“Haven’t I been out with you every night?”

“Good point. Can you keep your nose clean?”

“Absolutely.”

“Got any objection to working days at a time?”

“Not the least.”

“Got a wife?”

“Nope.”

“Probably better that way. You sure you want to do this?”

“I am, sir. My mother says you’re doing God’s own work, right here in Cleveland. I want to be a part of that. I want to help you any way I can.”

Ness grinned, then slapped Chamberlin on the shoulder. “Then you’re on the team, pal. Now tell me how we get into that club.”

18

“Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

“There was nothing to tell.”

“You’re saying another woman bein’ butchered is nothing?”

“It happened some time ago. I had no reason to believe there was any connection. Still don’t.”

“You should’ve said something.”

“You should’ve known.”

Merylo bit down on his lower lip, which prevented him from saying what he was thinking. Pearce had always been an arrogant so-and-so, but now he was interfering with Merylo’s ability to do his job, and that was unacceptable. The coroner was supposed to help the team, not hinder it.

“That woman’s torso must’ve been brought to you. How could you forget something like that?”

“I didn’t. I simply didn’t see a connection. And excuse me, but weren’t you on the homicide squad? Why didn’t you remember?”

“Because it wasn’t reported as a homicide.” It was a mistake, meeting Pearce here, in his own inner sanctum. It gave him an edge. A home-team advantage. Should’ve thought of an excuse to make the good doctor come to him. “They had the idea that it was an accidental death. Boating accident.”

“It might have been. The body was too decomposed by the time I got it to draw any definitive conclusions.”

“Whether it was or wasn’t, that shrimp from the News is going to tell people it was. He’s going to say this Torso Killer has been running around Cleveland for more than a year and we haven’t done anything to stop him.”

“I don’t see that this is my problem, much less my fault.”

Lieutenant Zalewski took a tiny step forward, clearing his throat. Pretty pathetic when your greenhorn assistant has to play peacemaker. “I read your report on the first case, Doctor. The Lady in the Lake. Despite the state of decomposition, you wrote that there was something unusual about the texture of the skin.”

“I recall that,” Pearce said, fingering his glasses.

“In fact, you wrote that it was possible the body had been exposed to some sort of preservative.”

“And your point is?”

“His point is obvious,” Merylo barked. “It’s the same thing you said about the Kingsbury Run corpses. It makes a strong case for a connection between the murders.”

Pearce took a cigarette out of his pocket case and lit it. “Perhaps.” He inhaled deeply, then waved it about in the air. Merylo wondered if he used cigarettes as a shield, something to create a barrier between them. “There are other possible explanations. A corpse floating in Lake Erie could be exposed to many corrosive chemicals.”

“No one at the News is going to report that. They’ll go with the obvious. Reporters always do. Nothing can stop them.”

“Of course something can stop them. Catch the killer. That will stop them cold.”

“Do you think I’m not trying?” Merylo could feel his frustration mounting. Soon he wouldn’t be able to suppress the anger. He needed to get himself out of here. He probably wasn’t doing any good, and he risked alienating someone who, like it or not, he needed on his side. “It took two days, but my men found the rest of the last corpse on Orange Avenue, just a few blocks south of where we found the baskets. Everything except the head. Have you examined it?”

Pearce shrugged. “They recovered the upper half of a female torso, minus the right arm, which we already had, and the head. Both lower legs. Mixed with extraneous substances that have been positively identified as charcoal, chicken feathers, and hay.”

“So… our killer is a farmer?”

“I would not jump to any conclusions. None of those substances are difficult to find in the city.”

“Is there anything useful you can tell me?”

Pearce glanced at his report. “The torso was bisected at the second lumbar vertebra. A vertical incision runs the full length of the bottom half. The thighs were significantly obese and severed at the hip. The right arm was severed at the shoulder joint. It evidences signs of rigor mortis. Also”-he drew in his breath-“her complete reproductive system was removed. The whole thing. And half the appendix. And as before, the killer left smooth edges, neat incisions. He is good with a knife.”

“Like-some kind of professional? A doctor?”

“There are any number of people accustomed to dissection or cutting flesh. I personally find the suggestion that the crime might have been committed by someone trained and educated in the medical arts abhorrent and… unlikely in the extreme.”

“Then who was it?”

“I couldn’t possibly say.”

“Look, Doc,” Merylo said, “we’re desperate here. We’ve been combing the countryside for miles around Kingsbury Run, and Andrassy’s home neighborhood, and now the Charity Hospital area.”

“With no leads?”

“We get leads. But none of them go anywhere. Trouble is, the papers and radio are getting people so worked up, they’re just not rational anymore. They’re scared, and scared people do stupid stuff. Every time they hear a footstep or a barking dog or see a picnic basket, they go into a panic. They suspect every stranger, every neighbor with a pair of binoculars, everyone with a funny accent. The leads don’t lead anywhere because they’re based on irrational fear, not information.”

“Your killer has twice left corpses in very public places. Eventually you’re bound to find someone who caught him in the act.”

“You’d think, wouldn’t you? But so far not. So far no one saw him do anything.”

“Or at least,” Zalewski added quietly, “no one who saw him do anything lived to talk about it.”

Another disturbing possibility, and one that Merylo had to admit had crossed his mind.

“We’ve been trying everything we know. We’ve questioned Andrassy’s relatives, everyone who knew him. We got nothing. Interviewed all the women associated with him-and there were many. Learned nothing.”

“Except,” Zalewski said, interrupting again, “whatever it was that man had, I wish I could get some.”

“Yeah, the ladies loved him, but someone else didn’t. Some folks say Andrassy carried an ice pick with him for protection-but that didn’t save him from the man who cut off his head. My men canvassed the neighborhood at the summit of Jackass Hill, showing the Andrassy mug shot around. No one knew anything.”

“What about his work history?” Pearce inquired. “Have you investigated that?”

“Of course I have. What do you take me for, an amateur? Problem is, he rarely had anything you could call a real job. Your typical con man. Grifter. Had a job at City Hospital that he worked off and on over eight years. Probably came back whenever he needed some cash, left as soon as he didn’t.”

Pearce tapped the tip of his cigarette against the ashtray, his eyebrows knitted. “Where did he work in the hospital?”

“The loony bin. Why?”

Pearce laid down his cigarette. “You’re sure about that?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. What’s your point?”

“I don’t have a point,” Pearce said, turning his eyes away and staring at a fixed point on the wall. “But it would not surprise me to learn that this killer had spent time in a psychiatric ward.”

“You suspect some freak who can’t even think straight could pull off these crimes and get away with it? I’m not even sure the mob’s top man could commit these crimes and get away with it!”