Part 2 (2/2)
The plastic scalpel, meant to slice soft flesh and perhaps fabric, snapped in two and left the blade stuck in the hard wood. She couldn't waste supplies and continued to work with it, careful not to let her fingers slide down to the cutting edge. ”There isn't any huge hurry, is there? Jacobs isn't planning to build a mall here or anything?”
”Not that I know of.”
”Then we need to keep this. Besides, if we really can link it to the Torso killer, it will probably beat out the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame to become the city's number one tourist attraction.”
”You sound almost hopeful.”
She started on a third stain, snapped the scalpel further. ”I can't decide what to hope for. I'd love to know, like everyone else in Cleveland. But I don't want to jump to conclusions. And how do we go about investigating a seventy-four-year-old crime? We may not be able to get DNA out of such old bones, or this ancient wood. What if all this blood doesn't belong to him? What if he slaughtered half a dozen victims in this little den-how do we find reference samples after so many years?”
”Cheer up, cuz. You and I have worked cold cases before.”
She sealed another manila envelope with red tape. A metallic rattle from the building's entrance told her the body s.n.a.t.c.her team now approached with a gurney and, she hoped, a big-a.s.s electric saw. ”This case isn't just cold. It's frozen-solid cold. It's liquid-nitrogen cold.”
”That's why I need you.”
CHAPTER 4.
MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 23.
1935.
The lines scared him.
Snaking up the street and around the corner, a single-file a.s.sortment of men in worn clothing and beat-up shoes ended at the door to the soup kitchen. Each of them would get what they could, eat the soup and maybe shove the roll into their pocket for later or to take home to their families. It would almost certainly be their only meal today.
Some days James looked away. Other days he forced himself to stare at them, to see each man as an individual and not a piece of society's offal. To remind himself how lucky he was to still have a job and the semblance of a normal life. They came with a price, yes, but the alternative remained more costly.
The driver's door opened and his partner, Walter McKenna, dropped into the driver's seat. Worn-out seat springs protested at his weight. ”He didn't see nothing.”
They'd spent the morning working their way down Prospect, inquiring with the merchants who were either friendly to cops or known for a.s.sociating with those who weren't, trying to scare up information about the burglary of a Euclid jewelry store the previous week. So far they had been ”treated” by various shop owners to three cups of coffee each as well as a piece of apple pie, two cigarettes, and a cigar (for Walter) but had not learned anything about the burglary.
”Let's go to lunch.” Walter started the car, and after the engine thought about it for a moment or two, it coughed to life. ”You worry too much. Stop looking at them.”
”I know.”
”That's not going to be you.”
”I know,” he repeated, though he didn't.
They drove one block over and parked at the curb outside the Arcade-one of the advantages of having a car that said police on the side was the ability to park wherever you wanted, Eliot Ness and his traffic safety program notwithstanding-and went inside. Walter liked what he called ”decent” food. No five-bit diner for him, so they often stopped at this collection of offices, eateries, and shops arranged in rings around five stories of open air, topped by a gla.s.s ceiling. Throngs of office workers, young clerks with out-of-style ties, and secretaries in modest skirts, swirled around them.
They sat in the diner window to watch the people going by, recognizing a good number of them. James pointed out a wiry guy skulking along with another man. ”What about Henry?”
”Only hits groceries. He'd never try a jewelry store, he doesn't have the contacts to unload the goods.”
”Maybe he's trying to come up in the world.”
”Ain't we all.”
The waitress came by. James ordered the cheapest thing on the menu-a ten-cent ham sandwich-instead of the tuna fish he would have preferred, because he knew he wouldn't have to pay for it. An inefficient sop to his conscience-or his ego.
”How's Helen?” Walter asked.
Not a non sequitur. Helen definitely planned to move up in the world.
”She wants a refrigerator.”
”Can't blame her,” Walter said. ”They're great. No more dealing with the iceman, having that d.a.m.n drip pan overflow and flood the kitchen. I couldn't stand our iceman. Always showing off his muscles to my wife. You lift blocks of ice for a living, idiot, and she's supposed to be impressed with you? I mean, you and Helen got electricity, right?”
”I have electricity. I don't have the five hundred bucks a refrigerator would cost. I could buy a new car for that.”
”You don't need a car. You do need to eat.”
”We eat fine.” He shouldn't have said anything, knowing his partner would take his wife's side. Walter's spouse got whatever she wanted, because Walter's police salary came with a healthy supplement from appreciative citizens-people who appreciated not being arrested for gambling, speeding, bootlegging, or beating up a business rival. Walter's wife had a refrigerator. And a new dress every month. And their kids went to the parish school.
Helen, on the other hand, altered her dresses once in a while for a fresh look, made leftovers last for days, and saved her mascara for social occasions.
The other cop persisted. ”Stuff lasts longer, because the temperature don't go up and down as the ice melts.”
”Uh-huh.”
”I trust you, Jimmy. You know that, right?”
Again, the path his partner's mind took did not present a mystery. James would have had plenty of money if he were a ”normal” cop. Refusing to take it only gave the other ”normal” cops a reason to think he might not be a stand-up kind of guy. Cops who weren't stand-up guys made other cops nervous. ”I know. I'm just careful, Walter. Maybe you should be, too.”
”What does that mean?”
”Nothing from me, you know that. But once Ness takes over-” Walter dropped his sandwich back onto his plate with disgust. ”I don't care about what that pretty-boy newshound did to Capone! Anybody could have gotten Capone, the guy did everything but p.i.s.s in full view of the entire city! The ones operating here are a lot smarter.”
James waited until Walter went to work on another mouthful and kept his voice low. ”Smarts may not have anything to do with it. You know Burton is going to win the mayoral race and his entire platform seems to be police corruption. Even without Ness, people are going to go down and I don't want to be one of them.”
Walter licked his fingers and winked at the waitress. ”I don't get you, Jimmy. Without even blinking you'll go up against a drunk with a gun who's beating his wife, but let some politician shake his fist and you quiver.”
James had no trade to fall back on, no extended family to help him along, and the army didn't have the budget to take guys back. He pictured himself waiting in a line of hungry men. ”I can't lose my job.”
Walter's soft face softened even more, and he shook his head. He understood, really. Walter wasn't a bad guy. Not cruel, loved his wife despite his big talk about women, a good father. He would be right behind James against any criminal element...if only James felt comfortable enough to turn his back.
Now his partner leaned forward as if he might pat James's hand. ”It's an election year, Jimmy. Guys say stuff like that every election year. Once the votes are counted it will be a different story. He can't throw out the whole entire force, so he'll concentrate on the big shots, fire a few captains to make it look good, and things will go on as before. Guys like you and me will always be here.”
<script>