Nemesis: The Final Case of Eliot Ness (11 page)

Merylo felt his chest heaving. That insufferable, uncooperative son-of-

"So what do you think? Did the killer start all this more than a year ago?"

Merylo wrapped his coat tightly around himself. "Of course not. That's absurd. It's just a twisted coincidence."

"Can I quote you on that?"

"Absolutely. The first victims were the ones we found on Kings-bury Run. Now if you'll excuse me, man, I've got some work to do."

Merylo strode away before O'Rourke could protest. He didn't have time to go on jabbering with this flunky. He had too many places to go, people to interview.

Starting with Dr. Arthur Pearce, county coroner.

Robert Chamberlin hunched over Ness 's desk, feeling as tired and frustrated as he ever had in his entire life. He had been an athlete in his younger days, and he still considered himself to be in excellent shape. So he shouldn't be completely tuckered out by forty-five minutes of talking. But he was.

"Sir, are you sure about this? You've got almost three hundred names here. That's a third of the force."

"What surprises you? That there aren't more? We both know the Cleveland police department is rotten to the core."

"But that doesn't mean you can start firing everyone."

"I'm not firing them. Not all of them." Ness pointed to the explanatory lines on the chart. "Most are just suspended, like before. Some are being transferred."

"But-so many!"

"Bob, you know as well as I do that I'll never be able to go after the mob effectively, or the labor racketeers, or anyone else, if there are spies in the department informing them of every move I make."

"But sir-you must see that cutting so many people will stir up animosity in the police department."

Ness leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the desk. "Well, Bob, my general impression is that they're not all that crazy about me over there as it is."

Chamberlin burst out laughing. "You may be right about that."

"I know I am. And I don't blame them. Now, Matowitz is okay- even after that fiasco at The Thomas Club, he's getting better press than he has in his entire career. But the rest of the men, the rank and file. Working hard, day in, day out, walking the beat, paid too little and appreciated even less. And then some out-of-town hotshot sails in and starts stealing all the headlines. No, they have every right to their resentment." He paused. "And I have the right to clean out the dirty ones. Fair's fair."

"Sounds like you've got it figured out."

"Well, I am a college man, you know."

"I believe I've heard the police officers mention that once or twice. And the way you dress. And the way you talk."

"I can't help it if my voice is somewhat high-pitched."

"It isn't that."

"Then what?"

"You really want to know?"

"If I didn't, why would I ask?"

Chamberlin pushed his wire-rims up his nose. "It's the things you say. Gosh. Gee whiz. Holy moley."

"And what's wrong with that?"

"Let's just say that most of the men on the force go in for more colorful expressions."

"That kind of talk is for people who haven't had the education to express themselves more intelligently."

"Be that as it may, it perpetuates your Boy Scout image."

"And what's wrong with being a Boy Scout? Anyway, I want this list of suspended officers on Matowitz's desk before close of business."

"It's your funeral."

"Why did you agree to work with me, Bob? You could've stayed with Chief Matowitz."

"They weren't using me, sir. Not like they should."

"And how should they use you?"

"I'm smart, sir. Not to toot my own horn-"

"I think you already did."

"Well-I don't care. It's true."

"And Chief Matowitz didn't appreciate you?"

"Mostly had me making coffee. Running errands at the five-and-dime." He lowered his head. "Walking his wife's dog."

Ouch. "And you thought you could do more?"

"I-" He swallowed, then started again. "I know why your raid on The Thomas Club failed, sir."

"I know why it failed, too, kid. Frescone and his men had time to hide the gambling paraphernalia."

"It's more than that. From what I've heard, The Thomas Club is very elaborate. They have table games-blackjack and poker and stuff. They have off-track betting. Run a policy game. Roulette. They didn't have time to stash so much stuff, even if they were using lightweight tables with breakaway legs, like some of the parlors do." He paused. "They did, however, have time to move the people."

Ness looked at him levelly. "Huh?"

"The people. Patrons. Much easier to move people than all that equipment."

"Move them from where?"

Chamberlin grabbed a rolled up paper from his briefcase. "May I?"

Ness nodded. Chamberlin spread it across Ness's desk.

"This is an architectural plan of The Thomas Club. At least as it was constructed, thirty years ago, to serve as a warehouse."

"Where in the world did you get this?"

"City Hall. They have to be filed to get a building permit."

Ness rubbed his forehead. "I didn't know that."

"Don't feel bad, sir. Most people don't. But I did. Because-"

"Because you're smart."

Chamberlin averted his eyes. "Yes, sir." He removed two photographs from his briefcase. "These pics were taken by the press about a month ago, inside The Thomas Club."

"That's just like what I saw."

"But compare it to the blueprint, sir. Notice anything strange?"

It only took Ness a moment. "The building is bigger than it looks. Or was."

"That's right. To be specific, what looks like the rear wall, isn't. There must be a passageway somewhere. A hidden door."

Ness immediately grasped what Chamberlin was saying. "There's another room in the back. A hidden room. That's where they do the gambling."

"I-I think so, sir, yes."

Fire lit in Ness's eyes. "So next time, we raid the rear."

"I don't believe it's quite that simple. They reinforced the front door and the skylight. Even if you find the hidden door or doors, I think you have to assume it's reinforced as well."

"Probably doubly reinforced. All right, Bob, this is your operation. How do we get in? Fast enough to catch these crooks in action."

"I have some thoughts on that, sir."

"I figured you did."

"But before I share them, um-could you talk to Chief Matowitz about a full-time appointment? Not just a loan arrangement. I want to work for you."

Ness looked at him sharply. "Have any idea how much work, how many hours, that might involve?"

"Haven't I been out with you every night?"

"Good point. Can you keep your nose clean?"

"Absolutely."

"Got any objection to working days at a time?"

"Not the least."

