William Bernhardt - Nemesis - The Final Case of Eliot Ness

“Sir, after this Shantytown fiasco, I don’t think anyone will be too eager…”

“I don’t need your excuses, Bob. Just find me some men. I’ll call Merylo and his assistant. They’ll come.”

“I’m not so sure. Merylo wasn’t happy about-”

“He’ll come. He works for me. He understands that it takes extraordinary measures to catch an extraordinary man. Then I’ll round up some fire wardens.”

“Fire wardens!” Chamberlin’s eyes ballooned. “What are you planning now?”

“Don’t go into a panic, Bob. I’m not going to burn anything.”

“Then why?”

“Just get them, Bob. I’ll meet you on East Fifty-fifth, by the Cuyahoga. We’re going to find the Torso Murderer. I guarantee it.”

The wind was cold coming off the river, but the officers assembled did not notice. They were much too engrossed in the words of the famous man delivering their detailed instructions. He had obviously given this plan much thought, worked out every detail. He split the twelve men into two groups and assigned each their territory. Together they would cover the entire area from East 55th to Prospect Avenue, one of the poorest districts in town, and most of the neighborhoods closest to Kingsbury Run. The two teams would saturate over ten square miles of territory.

“I want every house searched,” Ness said, as he handed the leader of each group its map. “Every one. No exceptions.”

“What if no one comes to the door?” Merylo asked.

Ness looked at him pointedly. “If you were the Torso Murderer, would you come to the door?”

“Point taken. But don’t we need a warrant?”

“You do,” Ness said succinctly. “But a fire warden does not.”

Merylo’s eyebrows rose.

“Pursuant to the Cleveland city charter, a fire warden is authorized to enter any home and conduct a routine fire inspection.”

“But-you said we were going into every house.”

“Have you looked at these shabby joints? Each of them is a potential fire trap.”

Merylo smiled a little. “Understood.”

“We know the killer must have some kind of… laboratory somewhere in this area. Someplace where he kills his victims without being detected. Someplace he can store body parts until he’s ready to distribute them. No matter how good he is, after so many murders, there must be discernable traces. Blood. Bone. Preservative chemicals.”

“Collier’s magazine,” Merylo added.

“Whatever. There must be traces. I want you to find them.”

“If he’s here,” Merylo said, “we’ll find him.”

“One last word,” Ness said. “You’re probably wondering why I’m only using twelve men. This will probably take you a week, at least. More men could get it done faster. But I don’t want to attract attention. I don’t want to tip off the killer before we get to his place. I don’t want to read about this in the papers. I don’t care whether the editorial writers think it’s a good idea. It is a good idea.” He paused. “So go find me that killer.”

Merylo pounded on the door. “Police.”

He waited. He knew that might conceivably give the occupant a chance to escape, maybe even to destroy evidence. But he also knew breaking down a door could potentially attract attention. So he waited. At least thirty seconds. Unless he heard sounds of rapid movement. After posting someone to cover the rear exit.

No one answered. He asked Zalewski to take charge. Using only his shoulder, Zalewski had the warped and rickety front door open in fewer than ten seconds.

Slowly, cautiously, they entered, Merylo leading the way. Little light crept in through the window, leaving the house much too dark for Merylo’s comfort. The front room-the only room-was barely furnished and filthy. The place stunk like an outdoor toilet. The walls were water-stained. He saw a huge rat skitter across the floor. It was barely a step up from the shacks in Shantytown, if that.

“Disgusting,” he murmured under his breath.

In the far corner, a blanket moved. Someone was underneath it.

Brandishing a club, Merylo removed the blanket.

He did not find a person underneath. He found five. An entire family, filthy, dressed in rags, hiding. A man, a woman, and three children, none of them older than six. The man was blurry-eyed and malnourished. They all appeared underweight. Merylo realized that they all lived in this one room, all five of them. Dad was probably drinking his meals, and the others might not be eating at all.

Then he saw the cardboard box in the opposite corner and realized why the place stank so badly. There was no indoor toilet.

“Please don’t take me away,” the man said, holding out a feeble hand, wheezing as he spoke. “I ain’t hurt no one. I’m lookin’ for work. Honest. My wife takes in laundry.”

Merylo was both touched and appalled by the pathetic spectacle and realized there was no way any resident of this hellhole was a killer. But it was indeed a firetrap.

“I heard what happened to all those people out at Shantytown. Please don’t burn down our house. It may not be much, but it’s all we’ve got. I may not be much of a provider, but I don’t know what these kids would do without me. Don’t break us up, mister. Don’t take our stuff away. This is all we’ve got in the world.”

So that was what he thought they were here for. No wonder he hadn’t answered the door. Torching Shantytown was a mistake they would never be able to live down.

Merylo drew in his breath. “Sir, I’d like to introduce you to John Perkins. He’s the local fire warden…”

Ness stumbled as he opened the front door. Fortunately, and to his surprise, Edna was there to help him.

“Eliot! Good heavens, Eliot, what’s wrong with you?” She took him by the arm and led him to the sofa. “Have you been drinking?” He looked at her through blurry eyes. “Does it show?” “Eliot, tell me you didn’t drive home. Did your driver bring you?” Eliot shook his head in a wobbly fashion. “Don’t have a driver anymore.”

“Think what might have happened if you’d been stopped. The publicity!”

He fell back against the sofa, then pulled a newspaper out of his coat pocket, slurring as he spoke. “Could it be worse than this?”

“… but this reporter has learned that Mr. Ness has conducted a systematic and probably illegal raid of the entire Kingsbury Run area using the pretense of fire inspections to violate the constitutional rights of our citizens. And the worst of the matter is, once again, his brash and borderline criminal actions have produced nothing of value. He is no closer to catching this killer than he was two years ago. The increasingly desperate actions of this alleged public servant evidence an erratic mind unable to deal with the task put before him. Although the mayor’s office had no official comment, insiders have reported that Mayor Burton is seriously considering a replacement for the job of Safety Director. It is time for Mr. Ness to return to Chicago and leave Cleveland to those who are able…”

“Oh, Eliot,” Edna said, covering her mouth. “That’s horrible. How can they be so mean?”

“That’s what they do,” Ness said, staring at the ceiling. “Vultures. Living off the carcasses of other people’s achievements.”

“Perhaps you can call that reporter at the Plain Dealer. What was his name? He’s always been sympathetic to you.”

“I don’t want anything to do with reporters.”

“Well, you should sober up first.”

“I’m not drunk.” He pushed himself off the sofa, but he tottered so much he almost fell forward onto the coffee table. Edna grabbed a hand to steady him, then helped him back to the sofa.

“I know how this must have hurt you, Eliot. You always took so much… pleasure from the attention of the press.”