Sheriff Martin O'Donnell's office is a simple affair with white painted walls decorated with a few photographs memorializing past cases and meetings with men of importance, as well as a handful of diplomas, accommodations and certificates of achievement. The lighting is electric and the carpet thin, tough, and brown. A photograph of a matronly looking woman and a smiling young girl sits on the sheriff's sturdy wooden desk. The photograph looks several years old. A fat black fly buzzes in through the open window to crawl across the face of the woman in the photograph. The open windows provide a slight reprieve from the oppressive heat and humidity of the Cleveland summer.

   You had gotten a surprising call that brought you here a week ago. The Cuyahoga County Sheriff's department was looking for outside help with the investigation of a series of grisly murders.  The "torso" murders, as the newspapers have dubbed them, have grabbed national attention due to their sensational details. To date, 10 bodies have been found, all of them decapitated and many of them with their limbs removed. Very few of the victims have been identified, but they're believed to be drifters and down and outers from Kingsbury Run, the hobo jungle shanty town located in the prehistoric riverbed of the Cuyahoga river.

   You passed through Kingsbury Run as you traveled through town on the Cleveland Interurban Railroad. The land itself was all trash, weeds, poison sumac, and the waste and effluent from The Flats- the industrial hell of steel mills, oil refineries, chemical works and factories lining the basin of the Cuyahoga river to the northwest. Despite this blazing industry, a quarter of the city is out of work and Kingsbury Run is now a shanty town of approximately 100,000 hoboes, bums, and homeless living in the squalid tent city of tarp doors and crate wood walls. Thin, dirty, desperate faces watched your train roll by with a look of beaten down hopelessness.

The sheriff should be arriving any minute now... where was he?

Jimmy takes a seat on the edge of O'Donnell's desk and take out a tobacco pouch to roll a cigarette. Once rolled he fingers around any interesting documents on the desk while whistling "A-Tisket A-Tasket" by Ella Fitzgerald. Heard it while passing a five and dime on the way in and hasn't pushed it out of his mind yet.

What's this in my pocket he wonders. Reaching in and finds the note he jotted down and was going to give to Kitty to drop off at the show for Faye.





"Damn." He thinks to himself, forgot again. It will be hard to blame her for forgetting about him this time. She's a bit slow in wit but at least has always been quick to forgive.

"A-Tisket A-Tasket
She took my yellow basket
And if she doesn't bring it back
I think that I shall die"

Jimmy mumbles the lyrics under his breath while looking around the office. Still not sure why he was called in, granted he has a bit of a reputation for the weird and the off color cases, but why this one?

The work is great, he isn't balking at that. The curse is that every time Kitty takes a call it means something bad happened and if they are calling Samhain Investigations it means something really bad happened. Either way, work was good. Last reports said unemployment could be as high as 19 percent this year. Looking for crooks, paper hangers, killers and the things that go bump in the night is keeping the lights on. While everyone else is scraping the bottom of the barrel for work things seem to keep rolling in for James. Good news is bad people keep going away and kitty can keep food on the table for her family, her husband Bill has been out of work for a few months now. Only good thing about this recession is that it is keeping people from hearing the thumps and bumps in the shadows where true evil lurks.

The brand on James' left forearm itches, always seems to when the thoughts get heavy.

He sighs loudly and  lights the cigarette, "A leg up never hurt anyone." Jimmy continues to glance around the office and the desk looking for anything of note especially concerning the Torso Murders.






OOC: If you google 1938 Cleveland there are some cool maps, one of the perks playing a RPG based in reality.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:29, Wed 21 Sept 2016.

The Sheriff's desk is cluttered with papers- mostly mundane stuff relating to the day to day operations of the county jail and the policing of the county. But one letter catches your eye. It's a letter to the Sheriff from Democratic Congressman Martin L Sweeney.

You only have a moment to skim over the letter before you hear somebody coming down the hall but it mentions the Congressman's criticism of Cleveland Director of Safety, Elliott Ness, for failing to catch the "Butcher of Kingsbury Run." It also contains a warning that Ness may be planning on running for office as a Republican candidate for Sheriff.

You recall reading in the newspapers that Elliott Ness had left Chicago shortly after prohibition was repealed and by 1935 had been hired by Republican Cleveland Mayor Harold Burton as Safety Director. This position placed him in charge of both the city's Police and Fire Departments.
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:41, Thu 22 Sept 2016.

