The Unknown Beloved(86)

“The Butcher is playing with you, Ness. Just like I said he was, goddamn it,” Malone muttered. “I would check to see if your name was mentioned in the newspaper articles and pages left with the victims.”

“You really think this is about me, Mike?” Ness asked, baffled.

“Not entirely. But damn if this guy doesn’t love that you’re chasing your tail.”

Dani returned to the room, her eyes cautious, her curls combed, and her lipstick fresh. Eliot rose, and Malone knew the conversation was over. He rose as well, and when Eliot offered to walk them out the same way they’d come in, he shook his head.

“Just keep me in the loop, Eliot.” He shot a look toward Cowles, including him in the directive. He helped Dani with her coat and slipped his arms into his own before putting his hat on his head and reaching for the door.

“Ah. Wait. Here are those tickets you asked for,” Eliot said, pulling two white strips from his inner breast pocket. “That is . . . if you still want them?”

Malone took them and shoved them into his own pocket, avoiding the blatant curiosity in Eliot’s gaze.

“So I’ll see you both there?” Ness asked.

“Yes,” Malone grunted. Dani’s brow furrowed.

Eliot gave him a ghost of a grin. “It was nice to meet you, Miss Kos.”

“Please call me Dani. And likewise, Mr. Ness. Likewise.” Malone put his hand against her back and steered her out.

“Goodbye, Mr. Cowles. It was lovely to meet you as well,” Dani said, throwing a look around her shoulder. It hadn’t been lovely at all, but David Cowles nodded and thanked her, and then they were free. Malone made use of the toilet and washed his hands and face with haste. He didn’t want Eliot finding Dani alone in the hallway and engaging her in conversation. He was too skilled at gently wheedling information from the unsuspecting.

“Can we walk for a minute?” Dani asked as they exited the building. “I need to move for a bit. I’m feeling a little raw. And the night is nice.”

“You do know that Cleveland is the most dangerous city in America,” Malone said.

“Yes. And I also know your holster isn’t empty.”

He harrumphed, and she slid her hand into his. He stiffened, and she immediately released it. He grabbed her hand and wrapped it around his arm. He didn’t try to explain himself. Even a welcome touch took some getting used to.

“All right. Let’s walk. I could stand to clear my head too.”

Willard Park was just east of city hall, but he didn’t like parks at night. Too much draw for people who had nowhere else to go and way too much to drink. He steered Dani forward instead, staying where the streetlights lined the streets and the hotels jutted up around them.

“They were all so unhappy,” she said quietly. “I didn’t make an issue of it—it wasn’t specific enough, but it struck me, all the same.”

He didn’t need to ask her who. He knew. The Butcher picked on the down-and-out.

“The world is an unhappy place, Dani.”

“Yes. I know. But they were scared and tired and . . . dulled. And I don’t mean scared of whoever killed them. I think they were just scared. Of life. Of all the tomorrows. Now they don’t have any tomorrows.”

“No,” he agreed. “They don’t.” There wasn’t much more to say, and for a moment they walked in silence, heading down East Sixth Street toward Euclid. He could feel her tension in the clutch of her hand and the rigidity of her spine. It would take her a while to come down, so he kept walking, letting her set their pace and the duration of their stroll.

“God, Cleveland is ugly,” he sighed, wishing he could walk with her on a secluded beach somewhere and let her sink her toes in the sand.

“Cleveland isn’t ugly,” she said, like he’d insulted her child.

“No?”

“No. Cleveland is poor.”

“Everyone is poor.”

“Only the honest.”

“You’re starting to sound like me, sweetheart,” he said, bumping her a little. She was morose. He could hardly blame her after what she’d seen. But he immediately took the opposite argument. It was just his way.

“Cleveland killed the golden goose,” he said. “Governments are good at that. They thought they could squeeze the wealthy for more. They squeezed too hard, and the wealthy went elsewhere. There’s always a balance. Maybe Cleveland will find it again, and coax them back.”

They walked past a crumbling, columned edifice marked for demolition, one of the remaining mansions from the days of Millionaires’ Row, and she sighed.

“In Europe there are buildings that are hundreds of years old. In Rome, one church is built on top of another. The whole city is layers upon layers of old and older. Here . . . we tear things down when we’re through. We tear them down and clear them away, and what once was is no longer. I hate that.”

“Why? Crumbling cities and outdated infrastructure isn’t good for anybody.”

“It makes me tired. Nothing lasts. Not clothes. Not people. Not buildings.”

“You’re too young to think like that,” he said.

“The very best things are old,” she said. “And we let nothing grow old here.”

“Old things take extra care. Sometimes . . . it’s better to start fresh.”