He returned to the living room and started to sit down on the sofa, but Edna’s enormous purse was lying in the center, tipped over on one side. He picked it up…

Something fell out.

He started to reach for it-then realized it was a postcard.

His heart began to race. His legs felt wobbly. He sat down, breathed deeply, then took the card into his hands.

On the outside, it was just like all the others. A city view of beautiful Cleveland, taken before congestion and smog made it dark and sooty. It was addressed to Eliot “Weak,” Ness. The message contained but a single word.

TOUCHABLE.

It bore no stamp or postmark.

It had been in Edna’s purse.

Without even thinking about it, Ness picked up the phone and dialed.

“Merylo? Yes, I know what time it is. Listen to me. I’ve had a change of heart. I want you to bring in the doctor.”

He waited while a groggy voice on the other end of the line tried to assimilate what it was hearing.

“Yes, I know what I’m saying. No, I haven’t been drinking. Yes, I’ve had some thoughts about that, too. We’ll rent a hotel room. Do the whole thing in secret. No one at the station needs to know about it. Just you and me and a couple of handpicked men I can trust to keep their yaps shut.”

There was more rattling on the other end of the line, as Merylo ran through every objection Ness had made earlier in the day.

“Yes, well, I’ve had some thoughts about that, too. Didn’t your lady at the Sailors’ Home say he’s been sober for a long time now? He’s about due for a bender. Keep an eye on him. As soon as he’s good and sloshed, grab him. Anyone questions us, we’ll say he was drunk and disorderly. And once we have him in custody, we can ask him about anything we want.”

49

Merylo had been told to wait until Dr. Sweeney was seriously intoxicated, but it was possible he had waited too long. He arrested the man for public drunkenness and, as directed, brought him through the back door and up the rear stairs to a private room in the Cleveland Hotel. But Sweeney was so far gone that they spent the first three days just waiting for him to dry out.

When he was finally sober-and desperate for a drink-the questioning began. Merylo wanted to do it, but the safety director had insisted on handling it himself. Merylo wasn’t surprised. Even though he was the one who found the man, if there was going to be a confession, or even a slip leading to an arrest, Ness would want to be able to take credit for it.

Ness closed the drapes across the windows and made the room totally dark, all but for one light dangling low in the center of the room between the questioner and the questioned. Merylo and Zalewski and Chamberlin were allowed to watch, but they remained in the darkness.

Sweeney was handcuffed to his chair, but it was hard to imagine that he could be any threat. He wore several days’ stubble and stinking wrinkled clothes. His mustache was in bad need of a trim. His glasses were bent and they rested crookedly on his face. His eyes were bloodshot and his face looked tired. It took a lot of imagination to envision this dissipated drunk as the sadistic murderer of ten people.

Ness stared across the room at Sweeney, his voice level, his expression even.

“Hello. My name is Eliot Ness.”

“I’m all atwitter.”

“You know who I am?”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“Do you understand why you’re here?”

“I assume you must think I’m running hooch.”

“No.”

“Or you think I’m running the mob. Do you think I’m running the mob?”

“No.”

“Isn’t that what you do? Track down mobsters and make them pay their taxes?”

“Not this time.”

“Then can I go home?”

Ness took a long deep breath. “Please state your name.”

“Gaylord Sundheim.”

“We know perfectly well that is not your name.”

“Then why did you ask?”

“Is your name Francis Edward Sweeney?”

“I think you’re better off with Gaylord Sundheim. Because if word gets out who I really am, you’re going to be in serious trouble.”

Ness ignored him. “And your friends call you Frank, right?”

“I’m not sure I have any friends.”

“And you currently live at the Sandusky Soldiers’ and Sailors’ Home?”

“If you can call that living.”

“And you’ve killed ten people and then mutilated and discarded their bodies.”

A slow smile lifted the corners of Sweeney’s mouth. “Don’t be absurd. I’m a doctor.”

“Exactly. Good with your hands. Good with a knife.”

“Are you interrogating all the doctors in town?”

“No.”

“Just the ones with relatives in the Democratic party?”

“Just the ones who worked with Edward Andrassy.”

“Ah.”

“Did you know Flo Polillo?”

“We had a few… encounters.”

“And Rose Wallace?”

“A little skinny for my taste.”

“And somehow, you all got involved in something. Something that went bad. So bad you had to kill everyone involved.”

“Is that what you think? Or your police crony?”

“That’s what I think. The detective thinks you like to have sex with victims and corpses.”

“And you disagree?”

“I don’t think a total madman could pull off what the Torso Killer has done and get away with it. The Mad Butcher may be a murderer, but he is also smart.”

“And you don’t think it’s possible for a man to be smart and crazy?”

“I’ve visited lunatic asylums. That’s not what I saw.”

“Maybe the Torso Killer is something new. Something special.”

“In my experience, every crook thinks he’s something special. But they still get caught eventually.”

“Exactly my point. You caught them. But not the Mad Butcher. What’s the difference?”

“Why don’t you tell me?”

“I’m sure I don’t know.”

“We’ve taken your prints. We’re running tests on your clothes. We’re going to search your room at the Home. We have science on our side.”

“Oh, my. Well, if you have science, you’ll undoubtedly catch your killer. I’m surprised you didn’t catch him ten victims ago. Or perhaps more.”

“Have there been more? Some we haven’t discovered yet?”

His sickening smile intensified. “How would I know?”

“Are you the Mad Butcher?”

“I told you already. I’m Gaylord Sundheim.” He shrugged his shoulders and grinned like the Cheshire cat.

Merylo wanted to hit him so badly he could taste it.

After three hours of questioning, all of it unproductive, Ness agreed to take a break. Zalewski went out for sandwiches. Merylo went downtown to visit a judge he knew, told him discreetly what was happening, got a warrant, and searched Dr. Sweeney’s room at the Sailors’ Home with a man from the forensics lab.

They found nothing. No knives, no traces of victim’s clothing, no heads, no blood. Merylo assumed Sweeney didn’t bring his victims back here, but he had hoped to at least find a bloodstained knife. No such luck.

He didn’t know why Ness had changed his mind about interrogating Sweeney, but he did realize that Ness had climbed out on a very shaky branch and if the limb broke, Merylo would likely be the scapegoat. This suspect had no priors, no criminal record of any kind. He was related to a Democratic congressman and perhaps worst of all, he was a physician-someone investigators had repeatedly refused to believe could commit these crimes. If they didn’t get something out of the interrogation, this could turn very bad, very quickly.

As soon as everyone returned to the hotel room, the questioning resumed.

“Am I correct in my belief,” Ness asked, “that since you lost your job at the hospital, your cousin the congressman has been supporting you?”

“A man’s got to eat.”

“That’s why most men work.”

“I’ve had some problems.”

“Are you talking about the booze? Or something else?”