Jimmy tilts his head to read what he can of the letter before his host shows up. After reading what he could he stands, tilts his fedora back down on his head and walks over to the window to get a bit of the breeze floating in.

Pulls in a drag from the cigarette and takes a handkerchief from his pocket to dab the sweat from his forehead. The handkerchief was monogramed, "JS," it was a Christmas gift from Kitty and Bill and it meant more than they would ever know to him. This August heat was killer, Jimmy shoved the moist handkerchief back in his pocket.

With a cloud of smoke encircling his head a thought came to him, a quote from Thomas Paine, The Age of Reason; “It is from the Bible that man has learned cruelty, rapine, and murder; for the belief of a cruel God makes a cruel man.”

"Damn savages out there...and I have to pinpoint one of em'," he said to his own reflection in the window.


This message was last edited by the player at 02:49, Thu 22 Sept 2016.

Sheriff Martin O'Donnell enters the room and shakes your hand and introduces himself before taking a seat behind his desk. He is a man of medium height with a heavy build in his early 50s with neatly parted black hair that is beginning to grey around the temples. He has a large red nose that betrays his fondness for the drink, thick black eye brows and the hard, suspicious brown eyes of a career lawman- though there is perhaps something scheming in those eyes too.



"Thank you for coming, I hope you had an easy trip," the Sheriff begins. "I suppose you're wondering why we called you in from New York."

"I'll cut right to the chase. I'm sure you've heard about the string of killings we've had in the last few years. We're up to 10 bodies now and there's a lot of pressure to get this case solved. The Sheriff's department has been trying to help but the Police have claimed jurisdiction and those Rebublican sons of bitches, Ness and Mayor Burton aren't sharing their information.

"That's where you come in. I've tried using some of my deputies to do some investigating of our own, but you know cops, we're a small community and everybody knows each other. It wasn't long before my boys got recognized poking around and those corrupt sons of bitches over in The Third District ran 'em off- probably on Burton's orders.

"Now I need a fresh face on the street and fresh eyes on the case- an outsider that can move around and ask questions without raising their profile too much."

“I’m alive aren’t I, hard to be breathing and not have heard about these murders. Sorry to say it’s also hard not to have heard how no one can catch this “butcher.”

Jimmy tips his hat back and pulls out a notebook and pencil from his coat pocket. “I can appreciate the exposition but I have a few questions, if we can get down to the facts. Stop me if you run out of answers.”

Flipping to a page where questions were prewritten down during some thinking time on the train from New York to Cleveland.

“Who do you like for this? Anyone? And if you say Eliot Ness should be on my short list you will have to pay me a Hell of a lot more than you said over the phone.

Last killing, the tenth you say. Do I remember right, April 8th, headless body? That was a while ago, I take it no more crime scene? Who is the autopsy doc.?

You got a top dog on these cases, someone who knows more than anyone else?

Any patterns? What’s the murder weapon?

Any theories so far?” Jimmy lifts his eyes to make contact with O’Donnell’s, “Any theory, there isn’t anything you could say that would spook me, you should know that if you called me.” Jimmy puts his head back towards the notebook and then puts it back in his pocket.

“I will need everything you got, names, locations, pictures, evidence. You can give it to me now or you can have it sent over to my hotel. My secretary took care of that, I will be at the Park Lane Villa, the bill will go with the expense report.”
This message was last edited by the player at 14:09, Thu 22 Sept 2016.

"Patterns? Well what we've got so far is that between September of '35 and now an unknown assailant has kidnapped, beheaded, and dismembered at least 10 people. "The Butcher," as the press calls him, kills his victims at some unknown site, moves the remains, and leaves the bodies in pieces to be discovered later. We're not sure of the murder weapon or that it's even the same weapon each time. Some of the decapitations look like they were done in a single go so whatever it is, it's sharp! That being said, sometimes The Butcher leaves behind the heads. Other times he don't- or at least they haven't been found.

"The other weird thing is that some of the bodies show reddening or are dried and leathery. The Coroner seems to think they've been subjected to some kind of chemical treatment in order to remove trace evidence.

