She saw by Eve’s slow nod that the lieutenant had already reached that same conclusion.
“He has, essentially, desexed her. Sex is equated for him with lust, violence, control, humiliation. His relationships with women are neither healthy nor traditional. He sees himself as elite, canny, even brilliant. So only you would do, Eve.”
“Do for what?”
“For his adversary. The greatest and most elusive killer of modern time couldn’t settle for just any cop to pursue him. He didn’t know Jacie Wooton, I agree. Or if he did, his knowing of her was only to select the right victim. But he knows you. You’re as much a target as she. More. She was a pawn, a momentary thrill. You’re the game.”
She’d thought of that, too, and was still circling around how to make it useful. “He doesn’t want me dead.”
“No, at least not yet.” A faint crease of concern marred Mira’s brow. “He wants you alive so that he can watch you chase him. Watch the media report his deeds and your pursuit. The style of note was taunting, and he’d want to continue to taunt you. You, not just a cop, but a high-profile cop, and a female. He’ll never lose to a woman, and his certainty that he’ll crush you, serve you your biggest defeat, is a large part of the excitement for him.”
“Then he’s going to be seriously bummed when I take him down.”
“He could turn on you if he feels you’re getting too close, ruining his fantasy. At first it’s a challenge, but I don’t believe he’ll tolerate the humiliation of being stopped by a woman.” She shook her head. “Much of this depends on how much of the Ripper personality he’s taken on, and which persona ascribed by the various theories to the Ripper he, himself, believes. It’s problematic, Eve. When he said, ‘sample of my work,’ did that mean his first, or has he killed before and gone undetected?”
“It’s his first here, in New York, but I’m going to do a check through IRCCA. Some psycho tries to emulate Jack the Ripper every now and then, but I don’t know of anywhere he wasn’t caught.”
“Keep me updated, and I’ll work up a more substantial profile.”
“I appreciate it.” She rose, hesitated. “Listen, Peabody had a little trouble this morning. The vic was in pretty bad shape, and . . . well, she got sick. She’s brooding about it. Like she’s the first cop to puke on her shoes,” Eve muttered. “Anyway, she’s under some stress prepping for the detective’s exam, and then she’s hunting for a place to cohab with McNab—which I don’t really want to think about, but she does. So, maybe you could find a minute to pat her on the head about it or something. Whatever. Shit.”
Mira let out a quick, bubbling laugh. “It’s very sweet for you to be worried about her.”
“I don’t want to be very sweet,” Eve said with some passion. “Or to worry about her. This isn’t the time for her head to be up her ass.”
“I’ll talk to her.” Mira cocked her head. “And how are you?”
“Me? Fine. Good. No complaints. Um . . . things good with you?”
“Yes, they are. My daughter and her family are visiting for a few days. It’s always nice for me to have them, and the chance to play Grandma.”
“Uh-huh.” Mira with her icy suit and pretty legs wasn’t Eve’s picture of anybody’s grandma.
“I’d love for you to meet them.”
“Oh, well—”
“We’re having an informal cookout on Sunday. I’d very much enjoy it if you and Roarke could come. About two,” she said before Eve could think of a response.
“Sunday.” A little bubble of panic lodged in her throat. “I don’t know if he’s got anything going or not. I—”
“I’ll check with him.” There was a laugh in Mira’s eyes as she set her cup aside. “It’s just family. Nothing fancy. Now, I’d better let you get back to work.”
She walked to the door, opened it, and all but scooted Eve out. Then she leaned back on the door and laughed. It delighted her, absolutely, to see that slightly horrified and completely baffled expression on Eve’s face when confronted with the idea of a family cookout.
She checked the time, then hurried to her desk ’link. She’d just contact Roarke immediately and box Eve in before she could find an escape hatch.
Eve was still horrified, still baffled when she reached the Homicide Division again. Peabody leaped out of her cube and hot-footed after her. “Sir. Lieutenant. Dallas.”
“What do you do at a cookout?” Eve muttered. “Why are you cooking at all, much less out? It’s hot out. There are bugs. I don’t get it.”
“Dallas!”
“What?” Brows lowered, Eve spun around. “What is it?”
“I’ve got the customer lists. It took some fast talking, but I convinced the two outlets to give me the names of purchases, those on record, for the stationery found with Jacie Wooton.”
“Did you run the names?”