Eight million people—about one in nine Americans—came to Buffalo, New York, to see the "Pan." The cynics thought it was nothing more than yet another bloated world's fair. But most found the Electric City to be an expression of all that was good and hopeful: the unity of North and South American nations, the triumph of Man over Nature, and the advent of the modern scientific and engineering marvels that would herald a new century of peace and prosperity.
We can debate which camp won out, but one thing is certain. The assassination of President William McKinley in the Pan-American's Temple of Music drew a curtain forever over the promise of the Pan— and left Buffalo with a bitter legacy that is remembered even today.
The Buffalo Butcher also takes us into a darker side of bright, up-and-coming Buffalo, then the nation's fastest-growing city. We visit the back alleys of the Tenderloin District, a large red-light zone in the heart of downtown, where most anything was tolerated by city officials and police, so long as it stayed put. Hundreds of brothels and low-end dives huddled together in the Tenderloin and existed—for the most part—on the exploitation of young women who often had no other good option.
It's an unflinching and sometimes hard-to-bear story of the real evil that walks among us, the warped and wicked who prey on the vulnerable, and how they work their black magic. I could not turn away from that part: If you're looking for a 'cozy mystery', this ain't it—I had to tell the story in a way that would do honor to the victims, and without any sympathy for the devil.
Yet, I think, Butcher it is also a story of friendship and love, decency and honor, and perhaps most of all courage, among a group of outcast women confronting loneliness, condemnation, shame, and loss. The masks come off in The Buffalo Butcher, and while as always I hope you'll find it a good read, I hope too that you'll find the story as touching as I did—even if a little spooky.
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