Dreaming Death (Krewe of Hunters #32) - Heather Graham Page 0,44
Jack the Ripper had dried out his piece of human organ better before sending it to Mr. Lusk of the citizens’ brigade.
It didn’t matter; no matter how good Rebecca’s camera might be, the note would be difficult to read. They probably already knew what it said, though. She guessed it would be the exact words that Jack the Ripper had penned years in the past.
But why?
A killer this brutal would usually be considered disorganized; to do what he was doing, this killer was organized.
Something bigger was going on here. She was convinced.
“Does he plan on stopping after his fifth murder?” she wondered as they stepped off the elevator.
“There’s one thing every detective, scholar, et cetera agrees on—Jack the Ripper died, moved or wound up incarcerated. Because, in his kind of killing, no, they don’t stop. They need the thrill, the adrenaline, the release, with greater and greater desperation. Unless...”
“Unless this is something else. A terrible and horrendous stage show for the police and law enforcement,” Stacey said.
Keenan nodded.
He pushed open the door to his office. Sliding around to his desk chair, he woke his computer and logged in.
She drew the second chair around behind his desk as he was opening the pictures that Rebecca had sent.
“It’s the ‘From Hell’ or the ‘Lusk’ letter,” Stacey said. “But of course, we both knew it would be that.”
“Yes,” he said simply.
They both stared at it a second before Keenan brought up a facsimile of the letter that had come to the police in 1882.
They were exact matches.
“‘From hell, Mr. Lusk, Sir. I sent you half the kidney’—spelled k-i-d-n-e on the original and here,” Stacey said, “‘from one woman prasarved it for you tother piece I fried and ate it was very nice. I may send you the bloody knife that took it out if you only wate a little longer.’”
“‘Signed Catch me if you can Mishter Lusk,’” Keenan said.
“The killer imitated the handwriting, didn’t he?” Stacey said.
“He made one mistake,” Keenan said. “He didn’t ‘prasarve’ it.”
“I find it hard to believe that—given some attention to detail we’ve seen on this—he didn’t realize that it was going to become...mush in the mail,” Stacey said.
He was looking at her. “He must think of you as being a counterpart ‘Mishter’ Lusk,” Keenan said.
“There, again, that doesn’t make sense,” Stacey said. “Mr. Lusk was head of the Whitechapel Vigilance Committee. Obviously he knows that I’m with the FBI investigating. But Lusk wasn’t in law enforcement—he was with a citizens’ group.”
He nodded. He was still studying her. “Are you worried?” he asked.
She twisted her head at an angle, trying to understand the meaning behind his question.
She smiled. “I’m an agent. I excelled with firearms. I may not look like a large brick wall, but honestly, I’m competent. I mean, this is a job where danger is an inherent part of it, but we’re also trained to deal with dangerous situations.”
He nodded thoughtfully.
“Well?” she said.
“You’re not afraid that he seems to have singled you out? He could have sent the kidney piece to one of Jess Marlborough’s roommates or someone else involved. Or to me, or Fred Crandall or Jean Channing...or a dozen other people. He chose you.”
“Oh, no, no, no, no,” she said. “If you’re even thinking of suggesting that I should be taken off the case—”
“Not in the least. You are the key in this case—you knew about Billie Bingham being discovered. And now, well, you’re ‘seeing’ what historically should be the final murder.”
“And maybe we can even stop it!” she said.
“That’s the plan,” he told her.
“Then, why were you asking me if I was afraid?”
“Because if you’re not just a little afraid, then I’m worried about you, to be honest. We need to make sure that you’re with other agents. At all times.”
“That’s not practical—”
“Practical or not, it’s only sane. And not because you’re a woman—though God knows, with this, he’s very aware of you. Let’s hope that he doesn’t see you as his—”
“Mary Kelly?” Stacey broke in. She shook her head earnestly. “No, seriously, I’m not seeing that. Okay, many people may not like FBI agents or may be skeptical of them, but our work is a far cry from prostitution!”
“True. But I think you’ve been right all along. The whole Jack the Ripper thing is a ruse. Was it to kill Billie? Or was it, as we’ve theorized, to gain human organs? If so, you’d make a fine Mary Kelly. You’re young and in excellent health and condition.”