The body belongs to Bedelia du Maurier. Jack stands back with Frederick as Will enters room 1477, the room next door to Hannibal's.
The murder isn't in Hannibal's typical style. There is no display, no presentation. From the bruising around her neck, it is reasonably obvious how she died. She is lying on the bed, her slender frame wrapped in a white silk robe.
Will is reluctant to let the pendulum swing, especially with Jack and Frederick watching. Jack hasn't explained why he is here. Will has a distinct feel of wrongness.
"She died at about four o'clock this morning," comes another voice behind him, and he doesn't have to turn to recognise that it is Brian Zeller.
Four o'clock. It clicks for Will.
"He killed her because he was frustrated and annoyed, a rare slip of his mask," he says.
"Why was he annoyed?" Jack asks.
Will knows the answer but feels reluctant to give it. He sighs. "He was reading the article Freddie Lounds published about Chilton and I living together."
There is a heavy pause.
"Are you saying he killed her because he was jealous of your fake relationship with Frederick Chilton?" Jack asks. Frederick must throw him a dark glance, because Jack adds, "Sorry, Doctor Chilton."
"He lost his temper," Will says, and he is as surprised as the rest of them.
Hannibal had already killed Bedelia when Will turned up.
Another murder that Will was at least partially responsible for. He covers his face with his hands and exhales heavily.
Jack is waiting for him to continue speaking. Will doesn't have to look at him to feel the impatience washing over him in waves.
"He phoned me last night to ask me about it. It was after he had killed her."
"You didn't know about it?" Jack asks.
"Of course not," Will says automatically, but of course there is no of course when talking about his bizarre relationship with Hannibal Lecter. Nobody trusts him. He thinks it is probably justified.
"Where has he gone?" Jack wonders aloud.
"We found a gun in his room," Alix Dupont offers.
Will cringes. "Hannibal Lecter prefers to get more intimate with his victims than a gun allows. It isn't his."
"Then who-? Damn it, Will!" Jack snaps, glaring at him, as it slots into place. "Tell me you weren't here last night. Tell me you didn't know where Hannibal Lecter was and didn't turn him into the police."
Will stares at his shoes.
Jack gives a frustrated growl. "Dupont, take Mr Graham to my car."
Will feels a firm hand on his arm and looks into the woman's hazel eyes. He wrenches his arm away from her but allows her to lead him out of the room. As he passes Frederick, he tries to smile at him, but he feels that his face twists in a horrible way. Frederick looks unhappy, and he raises an eyebrow at Will.
Dupont doesn't speak to Will until they are both sitting on soft leather seats in the back of a black Mercedes.
"What is he like?" she asks.
He glances at her. He is impressed by her cold, unemotional dedication to her duty; this is a young woman trying to be taken seriously.
"Hannibal Lecter?"
"Oui."
"He is a monster," Will says emphatically.
"Then what does that make you?" she asks.
He doesn't answer. He has asked himself this question hundreds of times and has yet to find a satisfactory answer. He is a monster, a victim, or some unfortunate combination of the two; deep within him there lurks a darkness. It is tempting to believe that Hannibal planted it there, but the truth is that he merely encouraged it out of hiding.
Will thinks of the dead woman upstairs, her pretty pale throat wreathed in purple bruises. Disturbingly, Will wishes he had witnessed Hannibal's anger- even at his most terrible, Hannibal had never seemed aggressively angry, preferring most often the cold, calm variety.
There is something gratifying in knowing that he drove Hannibal to such feelings.
Jack climbs into the front of the car without speaking. Another uniformed officer gets in and starts the car.
"Where are we going?" Will asks, as they pull away. He is aware that he is being taken away from Frederick Chilton, and he doesn't like it.
"We need to talk," Jack says grimly.
"Are you arresting me?"
"No," Jack replies. "Should I be?"
Will remembers Frederick's doubts. His own words echo in his head. Are you asking if I slept with him? Or if I killed somebody with him? Or both? "She was dead when I got there, Jack. I didn't see the body."
