Part V
Crossroads
The next, and last, interview with Agent Layton was not scheduled until two weeks later. For Clarice, this time was pure heaven. Hannibal taught her everything she wanted to know: harpsichord, piano, Vermeer, Dante, French, Latin, Italian, you name it, Hannibal knew it and gave it all to Clarice's eager mind. He had never had such a willing pupil. She even received a crash course in disguises and face alterations. They would need them once they got to Florence. Hannibal had several bank accounts in Europe, all under different names. He had Clarice memorize the names and codes for every account.
The difference surrounding Clarice did not go away. Hannibal felt it every time they drew close, and it grew stronger every day: a deep, tingling sensation like electricity. Once when this happened, Clarice shivered and drew closer to him in bed.
"What is it, my dear?"
"Nothing. I just got a chill. Everything felt so cold all of a sudden, like something terrible was going to happen and I can't do anything to stop it."
"Do you want me to call a doctor?" he teased.
"No, just...hold me." So he held her and the matter was forgotten in the morning.
--------------------
Special Agent Michael Layton had been promoted to the rank of sergeant in return for the "excellent information" he had received on Hannibal Lecter. The yellow stripes that were sewn into his jacket were the envy of every fellow agent in his section. They all knew that Layton had graduated from Academy a mere two weeks ago, yet he was already climbing the bureaucratic ladder.
And as a result, Layton had become slightly more than obsessed with the Lecter case. It became an all-consuming passion, because after all, it was what had lifted him to his current position which he had every intention of keeping. He listened and relistened to tapes of old evidence: Lecter and Starling, Lecter and Raspail, Lecter and...the list was endless. Read and reread the case file.
Gradually, without his realization, he was becoming different. His original motives for the case, curiosity and justice, yes, maybe even a little bit of justice, seemed like strangers to him. He was no longer sure what to tell his old moral system when it beckoned for reason. He was blind to everything except the consuming goal of advancement. Maybe he had a heart once, but now it was all gone. Sacrificed in the never-ending battle for fame and glory. This realization had been rather sudden and Layton had not yet totally accepted it, so no one who looked into his eyes could tell.
"You get used to it," responded Bowman when Layton went to him for advice. His ever-present cigarette was wedged between his teeth as he explained. "When everything you once believed in seems to be turning around on you and you're not sure what to think anymore. That's called change, Mike, and you can't avoid that, no matter how hard you try. Tread carefully. You may get into some deep crap before you even know it, especially with this case you're working on now. Although I still don't understand why you insist on working for..."
Bowman's word's faded away as Layton pondered what to do next. Starling wasn't to be trusted completely, but truth was, he still needed her information. He decided to trust his instincts to tell him what to believe and what to ignore. And if that didn't work, there were other methods.
And so, when Layton was once again sitting in front of Clarice with the tape recorder rolling, he decided not to ask her about the first-name issue. If he didn't know for sure, better to not bring it up at all. What he did instead was not any smarter.
"I trust you are quite familiar with the newspaper stories about your relationship with Dr. Lecter? The whole "Bride of Frankenstein" deal?"
"I'm not responsible for what they say."
"Fair enough. But things would go a lot smoother if you were completely honest with me. Off the record. You have no obligation to be, but I would certainly appreciate it."
Layton pushed the stop button on the tape recorder. He paused to let Clarice respond, but she didn't seem to be planning to. She merely sat with a sort of faraway look in her eyes.
"Could I at least have a drink?" After all, they had been sitting for an hour.
Brief silence. Then, "Of course. Come." She led him into the kitchen and he stood by while she almost absently mixed a cup of coffee for him. Although he could not see it, her mind was very much active. It seemed that the FBI had believed the information she had given two weeks ago, Clarice thought. She had seen the stripes on Layton's shoulders. Could not miss the fact that he had been promoted. But he was still here, still ambitious. Hmmm...it would be difficult to find out what else could feed that ambition. Because in a few days, she would be...so far away.
