The druggist totted up the items, took his money, put everything into a paper sack, and pushed it across the counter. “I hope this helps your twins. Boy and girl?”

“Two girls.”

“Ah, the girls. I have three of each. Girls are more trouble. Then they grow up and cause a whole new set of problems.”

He took the bag and hurried outside, right into a woman toting a laundry basket. Its contents spilled to the sidewalk as she shrieked.

“See what you’ve done! All clean and now look! That’s my wages!”

He looked over his shoulder to see the druggist stepping outside.

“Mrs. Rooney? What—”

“That bastard knocked me over and never even saw me! He needs a clout to the head, that one!”

He kept tight hold of his hat, racing down the first alley he saw, kept running until he reached a busy street.

Chapter 67

Chapter 67

FRANCIS!”

Hickey called across the station’s crowded main room, waving him over. Francis made his way to join him beside the reception desk, past a number of Chicago policemen along with seemingly everyone from the Riverview force. Paterno stood off by himself—reprimanded, no doubt, for his failure to prevent yesterday’s murder.

“Glad you’re here.” Hickey rolled an unlit cigar between his fingers. “Wasserman’s due any minute. Baumgarten wants him to meet with us first, before Cabell and the reporters arrive.”

Francis removed his helmet, swiped a hand across his forehead. “Sweet Jesus, it’s hot in here.”

“Baumgarten wants everyone on duty from now till closing.”

“Anything new?”

“Not a goddamned thing, except for these.” Hickey grabbed several newspapers from the desk and shoved them at Francis. “Baumgarten says they’re reporting it in San Francisco and New York City.”

Francis scanned the screamer headlines on the front pages of the Tribune, the Journal, the Evening Post:

Second Girl Murdered at Riverview

Child’s Death Shakes City

Amusement Park Killings Continue

“There’s more.” Hickey jabbed him with a copy of the Daily News, folded open to a long article:

Slaughter of the Innocents

“Read it,” ordered Hickey. Francis only had to glance at the first paragraph to know it had been penned by Hecht.

“And you’ll want to take a look at the advertisement Baumgarten’s placed in those papers as well,” Hickey went on, his tone ominous. But before Francis had a chance to do so, the station door opened, and James Wasserman, the park’s press agent, strode inside.

“Here we go.” Cursing, Hickey bulled through the crowd to meet Wasserman. Francis tossed the papers back onto the desk and angled for a better view.

“You all know why we’re here.” Hickey’s voice boomed through the room, and everyone fell silent. He pointed at the park’s press agent. “Any questions, please direct them to Mr. Wasserman.”