William Bernhardt - Nemesis - The Final Case of Eliot Ness

Over Patton’s shoulder, Ness saw Chamberlin waving at him, holding something up in the air.

A roulette wheel.

“May I come in?” Ness said, smiling.

Patton couldn’t manage an answer.

“Are you feeling all right, Shimmy?” He grinned. “You look all shook up.”

Merylo had never eaten in Pierre ’s. In fact, he’d never been inside the place before and he didn’t expect he ever would again. But it was a tenet of his profession that police work sometimes led one to unsavory locales. And that included this swanky eatery and nightclub, where in the midst of the darkest days of the Depression the fortunate few men who could afford to do so sat in tuxedos, sipped ten-buck bottles of champagne, and danced the night away.

“Excuse me,” Merylo said, trying to use his most soothing voice, which still wasn’t all that soothing, “are you Arthur Dollarhyde?”

The man with the snowy white mustache barely looked up at him. “And you are?”

“Peter Merylo. Homicide Division.”

“What can you possibly want with me?”

“Just a little talk. It’s part of an investigation.”

Dollarhyde looked at him with a withering expression. “I’ll send my assistant around tomorrow morning.”

Merylo saw this was going to be more difficult than he had imagined. The police force was still a relatively recent addition to city government, mostly staffed by lower- and middle-class immigrants, and some people didn’t give them much respect. Especially the very rich, who considered talking to police officers beneath them and felt that as pillars of Cleveland society, they ought to be permitted to do anything they wanted to do, regardless of the law.

“No, sir. I’m afraid I need to speak with you now. If you’d like, you may excuse your wife. In fact…” He hesitated just a moment, hoping his message would come across. “I think it advisable.”

“Nonsense. Margaret and I have been together for thirty-one years. We have no secrets.”

“Everyone has secrets.”

“And let me tell you something else.” Dollarhyde drew up his shoulders and leaned forward, obviously putting on a show for his wife. “You’d best be careful what you say. I have a reputation in this town and I will defend it.”

Merylo pulled out an available chair and seated himself, even though he knew this would irritate Dollarhyde. Actually, that was pretty much why he did it. How his plain brown suit must stick out in this sea of penguin getups, he thought, taking a little pleasure in that, too.

“Last chance, sir. You really should excuse your wife.”

“I will not!”

Merylo sighed. “As you wish.” He withdrew a black-and-white mug shot from his jacket pocket. “Have you ever seen this woman before?”

Dollarhyde barely glanced at it. “Of course not. She looks like the lowest class of woman.”

“Pretty much was.”

“Then I am offended that you would ask if I knew her.” He gestured at a waiter who promptly appeared at the table. “Bring my wife and I another bottle of champagne. And get this odious man out of here.”

Merylo waited patiently.

The waiter was obviously conflicted, caught between two worlds. “I am so sorry, monsieur,” he said, in an accent so thickly French that Merylo wondered if it could possibly be real. “The gentleman is a gendarme. That is, he is with the police. We cannot prevent him from speaking to our customers. Much as we might like to do so.”

“I’m outraged!” Dollarhyde bellowed. “If you don’t evict him immediately, I will not come here again!”

“If you do try to evict me,” Merylo said quietly, “our exalted safety director might be here tomorrow evening with a big axe.”

The waiter shrugged. “You see, monsieur? There is nothing I can do. I will bring the champagne.” He disappeared, and Merylo suspected he was glad to be gone.

Merylo tapped on the photo, redirecting Dollarhyde’s attention. “Name’s Florence Polillo. Friends called her Flo. She was an occasional waitress, an occasional barmaid, and by all accounts, a full-time drunk.”

“A perfectly hideous woman.”

“I won’t argue the point.” Merylo leaned in closer. “But I will tell you that I have three reliable witnesses who tell me they saw you employ her services on the night of September 26 of last year.”

“Preposterous. I can assure you I would never eat or drink in any establishment that would employ her.”

“That I don’t doubt. But waiting tables and slinging drinks were her day jobs. By night-” He paused, glancing again at the man’s poor, probably entirely innocent, wife. Well, he had twice told him to excuse her. “By night, she worked as a prostitute.”

Dollarhyde gasped. A bit too much, Merylo thought.

His wife turned slowly to face him.

Dollarhyde spoke in low guttural tones. “My lawyer will be at your office tomorrow morning.”

“I’ll send my assistant over to talk to him.”

“What’s your game, copper? Hoping to get your name in the paper? Thinking you’ll find your way out of the vice squad by fingering a person who has contributed more to this city in a day than you will in your entire life?”

“You are confused,” Merylo said, maintaining the same even tone. “This is not a vice investigation.”

“But you said the woman was a-a-”

“Yes, she was. But according to the fingerprints on her right hand, she was also the last victim of the Torso Murderer.”

Dollarhyde’s wife’s eyes ballooned. She pressed one hand against her beaded chest.

“Are you suggesting that I-”

“The only thing I’m suggesting, sir, is that you knew her.”

“I deny it.”

“I don’t blame you. But you did, and I’m hoping you can give me an idea why someone might want to kill her. And hack her into pieces.”

Dollarhyde stared at Merylo for a long time, his chest heaving. His hands were visibly shaking. He tossed down an entire glass of champagne. “Margaret. Leave us alone for a few minutes.”

“I’d rather stay.”

“Margaret. Go!”

She glared for a moment, then obediently left the table.

“Wonderful woman,” he muttered. “In many respects. But not in one very important one. The one that makes a man a man. You know what I mean?”

“I think I do.”

“She’s had back problems for years. She can’t… support my weight. So what else could I do?”

Merylo could think of several alternatives, but he kept his mouth shut.

“I tried to be discreet. Limited myself to women of the lower orders so word would never travel back to my wife or any of her friends.”

“That makes sense.” Merylo was a patient man, but not really interested in the great titan of industry’s true confessions. He needed to get back to the crime. “Do you know any of Flo’s friends? Acquaintances?”

“Absolutely not. Only person I ever met in connection with her was that disgusting Chink Adler. At The Harvard Club. Do you know it?”

“I’ve read about it in the papers.”

“He knew Flo. He introduced us.”

“Do you think he might… hold any hostility toward her?”

“I never saw the two of them together when they weren’t fighting. He was always threatening her, and then she’d threaten back. Saw him whack her more than once, too.”

“Not a very nice way to treat a friend.”

“Friend?” He made a small snorting sound. “Hardly that. He was her business manager.”

“Her-excuse me?”

Dollarhyde mouthed the word. Pimp.

Merylo felt sweat racing down the sides of his face as he leaped the fence and raced across the open yard onto Euclid Avenue. Why did the jerk have to run? He was too old for this kind of chasing around. Actually, even ten years ago, he hadn’t been that good at it. Short legs and twenty unnecessary pounds were not the ideal attributes for a sprint.