"Got a wife?"

"Nope."

"Probably better that way. You sure you want to do this?"

"I am, sir. My mother says you're doing God's own work, right here in Cleveland. I want to be a part of that. I want to help you any way I can."

Ness grinned, then slapped Chamberlin on the shoulder. "Then you're on the team, pal. Now tell me how we get into that club."

"Why didn't you tell me about this?"

"There was nothing to tell."

"You're saying another woman bein' butchered is nothing?"

"It happened some time ago. I had no reason to believe there was any connection. Still don't."

"You should've said something."

"You should've known."

Merylo bit down on his lower lip, which prevented him from saying what he was thinking. Pearce had always been an arrogant so-and-so, but now he was interfering with Merylo's ability to do his job, and that was unacceptable. The coroner was supposed to help the team, not hinder it.

"That woman's torso must've been brought to you. How could you forget something like that?"

"I didn't. I simply didn't see a connection. And excuse me, but weren't you on the homicide squad? Why didn't you remember?"

"Because it wasn't reported as a homicide." It was a mistake, meeting Pearce here, in his own inner sanctum. It gave him an edge. A home-team advantage. Should've thought of an excuse to make the good doctor come to him. "They had the idea that it was an accidental death. Boating accident."

"It might have been. The body was too decomposed by the time I got it to draw any definitive conclusions."

"Whether it was or wasn't, that shrimp from the
News
is going to tell people it was. He's going to say this Torso Killer has been running around Cleveland for more than a year and we haven't done anything to stop him."

"I don't see that this is my problem, much less my fault."

Lieutenant Zalewski took a tiny step forward, clearing his throat. Pretty pathetic when your greenhorn assistant has to play peacemaker. "I read your report on the first case, Doctor. The Lady in the Lake. Despite the state of decomposition, you wrote that there was something unusual about the texture of the skin."

"I recall that," Pearce said, fingering his glasses.

"In fact, you wrote that it was possible the body had been exposed to some sort of preservative."

"And your point is?"

"His point is obvious," Merylo barked. "It's the same thing you said about the Kingsbury Run corpses. It makes a strong case for a connection between the murders."

Pearce took a cigarette out of his pocket case and lit it. "Perhaps." He inhaled deeply, then waved it about in the air. Merylo wondered if he used cigarettes as a shield, something to create a barrier between them. "There are other possible explanations. A corpse floating in Lake Erie could be exposed to many corrosive chemicals."

"No one at the
News
is going to report that. They'll go with the obvious. Reporters always do. Nothing can stop them."

"Of course something can stop them. Catch the killer. That will stop them cold."

"Do you think I'm not trying?" Merylo could feel his frustration mounting. Soon he wouldn't be able to suppress the anger. He needed to get himself out of here. He probably wasn't doing any good, and he risked alienating someone who, like it or not, he needed on his side. "It took two days, but my men found the rest of the last corpse on Orange Avenue, just a few blocks south of where we found the baskets. Everything except the head. Have you examined it?"

Pearce shrugged. "They recovered the upper half of a female torso, minus the right arm, which we already had, and the head. Both lower legs. Mixed with extraneous substances that have been positively identified as charcoal, chicken feathers, and hay."

"So... our killer is a farmer?"

"I would not jump to any conclusions. None of those substances are difficult to find in the city."

"Is there anything useful you can tell me?"

Pearce glanced at his report. "The torso was bisected at the second lumbar vertebra. A vertical incision runs the full length of the bottom half. The thighs were significantly obese and severed at the hip. The right arm was severed at the shoulder joint. It evidences signs of rigor mortis. Also"-he drew in his breath-"her complete reproductive system was removed. The whole thing. And half the appendix. And as before, the killer left smooth edges, neat incisions. He is good with a knife."

"Like-some kind of professional? A doctor?"

"There are any number of people accustomed to dissection or cutting flesh. I personally find the suggestion that the crime might have been committed by someone trained and educated in the medical arts abhorrent and... unlikely in the extreme."

"Then who was it?"

"I couldn't possibly say."

"Look, Doc," Merylo said, "we're desperate here. We've been combing the countryside for miles around Kingsbury Run, and Andrassy's home neighborhood, and now the Charity Hospital area."

"With no leads?"

"We get leads. But none of them go anywhere. Trouble is, the papers and radio are getting people so worked up, they're just not rational anymore. They're scared, and scared people do stupid stuff. Every time they hear a footstep or a barking dog or see a picnic basket, they go into a panic. They suspect every stranger, every neighbor with a pair of binoculars, everyone with a funny accent. The leads don't lead anywhere because they're based on irrational fear, not information."

"Your killer has twice left corpses in very public places. Eventually you're bound to find someone who caught him in the act."

"You'd think, wouldn't you? But so far not. So far no one saw him do anything."

"Or at least," Zalewski added quietly, "no one who saw him do anything lived to talk about it."

Another disturbing possibility, and one that Merylo had to admit had crossed his mind.

"We've been trying everything we know. We've questioned Andrassy's relatives, everyone who knew him. We got nothing. Interviewed all the women associated with him-and there were many. Learned nothing."

"Except," Zalewski said, interrupting again, "whatever it was that man had, I wish I could get some."

"Yeah, the ladies loved him, but someone else didn't. Some folks say Andrassy carried an ice pick with him for protection-but that didn't save him from the man who cut off his head. My men canvassed the neighborhood at the summit of Jackass Hill, showing the Andrassy mug shot around. No one knew anything."

"What about his work history?" Pearce inquired. "Have you investigated that?"

"Of course I have. What do you take me for, an amateur? Problem is, he rarely had anything you could call a real job. Your typical con man. Grifter. Had a job at City Hospital that he worked off and on over eight years. Probably came back whenever he needed some cash, left as soon as he didn't."