'Three days later,' Charlie said, 'a postcard was mailed from the East End. Same handwriting.'
I found the page and again read aloud:
''I was not codding, dear Boss, when I gave you the tip. You'll hear about Saucy Jack's work tomorrow. Double even this time. Number One squealed a bit; couldn't finish straight off. Had no time to get ears for police.
— Jack the Ripper'
I read silently to learn what Charlie already knew. The next morning two bodies were found. Elizabeth Stride's throat had been slashed. The other victim, Catherine Eddowes, was quite a mess. Her abdomen was slashed open, the intestines pulled out and draped over her shoulder. And her left kidney was missing.
'Two weeks after the double homicide,' Charlie said, 'George Lusk received a cardboard box in the mail. It contained part of a human kidney and a note.'
I thumbed a few pages further:
From hell, Mr. Lusk, sir, I send you half the kidney I took from one woman, preserved 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 wait a while longer. Catch me if you can, Mr. Lusk.
'Cocky bastard,' I said. 'Showed no fear at all.'
'No reason to,' Charlie said, giving up at last and swinging his pole onto the dock. 'Why not?'
'They never caught the bloke, did they?' Charlie said, wiping off his hands and picking up his meerschaum pipe.
CHAPTER 10
'Senor Castillo,' Nick Fox said in his silky politician's voice, 'do you know any reason why you couldn't sit as a juror in this case?'
The small, dark man in his stiff Sunday suit shook his head from side to side.
'Sir, can you understand English?'
'Si,' the man said proudly.
I waited until the jury was sworn and approached Nick Fox at the prosecution table. 'Tennyson, anyone?' I whispered.
'Huh?'
'We gotta talk.'
'You bet we do, slick. What the hell you doing with the Rosedahl homicide? You got no jurisdiction there.'
'I have to cross the county line, like a cop in hot pursuit.'
The judge was clearing his throat. 'Mr. Fox, is the state ready to proceed?'
Nick Fox rose from his chair and bowed-'Ready, Your Honor'-then turned back to me. 'Look, I got a double Murder One to try here. We'll talk at the lunch recess.'
I nodded and started to move away.
'What's on your mind?' he called after me.
'Jack the Ripper,' I said.
Judge Dixie Lee Boulton was just finishing her morning motion calendar when I strolled into the courtroom, a bulky black briefcase in one hand, a leash attached to a shaggy Angora goat in the other.
Arnie Two-Ton Tannenbaum was planted in front of the bench, thrusting a copy of Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, Second Edition, in the general direction of the bench. 'Your Honor, the indictment charges my client with entering Cozzoli's Pizzeria 'unlawfully, feloniously, and burglariously.' Now, you can look high and you can look low, but there is no such word as 'burglariously.' The indictment must be quashed.'
'On what ground?' the judge asked, scowling.
'Unconstitutional grammar.'
'Is there any precedent for that?'
'No, and just as well,' Two-Ton answered. 'It would be a pity for Your Honor to be deprived the distinction of being the first to establish the rule.'
I had taken a seat in the front row of the gallery, just between Marvin the Maven and Saul the Tailor. Marvin nodded hello and ignored the goat, having seen far stranger sights in Miami courtrooms. Saul petted the animal, then pulled away before he lost a chunk of the straw hat he kept in his lap.
'Seven-to-one Two-Ton loses the motion, then cops a plea,' Marvin the Maven predicted.
The defendant, a skinny nineteen-year-old with bad skin, dirty hair, and bad posture, slumped in front of the judge, vacant and hopeless. No one took the Maven's bet, and five minutes later, the judge recited the Gospel of the Guilty Plea: 'The court finds the defendant intelligent, of sound mind and body, and represented by competent counsel…'
It isn't easy to tell four lies in one sentence, I thought.
'He understands the nature of the charges against him and has made the plea freely and voluntarily. Three years in the state prison.'
'Out in nine months,' said Marvin the Maven.
'Next case,' Dixie Lee Boulton announced. 'South Coast Properties versus Babalu Aye Church of Santeria. Is the plaintiff ready?'
'South Coast Properties.' Marvin tut-tutted, clucking his tongue. 'What happened to representing honest murderers, Jake? Even a lying newspaper's better than a slumlord.'
'Ready,' I said, getting up and approaching the bench, leash in hand.
'Br-aah-aay,' said the goat.
'Is the defendant ready?' the judge asked.
A dapper man of about fifty in a custom-made double-breasted powder-blue suit rose from the first row. He wore gold-rimmed glasses, had skin the purple-black of a polished eggplant, and strode to the bench with an air of authority. 'I am Phillipe Jean Claude Phillipe, and I will represent my church.'
'Are you an attorney, Phillipe…uh…Phillipe?' the judge asked.
'I am a Santero, a priest of Santeria,' he said, an Afro-Caribbean lilt to his voice.
'Br-aah-aay,' said the goat.
The judge raised her eyeglasses from their string of imitation pearls and peered down from the bench. 'Mr. Lassiter, is that an animal?'
From behind me, Marvin the Maven whispered, 'It ain't the Queen of England.'
'Your Honor, this is exhibit one in our eviction proceeding. When the church leased my client's property, Mr. Phillipe here misrepresented-'
'The Right Reverend Phillipe Phillipe,' he corrected me.
'Right…Phil. This gentleman misrepresented his intentions. He said the house would be used for pastor's living quarters. Now we find they're slaughtering animals there. Hundreds of people show up to watch.'
'To pray,' Phillipe Phillipe corrected me. 'It is our ceremony to initiate new priests. We have thirteen gods, and to each we must sacrifice two roosters, a pigeon, a guinea hen, and…a goat.'
'Your Honor, it's cruel and-'
'Is painless,' said the Reverend.
' Br-aah-aay,' said the goat, unless it was Marvin the Maven.
'The place is covered with blood,' I said. 'It attracts flies and rodents.'
The judge looked a mite pale, so I toned it down. 'This is a residential neighborhood, not a stockyard. They have no license to slaughter-'
'Under your First Amendment, we have freedom of religion,' Phillipe Phillipe interrupted. 'Our license comes from God.'