"Of the three victims we have identified, all three of them have ties to The Third police district, just to the east of the flats. You could say that The Third is the lawless part of town. It don't take much to get those corrupt sons of bitches to look the other way.

"Edward Andrassy was one of our first victims," he says, sliding a photo across to you. "Andrassy was a small time crook, hustler, and rumored sodomite who frequented The Third.



"Florence Polillo was one of our next victims. She was a barmaid, a waitress, and an occasional prostitute. Her last address was at 32nd and Carnegie, on the edge of The Third.



"One of our victims from just last summer was identified by dental records as Rose Wallace, just some nigger whore from the Cedar Central ghetto. The Police spoke with her pimp, "One Armed Willie," but it didn't amount to much. We only have a drawing of Rose.



"Our last body was found on April 8th of this year. You must have missed that one, but yes, the crime scene is long gone. The examination was done by Coroner Samuel Gerber. Some of the earlier ones were done by Coroner Arthur J Pearce before he lost the position in the last election.

"Our theory so far is that we've got some sicko preying on the dregs and the forgotten- people with no family that nobody is going to miss. We suspect that most of the unidentified victims are homeless from Kingsbury Run or fringe criminals from the gambling dens and brothels of The Third. The best lead I can give you is Lester's, a dive bar in the Roaring Third on E 20th and Central. My deputies discovered that all three identified victims- Andrassy, Polillo, and Wallace- were all regulars there and they kept company with a volatile and burly man named, "Frank." We've tentatively identified this subject as Frank Dolezal, an unemployed bricklayer and sometimes pimp. Here's Frank's last booking photo."



"As for who's the top dog? Well that would be me!" O'donnell says gruffly. "My deputies know better than to keep any information from me."

The Sheriff pauses and steps out to speak to his secretary then returns with a rather thin file.

"This is what we have on the Torso murders. It's not much, but like I said, the Police aren't sharing their files with us."

O'donnell hands over the file. It's really just a collection of newspaper clippings, public documents and the details of the Sheriff Department's previous (and sketchy) legwork.

OOC: File summary added to the evidence thread.
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:44, Thu 22 Sept 2016.

Jimmy took the case file, flipped through it quickly and tucked it under his arm. It was embarrassingly thin but he played the look on his face like he was holding a flush, no need to offend, sounds like the sheriff is wrapped in red tape.

”I will let you know. If you need me leave a message at the hotel, MUrray – 2606, room 426.” With that he put his cigarette out on the ashtray on the desk and headed towards the door.

Opening the door but before stepping out he turns to the Sheriff. You should have called me earlier. Chasing the boogeyman four months gone…God speed us all, especially the guy or gal who might be next.”

Closing the door behind him he made his way to the street and hailed a cap to take him to the hotel. It has been a long few days. On the bright side, he figured he would be pent up in the hotel room all day and night going over evidence and case files. As it stands he could be done with that by the time he reaches the hotel, guess that nap may happen after all.

OOC: Check with the clerk at the hotel for any messages and head up to his room for a nap. As evening rolls around a hot shower, dinner at a diner and head over to Lester’s for a drink.

Something woke Jimmy from his nap like a rubber band snapped to his brain. Picking up the phone he asked to be connected with O'Donnell.

Whether he has to leave a message or gets through to the Sheriff.

"The three stiff you could ID, Rose was reported missing ten months previous to her discovery, what about the other two? Any missing persons on them? Also, you got an address for Rose's kid who identified the body?"
This message was last edited by the player at 22:14, Thu 22 Sept 2016.

Jimmy is reduced to leaving a message for the Sheriff and wouldn't get his answer until the next day but he finds the answer in the case file on his own. No missing persons report was filed for the other victims.

"Hmmm, damn. "

He was awake now, time for a shave and a hot shower before catching a dinner, tuna on wheat, coffee and then to Lesters

   The Roaring Third, as they call the Third Police District, lies just to the east of the industrial parks of The Flats. It's a warren of brothels, opium dens, and illegal gambling parlors mixed with slums and tenement housing, single room apartments that ask no questions as long as travelers pay cash up front.

   It's deep in the heart of The Third that Jimmy finds Lester's, a ragged little dive bar with a recessed basement entrance. The interior is dimly lit, smokey, and depressing, with battered wooden furniture and a shelf of cheap spirits behind the rough and unfinished bar. A skinny man with a wild shock of white hair in his late 50s stands behind the bar pouring drinks with an exhausted expression on his face.

