“Thing is,” Frescone said, his eyebrows dancing, “I didn’t realize the government was taxing cold cream.”

Ness looked up. “Cold cream? You’re smuggling cold cream?”

“ ‘Smuggling’ is such a dirty word. Try ‘importing.’ Turns out there’s a big demand for this stuff here in Cleveland. Your wife probably uses it to take off her makeup at night, when you two get done cutting the rug at those downtown jazz clubs. Edna, right?”

Ness glared at him with narrowed eyes.

“So I’m having this stuff sent down to my factory on the wharf and they’ll bottle it and we’ll get it into the stores for Christmas. Should make a killing. If you know what I mean.”

“You went to all this trouble to import cold cream? In the dead of the night?”

“Just a simple business transaction. I work long hours. It’s the secret of my success.”

“Or a diversion. The real hooch is coming in somewhere else. Probably the Ohio River. South side.” Ness paused. “Someone tipped you off.”

“I receive information from many sources. Nothing illegal about that.”

“No, but it’s illegal to be the rat-fink turncoat traitor.”

“Such language. You’re not yourself. I’m afraid this evening has been something of an embarrassment for you, Mr. Ness. The great all-American hero is looking fairly stupid this time.”

Ness smiled. “That’s where you’re wrong, Frescone. I got exactly what I wanted.”

“You think shipping cold cream is a crime?”

“I learned a long time ago that you can’t catch crooks if you can’t trust your own men. You’ve got to root out the dirty ones and work with what’s left. The untouchables. The point of this operation wasn’t to seize your booze. Though I will, in time. The point was to find out who the stoolie was. Now it’s clear. It has to be someone inside the county sheriffs office.”

Potts stepped forward. “What? Are you slandering my department?”

“With the truth.”

Potts pounded his fists together and swore. “I guess you figure someone back at the office tipped off Frescone.”

“I think I can narrow the field more than that.”

“But you told the whole office we were making this raid.”

“True. But I told everyone else we were going after the gambling parlor in the basement of Hannigan’s Hardware.”

“You’re saying-you lied?”

“I still plan to raid the hardware store. The night is young.”

“But then-what was the point-”

“Here’s the thing-I only told one person I traced a load of illegal hooch to the Cuyahoga and I was coming out tonight to raid the warehouse before the stuff slipped into the city.” Ness pressed his finger into Potts’s lapel. “You.”

The expressions on the faces of Frescone and his men were nothing short of astonished.

Sheriff Potts took a step back, slapping away Ness ’s hand. “What are you playing at, Ness? They’re the criminals!”

“There are many different kinds of criminals, unfortunately, Sheriff.”

“If you think for one minute that I’m involved in this lowlife moonshine operation-”

“Oh, you’re a lot more than involved. You and five of your men, including your deputy, John Lavery, have built up a little bootlegging empire over the last five years, haven’t you? It started with holding up moonshiners coming in from Steubenville and demanding payoffs. Pretty soon, you wanted more than a piece of the action. You wanted to run the show.”

“That’s a filthy lie.”

Ness didn’t blink. “Your bank records show you’ve been making real estate investments far beyond anything you could afford on your sheriff’s salary.”

“I came into an inheritance.”

“I’ve found payoff records that an expert will testify are in your handwriting. But I didn’t have any conclusive proof, and I didn’t think your buddies on either side of the river were likely to help. So I told you about this little raid tonight and waited to see if you’d tell your friends. You did. Now I have my evidence.”

Frescone spoke hesitantly. “You knew he’d tip us off? You knew-”

“Yes, I knew you’d send the booze somewhere else.”

“And you’re not taking us in?”

“Not tonight. But I will.” Ness slid the cuffs over Potts’s wrists. “Come along, Sheriff. You’ve just been voted out of office.”

“So you’ll come back to my place?”

“Sure, mister. I don’t mind.”

“That’s very obliging of you.”

“The customer is always right.”

“A noble attitude.”

“It works.”

“And you don’t mind if things get… a trifle unusual?”

“Believe me, mister. I’ve seen it all before.”

He smiled. “You never know.”

Perfection itself. Why kidnap someone when you could persuade them to come with you voluntarily? That made it ever so much simpler to travel through Kingsbury Run unnoticed, to bring her back to the brewery. To do what he wanted to do to her.

“No one works here?” she asked, as she walked around the abandoned building.

“Not anymore. Prohibition put it out of business.”

“Shame. I like a beer every so often. How ’bout you?”

“I prefer something stronger.”

“I pegged you for a drinker.”

“Now and again.”

“Pardon me for sayin’ so, but you seem a little too classy to be hang-in’ out in Kingsbury Run.”

“Appearances can be deceiving. Have you seen the Sailors’ Home?”

“Sure. Oh-I get it. You really do like a drink now and again.”

“Just as I said.”

He removed the plank in the floor, took out the ropes, and tied her to the chair.

“Hey, what’s that about?”

“Just a harmless ritual. I’m… complicated.”

“I get it. You like a girl to seem helpless. Like you’re in control.”

“Something like that.”

“Hey, can you loosen them knots a little? I’m not sure I can move.”

“I’m not sure I want you to move.”

He shoved her and her chair forward across the table. Her hands were tied behind her back; her legs were tied together. Her torso was flattened across the length of the table while her head dangled off the edge.

“Hey, this is gettin’ weird.” For the first time, her voice contained a trace of apprehension.

“You said you were ready for anything.”

“Look, you want to take me that way, just do it.”

“That isn’t what I had in mind.”

“You’re not trying to get some action?”

“Not in the way that you mean.”

“You’re some kinda customer.”

“I’m a man of science.”

“ ’Zat so? What’s this, an experiment?”

“You could say that.”

“Hey-what’s with the axe?” Her voice had passed well beyond the point of apprehension. She was scared.

He took careful aim. If he judged it correctly, one slice would be sufficient to sever the head at the level of the third intervertebral disk…

He swung. It worked. Severed in a single slice. Superb.

But what is the point if no one knows? How could there be any pleasure in that?

He liked swinging the axe. It was a good feeling. He liked using his physical strength. They let him use knives at the hospital, scalpels, but never anything like this. This was better. From now on, he would devote his energies to the endeavors that truly mattered. Not the coddling of the sick and infirm. Something on a grander scale.

The blood rolled down the slanted floor and into the drainage tunnel. So much could be discarded that way. She had told him she loved the waters. Perhaps she would have chosen it for her final resting place. Perhaps he would choose it for her.

She had not screamed when the axe touched her neck. That was a disappointment. It happened all too swiftly. There was no time to react, no chance to savor the moment.

He would learn from his mistakes.

He pushed open the sliding door and stepped outside, brushing the blood from his apron as he walked. Across the river, the smoke and dirt hovering over the city made a visible cloud that never cleared. He preferred it here, away from the mad traffic, the insane hustling back and forth, the people who thought they were so modern but in fact had no idea what modern was.