The Unknown Beloved(108)

“Francis Sweeney has killed a dozen—and probably a whole lot more—men and women. He’s hacked off their heads, chopped up their bodies, and deposited them all over Cleveland.”

“You have no evidence.”

“Yes, we do.” They had plenty. Just nothing they could use.

“You kept the man prisoner in a hotel room for almost a week. Against his will.”

“He was detained for good reason. We were unable to question him for days because he was so drunk. He was not tortured or mistreated.”

“His cousin is a US congressman,” Irey ground out. “A US congressman who has been very vocal about the president’s preparations for war and American isolationism. The president needs him on board.”

“So I hear. It’s the reason Francis Sweeney wasn’t hauled in like every other suspect. Special treatment for a special suspect. A whole week in a luxury hotel.”

“You were in the room with Francis Sweeney?”

“Yes.”

“So he can identify all of you—you, Ness, Cowles, Leonarde Keeler, and Royal Grossman? And what about Daniela Kos? Does she know who you are and who you work for?”

Malone knew better than to react to references to Dani, but Cowles had filled Irey in. All the way in. Cowles didn’t work for the Treasury’s intelligence division anymore, but he worked for the Scientific Investigation Bureau, and he knew both worlds and all the players.

“Frank Sweeney was unconscious, sleeping off a drunk, for much of the time that he was in that room. I observed. His interactions were mainly with the psychiatrist, Mr. Keeler, Cowles, and Eliot.”

“What a story that will be. Eliot Ness targeting his political enemies.”

“That isn’t what this is, Elmer.”

“No. It isn’t. I am sure of that. But the truth doesn’t matter in an instance like this, because your actions—all of them completely outrageous and sensational—speak louder than the truth.”

“The truth is that we know who the Butcher is,” Malone shot back. “And we’re trying to stop him.”

Irey sighed and sat back in his chair. “Come on now, Malone. You are not a foolish man. You know how this works.”

Malone didn’t respond. The axe was coming, and he simply waited for it to fall.

“You’re done in Cleveland. Case closed.”

“The case is not closed, as you’ve so plainly outlined,” he said.

“We’re done in Cleveland,” Irey reiterated, changing the pronoun. We’re done. Meaning the agency was done. “And I need you in Chicago.”

“Why?”

“Big money is going into US Steel, money not making it to production levels. With the war coming, the president wants to know why.” Irey’s voice was brisk, matter-of-fact.

What in the hell was he going to tell Dani? What in the hell was he going to tell himself?

“I’ll expect you in Chicago tomorrow. You’ve got somewhere you can stay?” Irey knew he did.

Malone nodded once.

“We’re done here, Malone,” Irey said again. “It’s over.”





26


She was waiting up for him. His lamp was burning, and she was sitting cross-legged on his bed, a dress in her lap, and a tin of beads beside her. She was attaching them, one by one, her needle flying, her hands sure.

He walked into the bathroom without greeting her, needing a minute alone. He washed and shaved, brushed his teeth, and gathered his things. He didn’t have much.

He didn’t look at her when he walked back in the room, but Charlie twined himself around his legs and then shot under the bed when he stumbled.

“Damn cat,” he muttered. He crouched down and lifted the spread. His suitcases were where he’d shoved them back in January. Both were speckled with Charlie’s hair. He unzipped the empty one and laid it open. The other was still packed with things he hadn’t used, costumes for characters he hadn’t needed.

“He’s going to sulk for hours now,” Dani said, still beading. “I’ll never get him out.”

He grunted and straightened. She thought he was worried about Charlie. He shrugged out of his shirt, exchanging it for a new one. His fingers flew over the buttons, and he tucked it into his trousers, snapping his suspenders back in place and turning down his collar.

“He likes you, you know. He just doesn’t know how to tell you. So he makes a nuisance of himself.” So far his actions had not alerted her that something was amiss.

“I have to leave, Dani,” he said, tugging open his drawers. He didn’t look at her, but from the corner of his eye, he saw her pause, her needle upraised so her beads wouldn’t slide off the string.

“Where to?” she asked. “And when will you be back?” Her voice was easy, trusting.

He kept moving. His drawers were emptied—one, two, three—in all of twenty seconds.

“Michael?” She secured the needle in her fabric and put the lid on the tin of beads.

He folded his suits on top of the contents of his drawers and added his dress shirts before zipping it closed. His files were already in the trunk. He didn’t know what he’d do with those. He didn’t need them anymore. His boots were in the trunk too. He’d started keeping them there, away from Dani’s curious touch.