"I believe in Merlo. No way I want him off the case. He knows more about the Butcher than anyone outside of the Butcher himself. But he needs support." Ness lifted an eyebrow, put it back down. "And the investigation could stand some fresh blood, if you'll forgive the expression."
"I agree," Burton said.
The sun went under a cloud and turned the Flats even grayer. It was cooler here, by the river. Oddly peaceful. Birds chirped and cawed; insects buzzed lazily; taller weeds, violet wildflowers, swayed. The wind in the weeds made a shimmering sound, like the soft riffle of playing cards.
"There's the other one!"
It was Merlo, standing in the motorboat, pointing.
Burton looked out toward the reflecting surface of the river, didn't see anything.
Ness said, "There." He pointed.
Now Burton saw it, something floating like white-gray driftwood. The launch cut its speed even further and eased over to it. One of the sailors, his sleeve rolled up, eased out beyond the edge of the boat and reached.
Then he pulled back into the boat and stood and held the severed limb in his hand and yelled, "Got it!"
The sailor was young and even at a distance you could see he was grinning. He lifted his prize in the air and waved with it. From here it looked like an extension of his own arm, as if a hand at the end of a grotesquely long limb was waving a greeting.
Ness was not pleased. "Put that thing down!" he called. "Be careful with it!"
Within the boat, Merlo was apparently making similar admonitions.
The young safety director seemed quietly outraged. "Doesn't anybody have a clue as to how evidence is handled or preserved?" He gestured to the wicker basket and its grisly contents. "That should be in a rubber evidence bag, zipped tight, kept away from the elements."
Curry and the uniformed cop exchanged glances, wondering if this question/accusation applied to them.
Burton said, "I've heard similar complaints from the coroner."
"We have little enough meaningful evidence in this case as it is," Ness said, "let alone handle it carelessly."
"Something definitely has to be done," Burton said.
"I agree."
"Let's talk," Burton said, and gestured toward the gentle slope of land behind them.
Ness followed the mayor to the edge of the train tracks. "About our appointment…" Ness began.
"No apologies necessary," Burton said. "I admit, though, that I was glad to find you'd made an appointment for this morning. I needed to talk to you. But when you canceled… well, let me say I was relieved to hear where you were."
"Relieved?"
Burton had to turn away from the frank, even naive gaze of his younger associate. Ness was perhaps the most intelligent, tirelessly hardworking, and cold-bloodedly fearless man Burton had ever encountered in his many years of public service; but the man would never understand politics. Ness would, Burton feared, always be unaware of the forces that shaped things; would, for all his experience in criminal justice, remain in this one way an innocent.
"I have to ask you to take a risk," Burton said.
"That's what I'm paid for."
"Eliot. Keep your enthusiasm in check for a moment. My conscience requires that I spell this out to you. I can't let you commit to this blindly, rashly."
"Commit to what?"
Burton sighed. "When you came aboard, I had to ask you to take a career risk that few men would have put up with."
Ness nodded matter-of-factly, as if to say, "So?"
Burton laughed, shook his head. How could he hope to get through to Ness on this subject?
When Burton had asked Ness to become his director of public safety, in December of '35, it had been with the condition that Ness would enter the office to much fanfare about his background as "the man who got Capone," the former G-man whose squad of "untouchables" had brought Chicago's mob to its financial knees. Burton, an independent who had been elected on a law-and-order platform, had faced a factionalized city council, much of which opposed him. In order to get his police and fire department budgets passed by this hostile group, he needed glowing press and had accordingly played upon Ness's reputation-and put that reputation on the line-by promising an immediate cleanup of the rackets, particularly of Cleveland's impossibly corrupt police force. Ness would have only a matter of months to accomplish the job.
If Ness had failed, after coming in to such fanfare, it would have been career suicide; but he had taken on the job eagerly.
And he got the headlines, putting dents in the local gambling and policy rackets while exposing a network of corrupt cops, specifically nailing the "outside chief," the high-ranking officer who oversaw this venal "department within the department." A score of other corrupt officers, exposed in a graft report personally assembled by Ness, were successfully prosecuted shortly after.
And Mayor Burton got his budgets passed.
"I swore to myself," Burton told Ness, "that I would never put you in that sort of spot again."
Ness said nothing; his head was moved forward, however, eyes slitted.
"Now I have to ask you to do much the same thing again, and I have no right to. You can say no. I won't hold it against you. Not in the least."
"Say no to what?" There was more than a hint of impatience in Ness's voice.
Burton gestured in a conciliatory manner. "You have to understand, Eliot, that while we've accomplished much, there is much yet to accomplish."
"I know," Ness nodded with a sour smile. "There's still corruption on the force. We still have gambling, policy… labor racketeering. None of it is gone."
"Strides have been made," Burton said. "Remarkable strides. And your deams of modernizing the force, of putting a patrol car within a half-minute of any home in the city, of reorganization of the traffic bureau, of instituting a juvenile delinquency unit… we need to make them come true. I have a great belief in your theories, and their practical application, Eliot."
"I appreciate that, sir."
"But the sad truth is, we have an election coming up."
Ness smiled. "You'll take that in a walk."
"It's not that simple. I'm running on the Republican ticket, but I'm perceived, correctly, as an independent. I'm going to be up against four challengers in the primary race, Eliot."
"Well, if there's anything I can do…"
"We'll get to that. You have to understand that for me to win I need more than just the support of the people. I need the support of the business community."
"You've had that in the past," Ness said. "I probably know that better than anybody."
"Yes, you do. The industrialists, the merchants, who came through with private funding for so much of the work you've accomplished, who've kept our slush fund full, have to be convinced that we're still worth backing. That we're not going to embarrass them and the community."
Ness frowned. "I don't understand… our successes have gotten us attention all over the country. The world! I've got clippings in my scrapbook from as far away as…"
Burton lifted a hand, gently. "Yesterday's news, as your friend Mr. Wild might say."
Ness thought about that, darkly.
"The Butcher," Ness said.
"The Butcher," Burton agreed, sighing. "What the world knows about Cleveland right now is that we have America's answer to Jack the Ripper stalking our streets. And our police department can't seem to do a thing about it."
"We're being made to look ineffectual by this maniac."
"You haven't been tarnished by it, personally. Everyone knows you have your own staff of investigators, that you've hired outside investigators"-that was one of the major reasons for seeking slush-funding from the business community-"that from time to time you do your own investigating. You've managed to stay aloof from the… embarrassment."
Ness said nothing, his expression an understated scowl.