Samantha shook her head in amazement. "That doesn’t make sense. Why didn’t Cord mention that?"

  "Because he doesn’t know," Lazarus answered. "Miss Schuller is the first victim who would be considered of any importance. Prostitutes and immigrants aren’t high priorities. There aren’t many family members to press for an investigation. They’re simply forgotten."

  Max nodded. "That’s right. It’s actually the real reason why I’m here. I sometimes comb through old crime reports, looking for story ideas that I can feed to the editors of the papers I still have a stake in. I came here to talk to Mr. Groseclose about these murders and to see if the Gazette could look into them."

  Lazarus took a deep breath before speaking. "May I take these clippings with me?"

  "Feel free."

  Lazarus collected them and nodded to Samantha. She understood the gesture and stood up. They were leaving, as Lazarus had evidently gotten everything he thought he needed from Max Davies.

  Lazarus placed a hand on Max’s shoulder. "I’m sorry to say that you’ll still be expected to visit the police station and file a formal statement. I think you should heed my advice: don’t mention these clippings or the other murders. To a man like Cord, your knowledge of such things might only increase the likelihood of your involvement."

  "You believe me, though?"

  "Yes. I do. You’re much more than you appear to be, I’m sure of that… but you’re not the man we’re looking for."

  Samantha wondered at those words, but said nothing until they were outside in the car. "I’m not sure I believe all that," she said at last.

  Lazarus started the car and began smoothly gliding it down the perpetually rain-slicked streets of the city. "You mean that he came here in response to the murders?"

  "Well, yes. I mean, it seems terribly convenient, doesn’t it? He comes here because he knows women are being murdered. They’re all vagabonds or street people so nobody cares about them. Then he meets a girl who doesn’t fit that pattern – but sure enough, the killer takes an interest in her anyway."

  Lazarus glanced toward her and that faint hint of a smile that he sometimes got reasserted itself before vanishing, like a thin wisp of smoke. "I’d wager that we only saw the real Max Davies at the end of that conversation. The moment he shared with us the details about those other murders, his demeanor changed. Before that, the bored playboy routine, the overly flirtatious act – it was just that. An act."

  "So you think he might be the killer?"

  "Oh, no. I don’t think that at all. I think he’s someone with genuine concern about these women but for some reason, he doesn’t want the world to know it. I’ll look into his background when I get the chance but for now, I don’t think we should waste our time focusing on him."

  "What about the other men whose names were found with her body?"

  "As we were leaving the station, I stopped to call the Assistance Unlimited HQ. Eun and Morgan have been looking into the other men who have been implicated in this."

  Samantha nodded, looking out the passenger side window. She saw one gray-colored building after another. It looked like the entire city was slowly falling under a haze of decay. "That poor girl. No one should die like that. And to think that more women have died over the years, with no one missing them… It makes me wonder if we can ever really save this place. My grandparents used to tell me that Sovereign wasn’t always like this but nowadays it’s hard to believe that. There’s something rotten at the core of the city, Lazarus. It’s breeding murder, corruption and despair."

  Samantha felt her employer’s hand settle on hers. He gave it a firm squeeze and when he spoke, there was unusual emotion in his words. "You’re right. The heart of Sovereign is spoiled. That’s why we’ve got to find the source of the evil and carve it out."

  Chapter II

  Men of Power

  The death of Claudia Schuller was front-page news on every paper in the city. The Gazette ran two photos, one depicting Claudia on the day of her high school graduation and the other a grainy crime scene image with a body draped by a police blanket. The grisly details were listed in explicit detail, bringing fresh pain to the victim’s family and friends.

  Speculation was rife. Though the names of the men implicated were not revealed in the papers, rumors linked virtually every prominent businessman in the city with the young woman. Stories circulated that she had been of loose morals and had traded her beauty for monetary gifts from the men.

  "Read about de slain beauty! Police officials baffled as investigation continues! All de details included here! Will the killer strike again?"

