William Bernhardt - Nemesis - The Final Case of Eliot Ness

“Seems like a lot of work.”

“Exactly. You can’t drive a car down that gully. They weren’t rolled down the hill-that would’ve left marks. The killer had to carry them a long way.”

“Maybe that’s why he drained the blood. To lighten the load.”

Merylo avoided rolling his eyes. “Don’t think that would make much difference. Especially to this killer. He had to be strong to get those corpses out here. I don’t think I could do it.”

“Maybe he had help.”

“That’s possible. Especially if the mob’s involved.”

Zalewski gave him a narrowed eye. “You know something, don’t you?”

“In fact, I do.” Merylo pulled a folded report out of his coat pocket. “Know much about the Bertillon department?”

“That’s, uh, French, isn’t it?”

“Well, it’s named for a French guy. Invented what we call anthropometry. A way of taking precise measurements of a criminal’s features, so they can be used later to identify him. He came up with a lot of other stuff we use every day-like the mug shot. Using plaster to preserve footprints. Ballistics. Showed us how science could be used to solve crimes.”

“Sounds like a smart guy. For a frog.”

“He got the Dreyfus case totally wrong, but who hasn’t made a mistake at one time or other?”

Zalewski looked puzzled. “But how’s this help us? We haven’t got a footprint. Or a bullet.”

“True. But we do have hands. And the hands have fingerprints. You know what they are, right?”

“Course I do. Did that Bertillon guy discover those, too?”

“No, but he showed us how to use them. Our Bertillon department has a pretty substantial collection of them. Including one for a Hungarian mug named Edward W. Andrassy.” Merylo paused. “Also known to you as the first victim.”

Zalewski’s eyes bugged. “What? How’d you figure that out?”

“Andrassy was picked up in 1931 for carrying a concealed. They printed him. Took a mug shot, too. Course, his face is pretty messed up now. But it’s definitely him.”

“Was he in the mob?”

“Nah. Strictly small potatoes. Long record of petty offenses. Gambler. Drunk. Good-looking-people say he was popular with the ladies, go figure. I never could understand what dames go for. He liked to hang out in some of those sleazy joints on Rowdy Row. Third District. No indication that he ever did anything big time.”

“Then why would anyone want to kill him? Like that.”

“I’m just guessing, but the mob boys have been known to go crazy violent when they want to send a message. We know Andrassy gambled, and we know that every gambler eventually has some bad luck. Maybe he needed money. Maybe he made the mistake of borrowing from the mob. Maybe he couldn’t pay it back.”

“So they whacked off his head?”

“Or maybe this big lover boy got involved with some dame he shouldn’t. Maybe some hood’s moll. Might explain why we have two victims. Maybe there was a love triangle.”

“So they whacked off his head.”

Merylo swallowed the last of his third dog. “It’s not impossible. I went out to his wife’s place last night. She said there were some suspicious characters hanging around about two weeks ago. She didn’t know who they were and her loving hubby wouldn’t tell her.”

“Mobsters.”

“We shouldn’t jump to any conclusions. But it’s possible. Wife told me something else. She said she’d seen one of her neighbors in the window several times with a pair of binoculars. Pointed toward Jackass Hill.”

“The killer!”

“I hoped. I went over and talked to the guy.” He sighed. “Turned out he’s got a thing going with a married dame on the other side of the Run. Whenever her husband leaves, she waves this white handkerchief. Lover boy sees it in his binos and skedaddles across the Run to give her a good one.”

“Ouch. Not the killer.”

“Don’t think so. More like a homicide victim in waiting.”

Zalewski’s eyes lit up. “What about the other corpse? The big guy. Did you print him?”

“Couldn’t. Body has decomposed too severely. Apparently he’s been dead a lot longer than Andrassy.”

“I bet he was a punk thug, too.”

“Maybe. It’s something to check out.”

Zalewski sat up, his eyes bright. “You’ve done a lot of work. I hadn’t heard any of this.”

“No one has. No point.”

“But you’ve got a real lead!”

“Did you see the papers after the news of the murders broke? They went gaga with this stuff. The Plain Dealer called it ‘the most bizarre double murder in Cleveland history.’ The Press ran front-page pictures of the boys and the News said it was ‘vengeance for a frustrated love affair’-even though they had no evidence at all to back up their glamorous story. The newsboys are going to be all over this any day Eliot Ness isn’t smiling for the cameras. If we announce that we have leads, they’ll expect us to have a killer by Tuesday. I’m going to lay low. Not a good idea to stir things up till you’ve got something solid.”

“I guess not.”

Merylo began packing away the picnic. “I asked if you were sure you wanted to be my partner. For a reason. There’s tons of work to be done, and whether I like it or not, I know I can’t do it all. We’ve got to blanket the area, the homes, the factories, the shanties. Everything you see around you now. Talk to everyone. Especially in Andrassy’s neighborhood. Cleveland ’s got the largest Hungarian population outside of Budapest -did you know that? We’re gonna talk to every one of them. Maybe someone saw something suspicious. Maybe someone carrying a large heavy bundle. Who knows what it might be? But this guy lugged two corpses-and their heads-all the way out here and down the gully. Surely someone saw something.” He paused, giving Zalewski a steely eye. “We’re going to find that someone.”

“Understood.” Zalewski helped him put away the condiments. “You know… I think I’m going to like working for you.”

Merylo grunted his reply.

Zalewski couldn’t let it go. “We’re gonna catch this guy, aren’t we?”

Merylo looked right into his eyes. “You bet we are. You and me, buddy. He’s as good as nailed.”

Ness stared at the barnlike structure known to the underworld as The Thomas Club. Most of the building still looked like a warehouse, and a dilapidated one at that, but the front façade had been redressed in a swingtown New Orleans style. Still looked tacky to Ness, especially with all the windows draped to ensure that no one could see inside. But whether it appealed to him or not, he knew it was one of the most notorious gambling dens in the county.

On the surface, The Thomas Club appeared to be an ordinary nightspot for drinking and dancing. But everyone for miles around knew it was also one of the largest gambling parlors in the city, replete with table games and slot machines and horse rooms-off-track betting arenas. The Club was conveniently located in Newburgh Heights, which was just outside the city limits and thus beyond the jurisdiction of city police officers. Given that Matowitz couldn’t touch it-and the corrupt county sheriff Potts, recently removed from office thanks to Ness, wouldn’t-it had thrived for more than five years. Some of Cleveland ’s most prominent citizens frequented the place. They felt safe here, because the law couldn’t touch them.

That would end tonight.

Over his shoulder, Ness eyed Chief Matowitz, huddled behind him. He seemed a good deal more comfortable than he had been the last time they went out on a raid. Perhaps it was because, on Ness ’s advice, he’d bought himself a better coat. But Ness suspected it had more to do with the lead story on the front page of the Plain Dealer the night after the raid, a story that prominently featured Matowitz’s “pivotal” role. Overnight, George Matowitz had been transformed from uninspiring civil servant limping toward retirement to a local celebrity.