“Not surgical. Not a doctor then?”

“I wouldn’t rule it out. He’d have been in a hurry, the light was poor, his own excitement, fear, arousal.” Morris ’s exotic face mirrored his inner disgust. “Whatever drives this sort of… well, words fail me for once. Whatever drove him might very well have hampered his skill. He removed the female organs with, we’ll say, dispatch. It’s not possible to say if there was sexual contact before the removal. But from the time of death, the mutilation, there wouldn’t have been time for games as they were done minutes apart.”

“Would you peg him as a medical? MT, vet, nurse?” She paused, deliberately, cocked her head. “Pathologist?”

He gaveEve a small grin. “Possible, certainly. It took some considerable skill given the circumstances. But then again, he didn’t have to concern himself about the patient’s chances of survival. He needed some knowledge of anatomy, some knowledge of the tools he used on her. I would say he certainly studied, certainly practiced, but it may not have been with a medical license, and again may not have been with the goal of keeping the patient alive. I hear there was a note.”

“Yeah. Addressed to me, which ensured I’d come on as primary.”

“So he’s made it personal.”

“You could even say intimate.”

“I’ll have the test results and report to you as soon as I can. I want to run a few more, see if I can get a closer handle on the knives.”

“Good. Take it easy,Morris.”

“Oh, I just take it,” he said as she started for the door. “ Dallas? Thank you.”

She glanced back. “Sure.”

She gestured toPeabody as she headed down the corridor. “Tell me what I want to know.”

“The lab, after considerable brownnosing by yours truly, was able to discern that the material used in the note and envelope is of a particular grade of bond. It’s not even recycled, which not only shocks my Free-Ager heart, but means it had to be sold and manufactured outside of theUnited States and its territories. We have laws here.”

Evelifted her eyebrows as she walked back out into the heat. “I thought Free-Agers didn’t believe in manmade laws of government interference in society.”

“We do when it suits our purposes.” Peabody slid into the car. “It’s English. The paper was manufactured inBritain, and is available in only a handful of outlets aroundEurope.”

“Not available inNew York.”

“No, sir. In fact, it’s difficult to buy it through the Internet or mail order as we have unrecycled paper products on our banned list in this country.”

“Mmm-hmm.”Eve ’s brain clicked several steps ahead, but asPeabody was studying for her detective’s exam, she thought it was a good pop-quiz question. “So how did it get fromEurope to an alley in Chinatown?”

“Well, people smuggle all sorts of banned products into the States. Or use the black market. Or if you’re traveling on another passport, touring or visiting the U.S., you’re allowed a certain number of personal possessions that aren’t strictly kosher. You could even be a diplomat or something. But whatever, you’d have to pay the price, and it’s high. That particular paper goes for twenty Euro dollars a pop. One sheet. The envelope’s twelve.”

“Lab boys tell you that?”

“No, sir. Since I was sitting out there, I checked it out myself.”

“Good work. You got the outlets?”

“All the knowns. Though the paper’s manufactured exclusively inBritain, there are sixteen known retailers and two known wholesalers who carry this particular style and weight. Two are in London.”

“Is that so?”

“I thought, since he’s copyingJack the Ripper, theLondon angle was the best.”

“Start there. We’ll pursue all the outlets, butLondon will be priority. See if you can get a list for purchases of that paper.”

“Yes, sir. Lieutenant, about this morning. I know I didn’t do the job-”

“ Peabody,”Eve interrupted. “Did I say you didn’t do the job?”

“No, but-”

“Has there been any time since you came under my command that I’ve hesitated to tell you when I felt you didn’t do the job to my requirements, or that I was dissatisfied with your performance, or that you’d screwed up in any way, shape, or form?”

“Ah, well, no, sir.” Peabody puffed out her cheeks, expelled air audibly. “Now that you mention it.”

“Then put it away, and get me those client lists.”

At Central, she was waylaid in the detectives’ bullpen with questions, rumors, speculation about the Wooton homicide. If cops were buzzing about a case, she knew the public would be screaming.

She escaped to her office, hit the AutoChef for coffee first, then called for her messages and missed transmissions.

She stopped counting the hits from reporters when she reached twenty. But six of those were from Nadine Furst at Channel 75.

With coffee in hand,Eve sat at her desk. Drummed her fingers on it. She’d have to deal with the media sooner or later.

Later would be better. In fact, sometime in the next millennium would suit her just fine. But she’d have to make a statement. Keep it short and official, she decided. Refuse and avoid any sound bytes and one-on-ones.

That’s what he wanted. He wanted her going out, talking about him, getting airtime and print, giving him some glory.

Many of them did, she reflected. Most of them did. But this one wanted to be sensational. He wanted the media shouting:

MODERN DAY RIPPER

SLASHES THROUGHNEW YORK

Yeah, that was his style. Big, bold, splashy.

Jack the Ripper, she thought, and turned to her computer to make notes.

Grandfather of the modern serial killer.

Never caught, never positively identified.

Central figure in multiple studies, stories, speculations for nearly two centuries.

Subject of fascination and revulsion. And fear.

Media hype fueled panic and interest during his spree.

Copycat expects to escape detection. Wishes to instill fear and fascination, and pit himself against police. Would have studied the prototype. Would have studied medicine, formally or informally in order to commit initial crime. Classy stationery, possible symbol of wealth or taste.

Some of the main suspects in the Ripper case had been upper-class,Eve mused. Even royalty. Above the law. Considering themselves above the law.

Other speculation had run to the Ripper being an American inLondon. She’d always thought that bogus, but… was it possible her killer was a Brit inAmerica?

Or maybe a-what did you call it-an Anglophile? Somebody who admired things British. Had he traveled there, walked the streets of Whitechapel? Relived it? Imagined himself as the Ripper?

She started to type up a report, stopped, then put in a call toDr.Mira ’s office and wrangled an appointment.

– -«»--«»--«»--

Dr.CharlotteMirawore one of her elegant suits, an icy blue she’d matched with a trio of long, thin gold chains. Her soft brown hair had a few sunny highlights around her pretty face. They were new,Eve noted, and wondered if that was the sort of thing she was supposed to comment on or pretend she didn’t notice.

She was never fully at ease in girl territory.

“I appreciate you making time,”Eve began.

“I wondered if you’d contact me today.” Mira gestured to one of her scoop chairs. “Everyone’s talking about your case, your particularly gruesome case.”

“The more gruesome, the more talk.”

“Yes, you’re right.” Because she imaginedEve had subsisted on coffee all day, Mira programmed her AutoChef for tea. “I don’t know how much of what I’ve heard is accurate.”

“I’m in the middle of writing my report. I know it’s early to ask you for a profile, but I don’t want to wait on this one. If I’m right, he’s just getting started.JacieWooton wasn’t his target, not specifically. I don’t think he knew her, or she him.”

“You believe it was random.”

“Not exactly. He wanted a particular type of woman, an LC. A whore.A street prostitute in a poor area of the city. He had very specific requirements; Wooton’s dead because she met them. Nothing more or less than that. I’ll give you everything I’ve got orally, then once I’ve worked it up, I’ll send you everything in a file. But I want, I need,” she corrected, “some sense that I’m going down the right road.”