Then her mind shifted to what he had said. Those tabloids. Didn't give a damn whose life they ruined as long as they had a story. They had milked the Sherman incident for all it was worth. With those thoughts came the chill again, almost a deep, foreboding sense of evil, and Clarice swayed on her feet. "Stay there a minute," she said to Layton before heading to the bathroom for Tylenol. The drug rid her of the headache but could not stop her shivering.
She stood there a moment, with her head against the mirror, her breath fogging the glass. The chill ran through her body again, and her body shook. For a moment she considered calling off the interview, but changed her mind. Layton would get suspicious. And besides, there were some things she needed to say to him before she left. She returned to the kitchen to find Layton crouching by the refrigerator, furiously scrubbing a coffee stain from the floor with a mounting pile of paper towels. "Ms. Starling, I'm so sorry..."
Clarice almost ignored the mess completely as every neuron of her brain was intently focused on one thing. "Agent Layton, let me ask you something. Off the record. What do YOU think my relationship with Hannibal Lecter is? Purely your opinion, please."
Layton paused, for he knew that Starling did not want a simple answer to this question. "Your profile on Lecter is incredible. I've read it from cover to cover several times over. You don't try to dissect him or explain his actions, it's all civil opinion. And respect, I guess. Both of you have a deep respect for the other." Mention what he heard in the tape? No.
Clarice smiled coyly. "Is that it? No suspicions of romantic attachments to the infamous serial killer?"
"No." Layton answered so quickly that he did not give himself any time to think. No time for his thought process to be displayed on his face. His promptness might have saved his life. More words came out of his mouth, none of them planned, pondered over, or predictable. "The media wants food for thought and the tabloids deliver."
"Hmm...would you like another cup of coffee?"
The final interview went smoothly enough. Nothing learned, nothing lost. If everything went well, Layton could submit his report to the FBI in a week, and then they could begin their sweep of South America. Maybe the United States as well. You could never be too careful.
A little while later, Hannibal entered the house silently, his purchase held in one hand in front of him. It had taken him over two hours to choose and there had been the waiting period of two weeks, but now it was finally in his hands. He walked slowly to kitchen, careful not to make any unnecessary noises. It had to be a surprise for Clarice.
The object of his desire was standing in the kitchen wondering what she should prepare for dinner that night when she felt a light touch at her elbow. Clarice nearly jumped out of her skin. No matter how many times Hannibal entered the house, he would never lose his penchant for surprise entrances. After the shock was over, she got mad. She whirled around to face him, ready to tell him off, and then stopped cold. Her mouth just quit working as she gaped at the sight before her.
The dress was cream-colored, lavishly tailored out of expensive silk with rubies the color of blood set here and there in tantalizing patterns. Clarice could not take her eyes off it. It was some time before she noticed the holder of the dress.
Hannibal laughed. "Do you like it?"
Clarice's mouth gaped open and closed several times like a goldfish before she could find her breath. "It's--it's beautiful. Hannibal--how--I've never seen a dress so beautiful. Is it, is it for me?"
"No, for some other love of my life. Yes, it's for you, Clarice." A slight disturbance as the refrigerator started roaring, expelling heat in warm currents of air. "As are these," Hannibal continued as he drew out two plane tickets from his jacket pocket. "Two first-class tickets to Florence, Italy, departing in four days. One way, under the names of Mr. and Mrs. James Robinson."
It was as if all her dreams had come true. "Oh my--thank you, Hannibal, thank you so much--." It was too much to keep to herself, and she didn't try. She threw her arms around him and covered his face with kisses.
It was some time before Hannibal could regain his composure. In that time, the refrigerator quieted again and they were once more at peace. "I thought it would be a fitting gift. Don't be too happy, yet. I still need to purchase the complementary gifts..." His words fell upon dead ears and eventually he gave it up and returned Clarice's kisses, before carrying her and the dress upstairs.
