The Unknown Beloved(66)

“Why? ’Cause his head wasn’t chopped off?”

“Yeah. Not the Butcher’s style,” Eliot said, his cheeks bulging.

“Well, someone ran that kid over. Someone who didn’t live in that neighborhood. Someone with a big, fancy car, like the mayor drives,” Malone said, quoting Dani, who’d been quoting Steve Jeziorski. “Maybe Kostura thought he could squeeze someone for money, the way Steve does. Maybe he threatened someone important with something he saw the day he found those bodies . . . or with something he learned since. And instead of paying up, they took him out.”

Something flickered across Eliot’s face, and he stopped chewing.

“What?” Malone pressed.

Ness busied himself with his thermos and shook his head like it was nothing.

“Eliot,” Malone said, insistent. “What?”

“Nothing. Any luck finding your shadow?” Ness said, changing the subject.

“No. I talked to the kid—Steve Jeziorski—again. He works at the plant Flo Polillo’s remains were found behind. How’s that for a coincidence?” He sighed. “I’m not worried about it. Jeziorski could have been describing half the men in this city. He said he’d try to get the guy’s name—if there really was a guy—for a price. I told him to forget about it. The kid’s a bit of a con artist, but I don’t want him getting run down too.”

Eliot didn’t rise to the bait but sloshed some lukewarm coffee into the cup from his thermos and offered it to Malone.

Malone drank it down in one gulp. Then he took out his handkerchief and wiped at his hands, removing the crumbs and the sticky residue, and swiped at his mouth. Eliot didn’t want to tell him, fine. He had a bigger ask.

“I want to see the items that were found at the scenes. Can you get me into the evidence locker?”

“Yeah. But why?” Eliot asked, eyes narrowed, the big black car forgotten. “The descriptions are pretty complete. That stuff has been combed over.”

Malone considered not answering, the way Eliot had just done. But he couldn’t show up with Dani and not provide any explanation. Special precautions would need to be taken.

He chose his next words carefully. “I have my own expert. Someone I want to have a look at the clothing, in particular.”

“Your own expert?” Ness said slowly.

“Yeah . . . you’ll see. It will be better if you just trust me. You can watch.”

“What’s the expert going to do?”

“She’s a tailor. I think she can tell us things that someone else might miss.”

“She?” Eliot crowed.

“Yes. She.”

“A tailor, you say?”

“A tailor. A seamstress. Whatever you want to call it.”

“This seamstress . . . she wouldn’t happen to be Daniela Kos, would she?” Eliot asked. The man was no dummy. Malone had to give him that. And he also shared his sandwiches.

“Yes. Daniela Kos,” he said.

“Your concerned landlady?”

“Yes. The same. She’s very . . . skilled. I think she can help.”

“Well, I’ll be,” Eliot marveled. “You’ve got me curious. I’ll talk to Cowles. We’ll figure something out.”

“Good. You do that,” Malone said.

“She was very concerned about you, old boy.” Ness winked at him. “I thought it was sweet.”

“She’s a very . . . nice . . . woman. I wish she hadn’t called you, but . . .” He shrugged, staring out the window. It was too warm in the car.

“She knows you well then?”

“I told you she did,” Malone said, guarded. “I told you about her on day one.”

“Is she nice looking? She sounded nice looking.” Eliot was grinning. Malone could hear it without even looking at him. But he was reluctant to answer. Yes, Dani was nice looking. Beautiful, in fact. Perfectly, imperfectly, beautiful. And he could not say so without making it seem too important. Or all important. And as much as he liked Eliot Ness, and as innocent a question as it was, Malone couldn’t talk about the way Dani looked. He could not . . . reduce her . . . to that. He met Eliot’s gaze.

“No. She isn’t,” Malone said, tone terse, though his voice rang with truth. The lie comforted him immediately, as if he’d defended her virtue, and Ness blushed. It was endearing, his boyish ability to still be shamed.

Ness’s grin flipped even as his brows rose, tugging his face in opposite directions. “Well, then. I almost feel sorry for the old girl now. You sure don’t mince words, Mike.”

Malone grunted.

Eliot started the car, his lunch break over. The speaker mounted above the windshield crackled and hissed.

“Calling Director Ness,” a male voice insisted, and Eliot reached for the handset with the curling cord and flipped a switch.

“This is Ness,” he said, a trifle too loud, like he was excited to finally be using his new contraption.

“We just got a call from the bridge tender at the end of Superior Avenue in the Flats. A severed leg has reportedly been found on the bank of the river not far from the storm drain. Sergeant Hogan and Chief Matowitz have been advised. Search teams are en route. Scientific Bureau already on scene.”