In Death 17 - Imitation in Death

day, but I'm going to have to give them something tomorrow to stem the appetite. She was an LC, bumped down to street level because of some. illegals busts.
     
     
She seemed to be clean now, though I'd still like to find her supplier just to knot that thread."
     
     
"A down-on-her-luck LC shouldn't have the media slathering very long.
     
     
"No, it won't be who, it'll be how that gets them drooling. He took her in an alley. The way it looked, she went in to do the job. He faced her to the wall, slit her throat. Even from behind, he couldn't have avoided all the blood spatter."
     
     
She picked up her wine again, staring into it rather than drinking. `"Then he laid her out, across the alley floor. Morris thinks a laser scalpel. He cut her pelvis out, took the whole works. You could all but swim in the blood."
     
     
She drank now, let out a breath. There was something about blood, she thought, the scent of death blood. Once you smelled it, you never completely got it out of your system.
     
     
"Clean job, though, almost surgical. Had to have a bag to take it away in, had to work fairly quickly, had to clean himself up before he walked back out again. Even down there, that time of night, somebody's going to notice a guy covered in blood."
     
     
"And no one did."
     
     
"No?' They'd check again, she thought. And again. But odds were they'd come up zero. "See no evil, hear no evil, speak all you want as long as it doesn't put you in the mix. He didn't know her, I'm almost sure. Otherwise, he'd have gone for the face some. That's what they do. Thrill crime, lust driven. Woman hater. Peabody got dog sick, and spent a good part of the day kicking herself about it."
     
     
He thought of what the victim, what the alley must have looked like and rubbed a hand over Eve's. "Have you ever? Gotten sick?"
     
     
"Not on scene. It's like saying you did more than I can take, more than I can handle, and I can't stand over this body and look at what you did. But sometimes, later, it comes back on you. Middle of the night mostly. Then you get sick."
     
     
She drank now. "Anyway... he left a note, addressed to me. Don't freak," she said when she felt his fingers tighten over her hand. "It's professional rather than personal. He's admired my work, wanted to give me a chance to see his. He wanted me on this one, an ego thing. I've had two very hot cases this summer, with wall-to-wall media attention. He wants that sort of buzz."
     
     
His fingers stayed over hers. "What, did it say?"
     
     
"Just that--cocky. He signed it Jack."
     
     
"Emulating the Ripper then."
     
     
"You save me a lot of steps when you get it. Yeah, the choice of victim, the location, the method; even the note to a cop. Too much of it's already leaked to the media, and if they get their teeth in it, it's going to, be a frenzy. I want to shut him down fast, before the panic. Been working with the note-the paper."
     
     
"What's unique about it?"
     
     
"Unrecycled, very pricey, manufactured in England, sold exclusively in Europe. Do you manufacture unrecycled paper products?"
     
     
"Roarke Industries is green. Just our little contribution to environmental responsibility, which also earns a healthy tax break in most markets." He ignored_ the server druid who came to clear the plates and bring out small dessert parfaits and coffee.
     
     
"Where's the paper taking you?"
     
     
"I'm focusing on London outlets first, playing the Ripper angle. I've got a couple of celebs, a politician type, a retired financier, and the asshole lover of some actress named Pepper."
     
     
"Pepper Franklin?"
     
     
"Yeah, she strikes me as straight up, but the guy..." She trailed off, narrowing her eyes as Roarke scooped up a spoonful of parfait. "You know her."
     
     
"Mmm. This is very nice, refreshing." " "You banged her."
     
     
Though his lips twitched he managed to maintain a sober expression as he sampled more parfait. "That's a very unattractive term. I prefer saying we had a brief and mature relationship, which included the occasional banging."
     
     
"I should've known. She's just your type."
     
     
"Is she?" he queried.
     
     
"Gorgeous, elegant, sophisticated sex."
     
     
"Darling." He sat back to sip his coffee. "How conceited of you. Not that you aren't all those things, and more."
     
     
"I'm not talking about me." She scowled at him a moment, then went to work on the parfait. "I should have figured her for one of your formers the minute I