The Unknown Beloved(68)
“We’re awaiting the results from additional tests and X-rays,” Gerber began, projecting his voice. “But, having studied each of the previous murders, I do believe this is the work of the Butcher.”
The crowd moaned in terror and delight. That would get printed on the front page of every newspaper in Cleveland and beyond. It reminded him of a radio serial. “Tune in next time, folks, for the continuing adventures of . . . the Torso Killer!”
The coroner continued after his weighty pause. “The specimen discovered on the banks of the Cuyahoga near Superior Avenue is the lower left leg, severed above the ankle and below the knee. Our preliminary findings are that the victim was female, between twenty-five and thirty, about five feet two inches tall, and approximately a hundred and twenty pounds. Knife marks on the bones are consistent with other victims, though it does appear that the slayer was more frenzied in this killing than in the past.”
The press pool gasped, and their hands shot up, but the coroner raised one hand, halting questions. He’d given them some red meat, teased them, and now he was cutting them off.
“That is all I can tell you at this time,” he added, firm. Malone guessed, based on the past victims, it might be all he would ever be able to tell them.
Malone waited for an hour more, listening to the talk and the speculation among those that lingered, hoping for another statement. Eliot exited the building again, this time with Cowles, and the two men parted ways at the door, each climbing into their respective cars without acknowledging the crowd. It was dark, and Malone was starving. Nothing more would be learned this night, and Dani would be wondering where he was.
He scowled, embarrassed at that thought. One would think he had a ring on his finger. But he headed home, catching a streetcar from Public Square to Broadway, standing among passengers who looked as weary and rumpled as he felt.
The house was dark and quiet when he let himself through the back door at ten o’clock. The women hadn’t waited up. He felt a flash of disappointment and doused it with a bath and a shave before heading up the stairs to the kitchen, desperate for dinner.
He stuffed a hunk of cold turkey in his mouth and slapped together two pieces of bread slathered in peanut butter and honey—Eliot had definitely started something—before sitting down at the table with a glass of milk and his plate.
“We heard the Butcher has struck again,” Dani said from the doorway, startling him.
She was dressed for bed, her long white nightgown covered with her blue dressing gown. The normally neat coils of her hair were rumpled like she’d been asleep and heard him poking about in the kitchen.
“Word travels fast,” he muttered, taking a big bite out of his sandwich. Dani sat down across from him, her gaze expectant, her hands in her lap.
“Did I wake you?” he asked.
“Yes,” she admitted, no pretense. Never any pretense. “But I’m glad.”
He was glad too, damn it.
“Will you tell me what you know?” she entreated.
So he did. He told her every single thing he knew, down to the blond hairs and the color of Samuel Gerber’s shoes.
“That’s quite a lot of information from a bit of leg,” she said when he was finished relating the coroner’s findings.
“Well . . . they can’t tell whether she had a ham sandwich for lunch, like someone else I know, but they can tell a lot by the length of the bone, the weight of the calf, and the age and composition of the skin.”
His reference to the ham sandwich fell flat and his appetite fled. He pushed his plate away. For a moment, he and Dani sat quietly, each tangled in their own contemplation.
“Are you all right, Michael?” she asked gently.
He looked up, surprised as always by her perception. “I’m fine. I wasn’t the one running the tests on a woman’s hacked-off leg. But I’m running in circles like the rest of them. I don’t get the impression anyone knows—or even wants to know—anything. It’s a goddamn carnival. And I don’t like carnivals.” He ran a hand over his face and apologized for his language.
“Neither do I,” she said. “The world is frightening enough without clowns and distorted mirrors.”
“I asked Ness if I could see the other evidence, Dani. And I told him I would be bringing . . . my own expert. He agreed, though he’s got his hands full at the moment. Who knows when he’ll get back to me.”
“Your own expert?” she repeated.
“You said you wanted to come.”
“I did! I do.” She nodded, emphatic, and her curls bounced in agreement. “Did you tell him what I . . . do?”
“Not exactly. He might have me committed when it’s all said and done.”
She looked stricken, and he was immediately remorseful.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he muttered. “Ness is unconventional. He’s always been unconventional. He’ll get a kick out of you.”
Her cheeks flooded, and his neck got hot. He hadn’t meant to call her sweetheart.
She reached across the table and picked up his sandwich with both hands. Without asking, she took a big bite out of it and set it back down on his plate, her cheeks bulging.
He laughed. “Hungry?”
She nodded again, her hand in front of her mouth to hide her anxious chewing. She was too damn cute. He slid his plate to her. She took two more bites before he won—or lost—the argument he’d been having with himself since she’d appeared in the kitchen.