“The man believed to have succumbed to the smoke and confusion of the late-night raid has not yet been identified either. He was wearing a St. Christopher medallion around his neck and is thought to have been a vagrant simply passing through Cleveland and taking shelter in Kingsbury Run. At this time, authorities have not released any other identifying information.”
Ness put down the paper and dug into the eggs Margaret set in front of him. “He wasn’t wearing the necklace,” he added after she bustled away. “He’d been strangled with it, according to Cowles.”
“You think it was Sweeney?” Malone asked softly.
“The body was burned beyond recognition. Nothing to identify him but the medallion and his teeth . . . though as of right now, we don’t have Sweeney’s dental records yet, if they even exist. Francis Sweeney was big on trading services. But yeah. I think it was him, Malone. Someone got him.”
Neither of them offered speculations on who that someone was. They ate in silence for several charged seconds.
“O’Shea brought us to Sweeney’s clinic, just like he said he would,” Ness continued. “We hit it first. It was just a hut made of tin and tires not far from the Eagle Street ramp. But there wasn’t much there. Some booze. Some bandages. A lockbox with some tonics and pills inside. We didn’t find the body until the next day, after the fires were all put out. It was discovered on the other side of the Run beside a pile of tires.”
“Whoever killed Sweeney started the fires,” Malone said.
“Yeah. Most likely. It wasn’t us, though we got blamed for it. We’d cleared everyone out before a shout went up. I thought for sure it was Sweeney, covering his tracks.” Ness shrugged. “Guess not. But the whole Run is gone . . . and I can’t say I’m sorry.”
“Sweeney’s next of kin notified?” Malone asked, sarcasm dripping.
Ness snorted. “In a way.”
Malone raised his brows.
“I don’t think the congressman is going to be running to the papers. In fact, I’m guessing his whole family is hoping the dead man is Frank Sweeney. But the gag order is in full effect. Every officer has been read the riot act. No talking to the press. No speculating. And those orders aren’t coming from me.”
“Did you find any evidence on Mead? Anything that connected the Butcher’s victims to the indigent morgue?”
“Nah. But Raus verified Sweeney volunteered there years back. He knew the place well. What better way to dispose of death than at a morgue? He drugged them somewhere else but killed them there, then washed his evidence down the gutters with the blood and gore of a thousand others, and left their bodies around the city. I don’t know where he kept the remains of the woman in the quilt, the one you called Nettie. We got a report back on her. She died of natural causes. Unlike the others, he chopped her up posthumously.”
“Why?” Malone shook his head. It wasn’t really a question he expected Ness to answer.
“Hell if I know. But I’m guessing it was one of his clues. He was telling us where he killed them.”
“And where he planned to kill Dani. He asked her if she thought I’d come back when she was dead.”
“Dani’s death was his revenge on you, Mike.”
“And on her. She helped us find him.” He paused, not wanting to continue, but knowing it needed to be said. “You have Dani’s word that he was there, Eliot. He confessed to her. That’s evidence.”
“You want me to give the papers Dani’s name? You want me to take her name to a judge? To put her in the crosshairs of the machine?”
“You’d have to kill me first,” Malone said. He wouldn’t expose Dani to get Sweeney. He supposed that made him no better than the politicians.
“That’s what I thought,” Eliot said, his smile wan.
“Though the way Irey feels about me—and you—and this whole thing, you’ll have to get in line,” Malone continued. “They want this all to go away. And you can bet that it will. Immediately. Poof. Nobody will talk about it. Nobody will ever really know the truth. About anything.”
“Yeah.” Ness nodded. “Yep.”
“So that’s it, then? You’re not going to say a word?”
“No.” Ness shook his head. “Cowles won’t either. It’s over. Unless . . . the body wasn’t Sweeney.”
“They’ll never let you live this down,” Malone said. The thought bothered him greatly.