He strode into the living room of the lake house, still wearing his pajamas and bathrobe. At least Edna had been friendly last night. She obviously wasn’t too disappointed about leaving the party early, and he thought she was pleased that he came home with her.

The house seemed exceptionally tidy, even by Edna’s standards. Why was that? There was nothing out on the kitchen cabinet, precious little in the living room. Had she just decided that if she had no visitors there was no reason to do anything?

He opened the nearest closet and found boxes packed from floor to ceiling. Boxes filled with personal belongings. As he opened a few and inspected the contents, he realized that it was all Edna’s stuff, many of her favorite things, none of his.

Had they never been unpacked since they moved here?

Or was she packing now?

He closed the closet, suddenly concerned. As if he really needed one more thing to worry about.

It was then that he happened to glance at the front door, thinking about going out to get the paper. Mail had been pushed through the slot.

Was the mail delivered this early in the morning?

There wasn’t much. Only one piece, actually. On closer inspection, he realized it was a postcard.

The front was just like the previous two he had received. On the back, in what was the same distinctive handwriting as before, someone had written:

FANCY FOOTWORK!

Ness felt a cold chill race down his spine. Then he noticed something even worse.

The postcard bore no stamp, no postmark.

It had been hand delivered.

40

From the Cleveland News, June 7, 1937:

“… and still the numbers of the headless dead multiply. The latest was discovered by a young Negro boy named Russell Lauer. Lauer was taking a shortcut home from the movies through Stone’s Levee, a deserted field often used by area residents as a makeshift city dump. Beneath the second abutment of the Lorain-Carnegie Bridge, Lauer noticed a glittering object partly buried amidst the garbage. Upon closer inspection, the shiny attraction proved to be gold teeth protruding from a human skull. Subsequent investigation revealed a human skeleton, absent the arms and legs, in a burlap bag, as well as a wool cap, the sleeve of a woman’s dress, and a severed piece of human scalp.

“Police at first expressed skepticism regarding whether this corpse, at least a year old, was connected to the previous mutilation murders that have constituted the Mad Butcher’s reign of terror over the city of Cleveland. Police Detective Peter Merylo argued that since there was no sign of trauma to the skull, it might be an unrelated death. Perhaps Merylo was anxious to prevent the Mad Butcher’s victim count from growing larger, but all doubts were put to rest when the remainder of the skeleton was discovered and examined. Evidence of ‘knife marks’ and extensive ‘hacking and cutting’ were reported by the coroner’s office.

“According to coroner, Dr. Arthur Pearce, this latest victim was a small Negro woman of approximately thirty years of age, perhaps five feet tall and weighing only a hundred pounds. Anyone who knows of a woman fitting this description who disappeared about a year ago should contact the offices of the Cleveland News immediately.

“It is the decided opinion of this newspaper that not only must this latest victim be considered part of the Butcher’s death toll, but we must also count the first victim, the so-called Lady of the Lake, making the casualties of this murderous beast number nine, at least, with no end in sight. We once again call upon the Cleveland Police Department and the Office of the Safety Director to make all conceivable efforts to bring this killing spree to an end. We call upon the citizens of Cleveland to make their opinions known, both by contacting their elected officials now and voting accordingly when the new elections are held. The voice of the people is the only means we have…”

– -

Chamberlin opened the inner door to the safety director’s office and stepped inside.

“Sir, Detective Merylo has arrived… finally.”

Ness pushed away the papers on his desk and rose to his feet. “Show him inside, please.”

Merylo didn’t wait to be asked. He appeared behind Chamberlin, sweating and breathing heavily. Chamberlin took a seat in the rear.

Ness narrowed his eyes. “You’ve grown a beard.”

Merylo touched his chin. “Not against the rules.”

“Not exactly the best image for the police department, either.”

“My wife says it makes me look taller.”

“You’re late,” Ness said, checking his watch.

“Sorry. I came as soon as I got your message.”

“That was hours ago.”

“I’ve been out in the field. Working.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Does that mean you’ve finally caught this killer?”

Merylo’s eyes narrowed. Ness always lorded it over him, always had a superior attitude. But he wasn’t normally such an ass.

“No, but it means I’ve been sweating blood looking for him.”

“I’m not interested in your sweat, Detective. I’m interested in an arrest. What have you been doing?”

“I found a man who believes the third victim might be his mother-a woman named Rose Wallace. Worked in a laundry, disappeared more than a year ago. Talked to her family and coworkers. Turns out, on the last day her whereabouts were known, she was seen in a car with a skinny, dark-haired white man. Other witnesses said she was in a car with three men. So I started looking for someone who might have some idea who these men were.”

“And have you had any success?”

Merylo frowned. “Not so far.”

“Sounds like you’re hunting for a needle in a haystack to me. You have only the vaguest description to work with. You’re not even sure the victim was Rose Wallace.”

“I have to take the clues as I find them. And try to make them into something more.”

“Which so far hasn’t worked.”

“It has in other cases.”

“I don’t care about your other cases. I want to know when you’re going to bring me the killer!”

“My men and I are doing everything we possibly can.”

“That’s not good enough!” Ness pounded on his desk, then withdrew suddenly, as if startled by his own show of anger.

He collapsed into his desk chair. “Do you have any idea the kind of pressure I’m under? All anyone wants to know is when the Mad Butcher will be caught.”

“For whatever it’s worth,” Merylo said quietly, “I don’t think it is a butcher.”

“And how would you know?”

Merylo’s lips pressed tightly together. “Because I spent a week investigating every working slaughterhouse in the city. I’ve seen what they do and how they do it. I don’t believe a butcher would have the degree of skill, or the knowledge of human anatomy, that this killer has.”

“Then who do you think it is?”

Merylo titled his head to one side. “You remember Pearce’s crime clinic?”

“Distinctly. They came up with nothing that wasn’t already obvious.”

Merylo disagreed. “They said the killer must have some anatomical and medical knowledge.”

“Right, just like the papers. Possibly a medical student. Or a male nurse.”

“That’s what they said-because everyone in the clinic was a doctor, and they were too snobby to imagine that another doctor could be the killer. Pearce has the same attitude. But I’ve known some doctors that weren’t so special in my time, particularly near the Run. Put a few of them behind bars.”

“You think a physician is committing these atrocities?”

“I think there’s a very good chance. And if you recall, Pearce’s alienist thinks the killer lives in the Kingsbury Run area-otherwise he would attract too much attention when he visits.”

“What’s the point of all this?”

“How many doctors can there be living in the Kingsbury Run area? Not a whole lot, I’m thinking.”