William Bernhardt - Nemesis - The Final Case of Eliot Ness

Merylo grabbed his rumpled hat and headed toward the door. “I’m going over your head.”

“There is no one over my head.”

“Then I’m going to the press.”

“And tip off Sweeney? You do that and you’ll never catch him.” Ness looked at him levelly. “Don’t make me take you off this case, Detective.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“I would. The press might see it as a positive development.”

“Matowitz knows I’m the best detective he’s got.”

“Matowitz will go along with anything I want.”

Merylo could feel the bile rising in his throat. Ness’s words wouldn’t sting so much-if he didn’t know they were true.

“Look, Detective, you’ve been under a lot of stress. Go home. Spend some time with your wife. Have a drink or two. You’ll see things differently in the morning.”

“I don’t think so.”

“And then, if you want to continue tailing your suspect, you do that. From a discreet distance. Maybe eventually you’ll get some real evidence, something that might justify the gigantic risk of bringing in the congressman’s cousin. Something so telling that the press couldn’t possibly criticize us for bringing him in.” He paused. “But you don’t have it yet. And we’re not touching this man until you do.”

Merylo opened the office door. “I will be back.”

Ness nodded. “I’m counting on it.”

Ness tiptoed quietly into the house. Once again, he was late. Probably he should’ve gone to the apartment. But he had told Edna he was coming home tonight. He felt as if they were making a little progress-had been ever since that party for the mayor. If only he didn’t have to spend so much time on this torso case. And then there was a flare-up on the labor front. Then Burton summoned him in for an emergency strategy meeting. And…

And the next thing he knew, he was late. Exactly what Edna had been complaining about for so long. He’d done it again.

He poked his head through the bedroom door. She was asleep. Wearing her best, silken nightgown, too, he noticed.

Maybe he should give her a gentle nudge, see if she woke up. Or maybe that would lead to more embarrassment…

She was a lovely woman, Edna was. Tender. Sweet. She looked beautiful lying there, her head on the pillow, her brown curls poking out from under the covers. Absolutely lovely…

But when he was on the job… on the chase… bursting through doors and catching thugs with their pants down… well, there was nothing like that. Nothing at all.

He gently closed the bedroom door. He’d see her in the morning. If she got up before he went to work. They’d have a chance to talk then, with any luck.

He returned to the living room and started to sit down on the sofa, but Edna’s enormous purse was lying in the center, tipped over on one side. He picked it up…

Something fell out.

He started to reach for it-then realized it was a postcard.

His heart began to race. His legs felt wobbly. He sat down, breathed deeply, then took the card into his hands.

On the outside, it was just like all the others. A city view of beautiful Cleveland, taken before congestion and smog made it dark and sooty. It was addressed to Eliot “Weak,” Ness. The message contained but a single word.

TOUCHABLE.

It bore no stamp or postmark.

It had been in Edna’s purse.

Without even thinking about it, Ness picked up the phone and dialed.

“Merylo? Yes, I know what time it is. Listen to me. I’ve had a change of heart. I want you to bring in the doctor.”

He waited while a groggy voice on the other end of the line tried to assimilate what it was hearing.

“Yes, I know what I’m saying. No, I haven’t been drinking. Yes, I’ve had some thoughts about that, too. We’ll rent a hotel room. Do the whole thing in secret. No one at the station needs to know about it. Just you and me and a couple of handpicked men I can trust to keep their yaps shut.”

There was more rattling on the other end of the line, as Merylo ran through every objection Ness had made earlier in the day.

“Yes, well, I’ve had some thoughts about that, too. Didn’t your lady at the Sailors’ Home say he’s been sober for a long time now? He’s about due for a bender. Keep an eye on him. As soon as he’s good and sloshed, grab him. Anyone questions us, we’ll say he was drunk and disorderly. And once we have him in custody, we can ask him about anything we want.”

Merylo had been told to wait until Dr. Sweeney was seriously intoxicated, but it was possible he had waited too long. He arrested the man for public drunkenness and, as directed, brought him through the back door and up the rear stairs to a private room in the Cleveland Hotel. But Sweeney was so far gone that they spent the first three days just waiting for him to dry out.

When he was finally sober-and desperate for a drink-the questioning began. Merylo wanted to do it, but the safety director had insisted on handling it himself. Merylo wasn’t surprised. Even though he was the one who found the man, if there was going to be a confession, or even a slip leading to an arrest, Ness would want to be able to take credit for it.

Ness closed the drapes across the windows and made the room totally dark, all but for one light dangling low in the center of the room between the questioner and the questioned. Merylo and Zalewski and Chamberlin were allowed to watch, but they remained in the darkness.

Sweeney was handcuffed to his chair, but it was hard to imagine that he could be any threat. He wore several days’ stubble and stinking wrinkled clothes. His mustache was in bad need of a trim. His glasses were bent and they rested crookedly on his face. His eyes were bloodshot and his face looked tired. It took a lot of imagination to envision this dissipated drunk as the sadistic murderer of ten people.

Ness stared across the room at Sweeney, his voice level, his expression even.

“Hello. My name is Eliot Ness.”

“I’m all atwitter.”

“You know who I am?”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“Do you understand why you’re here?”

“I assume you must think I’m running hooch.”

“No.”

“Or you think I’m running the mob. Do you think I’m running the mob?”

“No.”

“Isn’t that what you do? Track down mobsters and make them pay their taxes?”

“Not this time.”

“Then can I go home?”

Ness took a long deep breath. “Please state your name.”

“Gaylord Sundheim.”

“We know perfectly well that is not your name.”

“Then why did you ask?”

“Is your name Francis Edward Sweeney?”

“I think you’re better off with Gaylord Sundheim. Because if word gets out who I really am, you’re going to be in serious trouble.”

Ness ignored him. “And your friends call you Frank, right?”

“I’m not sure I have any friends.”

“And you currently live at the Sandusky Soldiers’ and Sailors’ Home?”

“If you can call that living.”

“And you’ve killed ten people and then mutilated and discarded their bodies.”

A slow smile lifted the corners of Sweeney’s mouth. “Don’t be absurd. I’m a doctor.”

“Exactly. Good with your hands. Good with a knife.”

“Are you interrogating all the doctors in town?”

“No.”

“Just the ones with relatives in the Democratic party?”

“Just the ones who worked with Edward Andrassy.”

“Ah.”

“Did you know Flo Polillo?”

“We had a few… encounters.”

“And Rose Wallace?”

“A little skinny for my taste.”

“And somehow, you all got involved in something. Something that went bad. So bad you had to kill everyone involved.”