A new year has started - I wish you all a Happy New Year! May it prove to be an excellent one. Now, on with the show...

MB


Chapter 7

Clarice got used to the surveillance Crawford had insisted upon quickly. In fact, it was surprising to her how easily she accepted it. It probably helped the unmarked cars were difficult to spot. She was a pro herself and she had to admit even she sometimes had trouble indicating which vehicle was posting. She even called a few times to confirm they were still watching her. There was the hint of a feeling Hannibal would not pay her a visit, but she knew it was better to be safe than sorry.

The first days were the worst, but not due to the surveillance. She got calls instead from journalists of various magazines and papers, asking her anything they could think of. Apparently Clarice's erstwhile contact with Dr. Lecter still stirred people. Questions ranged from genuine journalism to the mentally disturbed, but she answered none of them.

And she spotted a few cars following her around those days as well. Following Crawford's instructions, she reported them to the MCPD who had a little chat with the men and occasional women inside, making sure it wasn't Lecter making use of a cover as a journalist to approach her.

Doing her groceries it eased her mind to see only the Tattler featured an article on her. She supposed sales were dramatically down if they needed coverage of her, five years after her meetings with Dr. Lecter, to lift them up again. She doubted it helped and could not care less.

Ardelia visited with her more often than usual to show her support. Clarice appreciated her friend's effort. Ardelia had always been a special friend and her love and support in moments like this, accompanied by her wit and intellect, made it all too clear what special place Ardelia held in her heart. Ardelia was her family as far as she was concerned; all the family she had and needed.

.

Weeks went by. Crawford used the time to think things over carefully. Of course, all standard procedures on prison breaks like this had been followed. Probably every law enforcer in the country was now familiar with Dr. Lecter's case, his escape, his mug shot and strict instructions. Customs had been informed and instructed. Every private firm and company that operated in security had been informed. But Crawford knew that wasn't the problem. It was his job to extrapolate beyond the known, to imagine and to know in advance. Dr. Lecter was most likely familiar with all these measures and precautions and Crawford knew that. He also knew Dr. Lecter was aware he knew. The bastard was as sleek as an eel in a bowl of snot. The first time he'd been caught was sheer luck - the highly improbable combination of an extraordinary investigator and exceptional circumstances. The second time wasn't even a true capture - Hannibal had not made it out of the former Memphis courthouse yet. But this time, Hannibal had found a way and he was out there, somewhere. And Crawford made it his job to find the son of a bitch again.

During those weeks, Crawford worked in close unison with Clarice. He absolutely didn't consider her the same kind of tool as Will Graham - Graham had that uncanny capability Crawford still couldn't quite put to words but he had always needed the right motivation to get going, Clarice added a unique perspective to everything that was the result of her education and immense drive. She held up in comparison. So, strictly speaking he was her superior, but he decided to work with her as a peer this time. He'd given Graham a free hand to catch serial killers, he gave her the same chance now.

So Starling and Crawford joined forces. The goal was to trace Dr. Lecter. Clarice was determined to find that man and she worked her ass off trying. She often found Crawford standing in her doorway bidding her good night as he went home. She knew he had nobody to go home to. And neither have I, she admitted to herself, but quickly dispelled that idea as she knew it could always change and sooner than one would think. But Crawford was getting old and he'd been there.

Frustratingly, every plan they conceived, every idea they came up with that might indicate Lecter's recent presence came up blank. There were no unaccountable or strange purchases of high-end goods, no exclusive cars, wine or whatever Hannibal had preferred before his incarceration, that signaled the man might be here or there. Neither did the phone taps on Dr. Lecter's known acquaintances - as far as Starling and Crawford were allowed to tap - reveal anything on the man's whereabouts. It was as if the man had ceased to exist. The bitter thought came to Clarice's mind that, even though she'd never seen him again after Memphis, Dr. Lecter had been more present while imprisoned than now. There wasn't even the tiniest clue where the man could be right now. Clarice had a private joke: Dr. Lecter was a true cosmopolite now...

.

"Starling?"

"Yes, sir?"

Crawford motioned her to join him in his office. He held the door for her and Starling heard him close the door behind her. He never did that.

"Sit down, Starling," he said as she was about to turn to face him. He never did that either, they most often talked while standing. She took another two steps and sat down in the chair in front of Crawford's desk. The man himself walked across the office and sat down in the comfortable swivel chair behind his desk.

Clarice studied Crawford's face as he retrieved a letter and a number of small plastic bottles from his top drawer. Besides the fact he was starting to noticeably age, had a three day's rubble and his reading glasses needed a good cleaning, she saw nothing of professional interest that indicated why he'd called her. He put the letter and the bottles on the desk, then opened them one by one, taking one pill from each.

"Starling."

"Yes, sir?"

Clarice thought this was getting a little Dick and Jane. Some people did that prior to swinging the proverbial ax. She hoped Crawford wasn't one of those people. He'd never needed to bring her bad news so she wasn't sure of it.

"You want something to drink?"

Most definitely bad news. At least news he doesn't want to share, but has to.

"No thanks, I'm fine."

"You sure?" he asked.

Clarice shook her head. Crawford had the patent medicines in the palm of his hand and put them with a swift motion in his mouth, then washed them away with what was probably cold coffee. Clarice realized he'd given up on his old ritual of taking the pills one by one.

When he'd downed his daily dose of drugs, he took the letter from the envelope and handed it to her.

"Here, read."

Clarice looked at him, but he looked at the letter. Or somewhere close to.

She took the letter from him, opened it and started to read.

"There's nothing I can do, Starling," Crawford spoke as she was about halfway through the concise letter. She looked up briefly, but found Crawford was busy looking into his now empty coffee mug.

Clarice finished the letter.

"That's fucked up bullshit, total crap and he ought to have his brain replaced by a monkey's - it would improve his IQ immensely," she said finally.

"You've always been the most politically incorrect and foulmouthed person I know, Starling," Crawford said. Clarice managed to smile in spite of the circumstances.

"So they're practically ordering you to send me on a tour of lectures in Europe. As if they are waiting for my expertise! It's pretty obvious they just want me off the Lecter case. I just can't figure why?"

"Me neither, Starling. But there's nothing I can do about it. You'll have to face up to it. Or lose your job."

"Yeah, and then? Become a private dick? Follow dear Jane's hubbie to see if he's screwing someone else? U-huh, not me. Guess I have no option."

"Afraid not. You'll have to admit their timing's perfect - there's time to prepare your lectures before school starts again after summer break."

"Well, ain't I the lucky bastard then," Clarice said.

"Face up, Starling. You'll survive. You're a survivor, kid."

Crawford was right there. She was. Clarice didn't notice the involuntary movement of her hand to the spot on her cheek, but Crawford did.

.

The letter contained instructions for Clarice, including the name of her contact at the Intercontinental Criminological Education Committee. She was both surprised and relieved to find Dr. Brantley-Moore to be a lovable woman, who was pleased to hear Clarice would be going to Europe. She told Clarice it was hard to find good guest lecturers who could spare the time. Clarice smiled and told her she was looking forward to seeing the Old World. It served no use to vent her frustrations on this woman who was doing her best for her benefit. Clarice could practically leave everything in her capable hands, all she needed to focus on were the lectures. And she did.

To her own amazement, in spite of the lousy direct order, Clarice found she enjoyed collecting materials, noting down ideas, doing research and working on the actual texts. She had two and a half months before her first lecture and she gave full attention to the job. She made the best of that time. Crawford kept her informed on the progress, or better said the lack of progress, and after a while she started to feel this might not be so bad at all. And she started to understand why Crawford had always loved to give the occasional lecture.