that I-"
The line disconnected in midsentence.
Ness threw the receiver down so hard it bounced against the cradle and flew off the side of his desk. What had happened? How had the world turned upside down so quickly? All he did was interrogate a man he thought might be the killer. What was wrong with these people?
He was breathing hard and fast, barely able to catch his breath, sweating profusely. What was happening? He'd stayed cool when the moonshiners were after him with their squirrel guns, but now he was getting palpitated by these bankers and politicians.
He glanced at his watch. It was past dinnertime.
Edna. Good grief-for a while there he'd thought their relationship was improving. But since Merylo brought him Sweeney...
How many days had it been since he'd spoken to her, much less come home? He couldn't even remember.
He should go see her, now. There was no point in staying here. He had nothing to do and any more work on this case might blow up in his face. He'd go home and see Edna and make up for all the time spent apart while he tried to make the city better for these ungrateful people. He'd call her right now and tell her he was heading home.
He placed the call. The phone rang. No answer.
He let it ring ten times. Still no answer.
Where could she possibly be this time of night? On a weekday. It didn't make any sense. Unless...
Unless she'd finally done it. Unless she'd had enough and gone and done it.
Without even having a conscious thought, he reached for the bottom desk drawer, pulled it open, and removed the flask.
He sipped at first. The warm liquid coated his throat. He could feel his respiration returning to normal. His breathing was back under control.
He heard Chamberlin approaching seconds before he opened the door. He barely had time to get the flask back in the drawer before he entered.
"Boss?" Chamberlin did a double take. "Are you all right, Eliot?"
"I'm fine. What's up. More bad news?"
"I'm afraid so."
"Am I fired?" he asked, licking his lips.
Chamberlin stared at him, puzzled. "Fired? No. I mean, not that I know of. Is there some reason-?"
"Never mind. What is it?"
"It's... the Torso Murderer, sir."
"Don't tell me he killed another victim."
Chamberlin swallowed. "Two."
"Two?"
"At the same time, sir. Bodies found in Kingsbury, not far from Shantytown. Detective Merylo is already on the scene. Would you like to come?"
"Yes. Of course. I'll be right there. Just give me a minute."
"Of course, sir." Chamberlin closed the door.
Ness opened the bottom desk drawer and poured the entire flask down his throat. Then he grabbed his hat and coat and made his way out the door.
52
Ness stared down at the brown paper mess unearthed in the midst of the trash dump. His lips parted, dry, thick.
"He's getting worse," Ness said quietly. "Not better. Worse."
Merylo laid a hand on his shoulder. "You okay? You seem a little shaky."
"What human being wouldn't be after seeing... that?" Ness wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "Who found it?"
Merylo nodded to his assistant. Zalewski stepped forward. "Man named James Dawson. Scrap and junk dealer. Was sorting through all this, looking for something he could sell."
"Where did this trash come from, anyway? I don't remember a dump being here. They just got Lake Shore Drive finished."
"Most of this refuse was left behind by the Great Lakes Exposition. There were plans to cart it somewhere, but it never happened. Dawson was rooting around, looking for iron, and he saw flies buzzing around a pile of rocks. Looked a little closer and saw a coat sticking out. Moved a few rocks-and found this."
Ness peered down at the mound again. "He called the police?"
"Yes, but word leaked out. There was a crowd here before the police arrived. We've been trying to contain them, but the mob is growing by the minute."
Ness stared out at the teeming throng surrounding the crime scene. He had never seen so many people gathered in one place in Cleveland. According to Merylo, it was larger than the grotesque group of rubberneckers that watched while Victim 6 was pulled out of the lake. And they were angry. He could sense it. Restless. They shouted at the police. Waved fists. Called names. He could not placate them. If anything, Ness thought their anger increased when he emerged onto the scene.
They knew the Butcher had struck again, but they had no idea how horrific the spectacle truly was. And that was a good thing. Beneath the pile of rocks and several large pieces of concrete, a human torso had been wrapped in brown paper. Butcher's paper? Ness wondered. And if so, was that a clue-or the killer's sick idea of a joke? Beneath the torso they found another package, also wrapped in brown paper and held together by a rubber band. It contained the thighs. Five feet away, they found the head, and not far from that, in a brown cardboard box, the arms and lower legs. A thorough search of the dump produced yet another corpse, also dismembered, also wrapped up neatly and efficiently.
Ness looked away, hoping to never look again. "What can you tell me, Dr. Pearce?"
Pearce stepped forward, fingering his wire-rimmed glasses. Ness noticed that in addition to his white suit, he was wearing white buck shoes. Probably hadn't realized he'd be visiting a trash dump when he dressed this morning.
"Not much," Pearce answered, glancing over his shoulder at the mob. "Isn't there some way to cordon them off? They might contaminate the evidence." He lowered his voice. "Or find the next corpse. Before we do."
"We got here too late," Zalewski explained. "They were already all over the site. We pushed them back as far as we could with the available manpower."
"Get more men," Pearce said, then turned his attention back to Ness. "I think one of the torsos belongs to a woman, but these bodies are so badly decomposed I can't be sure about anything."
"How long have they been dead?"
"Months. Perhaps half a year. But I don't think they've been out here that long. They would be in worse shape than they are if they had."
"Then the killer has some place he stores bodies? Till he's ready for us to find them?"
"Seems likely. Maybe he still has some parts hidden away. It would explain why we've found so few heads."
"Why give us heads now?"
"You're asking for a logical explanation," Pearce said. "I doubt if there is one."
"Anything else?"
"The dismemberment appears to be much the same as the others. Head disarticulated at the level of the third intervertebral disk. Knife marks on the dorsum of the second and third cervical vertebrae."
"While they were alive?"
"Most likely. I'll need to run some tests."
"Is he still using that preservative?"
"It's possible. And that could throw off all my estimates about time of death. Until further testing."
"Anything else you can tell me?"
Pearce used his walking stick as a pointer. "Apparently he reads."
Surrounding the gray bodily remains they had also found the usual assortment of tantalizing but ultimately unhelpful items: two burlap bags, a coat, a multicolored quilt, and the March 5 issue of Collier's.
"I want someone to read every word of that magazine," Ness said. "And then explain to me why the killer might have read it. Or left it behind."
Merylo grimaced. "I'll do it. But we won't find anything."
"Don't quit before the job is done."
"This killer is smart. And orderly. He wouldn't leave anything that might be helpful."
"Then why leave anything at all?"