The Unknown Beloved(7)

“You’ve got good cops in Cleveland, don’t you?”

Ness hesitated and Malone groaned. So that was it. That was always it. Corruption. Ness didn’t trust the team that was in place.

“There are always good men. Always good cops,” Eliot amended, judicious.

“So? Let them do their jobs.”

“It’s been more than two years, and we’re no closer to solving this thing than we were the first day. The whole thing is rotten.”

“It always is. The bad guy is never who the politicians need him to be. And the good guys are always a little dirty.”

“And that’s why I need you. A group of businessmen have put a fund together to hire some independent investigators to solve this thing. Separate from police. Just like we did when we took down Capone.”

“I just put Irene in the ground.”

Ness was silent, eyes clinging to Malone’s face.

“You’re free now, Mike.”

“I won’t ever be free, Ness. My job has made sure of that.” He changed the subject. “What does Edna think of Cleveland?”

Ness hesitated again, and Malone had his answer. So the trouble persisted in the Ness marriage.

“So far she likes it better than Kentucky,” Eliot said. “But she’s lonely. We don’t have any children. She doesn’t like my work.”

“Ah. Well. Can’t argue with her there.”

“No,” Eliot sighed. “She’s at her mother’s. She sends her condolences.”

“So you came all the way to Chicago when you heard about Irene?”

“No. We came for Christmas. We’re heading back to Cleveland tomorrow. I need you, Malone.”

“I already have a job, Ness.”

“I talked to Elmer Irey before I came here.”

“You talked to my boss?”

“He says you’re between assignments. He can spare you for a bit. He said he could even make it official. There’s no Treasury angle, at least not that we know of, but the big brass in Washington wants this thing put to bed. It’s an embarrassment. The German papers are using it for propaganda. Savage Americans. Brutal Americans. ‘The Americans can’t stop one man; how do they think they can stop a single German tank?’”

Malone sighed. So much for going back to the Bahamas.

“Irey said you just wrapped up a case,” Eliot added. “I heard you were on the Lindbergh kidnapping too. Terrible, that.”

Malone said nothing. It was terrible. A toddler taken from his crib for ransom and killed. Left by the side of the road. But they’d caught the bastard. It had taken them two mind-numbing years, but they’d caught him. Malone had dreamed about Mary every night for those two years.

“Irey thinks the rest will do you good,” Ness continued.

“Rest? In Cleveland? I don’t think rest is what you have in mind.”

“There won’t be any pressure. It’s all off the record. And like you said, you can’t stay here. You know that. You’re a wanted man in Chicago. Somebody recognizes you . . . you’re dead. Capone might be at Alcatraz, but he still has reach, Malone.”

“Why me, Ness?”

“You’re perfect for the job.”

Malone snorted in disbelief. “How do you figure?”

“You’re not afraid of anything. You’re patient. You know police work. You’ve got powerful resources. And at the moment, you’ve got nothing else to do.”

“You mean if something goes wrong, and the Butcher decides to take me out, no real loss. No crying widow or fatherless children on your doorstep.”

Ness shrugged. “It’s how we decided on the Untouchables, you know that. You were there. If they’d ever have caught on to you, Malone, you’da been dead.”

“That’s the thing, Ness. I’ve been dead for a while. That’s why I’m so good at my job. I don’t give a damn.”

“Cut the bull, Mike. If you didn’t give a damn, you wouldn’t be here. You took care of a woman you haven’t lived with for fifteen years.”

Malone picked up the glass he’d offered Ness and gulped the contents down. It burned, and he almost coughed, embarrassing himself. He didn’t drink when he was working, and some cases lasted for years. He had some catching up to do.

“How old are you, Mike?” Eliot asked softly.

“I’m almost forty years old.” He felt twenty-five. And ninety-two.

“Forty years old. Still got a full head of hair and a flat stomach. Still got that sour attitude that women inexplicably clamor to, and a face no one can place. You’re free now, Mike. Come to Cleveland and help me catch a bad guy.”

“There’s not a single reason why I’d go to Cleveland, Eliot. Leave those files here. That’s what’s in the box, isn’t it? I’ll look them over. Give you my impressions.”

“Nah. I’ll leave the files. But you aren’t going to solve this looking at files. That’s not how it works, and you know it. Detective Merylo, a guy assigned to this case, seems to think the Butcher rides the train cars with the transients and bums, and that’s how he finds his victims. Nobody is better at blending in than you are. And nobody will recognize you and blow your cover. We’ve had a few of our local guys try it only to be made pretty quickly.”