In Death 17 - Imitation in Death

some of his rent in trade. 'Sexual favors, little party bags of illegals, stolen goods. We could squeeze him if we had nothing but time and righteousness." She angled her head as she studied the display of naked hanging fowls so skinny death must have been a relief, and the odd groupings of webbed feet for sale. "How do you eat feet?" Eve wondered. "Do you start at the toes and work up,. or at the ankle and work down? Do ducks have ankles?"
     
     
"I've spent many sleepless nights pondering just that."
     
     
Though Eve slanted over a bland stare, she was glad to see her aide back in tune. "They do some of the butchering right here, don't they? Slice and dice the merchandise in the -kitchens. Sharp knives, lots of blood, a certain working knowledge of anatomy."
     
     
"Cutting up a chicken's got to be a lot simpler than a human."
     
     
"I don't know." Considering, Eve rested her hands on her hips. "Technically, okay. There's more mass, and it's going to take more time, and maybe more skill than your average fowl plucker. But if you don't see that mass as human, it wouldn't be so different. Maybe you practice on animals, get the feel for it. Then again, maybe you're a doctor, or a vet, who's gone around the bend. But he had to know what he was doing. A butcher, a doctor, a talented amateur, but somebody who's been perfecting his technique so he could pay homage to his hero."
     
     
"His hero?"
     
     
"Jack," Eve said as she turned away to walk back to her vehicle. "Jack the Ripper."
     
     
"Jack the Ripper?" With her mouth dropping (pen, Peabody trotted to catch up. "You mean like over in London, back in... whenever?"
     
     
"Late 1800s. Whitechapel. Poor section of the city during the Victorian era, frequented by prostitutes. He killed between five and eight women, maybe more, all within about a one-mile radius over a period of a year."
     
     
She got behind the wheel, flicked a glance over to find Peabody gaping at her. "What?" Eve demanded. "I can't know stuff?"
     
     
"Yes, sir. You know great bundles of stuff, but history isn't generally your long suit."
     
     
Murder was, Eve thought as she pulled away from the curb. And always had been. "While other little girls were reading about fluffy as yet ungutted duckies, I was reading about Jack, and other assorted serial killers."
     
     
"You read about... that sort of thing when you were a kid?"
     
     
"Yeah. So?"
     
     
"Well..." She didn't quite know how to put it. She was aware that Eve had been raised in the system, in foster homes and state homes. "Didn't any of the adults in charge monitor your interests? What I mean is my parents-and they were big` on not restricting our choices-would've brought the hammer down in that sort of area when we were kids. You know, formative years and all, nightmares, emotional scarring."
     
     
She'd been scarred, in every possible way, long before she could read more than a few basic words. As for night-mares, Eve didn't remember a time she hadn't had them.
     
     
"If I was scrolling the Internet for data on the Ripper or John Wayne Gacy, I was occupied and out of trouble. Those were the essential criteria."
     
     
"I guess. So, you always knew you wanted to be a cop."
     
     
,She'd known she wanted to be something other than-a victim. Then she'd known she'd' wanted to stand for the victim. That meant cop to her. "More or less. The Ripper sent notes' to -the police, but only after a while. He didn't start off, like our guy. But this one wants us to know what he's about straight off. He wants the play."
     
     
"He wants you," Peabody said and got a nod of acknowledgment.
     
     
"I've just come off a highly publicized case. Lots of screen time. Lots of buzz. And the Purity case, earlier this summer. Another hot one. He's been watching. Now he wants some buzz of his own. Jack got plenty of it back in the day."
     
     
"He wants you involved, and the media focused on him. The city fascinated by him."
     
     
"That's my take."
     
     
"So he'll hunt other LCs, in that same area."
     
     
"That would be the pattern.. Eve paused. "And what he wants us to think."
     
     
Her next stop was Jacie's counselor, who worked out of a three-office suite on the lower fringes of the East Village. On her large, overburdened desk was a bowl of colorful hard candies. She sat behind them in a gray suit that gave her a 'matronly air.
     
     
Eve judged her to be on the shadowy side of fifty, with a kind face and, by contrast, a pair