39

From the morning edition, February 24, 1937, Cleveland Plain Dealer:

“… when fifty-five-year-old Robert Smith, cruising near the Lake Erie coast in his sailboat, spotted a mysterious object on the shore. Closer inspection revealed that it was a body part, a woman’s torso, missing head and arms, that had washed up on the shore. There were no footprints nearby. Presumably the torso was tossed in at a different point and carried there by the tides.

“According to the police, the woman was approximately thirty years old, five feet six, and 120 pounds. She had light brown hair and, based upon the condition of her lungs, lived in the city. Detective Peter Merylo said the police had several leads they were pursuing, but given the repeated lack of results, it is hard to know whether to take such claims seriously. Merylo also claims he found a zigzagging trail of blood running from the shore to Lake Shore Boulevard. Merylo was following up reports of two suspicious men in an automobile parked on the Boulevard. This paper, however, has uncovered a witness who, hours before, watched a dog hit by a car limp all the way to the shore. It would seem, therefore, that the distinguished Detective Merylo is more likely to capture a dead dog than the barbarian plaguing our community.

“When questioned about these matters, Chief Matowitz insisted that although they still had not located the Torso Murderer, the police investigation has been so intense that over two dozen other serious criminals have been apprehended, as well as more than a dozen dangerously disturbed persons who were referred to mental institutions. While that may be of comfort to the police department, it gives no relief to the people of this city who wonder every night when it will be possible once more to walk the streets of the city without fear, without risk of becoming the next victim of this monstrous killer. Cleveland’s shame has become a national story, holding the entire country in rapt fascination and horror, not only at the atrocities performed, but by the police incompetence and continued inability to catch a single killer. This paper formally calls for the police department to undertake the most thorough and exhaustive efforts to bring this maniac to justice.

“The office of Safety Director Eliot Ness was contacted before this story ran, but we were told that he was unavailable for comment…”

– -

“You know I hate this sort of thing.”

“You said you wanted to get out more.”

“With you. With friends. Not with a thousand random people I don’t know and don’t care to know.”

“Honey, I think you have a rather unpleasant attitude about this.”

“I bet there will be lots of high-society swells. And reporters.”

“Perhaps. Why do you think so?”

“Because otherwise, you wouldn’t be here.”

Ness gave his wife a long look. He hoped the driver wasn’t listening, but how could he not? Didn’t matter-he’d probably heard a lot worse in the past.

He and Edna had seen each other less and less since he rented the apartment downtown. He thought that was what she wanted, and it certainly made it easier for him at the end of a long night of work. There was no questioning, however, the fact that they had grown farther apart. Even if before all they ever did was fight. Now they had lost even that, and there seemed to be very little left in its stead.

“That was cheap.”

“But true. You only bother with me when you want to be seen in public with a wife on your arm.”

“That’s baloney. It’s just that it’s a long way from our house to downtown.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“If you’re so bored, I would think you’d welcome a chance to get out.”

“For the mayor’s ball? Black ties and big shots and everyone wanting something and angling on how they’re going to get it. Is that your idea of a good time? Because it is certainly not mine.”

“The mayor wants to be reelected. We want him to be reelected, since he’s the one who gave me my current job. I have to be here.”

“Yes, I know.” Edna sighed wearily. She turned slightly and adjusted his bow tie. “And you do look splendid in your tuxedo. Like Gary Cooper in Mr. Deeds Goes to Town. You’re a handsome man, Eliot.”

“Thank you kindly.”

“Just wish I saw more of you.”

“I know you do. And as soon as we catch this killer-”

She held up her hand, stopping him cold. “Eliot, please. I’m not a fool. Just don’t bother.”

The driver pulled their car up to the curb outside the front door of the majestic Biltmore Hotel. A doorman opened the rear door and helped Edna out of the car.

Together, they made their way to the ballroom, admiring the elegant long, silky evening gowns that passed by.

“I feel so out of place here,” Edna said under her breath.

“You shouldn’t. You’re the prettiest girl in the joint.”

“Oh, I am not.”

He touched her on the arm, still moving forward. “You are to me.”

As they stepped through the ballroom doors, Ness didn’t even need to pass the announcer his card. He was recognized immediately.

“Mr. and Mrs. Eliot Ness.”

There was an immediate response: clapping and cheering and even a little squealing with excitement. Ness was pleased to realize that the killings had not totally eliminated all public appreciation of him and his work-at least not yet. They entered the cavernous ballroom, sumptuously appointed with marble floors, Doric columns, crystal chandeliers. A full band was playing a popular tune. Ness didn’t get much chance to listen to the radio, but he thought it was “It’s De-Lovely.” He liked Cole Porter. His songs always had such clever lyrics. Edna preferred Irving Berlin.

Within minutes he and Edna were surrounded by people he didn’t know. The mayor’s assistant, Wes Lawrence. A lovely young heiress named Katy Conrad. Richard Turnbull, the owner of the largest slaughterhouse in the city.

“What was Capone really like?” Miss Conrad asked breathlessly. Ness sensed Edna thought she was standing entirely too close to him. “Are you really untouchable? I’m not.”

More well-wishers and spectators swarmed around them.

“Why are you government boys so opposed to a drop of bourbon here and there?”

“Are you really leading a Boy Scout troop?”

“My husband says there must be three Eliot Nesses, identical triplets maybe, to get done all you get done. Is that true?”

“I’m telling you, these illustrated comic stories are going to be the next big thing. I could get you in on the ground floor.”

“My uncle doesn’t like you very much. He says The Harvard Club was the only place he could go to get away from his wife.”

“That Shantytown is deplorable! When is the city going to do something about it?”

“Spiritualism is a true science now, you know. The existence of the other world has been proven. I could show you photographs.”

“When are you going to catch that Torso Killer?”

The conversation, if you could call it that, ground to a halt. An oppressive silence suddenly filled their circle.

“I’m sorry,” the woman mumbled, covering her mouth with a white-gloved hand. “Did I say something wrong? Do you prefer to call him the Mad Butcher like the papers do?”

Ness smiled slightly. “I think perhaps it’s time to get my wife some punch.” He gently carved a path through the crowd and tugged Edna forward… right into Congressman Sweeney.

“Where are you going, Ness? I’d like to hear you answer the young woman’s question.”

“I can assure you we’re doing everything we possibly can.”

“I’m not a reporter,” Sweeney said, tugging at his vest. “So don’t try to soft-soap me. This city expects results. You are the safety director, after all.”

“And I have fulfilled all my duties as Safety Director and then some, Congressman.” Ness glanced behind him, checking to see if anyone was listening. Naturally, they all were. “Have you seen the latest reports on labor racketeering? We’ve achieved some major convictions.”