  A newsboy’s cry caught the attention of two men who were riding down Main Street in a taxi. One of the men – an elderly, gray-haired gentleman in a tweed suit – turned to his young companion and asked, "What’s this about a murder, Smithson? I didn’t hear anything about such a thing when we were coming in on the train yesterday."

  "Young Miss Claudia Schuller was brutally murdered a few days ago," Smithson answered. He was a handsome man with dark hair and eyes. "The papers are abuzz with the news. It was quite awful, from what I’ve heard."

  "I haven’t read any of today’s papers," remarked the elderly man. "Such a violent city," he added with a shake of his head.

  Smithson waited for the question that he knew was inevitably going to come.

  "Schuller, you say? Didn’t we meet her at the party thrown by Groseclose? Attractive young thing from his secretarial pool?"

  Smithson nodded, his face drawn grave with concern. "We did, Mr. Melvin. She was quite generous in her praise of your revitalization efforts in the city’s East Side."

  Donald Melvin bit his lower lip, his eyes taking on a faraway state. "Awful. To be cut down in the prime of life like that. She could have made some man very happy, you know."

  Smithson said nothing, hoping that this turn of conversation wouldn’t ruin his employer’s mood. The meeting they were going to was an important one and Melvin sometimes lapsed into gloomy periods that impacted his decisions. Amalgamated Industries was Melvin’s pride and joy and it was currently involved in the removal of dozens of unsightly tenement buildings, replacing them with tremendous structures that towered over the landscape. In decades to come, people would point to Melvin’s work as a key part in the revitalization of Sovereign City.

  ***

  Smithson and Melvin stepped from their cab and entered the lobby of The Amici Hotel, a massive building that occupied an entire block. One of the few new hotels to have opened since the Stock Market Crash of ’29, The Amici prided itself on an aristocratic atmosphere.

  Within the gorgeous lobby, Smithson made an inquiry at the front desk and then informed Melvin that their meeting was being held on the twenty-fourth floor.

  After traveling upward in an elevator, the two men stepped into a conference room where a small group was waiting for them. One by one, Smithson introduced Melvin to the men, even though in most cases, introductions were not truly necessary. It was a formality and one that the older men seemed to enjoy, as if it confirmed their importance in things.

  Theodore Groseclose, publisher and chief editor of the Sovereign Gazette, was the first to shake Melvin’s hand. Groseclose was a tall, gray-haired man in a dark suit. He looked a bit unnerved and Melvin rightly assumed it was because of the death of the man’s secretary.

  Also present was Robert Phillips, Chairman of the city’s Building Association. He was a bearlike man with a thick, bristled beard and piercing eyes.

  The final man to whom Melvin was introduced was Merle Hansome, a wiry fellow with thinning hair and a nervous habit of licking his upper lip. One of the most prominent attorneys in the city, Hansome was very good at his job, despite not having the demeanor to put anyone at ease.

  Phillips cleared his throat as everyone took a seat. He had a commanding presence and was obviously used to being in charge. "Let’s get this under way, shall we? You’ve looked over the papers we sent your way?"

  Melvin nodded, waiting for Smithson to take out a pad and paper before continuing. "I have. Fifty million dollars is quite an investment. If I’m going to do as you ask, I have to receive certain assurances."

  Groseclose leaned forward, clasping his hands together on top of the table. "You know I’ll do what I can for you, Mr. Melvin. I’ve kept all the news stories about what you’re doing in a positive light. It’s going to be a little bit tougher with this new deal, but I can swing it."

  Smithson dutifully took notes while the men conversed. He was skilled enough in his craft that he could let his mind wander while his pencil spun across the page, distilling the conversation into shorthand. The three other men had approached Melvin with the idea of spearheading a plan to purchase the grounds on which a hospital for the poor now resided. The sick people who currently received treatment for their infirmities were going to be kicked to the curb if the plan bore fruit, but none of these men considered that worthy of stopping their plans. The men, women, and children who frequented the place were too poor to afford treatment at standard facilities, probably resulting in dozens of deaths.

