"It ain't the Land of Oz either. It's a nasty little place, where apparently the cops are so corrupt they make the boys back home look like priests. Of course, I've known priests with mistresses and kids, so what the hell."
Ness swirled his Scotch in his glass. "Look, Nate. I appreciate what you're saying, and I've been over that with the mayor. But taking money from legitimate citizens, who have certain civic concerns, to fund undercover police work, is slightly different from taking graft from goddamn gangsters."
Heller gestured magnanimously. "Hey, I don't mean to be critical. My shorts aren't entirely white either. Just watch it. There ain't no such thing as something for nothing."
"I'm not naive, Nate."
"I know you aren't. But sometimes you can be real selective about what you choose to see and hear."
Ness shrugged.
"You're sure it's okay I stay here?" Heller said.
"There's a couch in my study. Folds out into a bed."
"It's swell of ya, but-"
"I can use the company."
Heller studied him. "Are you and Evie really tossin' in the towel? I find that hard to believe."
"We're just separated."
Heller leaned back on the couch, his smile reflective. "Remember when I was dating Janey? The four of us would get together. We always looked to you as the ideal couple."
"Well, that was foolish, wasn't it?"
Heller sipped his rum. "Guess it was. I see selectively sometimes, myself. Hell. Janey and I didn't work out either, did we?"
Ness sat forward. "How is business back home, Nate?"
"When you change the subject, you really change it."
"Would you be interested in moving here? Taking on a job as my chief investigator? For now it has to be temporary, of course, but with some luck, in a month or so I may be able to offer you a permanent position."
Heller smiled, and it wasn't a wise-guy smile at all. He said, "That's damn nice of you. And I take it as one hell of a compliment that you regard my abilities that high. I wasn't sure you did."
"I do."
"Fine, but I don't want to get married. Much as I love ya, pal, I like being my own boss. If you pull this off, you'll be top dog in this town. But as soon as this angel of yours, Burton, bites the mayoral dust, as he will one day, you're probably going to be out of work just the same. And where would I be?"
"I think I could see to it that your job was secure."
"Maybe you could do that, but then I'd be right back in the middle of a police department again, wouldn't I? Where graft and corruption breed like flies on horseshit. Don't look at me like that. You look like a cross between a cocker spaniel and Jackie Cooper. I hate that. I'm complimented, and I'll help you out, but I ain't movin' here. I don't like this place." Then he added, "It's too damn cold," as if Chicago wasn't.
"I appreciate your help, Nate, even in the short term."
"Besides," Heller went on, "you already got a chief investigator: you. That's the only chief investigator you'll ever hire."
But for the short term, Nate Heller was indeed working for Ness, and first thing this Monday morning, Ness had sent him to the Salvation Army shelter where the Joanna Home residents were still being housed.
As they walked slowly along the gravel road, about a quarter mile away from the body of William Wiggens, Ness asked Heller, "What did you find out?"
"Half a dozen of the Joanna Home old folks did in fact invest in that cemetery scam of yours," Heller said. "Only none of "em know it's a scam. They think the government's going to turn their passbooks into gold. They think they're holding 'surety bonds,' for Christ's sake."
"Were the two old men who died also investors?"
Heller shrugged. "Nobody seemed to know. I don't think your phony G-man approached them as a group. He talked to them one or two at a time." Then with sarcasm he added, "Confidentially."
Ness clicked his tongue. "That's the standard pattern. I talked to one of the victims myself a few weeks back. Gus Kulovic, the guy who blew the whistle to my pal on the Plain Dealer. "
"Whoever hustled that neighborhood was one smooth scam artist."
Ness lifted an eyebrow. "Well, we got a good sketch of him by having Kulovic work with a cartoonist from the paper."
"I don't suppose you i.d.'ed the finagler, or you'd have said."
"We didn't i.d. him, no. He's got a round, bulldog mug. Looks familiar to me, really rings a bell, but I just can't place him."
"Maybe it'll come to you. You know a lot of crooks."
"That I do. But I never knew a con artist who could turn around and pull off something like this… murder by arson. Con men by nature aren't violent criminals."
Heller made a face. "Spare me your criminology crap. If I've learned anything in this business over the years, it's that people are capable of about anything."
"These Joanna Home refugees you talked to," Ness said, getting back to the facts and away from Heller's bleak philosophizing. "Did any of them hear the two victims complaining about the so-called surety bonds?"
"No. And these old folks were pretty sharp. It's not a bunch of geezers with Swiss cheese for memories. They still got a lot on the ball, most of 'em. But not enough, unfortunately, to see through this scam."
Ness sighed. "Like you said last night-sometimes people hear what they want to hear, see what they want to see."
Heller nodded. "In times like these, if somebody tells you the money you invested before the crash can magically come back, you want to believe, you desperately want to believe it."
"Cops helped it happen." Ness stopped. The wind was chilly, carrying flecks of ice. "That same Plain Dealer reporter, Wild, came up with half a dozen instances where a cop in the neighborhood vouched for the G-man."
"Have you pulled those cops in and questioned "em?"
Ness smirked humorlessly. "Yeah, and they played dumb."
"Yeah, but they aren't." Heller nodded back toward the ditch and Wiggens. "Your policy racket couldn't be flourishing like it is without cops, plenty of 'em, looking the other way. That 'department within the department' you were talking about."
"Exactly," Ness said. "Which is why I want you to go over to the McGrath Detective Agency." He dug in his pocket for a list, which he handed to Heller. "Those are twenty McGrath cops who accompanied Cullitan and me on raids against the two biggest casinos in Ohio. Both of which we shut down."
Heller nodded, looking over the list briefly, then folding it and putting it in his billfold. "And nobody from McGrath leaked news of the raids," Heller said.
"Right. So they would seem trustworthy. But I've arranged with the agency for you to go over the employment records of each man. Check the background of each thoroughly. Phone around to prior employers. Check all their references."
Heller was nodding.
"Whittle that list down to half a dozen men," Ness said, "and those six will be your little squad of investigators."
Heller smiled in his smart-ass way. "And what is my little 'junior untouchable' squad going to do?"
"Well, for one thing, you're going to tap the phones of two precinct captains, my own executive assistant, and a few other city officials."
The smirk disappeared. "Jesus. That isn't exactly like tapping Capone's line outside the Montmartre Cafe. What if I get caught at this? These are city employees."
"I know. But the mayor gave me a free hand, and anyway, you won't get caught. This approach did work against Capone, remember."
"You can't use it in court."
"No, but it can sure tell us the lay of the land. Look, I don't particularly relish being a sneak-"
"So you brought me in to do your dirty work. Is it okay if I feel less complimented now?"
"Fine by me. You still interested in the job?"
Heller shrugged. "Money's money. Where are you getting the equipment? That stuffs expensive. Don't tell me, some of your federal pals?"