“Hey, she chose her life.”

“And you wrung it dry.”

“I didn’t do nothin’ I didn’t have the right to do!” Adler protested. “She was mine, man! I owned her!”

Merylo and Zalewski both stared back at him. “Case you haven’t heard, punk, slavery has been abolished. People can’t own other people. It ain’t legal.”

“That’s a load of bull.”

“It’s true.”

“You sayin’ a wife ain’t supposed to do what her husband tells her? That the man ain’t the boss of the family?”

Merylo wagged his head. “That’s different, and besides, you’re not her husband.”

“No, but I met the man. And he sold her to me, for twenty-two dollars, cash. I owned her. And I had a right to recoup my investment.”

Merylo and Zalewski were shoulder to shoulder as they entered the downtown post office.

“Did you know about this guy?” Zalewski asked.

“Honest?”

“If you’re in the mood.”

Merylo frowned. “I didn’t even know Flo was married. I thought Polillo was her maiden name.”

“Thanks for being honest.”

“There’s no shame in it, though it isn’t exactly a source of pride, either. I’ve talked to dozens of people who knew Flo. None of them knew she was married.”

“How could that be?”

“We’re about to find out.” Merylo spotted the man he sought behind the counter. He’d made sure in advance he’d be on duty.

He flashed his badge. “Peter Merylo, Homicide Department. Are you Andrew Polillo?”

The mail clerk’s shoulders sagged. “Wondered how long it’d be before you boys came round.”

Merylo nodded. “So I guess you’re not denying that you were married to Florence Polillo?”

“Don’t ’spect there’d be much point in it.” His face was pocked and he looked undernourished. He was one of the lucky few who still had a job, but Merylo got the impression that his life had not been easy and probably never would be.

“Care to explain why you left your wife?”

“Left her? We’re divorced. Her idea. Didn’t you know?”

Merylo and Zalewski exchanged a glance. “Just checking. How long have you been divorced?”

Polillo thought a moment. “Must be almost three years.”

“Since you… sold her to a man named Chink Adler?”

Polillo did not deny. He did not even seem particularly perturbed. “She was already hookin’. What difference did it make? Seemed like I was entitled to get a little somethin’ out of the marriage. It cost me enough.”

“So you sold her to a pimp.”

“What I hear, workin’ with a pimp is a lot safer than workin’ on your own. Women in that line get roughed up when they don’t have someone lookin’ out for them.”

Merylo didn’t argue the point. “Bitter about it?”

“Not bitter enough to kill her, if that’s what you’re gettin’ at.”

“Someone did.”

“It wasn’t me.”

“Why’d you dump her?” Zalewski asked, injecting himself into the conversation.

Polillo fidgeted with his date-stamp. “I loved Flo. I really did. Loved her like I’ve never loved anyone. Took care of her. But she was always a hard drinker. Didn’t leave much room for me-she was in love with the bottle. I told her I’d had enough. She was going to have to give up the drinking, or give up me.”

“And that was the end of it?”

“Not quite. She was sympathetic at first. Cried and everything. Showed me a side I’d never seen before. Said she was going to go visit her mother for two weeks to get herself straight. I said fine. So she went away for two weeks-and didn’t come back. Few days later I saw her go into a restaurant right here in town with another man, some big husky guy who had his hands all over her.”

Polillo stared down at his desk. “Few days later, I asked her for a divorce. She said, Sure, why not? That was the end of it. Adler gave me some cash, said he’d look after her.” Merylo was amazed to see Polillo’s eyes were misting. “All I wanted was the best for her. That’s all I ever wanted.”

Merylo’s teeth clenched together. What a stupid job this was.

“You have any idea who might want to kill her?”

“No.”

“You ever see her with any suspicious characters?”

“Haven’t seen her at all for three years.”

“Ever hear of a guy named Andrassy?”

“Saw his picture in the paper. Never saw him or heard of him before that.”

Merylo folded up his notepad. “Thank you for your time. Zalewski?”

The two men made their way out of the post office.

“You think he was lying?” Zalewski asked.

“No.”

“You think Adler was lying?”

“No. I don’t think either of them knows a damn thing about it. Or Dollarhyde. Nobody we’ve talked to.” He shook his head. “I thought identifying a second victim would be the key to solving this whole case. Seems I may have miscalculated.”

Zalewski looked at him anxiously. “So then… where does that leave us?”

“Exactly where we’ve been all along.” He opened his car door and slid behind the steering wheel. “Nowhere.”

“You don’t think we’ll crack this case?”

“We’ll crack it. Just not as soon as I’d hoped. But we’ll catch this guy, you wait and see. ’Cause I won’t stop trying until we do.”

21

Ness was astounded when he saw how many people were waiting to hear him talk. He had readily agreed to speak to the Cleveland Advertising Club, one of the leading professional organizations in the city. Never hurt to brush shoulders with the folks who made the greatest contributions to the city coffers. This meeting was in the downtown hotel’s largest ballroom and it was packed. He didn’t see an empty seat anywhere. Surely these people couldn’t all be advertising men!

No, he realized, as he scanned the room. Some of the attendees were women-wives, probably. Or secretaries. He even spotted some youngsters. One was wearing a button on his lapel with a picture of Ness cut out of the newspaper.

He wasn’t just the safety director anymore. He was a teen idol. Right up there with Charles Lindbergh. A hero.

Come to think of it, hero status hadn’t worked so well for Lindbergh, had it? Last Ness heard, he was still in Europe, dodging all the ugly publicity stemming from the kidnapping. Hauptmann was in jail awaiting trial.

Ness would have to be very careful.

“In any city where corruption exists, it follows that some officials are playing ball with the underworld. The dishonest public servant hiding behind a badge is more detestable than any street criminal or mob boss. If officials are committed to a program of protection, police work becomes exceedingly difficult, and the officer on the beat, discouraged from his duty, decides it is best to see as little crime as possible.”

Ness gazed out at the crowd of stony faces. He didn’t know what was going wrong, but this presentation was clearly not what most of the audience was expecting. It wasn’t that they disagreed so much as they were… well, bored. He knew he wasn’t a flashy speaker. Never had been. Could get his message across, but he lacked a certain pizzazz. That’s why he had resisted all offers to run for public office. Mayor Burton might have a silver tongue, but he did not. Edna had suggested that he start with a joke, but his attempts at humor always flopped. Any time he tried to tell a joke he ended up being sorry he had started.

Ness outlined the evidence he had found that many police officers were taking bribes, tipping off mobsters, drinking on duty-or any combination of the above. He also explained what he had done to stop it.

“A public official always puts himself in danger when he threatens someone’s livelihood. There are ripples throughout the community. Even if the cop is crooked, is his wife? Are his children? Should they be punished for what he has done? These are difficult questions. But I could not possibly accomplish the job I was sworn to do until these leaks were plugged. And so I suspended over three hundred officers. Most of them will never return to the force. And a strong message will be sent to those who remain.”