  But if things went to plan, a high-rise apartment building would pop up in its place. The bottom floors would contain expensive offices while the upper rooms were rented or sold to the lucky few who could afford them. It was all part of a long-term revitalization project and one that had sparked grumbling amongst those who had been displaced. Thankfully, Hansome had made sure that all the legalities were covered, while Phillips took care of all the required permits. Groseclose then handled the media side of things, ensuring that the general populace didn’t focus too much on the negative.

  Hansome stood up and began pacing, bringing the discussion to an abrupt halt.

  "What the devil’s the matter with you?" Phillips demanded.

  "Aren’t we going to talk about the murder?" the lawyer asked, his pink tongue darting out to wet his upper lip. "I mean, it’s the elephant in the room, if you ask me."

  Melvin blinked in surprise. "What are you talking about?"

  "Schuller!" Hansome ejaculated. "Are you so dense that you don’t realize what danger we’re all in? That girl was cut to pieces and all of our names are associated with her! I heard from a source at the police department that Assistance Unlimited is working on the case, too!"

  "I barely knew the girl," Melvin said, shrugging his shoulders. "I don’t fear an inquiry and neither should any of you. None of you killed her, did you?"

  "Of course not," Hansome muttered, though he cast a wary glance around the room. "But this could still derail our plans… the scandal!"

  "There won’t be any scandal," Groseclose said reassuringly. "Didn’t you notice that I made sure none of our names ended up in the paper today? I have enough favors owed to me by the other publishers in this town to make sure we’re not linked in any rival accounts, either."

  "Word will still get around," Hansome protested.

  Melvin loudly exhaled. "I don’t see what all the fuss is about. So what if we all knew her? And so what if there are questions to be asked? The law will prove us innocent, mark my words."

  Smithson cleared his throat and all eyes fell upon him. The handsome secretary rarely said anything during these meetings, preferring to share his views with his employer in private. "Miss Schuller was an attractive young woman but she was rather promiscuous. The rumors about that are already circulating, I believe. I think it goes without saying that several of the men in this room may have had… delicate relations… with her?" The silence that fell was answer enough - only Melvin seemed shocked by the suggestion and he was obviously about to say so when Smithson continued. "I think that Mr. Melvin is correct in saying that none of you have anything to fear. But just in case, perhaps Mr. Groseclose could have one of his journalists look into her background. Throw a bit of doubt upon her character, as it were."

  Groseclose looked uncomfortable. "She wasn’t a bad person. Not at all. I’d hate to make it appear that she was."

  "It was just a suggestion. I think that if people assumed that she was a bit of a tart, then they’d be less likely to focus their attentions on all of you."

  "Could be just the opposite," Phillips muttered. "A pretty young girl, illicit sex, and a grisly murder… no, the more details they get, the more the people will chatter away. But I’m not worried about the police or the press – I have an alibi for the night she was murdered."

  Smithson looked around the room. "Who here doesn’t have an alibi, if I might ask?"

  Groseclose lit a cigar. "Of course, I saw all of you at the party earlier in the evening. After that, I retired to my bed. My butler brought me some warm milk at half past midnight."

  "So it would have been possible for you to have left and done the deed," Smithson pointed out.

  Groseclose looked offended at the suggestion but said nothing. He’d already heard that same accusation from the Korean who worked for Assistance Unlimited. The young immigrant had pushed Groseclose hard on the matter, but the newspaperman didn’t plan to share that with anyone in this room. They were business partners but certainly not friends.

  Hansome licked his lip again, a nervous habit that left his mouth perpetually chapped. "I don’t have one. I went to a movie and then to a bar for a drink. I didn’t return home until very late. I’m not sure I could find any of the men who might have seen me."

  Smithson tried not to smile. Hansome’s homosexuality was a poorly kept secret amongst the group. It made sense that he wouldn’t want to call upon any of his male companions to verify his story. Plus, given the fact that Schuller apparently wasn’t sexually assaulted might make Hansome all the more suspect if his secret came to light. Some would say that he would have struck at Schuller out of some deep-seated resentment of women.