However, a mile away, sitting inside a parked car in a deserted lot, someone was listening VERY intently. Almost refusing to believe what he was hearing, Layton adjusted his headphones. He waited until all sounds had faded before rewinding the tape and playing it over and over again until he had to accept it. He sat back in his car seat, running his fingers through his hair. This was a little too much to take in at one moment.
He let it sink in slowly before playing the tape again and listening even more carefully. One part bothered him to no end. In his haste that afternoon, he had had no time to properly place the electronic bug that Bowman had given him (heaven knows how Bowman had laid his hands on THAT). When Layton had heard Starling returning to the kitchen from the bathroom, the best he could do was hurriedly place the bug underneath the refrigerator while pretending to spill his coffee.
And now, the unwelcome roar and clatter of escaping heat drowned Lecter's words in mid-sentence. What Layton wouldn't give to have heard what had been said. He had a feeling it would have been very important.
As for the bug, Bowman had insisted on it, knowing it was the only way to get Layton what he wanted. The FBI? He needn't tell them. In the time that it would take to get an order legalizing the use of electronic surveillance, it would be too late. If what Bowman thought was true, they didn't have a lot of time left. At long last, Agent Layton had reluctantly agreed, and now he was glad he had let his friend talk him into it.
So the "Beauty and the Beast" stories were true. But...after their discussion that afternoon, he knew it was more than that. It was true enough that he didn't agree with the mainstream ideas. What did he think really, though?
Layton knew it had always been reported that Lecter had not lost his mind in the state hospital, not like so many others. He had a strong spirit, made stronger still by the fact that he was not held back by the ethical restraints that governed society. Starling had been destroyed by the very symbol of law in the country, the FBI. Maybe Starling had found a type of morbid peace with Hannibal Lecter. Persephone wished to remain in the Underworld forever. Everything was always more complicated than it looked.
It didn't matter. All this was shoved aside quickly by a prospect. Hannibal Lecter! In the States! And a mere mile from where he sat now. Forget sergeant, if he managed to take him in, it might boost him to the sectional chief level.
What to do now? The first thought that came to mind was to inform the FBI of his success. Then he remembered the means he had used to gain the information. Of course, he couldn't let them know that he had resorted to illegal means. That was a perfectly legitimate reason. Then the green-eyed monster of jealousy and pride roared in like a storm. He would keep it to himself, he knew, because he wanted it to be HIS victory and his alone. The FBI probably wouldn't care how Lecter had been captured as long as he was apprehended. And the rewards...Layton could barely imagine. But he would need help, and only from the one he could trust completely. Layton shifted his car into drive and began the now familiar trip to Baltimore in the dead of night.
------------------------
Three days later, Hannibal was standing inside the small jewelry shop, his fingers running slowly across the display cases. He had discovered this place a week ago and made a mental note. This evening, he had left Clarice in the house to take care of last-minute packing while he made his way to the shop. The store was small and empty, so few people able to afford its contents. Or perhaps because it was such a well-kept secret. The store was well stocked but tucked away carefully in a now silent strip of other shops.
Hannibal had the entire store to himself. He had been standing at the counter for over an hour, pondering a decision while the manager behind the cash register had been getting more and more agitated. Hannibal let his eyes roam over every piece in the display case once again before returning to one. Rubies set in white gold, it was a perfect match for Clarice's dress. He paused for one more moment, taking in the beauty of the piece, before raising his finger to the greatly relieved store manager.
He paid cash for the purchase and tucked the brown paper package safely away into his coat pocket. He turned toward the door, savoring the reception he would receive once he returned home.
And from the mouth of an alley several yards away, unbeknownst to Hannibal, Frank Bowman watched his every move.
