“Didn’t take much,” The Oil Baron commented.

“No, I’ll admit, I’m passionate about the Boys Clubs. I wish the press were as interested as I am. Unfortunately, these days they only seem to be interested in one thing.”

“Here it comes,” The Railroad Tycoon said, his bushy gray eyebrows dancing up and down.

“I’m sure you saw this coming. Gentlemen, I need your help catching this cold-blooded killer who walks among us. The Torso Murderer.”

Someone in the rear of the room whistled. “Tall order.”

“Yes, it is. That’s why I asked Lou to only invite tall men, people who aren’t afraid to reach for difficult goals others might find unattainable. I know we can catch this murderer. If we work together.”

“But haven’t you already got a team working on this case?” The Uptown Physician asked. “He’s in the paper almost every day. That stout fellow-what’s his name? Murrow…”

“Merylo. Yes, he’s the chief detective, leading the police department’s investigation. And he’s a fine man-intelligent, skilled, experienced. Tenacious. Pugnacious. He has a fine track record.” Ness spread his hands. “And you see what his efforts have produced. Absolutely nothing.”

“Maybe you need to replace him.”

“I’ve considered it, believe me. But I genuinely believe that he is the best, most qualified man for the job. And I trust him, which counts for a lot. No, my friends, I don’t want to replace him. I want to supplement him.”

The Meat Packer ground out his cigar in an ashtray. “I don’t see what we could do to help. I certainly don’t know my way around Kingsbury Run, and I doubt if anyone else in this room does.”

Ness dropped his voice a notch. “What you need to understand, gentlemen, is that although Peter Merylo is a fine detective, he has two major handicaps. First, he is absolutely dogged by the press. They watch every move he makes. Consequently, the killer can watch him, too. And second…” Ness’s voice fell even lower. “The second handicap is that Detective Merylo is absolutely dogged by the law.”

He paused a few moments, letting the words sink in before he continued.

“You may have noticed that I did not invite any newspapermen here tonight, even though several of them are among the richest and most prominent men in our society. There’s a reason for that. I suppose the fourth estate plays an important role in our democracy-although sometimes I wonder-and I know that many of you have occasionally had cause to wonder yourselves.”

A chorus of vaguely assenting grunts passed through the room.

“I need men who can move without being watched. I need men who can get close to this killer without having a photographer following in their footsteps. We’ll never catch this butcher so long as he knows everything we’re doing.”

“Makes sense,” The Meat Packer said, as he snipped his next cigar. “Perfect sense.”

“And,” Ness added, “we don’t want the press watching our every move if our men are engaging in… unorthodox procedures.”

The Banker chuckled. “Now we’re getting to the heart of it.”

“That’s right,” Ness agreed. “We are. Some of you who are familiar with my activities in Chicago ”-he knew that would be all of them- “will recall that I occasionally was forced to… stretch the law here and there to get the job done. And I took some flack for it now and again. But I closed the case.” He looked out into the crowd, letting the overhead light strike his eyes. “I think we need that sort of approach here.”

“What exactly are you proposing?” The Banker asked.

“I want to appoint an independent team of investigators. Men outside the control of the police force.”

“Where will you find them?”

“Leave that to me. I know who I want. After chasing Capone in Chicago and moonshiners in Tennessee and everything I did in Cleveland before I was safety director, I know a lot of people. Good people. Strong men.”

“What do you want them to do?”

“Whatever they need to do, without having to worry every second about whether they’re violating someone’s constitutional rights. I want them to go where they need to go and talk to whoever they need to talk to.”

“All for the greater good?” The Uptown Physician said. “Forgive me, Eliot, but you’re sounding a bit like that fellow over in Italy.”

“I don’t think so. I’m not trying to take over. I just want this killer caught.”

“In a bit of a sticky situation, aren’t you?” The Banker asked. “You made big promises to the reporters. Now they’re expecting you to deliver.”

“And you want us to help you do it,” The Meat Packer added.

“Perhaps,” The Architect interjected, “you should have consulted us before you made the big promises.”

Ness could feel the tide turning against him. He knew he had to move quickly. “I can’t change what’s already done. I probably did speak imprudently, in the heat of the moment. But that’s not what matters. The only important question is this: Do you want this killer caught? Many of you talk about philanthropy, and noblesse oblige and the responsibilities of the very wealthy. Well, here’s a chance to really do something. Here’s a chance to eliminate a dire threat to this community.” He stopped for a moment and made eye contact with each of the assembled men. “And let me remind you, gentlemen, that the killer has recently made inroads into the west side. Who knows where he might strike next?”

Silence blanketed the room. Whatever growing dissent there might have been before had been stifled.

“What is it you want us to do, Eliot?” The Railroad Tycoon asked. “Surely you don’t want us to be your elite team of lawless investigators?”

Ness disregarded the dubious phrasing. “No. I’ll find the men. But good men must be paid. And that’s what I need from you. Financing. Financing that must be kept completely off any official books or records.”

“And how do you expect us to accomplish that?”

“I don’t know,” Ness said, and for the first time that evening, his eyes showed a bit of their characteristic twinkle. “But having worked in the Treasury Department for many years, I have a suspicion that many of you do know how to do it.”

More harrumphing, followed by a few winks and eyes averted toward the rug.

“I have a question,” The Meat Packer said.

“What would that be?”

“If we sign on for this-does that make us Untouchables?”

Ness sighed. “I get that a lot.”

“I might fancy that,” The Uptown Physician said. “Imagine telling the little woman I’ve become an Untouchable.”

“Which of your little women would that be?” The Architect asked, followed by the loudest round of laughter yet.

“Stop right there,” Ness said. “If you sign on for this-for that matter, even if you don’t-you can tell no one. Absolutely no one. I’ve learned how quickly an operation can be compromised by leaks. You can’t tell your friends, your wives, your mistresses. No one.”

He took a deep breath, then opted to answer the question. “No, I don’t think you’ll become the Untouchables. I think you’ll become… the Unknowns. My problem here isn’t that I think the killer is buying people off. My problems are the press and the law. I need people who can work under the cover of darkness, in the shadows. People only accountable to me. And unknown to everyone else.”

The Meat Packer nodded approvingly and ground out his cigar. “The Unknowns. I like that. Sounds like something out of a Charlie Chan picture.”

“Charlie Chan never faced any criminal like this, gentlemen. But I don’t need him, or any of his many sons. All I need is your help. Your support. Can I count you in?”

To his dismay, there was no immediate response, no reaction of any kind. At first, the men appeared to be looking from one to another, checking faces, wondering who would go first. If anyone.

“Supposing you catch this maniac,” The Oil Baron said. “Will you acknowledge our help then?”