  "I think it’s all a lot of poppycock," Melvin said. "We’re all good men. To think that any one of us could ever assault a woman… it’s preposterous!"

  Phillips nodded in agreement. "To get us back on track here… Are you in for more money or not, Melvin? This new project could become the centerpiece for the revitalization effort and make us all very rich men in the process." Phillips chuckled. "Or, in Melvin’s case, richer."

  Melvin smiled in reply. "I am very excited about this, gentlemen. Very excited, indeed."

  ***

  Night fell quickly in Sovereign City and the few residents who might be called innocents hurried for the relative safety of their homes, leaving the streets to those with darker intent.

  A moving patch of darkness passed along the sidewalk beneath the glare of a street lamp. The long streak of darkness ended in a perfect silhouette. The man who cast this shadow was tall and well-built with an olive-complexion and wavy dark hair. He wore a long overcoat, a suit and tie but it was the adornment on his face that set him apart from every other man in the city: he wore a tiny domino-style mask over his eyes and on the bridge of his nose rested a tiny beak-like protrusion. This was The Peregrine, a being whom the underworld had come to greatly fear in recent years. Having left bullet-ridden bodies in his wake throughout the Northeast, The Peregrine was like a one-man police force, bringing the guilty to their final judgment, even when the Law could not touch them.

  Just up ahead lay the private residence of Merle Hansome. It was a modest home, but it was light-years beyond the residences that were being torn down to make way for Melvin’s new high-rises. The Peregrine calmly approached the wrought-iron fence that surrounded the property and expertly scaled the barrier, dropping easily down to the grass on the other side. He approached the front door and lightly tried the knob. It was locked, which drove him around back. The rear entrance opened easily and The Peregrine felt a small smile form on his lips. Even in a roach’s den like Sovereign, there were men who felt themselves safe and sound in their own home. It was all like a fallacy, of course, but it made The Peregrine’s job that much easier.

  Very few people in the world knew that Max Davies led a double life and even fewer still understood why he did it. An armchair psychiatrist would have zeroed in on the events that occurred when Max was eight years old and while those would have helped filled in the gaps, they would not have told the entire tale. Max’s father, Warren Davies, had run a newspaper campaign against mobsters who threatened to take over the city. When he refused to knuckle under the pressure they were putting on him, Warren found himself the target of a hired assassin. He was gunned down in front of his son and Max had the memory of his father’s final bloodstained memories imprinted into his memory.

  But it was what happened later that truly set Max Davies down the path of vigilantism. A series of painful visions began to plague him, ones of crimes yet to be committed. He discovered that if he took steps to prevent them or to bring their perpetrators to justice, the painful visions would recede. Compelled by the knowledge that he would continue to suffer unless he found a way to help others, Max embarked on a years-long trek around the globe in his teens. He learned every form of martial arts known to man, studied philosophy in the Mountains of Tibet, and mastered most known sciences. On the day he first created the identity of The Peregrine, Max Davies felt a sense of liberation take hold. It was as if he were a bird taking flight for the first time.

  And those who slithered in darkness found a new enemy, one who would never stop until every innocent could sleep safely in their own bed.

  ***

  Hansome sat on the edge of his bed, dressed in a white dressing gown and slippers. His hands were shaking badly enough that the cup of warm milk he was holding threatened to spill. His tongue darted out, wetting his upper lip. He didn’t understand why the others weren’t taking this more seriously – even though he hadn’t done the horrible deed, he had more than enough secrets that could be exposed by an investigation.

  Even more troubling was the nagging question that resided in the back of Hansome’s mind: What if one of the others was the murderer? He didn’t think that Groseclose would do such a thing and Melvin was too old and feeble to have overpowered a healthy young girl… but what about Phillips? The man was brawny and had a temper. Maybe Phillips had tried to force himself on the girl and, when she refused, he’d gotten so angry that he’d cut her to pieces. Phillips had claimed to have an alibi, but Hansome knew those could be faked. Lots of things could be faked, which was something that both Hansome and Phillips knew well.

 

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