Ness climbed down off the roof, swinging on the gutter and getting a hand from Curry and Savage below, who eased him to the snowy earth. He walked over to the slumped, twisted form, over which Sam Wild was now kneeling.
"This guy is real dead," Wild said.
"I heard his neck break," Ness said matter-of-factly. He handed Curry a small key. "Go unlock Cooper's cuffs and let him lead you into his room. Let him make his phone call. Then search the room, unless he insists otherwise."
Curry looked confused by the instructions, till Ness raised a cautionary finger and smiled a little and said, "No search warrant, remember."
Then he leaned down next to the body.
"Jesus!" Wild said, turning the dead man's face so he could see it better. "I think this guy might be our bogus G-man we been looking for. You know, the-"
"Cemetery lot scam-artist, who burned up those old men."
"Yes! He's a ringer for the sketch my artist worked up."
"I know he is," Ness said, with faint disgust. "And that makes me want to kick myself."
Wild looked at Ness. "Why in hell do you say that?"
"The sketch was good. I should've made him from it."
"You know this guy?"
"Yeah. I knew him. Took me a minute before the bell rang. But it rang: Joe Fusca. He recognized me, too. I busted his brother in Chicago, a few years back. He's still doing time. This deceased gentleman is one of the lesser members of a distinguished family of con artists."
"Extinguished, you mean. What was he doing here?"
"Hiding out, no doubt. He worked for Cooper-the father, not the son."
Wild smiled, nodded. "In the cemetery lot racket."
"That's right." A small crowd was forming, among them the woman who ran the restaurant, Ness spoke to her. "Let's get a blanket and cover him up, shall we? Till the meat wagon shows."
Wild was looking down at the corpse. "Think you'll be able to prove he torched those old geezers?"
"Probably not. We'll connect him to Cooper and the cemetery scam, and that's all that matters."
Wild was still looking at the dead Fusca. "How could anybody do that?"
"What?"
"Set fire to somebody. I mean, I've seen all kinds of things in this job of mine, but that's cold, brother."
"Well, he's burning in hell now," Ness said.
The uniformed men from downtown showed up and Ness left one of them with the corpse and went in to question Dick Cooper, who had probably called his father by now.
Ness shuddered. To think that sleepy-eyed creep might've been his brother-in-law.
FOUR
CHAPTER 24
As the jurors filed in, Ness checked his watch. The five men and seven women had reached their decision in one hour and twenty-three minutes, one of the fastest verdicts Ness could remember in a major criminal trial in Cleveland.
He was glad it was over. He didn't much like sitting in courtrooms, despite the fact that his job often called for it. At the moment, a courtroom only served to remind him that his wife was in the process of divorcing him. But perhaps the outcome of today's proceedings would be more pleasing.
Captain Cooper sat quietly at the defense table with his attorneys. The big bald man in the rumpled brown suit looked massive. His attorneys had apparently instructed him not to slump. The trial had taken nine days, during which Cooper had sat erect, but stolidly, his face betraying' no emotion whatsoever except an occasional faint appreciative smile when his character witnesses-eleven police officers, a former police captain, and Councilman Fink-took the stand.
Cooper's counsel had depended on the cops' testimony holding more sway with the jury than Cullitan's nine bootleggers. But, it seemed to Ness, the detailed and convincing tales of the latter made the vaguer testimony of the former seem thin indeed. So did the defense attorneys' efforts to show that an "underworld plot" against an honest cop had brought Cooper here.
The Cap, as the bootleggers often referred to him, did not take the stand in his own defense.
The only confrontation Ness had had with Cooper was the same Saturday afternoon that the Black Swan had been raided. Ness had gone back to his office, called Cooper there, and informed him he was on suspension.
"Your badge and gun," Ness had said, seated at the conference table.
The big man had stood there and complied, slowly, his round face no longer jovial, the gun clunking on the table.
"I don't have to tell you what happened this afternoon," Ness said. "You've talked to your son by now no doubt."
Cooper said nothing. His face was blank, though his eyes seemed rheumy.
"This department," Ness said, "is just going to have to get along with one chief from now on. Yes, I know you're the so-called 'outside chief.' But before too very long, believe me, you'll be inside." He nodded to the door. "That's all."
Cooper cleared his throat, then spoke, tentatively: "You're definitely filing charges?"
"That's right."
"Suppose I was willing to retire?"
"No."
Cooper smiled, but with a trace of scorn. "You can't give me the break you'd give anybody else, can you? You need the publicity I'll bring you. To get your budget passed, Monday."
"Yes."
Cooper's faintly sneering expression remained. "I see."
"But I'd bust you just as hard even if that weren't the case."
Cooper's face went blank. "I–I see."
The man turned slowly and trudged toward the door, where he paused and looked back at Ness and said, "Being a cop is a hard job, Mr. Ness. Maybe if you weren't so goddamn young, you'd know that. There's a lot of suicides in this trade. There's a lot of long hours and misery. There's also a lot of wrong people with too much money. I just wanted the right people to get some of it. I just wanted them to be able to take care of their families. I'm not ashamed. I just made sure I treated my boys right."
"What would you know about it?"
Cooper narrowed his eyes, confused. "Know about what?"
"Being a cop."
And Ness looked down at the paperwork before him- Cooper's suspension-and heard the door click shut.
As for Gwen, there'd been no confrontation at all. She hadn't shown up for work on Monday. On Tuesday Ness received a businesslike written request from her to be transferred elsewhere in City Hall. He saw no reason not to, and passed the request along to Personnel with his approval.
He had seen her in the City Hall halls, from time to time, but she had looked right through him, stonier than the marble under her feet. She looked thinner, but as pretty as ever, despite the glasses and pinned-back hair that marked her office style.
He'd gone back to the apartment, when Heller headed back for Chicago, because the boathouse was too full of her. For right now, anyway.
There had been minor cuts, but his budget for the police and fire departments had passed, even though it required a tax hike. Even Councilman Fink hadn't dared vote against it, what with the press Ness had gotten. And Fink had gotten the vote out in his district to help float the necessary bond issue.
In the weeks, months, since the Black Swan hit, Ness had again been away from his desk, working as his own chief investigator. He'd been down gloomy alleyways and in grimy basement apartments and in fancy suburban homes. He had personally interviewed sixty-six witnesses who said they'd paid money to policemen for protection.
No police witnesses had come forth yet. The city's corrupt cops, with the usual code of silence, were locked into shielding each other. But, their leader gone, their network smashed, all that remained for Ness was to root them out one by one. Which he had set about to do.
He had completed an eighty-six-page report, which he'd delivered two weeks ago to the county prosecutor's office. He figured Cullitan and his boys would have at least twenty cases to prosecute, among them two precinct captains (of the Fourteenth and Fifteenth), a deputy inspector, two lieutenants, and a sergeant. He expected these cases would flush out other bad cops, sending them scurrying into early retirement.