William Bernhardt - Nemesis - The Final Case of Eliot Ness

He took a deep breath and opened his eyes. Like it or not, he had a lot of reading to do before he went to sleep.

He reached toward the top file he had gotten from Chief Matowitz, then stopped. The mail was lying on the coffee table, still wrapped in a rubber band. Apparently Edna hadn’t done any more than bring it into the house.

He thumbed through the envelopes, only marginally paying attention. Bills, bills, more bills. More than he could afford on his salary. For all the media attention he got, he still wasn’t paid better than most police officers with his experience. Gas, water, coal-

He froze. His fingers stiffened. His eyes strained to read the scrawled handwriting.

It was a postcard.

He brought it closer to the lamp to examine it more carefully. The letters were all in capitals, but uneven, of varying shape, like something a child might do. But they didn’t look childlike.

HOW DO YOU PLAN ON KEEPING YOUR PROMISE?

The only signature, if that’s what it was, was a letter S. The bottom of the card was filled with strange circles and lines and shapes. There was no return address.

Ness stared at the postcard, turning it back and forth, over and over again in his hands. There was something strange about it, even beyond the words. As if it gave off an… aura. A personality. A very disturbing one.

It seemed Edna wasn’t the only one who listened to the radio.

The killer knew Ness was coming after him. And he wasn’t worried. Wasn’t scared. He was taunting him. Just like the boys in school had taunted him, all those years ago.

Ness walked to the cabinet and took out a bottle of whiskey he kept for special occasions, company and such. He poured himself a shot. Then he poured another one. Then he read the postcard again.

HOW DO YOU PLAN ON KEEPING YOUR PROMISE?

Despite his numerous years on the police force, including his later years as a detective, Peter Merylo had never before been inside the city hall building. Never had any reason to. He reported to his immediate superior, and these days, to Chief Matowitz. He had nothing to do with the mayor and he didn’t get invited to the mayor’s parties. Which suited him fine. In fact, he preferred it that way and never expected it to change.

Until this morning when, before he could even get himself a cup of joe, Matowitz informed him that he was to report to City Hall immediately.

The safety director wanted to speak to him.

He wasn’t surprised.

Merylo had grabbed his hat, grabbed Zalewski, and made his way downtown. He’d known it would only be a matter of time, ever since he’d learned that Eliot Ness had promised to bring in the Torso Killer. Hard thing to do, unless you talked to someone who actually knew something about the case. In fact, hard thing to do even if you did.

Ness ’s secretary kept them waiting for ten minutes in the lobby outside his office. Merylo admired the lobby, which was itself larger than any office in the police precinct building. But through the window in the door, he could see the vast expanse that was the office of Eliot Ness. Could anyone but the mayor have a larger office? It was hard to imagine. All the furnishings looked new, plush, comfy. Merylo couldn’t help but think about the furniture in his own shabby apartment, the rented stuff his wife had lived with since they’d been married. The only time they ever bought new furniture, if you could call it that, was when he bought a crib for Margaret. Plush sofas and chairs weren’t in the budget of a police detective.

Eventually the door to the office opened and a tall man wearing wire-rimmed spectacles stepped out. Merylo recognized him from the papers-the ones he never read-as being Robert Chamberlin, Ness ’s personal assistant.

“The safety director will see you now.”

Merylo nudged Zalewski. They followed Chamberlin into the spacious office.

Ness was sitting at his desk, working furiously on some sort of report. There were no chairs outside the desk. They stood for almost a minute before Ness spoke.

“You favor a straw hat.”

Merylo blinked. He had been prepared to be pumped for information, criticized for a lack of results, even castigated for poor spelling. But he hadn’t seen this coming.

Perhaps that was the point.

“In warm weather,” Merylo said dryly. “When Cleveland turns cold, I switch to my felt hat.”

Ness nodded. “Prefer a fedora, myself.”

“Not in my budget.”

At last, Ness looked up. His face was soft, but he was handsome. Merylo could see why the papers liked him so much. “Not in mine, either, to tell the truth. But appearances are important.”

Merylo looked at him squarely. “I’m more interested in results.”

“In my experience, appearances can lead to results.”

“In my experience, the only thing that leads to results is hard work.”

Out the corner of his eye, Merylo saw Zalewski staring at him wild-eyed, as if he’d lost his mind.

“You have a reputation for being a bulldog, Detective Merylo.”

He was amazed at how soft-spoken the famed crimefighter was. Didn’t sound like a tough guy at all. More like someone you’d expect to meet out on the tennis court. “I guess I do.”

“Which can be a tribute to your tenacity.” He paused; Merylo suspected Ness was wondering if he knew what the word meant. “Or your stubbornness. Which is it?”

Merylo didn’t blink. “Both.”

“I admire tenacity. But I can’t work with people who can’t take instructions. You get my drift?”

“Yup.”

“And I can’t have loose cannons bringing my department into disrepute.”

“You’re afraid I might sully your squeaky-clean image?”

“I have been told that you have a fondness for offensive language. That even when you play a critical role in an investigation, prosecutors hesitate to put you on the witness stand because they fear you will appall the jury.”

“I guess I’m a bad boy, then.”

Ness continued. “Do you consider yourself a religious man?”

“I consider myself a cop. And you don’t get where I am-as a cop- by being religious. Or by talking like a Sunday school teacher.”

“I can comprehend that. But what I’m trying to discern is how much is image and how much is the real you. I have to know who you are before I can know whether I can work with you.”

“What do you need to know? I’m the lead detective on the torso case.”

“That could change.”

Merylo drew in his breath, then slowly released it. “I’m a simple man, Mr. Ness. What you see is what I am.”

Ness rose, then opened a file on his desk. “I think not. You haven’t always wanted to be a cop, have you?”

“Well…”

“In fact, at one time, you considered the priesthood.”

Zalewski’s eyes ballooned.

“You spent a good while at a monastery and-”

“That was a long time ago.”

“Maybe. But men don’t change so much, not in my experience. You may not have become a priest-probably because you couldn’t afford the education-but I wonder if you’re still trying to save souls.”

“Look, could we talk about-”

“You’re the force’s reigning pistol champ.” Ness looked up. “I’m not too bad with a pistol, either. Know jujitsu?”

“Uh, no.”

“Maybe I could teach you. I’ve been thinking about starting a class.” He returned to his notes. “You’re fiercely protective of your family. I admire that in a man.”

“Could we talk about the case?”

“You love violin music.”

“How did you-”

“You speak several eastern European languages fluently, which makes you the perfect person to be conducting interviews with the immigrants living in the Kingsbury Run area.”