Six years since it started. Six years and not a single suspect.

Fifteen men since the winter of 1919. All different ages. Different jobs. Different neighborhoods. But why?

Can we be absolutely certain this isn’t the work of the mob?

Couldn’t. It’s too primitive.

This is one man’s job. But I’ve got no clue what kind of looney would keep this going for six years now. An escaped mental patient maybe.

I suppose.

You don’t sound so sure of yourself.

I never am. Not in this line of work.

Let’s talk on it tomorrow. My head’s hurting.

Right. Our usual spot?

Sure thing. But before that, I need you to come with me to the bridge.

I think I know where the Madman will strike next.