The Name of the Star - Maureen Johnson [47]
“This letter,” the newscaster said, “of course, is based on the famous ‘From Hell’ letter that was received by Mr. George Lusk of the Whitechapel Vigilance Committee on October 16, 1888. It’s the only letter out of the hundreds that came in that most Ripper experts think was actually from the killer. We now also know that there was more to the letter, which we didn’t hear. To discuss this, we have Mr. James Goode.”
“Oh, God,” I said. “Please. Not again. Not again with this guy.”
This guy, James Goode, had seemed to be on about half of all the television shows I saw in England before this happened. Now his smug face was on TV all the time, on every station.
“James, many people are saying that you should have turned the package over to the police immediately,” the interviewer said, “not shown the contents on the air.”
“People have a right to know,” James replied, leaning back. “And we arranged it so that one very critical piece of information was left out. Only Scotland Yard and I know the full contents of the message.”
“You’re saying you intended for your own broadcast to be cut off so abruptly?”
“Of course I intended it.”
“Who is this jackass?” I asked. “Why is he always on TV?”
“James Goode? I don’t know. He was a journalist, and they gave him a show. Everyone hates him, but he’s really popular, which makes no sense, I suppose.”
“He’s a jackass,” I repeated, and Jazza nodded sagely.
“It’s always been a subject of debate whether or not the original ‘From Hell’ letter of 1888 was a hoax. That letter, like your letter, contained half a human kidney, which could have come from the fourth victim, Catherine Eddowes. Of course, now we possess the capability to determine these things for certain. It has been confirmed that the kidney sent to you was the left kidney of the fourth victim, Catherine Lord. Why do you think you were chosen, James? Why you, and not the police?”
“I suppose the killer wanted to send a message,” James said. “He wanted to make sure the kidney was seen by as many people as possible, and he knew I had the pull to make that happen.”
“And of course the one thing this last murder has shown is that the killer probably has extensive medical knowledge. This was always a matter of debate in the case of the first Ripper, but this time, there is a consensus amongst the medical professionals involved that this murderer almost certainly has some medical training. The kidney was removed with great skill. We have an image of the kidney taken from that broadcast. Viewers are advised that the following image is quite graphic, and—”
“I am getting so sick of looking at this kidney,” I said.
“It’s a farce,” Jazza replied. “They act like they’re shocked and horrified, and then they show it off twenty times a day.”
“Have you seen the singing kidney video?” I asked.
“Ugh. No.”
“It’s really funny. You should watch it.”
“Can you switch it off?”
The computer was at the end of my bed. I closed it with my socked foot and continued reading my selections from The Diary of Samuel Pepys (which is pronounced Peeps, not Peppies, something I found out the hard way in class)—specifically, a section in which he describes the Great Fire of London. There was a knock at our door. Charlotte opened the door when we called.
“Benton, Deveaux, you’re wanted downstairs.”
In Hawthorne-speak, downstairs meant Call Me Claudia’s apartment, and last names meant the business was in some way official.
“What for?” Jazza asked.
“Sorry. No idea.”
She and her hair left us. Jazza shoved her German off her lap and spun toward me.
“Oh, God . . . ,” she said.
“It’s fine,” I said. “It’s fine. She would have killed us by now if she wanted to.”
“She was probably waiting until the police left.”
“Jazza.”
“Why else would she want us?”
“Jazza,” I said again.
“What do we do?” she said, rocking on the edge of her bed. “Rory? What do we do?”
“We go down.”
“And?”
“And .