Chapter 5: Taking Flight
Agent Lloyd burst into the office. "Eric, she's on the move."
"What do you mean?"
"She left her house first thing this morning, went to work and told them she was taking an indefinite leave of absence, then went to the bank and withdrew all the money from her bank accounts. Then she headed out of town."
"I want her followed. I want to know exactly where she's going."
"Already on it."
If you were to ask Clarice Starling what she packed for her journey, she would most likely tell you only a few changes of clothes. Perhaps it just slipped her mind that she also packed the small photo album of her family she'd managed to take with her to Montana; or the file of personal papers including her passport, birth certificate, and diplomas from high school, UVA, and the FBI Academy; or even the photo of her and Ardelia Mapp following the graduation ceremony, each holding their certificates high in the air, grinning like they owned the world. And if you were to ask her why she withdrew her entire life savings, consisted of almost $8000 cash and a CD that would be worth $50,000 plus interest when she cashed it in in another 10 years, she would just tell you that a girl had to be prepared. If you were to suggest to her that perhaps she was shedding her old life for a new one, she would tell you you were crazy.
It was shortly after 9 pm when Clarice found herself on the outskirts of Chicago. Tired and road weary, she checked into a small motel along the roadside, frequented by truck drivers and traveling salespeople. She was up and out by 8 am Thursday morning and at 10:08 she was turning right off of North Lake Shore Drive onto East Walton Place. Pulling up in front of the Drake Hotel she was in awe of the grand structure.
Feeling underdressed in jeans and a t-shirt she went to the front desk and asked for Dr. Johann Bozeman. "And you are?" the pompous clerk asked, with a raised eyebrow.
"Clarice Starling," she replied, with her heart pounding in her ears.
"Well, then this is for you," the girl said handing her an envelope. Clarice saw her name written on the outside of the mauve envelope in the fine copperplate and felt the knot she'd awoken with in her stomach growing.
Looking up at the desk clerk she asked, "You mean he's not here?"
"No ma'am," the girl said impatiently. "He is not here. He checked out early this morning. Is there anything else I can do for you?"
"No." Blindly she shuffled to her car in the parking garage.
She sat there practicing deep breathing exercises for a few moments before slipping her finger under the flap. There were two pieces of paper, a letter and a drawing done in pastels. Clarice recognized the sketch as the 'Birth of Venus' even though she couldn't recall the original artist. It was beautifully rendered and took her breath away. Setting it aside, with a slight blush in her cheeks, she opened the letter.
"Dearest Clarice,
The fact that you have picked up this letter indicates your willingness to
start your life anew, to walk on the wild side. It reminds me of a mutual friend, someone who dearly loves
gambling. Perhaps someday the three of
us can sit down and play a game of poker together. The jacks would be wild then wouldn't they?
Of course I can't tell you my exact location, so you'll just have to figure it out for yourself. Hopefully it won't stick in your gullet.
Now, I really must go and rest, as it is almost sundown. Hurry Clarice, time is short.
Ta,
Hannibal Lecter, MD
PS As the soothsayer once told Caesar, 'Beware the Ides.'"
Clarice's blood ran cold. He was playing his stupid games again. *Well damn him*, she thought throwing the letter onto the passenger seat and leaning forward to rest her head on the steering wheel.
Eventually she regained her composure, sat back, and picked up the letter. Emptying her head she looked at the words to see what popped out at her. The first thing was the sentence 'hopefully it won't stick in your gullet'. That just didn't sound right to her. Tapping her temple with her finger she blurted out, "No, no – it's stuck in your craw. That's the phrase." Craw? Looking at the words again her eyes were drawn to the word jacks. A mutual friend who liked to gamble? Jack Crawford. Ding ding went off in her head. Of course, Jack had been dead for over two years. He certainly wouldn't be playing poker any time soon. This wasn't getting her any closer.
Re-reading, she thought it was way out of character for Dr. Lecter to talk about needing a rest. It dawned on her that he might mean Jack Crawford's final resting place, which would be Arlington National Cemetery. Slamming her hand on the steering wheel she screamed, "Well I'll be goddamned! Making me drive all the way out here just to make me turn around and go back. Sonofabitch!" But of course she couldn't just let it go, she was in too deep now.
All that remained was determining when he wanted this meeting. In the last line he referred to the Ides. Clarice recalled studying the play 'Julius Caesar' in school. The Roman Emperor was murdered on the Ides of March. Yet this was May. Leaning back in her seat she closed her eyes. She could vaguely remember her British Lit professor explaining that Shakespeare had not invented the term for his play; it was in fact a widely used expression for many centuries. It's literal meaning was 'to divide', and was used to define the middle day of any month, usually the 15th. Tomorrow was May 15. Tomorrow then, at sundown.
"Alright Doctor, I'll be there. Tomorrow it's all coming to an end." She bent over and opened the glove box to get out her map. She had to move her .45 aside to get it.
Throwing the Mustang into gear, she roared out of the parking garage, earning an angry horn as she cut in front of a taxicab. Twenty minutes later she was hurtling down the Dan Ryan Expressway, silently fuming at the way Dr. Lecter continued to manipulate her. However as distracted as she was she couldn't fail to notice the dark sedan that followed no less than three car lengths behind, no matter how fast she went. The sedan, so non-descript it stood out like a sore thumb, could only be FBI.
Clarice, in the far left hand lane, noticed an exit coming up rapidly. Taking a deep breath she cranked the wheel sharply to the right, ignoring the chorus of shouts and horns as she barely missed side swiping other vehicles, and only just managed to make it to the exit. A look in the mirror showed that the agents weren't able to maneuver over fast enough; they would have to go to the next exit, five miles down, before attempting to gain their quarry again. Clarice backtracked on a road parallel to the expressway and reentered at the next onramp up. She was satisfied that she was alone, at least for now.
She couldn't help but wonder if Dr. Lecter had known she'd be followed. Would the FBI be looking in psychiatric journals for clues to his whereabouts? *I would*, she answered herself. Maybe there was a method to his madness, some of it at least.
"What do you mean you've lost her?" Agent Reid shouted into the phone. "I want an APB put out immediately. And you'd better scour that city." Hanging up the phone, he threw a pencil across the room in frustration. He looked up at the man standing before him. "Give me some good news, Lloyd. What the hell was she doing in Chicago?"
"A check of phone records indicates a call to the Starling residence shortly before midnight Tuesday night. The call came from a Chicago number listed under the name Matthew L. McIntyre." He paused before his boss for effect. All he received was an impatient gesture to continue. "Two field agents were dispatched to the residence to question him. I have just received the faxed report." He raised his hand to read from the paper he held. "Mr. McIntyre vehemently denied having had any contact with the man known as Hannibal Lecter, stating, 'Dude that guy's creepy!' When questioned why he phoned Deputy Starling two nights ago, he simply replied, 'I had to apologize for disrespecting her person.' "
"Any idea why she was at the Drake?"
"She was asking for a Dr. Johann Bozeman, a guest who checked out of the hotel earlier that morning. He left a letter for her."
"Clues on what was in the letter?"
"None. The clerk who checked Dr. Bozeman out was shown mug shots of Lecter, but she couldn't give a positive ID. I'd bet my next paycheck it was him."
"Me too." Reid sat with his fingers steepled beneath his chin for a moment. "That's it?"
"That's it."
"Something big's going down, Lloyd, I can feel it. We need to find Starling before it's too late for her."
Continued
