“I’m not sure, Merylo,” Zalewski said quietly, “but I think he’s say-in’ we’re barkin’ up the wrong tree.”
“I’m sure,” Merylo grunted back. “So you think we got it all wrong, huh, Doc?”
Hunstein considered. “I think you are looking in the right place for the wrong person. Instead of looking for connections, I would look for someone who has no connections. I would go to Kingsbury Run and look for the man who does not belong, but still does not attract attention. The man who is not a vagrant, or hobo, or small-time criminal, even though he might pretend to be. Look for the man who is there solely for the same reason that you might go to a well-stocked trout pond.” He drew in his breath. “Look for the man who is stalking his prey.”
Merylo considered. He still didn’t buy into all this childhood trauma hugger-mugger. And the killer being well connected? Preposterous. But the idea of looking for the man who did not belong…
It was almost worth considering. He had to try something new. What he had done so far hadn’t produced any results.
“Thank you for your time, Dr. Hunstein,” Ness said, rising. “We appreciate your contributions. I’m sure there’s much to what you said. I’m all for using science whenever possible. Though I prefer the sciences that are… you know. More certain.”
Hunstein seemed to hesitate. “Ye-es…”
“Was there something else?”
Hunstein obviously thought carefully before he spoke again. “There is one aspect to this case that… troubles me. That does not fit the usual pattern.”
“And that is?”
“As I told you, the killer is likely in the thrall of a massive empowerment fantasy. Delusions of grandeur, we call it. Something he has nurtured since he was a small boy. I would expect such an individual to be self-absorbed. Narcissistic. To believe himself superior to all others. Unbeatable. Untouchable.”
Ness bit down on his lower lip. “And you don’t think he is?”
Hunstein batted his lips with his finger. “I would expect such a man to be playing games with the police. To be taunting them. Perhaps even to be sending them messages.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Merylo saw a change in the expression on Ness ’s face. It was small and subtle. But he was almost certain it was there.
“Really?” Ness replied. “That seems risky.”
“Jack the Ripper did it. Repeatedly. And of course he was never caught. Why does this killer not do the same? It is the one element that does not fit.”
“Well,” Ness said, smiling, “I’m sure every case can’t be exactly alike.”
“No,” Hunstein said somberly. “Not precisely. But-”
The door to the room opened and Pearce’s secretary stepped through. “Mr. Safety Director? I-I have a message for you.”
Merylo rose to his feet. He didn’t need to hear what it was. He could tell just from the expression on her face.
“Yes? What is it?”
“It’s-it’s from Kingsbury Run. A stagnant pool near East Thirty-seventh. A huge crowd has gathered.”
Ness ’s face sobered. “Why?”
“Sir-they’ve found another body. Or to be more accurate-pieces of one.”
34
SEPTEMBER 10, 1936
“How many of them do you think there are?”
Merylo gazed across the small creek to the shore. “Hundreds. No, thousands. Thousands since we got here.”
“What are they waiting for?”
“The head. Or better yet, the killer.”
“So they think he’s just going to show up and make a guest appearance? Return to the scene of the crime?”
“He has before. About five times.”
“Not while anyone was looking.”
“As far as we know.”
The crowd on the shore was so thick that the fire rescue squad had a difficult time getting through, and an even worse time getting their pumps into position. Merylo had called for more men, just to control the crowd. But he knew that would take time-and they might not come at all.
Zalewski pulled on the oars, propelling the small boat they were in just the tiniest bit forward. “Jeez-some of those people even brought their kids! Why do they come?”
“Who the hell knows? Bored. Unemployed. Most of the people living in Shantytown don’t have a lot to do during the day.”
“That don’t cover it all. Look at some of those guys. Suits. Fancy hats. Better than mine. They aren’t unemployed. They’re first-class citizens.”
“I guess everyone’s interested in this case now,” Merylo mumbled, but he knew there was more to it than that. Some came, looked awhile, and moved on. Others had been here all day and showed no inclination to leave anytime in the near future. More people than attended the Great Lakes Expo in the course of a day. More than came to town for the Republican National Convention or the American Legion Convention, or any of the others.
The Torso Killer was now Cleveland ’s number one attraction. Or detraction. It had become the thing most famous about Cleveland, its national calling card.
The murderer had killed six people, possibly more, in gruesome, horrifying ways. And he would kill again. All the spectators crowded on the bank of this foul-smelling, stagnant pond that they euphemistically called a creek knew that.
“You quizzed the guy? Harris?”
Zalewski nodded, still straining against the current. “Colored guy. Vagrant. Around twenty-five or so. Hails from St. Louis, came in on a train. Was looking for a ride out when he saw two halves of the torso floating in the water. Called the police.”
Merylo nodded. For once, the response of the police department had been speedy and deliberate, not that it made any difference. They got the two portions of the decapitated torso out of the water and sent them down to Pearce’s office, then began looking for the rest of the victim. The fire rescue squad searched the pond with grappling hooks. When that produced nothing, they switched to ceiling hooks, larger and heavier. They discovered the lower halves of both legs and they were still looking, hampered by the crowd that only increased as word spread through the town and went into a near frenzy every time a new body part was discovered. Merylo and Zalewski borrowed a boat from the Coast Guard and rowed into the center of the pond with the grappling hooks, hoping they might find something that had drifted from the shore. With no arms and no head, they had virtually no chance of discovering the identity of the victim.
“Clothes?”
“Oh yeah,” Zalewski said, puffing out his cheeks as he strained against the oars. With the hooks down, the boat was tough to move. “The guy always leaves us clothes, doesn’t he?” He brought the oars around again. “Blue workshirt, gray felt hat, dingy green underwear. Shirt and underwear have bloodstains. Probably knife marks. So where does that get us?”
“Nowhere. As usual.” Merylo sighed. “Want me to take a turn at the oars?”
“Nah. I got it.”
Merylo nodded. Even if Zalewski was his assistant, he didn’t want the man to think that meant he had to do all the rowing. Then again, it was pretty hot outside…
“Mind if I ask you a question?”
Merylo thought a moment. “I suppose that depends on the question.”
“What d’ya think of that Ness guy?”
“I think he’s our superior.”
“He isn’t even on the police force.”
“Nonetheless.”
“But what do you think of him? What do you think of him taking over our case?”
“It’s not like he wanted it.”
“I don’t know,” Zalewski said, bringing the oars around again. “My Myrtle says she thinks he’s a glory hound. He knows the torso case is where the headlines are.”
Merylo shook his head. “Whatever else he may be, Ness is smart. Very smart. He knows this case is quicksand. Great exposure if we catch the killer, but who knows how long that may take? No, he was much happier dealing with traffic lights and gin joints. Things he could control.”