    A half dozen faces swivel around to stare at Jimmy for a moment with a look of suspicious curiosity as he enters but quickly return to their drinks and loud, alcohol fueled conversations. Lester's seems to cater to a clientele of regulars comprised of desperate loners, drunks, hoboes, blind pencil salesmen, and aging and unappealing prostitutes.
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:55, Fri 23 Sept 2016.

Having spent enough time in places like this it was almost a hobby. Knowing the way to handle himself among these types, as he wasn't too far off from them himself, he drops the brim of his hat down and leans slightly back to broaden his shoulders.

As he slowly walks to the bar he pulls the picture of Frank Dolezal and scans the room seeing if he is currently a patron of the establishment.

"Two finger whiskey." Jimmy says to the barman as he leans on the bar. "That Bob Feller is doing a damn fine job, took care of the White Sox in the first game, hoping they can pull through for the double header."

Jimmy didn't care about baseball, it became a lot less fun when cults and psychopaths became part of his reality, however, what barman doesn't take to the topic; an un-American one that's who. The cabbie had brought up the games on his way over, seemed like a good thing to remember.

If Jimmy didn't see Frank at a glance around the bar he slides the picture to the barman with a single under it and with a lean in says "Frank, you seen him?"

OOC: Yup, I look up stats and schedules and names. RPG like a mofo!
This message was last edited by the player at 02:33, Sat 24 Sept 2016.

"Yeah? Didn't catch the game myself, radio's broken," the bartender explains as he pours Jimmy some watered down whiskey in a glass of dubious cleanliness. "You think we got a shot this year?"

Frank Dolezal is nowhere to be seen among the patrons of the bar.

As the picture of Frank Dolezal is slid across the bar, the bartender glances down at it before looking up with cautious suspicion in his eyes. Guardedly, he says, "Maybe. Who's asking?" his face and demeanor make it clear he knows exactly who the man in the photo is, but he's cautious about who he talks to about one of his regulars.

OOC: Might be our first chance to try out the skill system.

"Friend, I am nobody, and I am quick to forget. Seems to me you are too. Once I leave this bar this never happened. Only clues we will have is that I know where to find Frank and you have a few simolens extra."

OOC: Jimmy slides a 5 spot towards the barman (Bargain)

The bartender looks greedily at the money and decides that his loyalty is for sale.

"Yeah, I know Frank, he's a regular here- real hot head that one. He's got a place in the flop house at 29th and E. 22nd ST but he comes in here most nights." he says in a conspiratorial whisper as he leans in close.

The bartender looks down at the money, but waits to make sure what he said was enough. That was a fair bit of dough sitting on the bar between them.
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:24, Sun 25 Sept 2016.

Jimmy is quick to put his hand on the money like a paperweight.

"You trying to make me feel cheap? I don't like feeling cheap, as far as I see it I just bought myself an address and another drink. Don't suppose you expect Frank still tonight do you?"

He takes his hand off the bill and slams down the first drink. Changing the topic (as far as the barman knows). "Any thoughts on these butcher murders, can't be good for business them being just around the corner."



OOC: After my texts I changed this. I don't want to spend my single bargain point at this time.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:10, Sun 25 Sept 2016.

  "Look, I don't know the address, okay? But I know it's the bottom apartment in the gray building next to the empty pharmacy in the 2900 block of E 22nd St. I helped him back there one night after closing time. Like I said, he comes in here most nights, but it's not like I'm his mother, or nothin'. He comes and goes as he pleases." The bartender pours another drink and takes the money.

   "The butcher murders? Everybody's got a theory on that one, talk to enough people in here and you'll get a dozen. Hell, it could even be Frank- the guy's just unhinged enough.

"Much obliged. "

Jimmy downs the drink and heads out. The nap was a good investment, plenty of wick left on this candle. Time to head over to Frank's. he will wait outside and keep an eye out for him. If the need arises he will tail him. The barman's crack about Frank being The Butcher doesn't hold water. The little bit he has heard it just doesn't add up. All the same he is the only living lead. Time to pull the thread and see what unravels.

OOC: stealth and shadowing as needed.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:45, Sun 25 Sept 2016.