"Would it have changed your decision to not alert the authorities if you had seen the body?"
Will sighs. "I don't know."
The car pulls up in front of a police station. Dupont climbs out nimbly and scuttles around to open the door for Will, again placing her hand on his arm. He doesn't even bother trying to shake it off now.
They end up in a small, cramped office which has clearly stood empty for a long time before its current use. It smells of coffee and stale sweat. Jack sits down behind the paper-laden desk and Dupont pulls out the chair opposite for Will to sit down on.
He sees his own photograph pinned to a board crowded with papers and photographs. Hannibal's handsome face looks back at him.
"How did you know I was here?" he asks.
Jack sighs. He leans forward and frowns. "Margot Verger's information came from me. I told her to pass it on to you."
Will suddenly sees, and he moves back from Jack. "You told her to offer me a chance to come here because you didn't trust me."
Jack nods. "She got her information from me."
Will doesn't feel surprised, or betrayed. He feels numb. He suddenly wants to be out of this office, away from Jack and back with Frederick. "You didn't want me to be officially involved with the case."
"No." Jack pauses. "I'm sorry, Will."
Will just shrugs. The back of his neck is unpleasantly damp with sweat. He can feel Dupont's eyes burning into the back of his head and wonders why she is here.
"The situation has changed," Jack says. "Hannibal is killing again. He'll be on the move now, leaving this place. We need your help."
Will considers. Catching Hannibal was- is, he corrects himself- everything to him. The disappointment he tasted when Jack refused to allow him to help still feels raw and painful. Hannibal is a killer, and Will has a duty to stop him.
This is all muddled up in his own feelings, both for Hannibal and for Frederick Chilton. His head hurts, and he isn't sure how much more of this he can take.
"I'll help," Will says. "I don't want to be officially involved, though."
Jack nods. "All things considered, that's probably for the best."
"Don't you trust me, Jack?" Will asks humourlessly.
Jack sighs. "Would you?"
"I don't trust myself," Will says. "That's the truth."
Jack looks at him for a long moment. Will sees himself for a moment through Jack's eyes, and he doesn't like the cold, calculating, unfeeling creature he sees.
"Where do you think he'll go?" Jack asks, and it is clear to Will that he hasn't even considered the possibility of Will refusing to help.
"He won't leave the city," Will replies, and he knows this is true. "He wants me. He wants to possess me, hurt me."
"You are sure of this?" Alix Dupont asks.
Will thinks of Hannibal's knife sliding inside of him, tearing him open; he remembers the white hot pain he felt as he gripped Hannibal's shirt and felt no desire to fight him off. He thinks of the tear that trailed down Hannibal's cheek as they regarded each other honestly.
Love and hatred well up inside of him.
Will has to get Frederick Chilton out of Paris. This is a dangerous place for him now.
"I'm sure," Will says. "I'm going back to the hotel now. Call me if you need me."
"But Will-" Jack begins, standing up as Will heads quickly for the door.
"Talk to you later, Jack," Will says, and it is freeing to walk away from him.
He takes a cab back to the hotel. Sitting in the back, he gives into his feelings, thinking about Bedelia Du Maurier's lifeless body. He is cold and vindicated; he is glad that Hannibal killed someone because he was furiously jealous over Will. Will hates himself. He wishes he killed Hannibal last night- he is glad he did not.
He is balling his hands into fists, the nails biting into his palms.
He is a sick product of Hannibal's manipulations.
He enters the hotel in a haze and somehow makes it to their room, opening it to find Frederick making some notes on the sofa. Frederick looks up and smiles at him.
"Shit," says Will, and his voice breaks. Tears are rolling down his cheeks.
The smile disappears from Frederick's face. "What happened?"
Will is still silently crying as Frederick wraps his arms around him. "Hannibal," Will whimpers into Frederick's shoulder. "It's never going to get better, is it?"