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…”
56
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.”
“We found nothing,” Eliot said, his voice gravelly. “My men searched for more than a week. Every single house in the area. And they found nothing.”
“Maybe the killer saw you coming.”
“Or maybe he was never there. Doesn’t matter. I failed.”
“Eliot, don’t look at it that way. You’ve done everything you possibly could.”
She nestled his hand inside hers. His head jerked, staring down at the two joined hands.
“Thought you’d be gone. Thought you’d left me.”
Edna drew in her breath. “I went to visit my mother, Eliot. We talked.”
“But you came back.”
The moment she hesitated before speaking seemed as if it lasted an eternity. “To get my things.” She placed her other hand on the side of his head, slowly turning it to face her. “But I am leaving you, Eliot.”
He looked at her helplessly. “Why?”
“Don’t bother arguing with me. I can’t imagine that you really care, even in this sad state. You just don’t want to acknowledge what a disaster this marriage has been. Or how little you’ve given to it. I don’t blame you, Eliot. Honestly, I don’t. But there’s nothing in this life for me. I want more out of life. I want to feel like I’m really living. I want to be loved.”
“You-promised-”
“Please don’t start that.” She released his hand and rose. “I would’ve left already, but I didn’t think I’d see you tonight any more than I have the past week.”
“The raids… busy…”
“Yes, I know. You’re always busy. But not with me, Eliot. Never with me.”
“I can do better. I can-”
“Please stop. You’ve made this promise a thousand times, and you never follow through. And do you know why? Because you don’t really want to. Because you like your life apart from me much better than you like your life with me.”
“Edna, no…”
“It’s better this way, Eliot. Honest it is. Better for both of us.”
“At least… stay tonight.”
She walked to the back room, retrieved her suitcase, and started toward the door. “No, I don’t think so. Best that I leave immediately, since you’ve so kindly brought me the car. I’m taking it. I’ll send for the rest of my things.” She lingered by the door a moment. “Goodbye, Eliot. I hope you find someone who can give you whatever it is you need. What you never found with me. I really do.”
And then she was gone.
Ness fell forward, tears streaming from his eyes. He grabbed the newspaper on the table and ripped it to shreds.
A postcard fell out from between the folds.
The front was a city view of Cleveland, just like all the others. It was addressed to “Eliot Ridiculous-Ness.”
Ness screamed with rage. He flung himself against the mantel, knocking off the candlesticks and framed pictures. He screamed again, kicking the coffee table so hard it splintered. Then he fell down face first on the sofa, pounding it with his fists.
He remained there the rest of the night.
The message on the postcard was: GOTCHA.
And signed: YOUR PARANOIDAL-NEMESIS.
57
The mayor did not wait for Ness to open his office door.