Crossroads
The next, and last, interview with Agent Layton was not scheduled until two weeks later. For Clarice, this time was pure heaven. Hannibal taught her everything she wanted to know: harpsichord, piano, Vermeer, Dante, French, Latin, Italian, you name it, Hannibal knew it and gave it all to Clarice's eager mind. He had never had such a willing pupil. She even received a crash course in disguises and face alterations. They would need them once they got to Florence. Hannibal had several bank accounts in Europe, all under different names. He had Clarice memorize the names and codes for every account.
The difference surrounding Clarice did not go away. Hannibal felt it every time they drew close, and it grew stronger every day: a deep, tingling sensation like electricity. Once when this happened, Clarice shivered and drew closer to him in bed.
"What is it, my dear?"
"Nothing. I just got a chill. Everything felt so cold all of a sudden, like something terrible was going to happen and I can't do anything to stop it."
"Do you want me to call a doctor?" he teased.
"No, just...hold me." So he held her and the matter was forgotten in the morning.
--------------------
Special Agent Michael Layton had been promoted to the rank of sergeant in return for the "excellent information" he had received on Hannibal Lecter. The yellow stripes that were sewn into his jacket were the envy of every fellow agent in his section. They all knew that Layton had graduated from Academy a mere two weeks ago, yet he was already climbing the bureaucratic ladder.
And as a result, Layton had become slightly more than obsessed with the Lecter case. It became an all-consuming passion, because after all, it was what had lifted him to his current position which he had every intention of keeping. He listened and relistened to tapes of old evidence: Lecter and Starling, Lecter and Raspail, Lecter and...the list was endless. Read and reread the case file.
Gradually, without his realization, he was becoming different. His original motives for the case, curiosity and justice, yes, maybe even a little bit of justice, seemed like strangers to him. He was no longer sure what to tell his old moral system when it beckoned for reason. He was blind to everything except the consuming goal of advancement. Maybe he had a heart once, but now it was all gone. Sacrificed in the never-ending battle for fame and glory. This realization had been rather sudden and Layton had not yet totally accepted it, so no one who looked into his eyes could tell.
"You get used to it," responded Bowman when Layton went to him for advice. His ever-present cigarette was wedged between his teeth as he explained. "When everything you once believed in seems to be turning around on you and you're not sure what to think anymore. That's called change, Mike, and you can't avoid that, no matter how hard you try. Tread carefully. You may get into some deep crap before you even know it, especially with this case you're working on now. Although I still don't understand why you insist on working for..."
Bowman's word's faded away as Layton pondered what to do next. Starling wasn't to be trusted completely, but truth was, he still needed her information. He decided to trust his instincts to tell him what to believe and what to ignore. And if that didn't work, there were other methods.
And so, when Layton was once again sitting in front of Clarice with the tape recorder rolling, he decided not to ask her about the first-name issue. If he didn't know for sure, better to not bring it up at all. What he did instead was not any smarter.
"I trust you are quite familiar with the newspaper stories about your relationship with Dr. Lecter? The whole "Bride of Frankenstein" deal?"
"I'm not responsible for what they say."
"Fair enough. But things would go a lot smoother if you were completely honest with me. Off the record. You have no obligation to be, but I would certainly appreciate it."
Layton pushed the stop button on the tape recorder. He paused to let Clarice respond, but she didn't seem to be planning to. She merely sat with a sort of faraway look in her eyes.
"Could I at least have a drink?" After all, they had been sitting for an hour.
Brief silence. Then, "Of course. Come." She led him into the kitchen and he stood by while she almost absently mixed a cup of coffee for him. Although he could not see it, her mind was very much active. It seemed that the FBI had believed the information she had given two weeks ago, Clarice thought. She had seen the stripes on Layton's shoulders. Could not miss the fact that he had been promoted. But he was still here, still ambitious. Hmmm...it would be difficult to find out what else could feed that ambition. Because in a few days, she would be...so far away.
Then her mind shifted to what he had said. Those tabloids. Didn't give a damn whose life they ruined as long as they had a story. They had milked the Sherman incident for all it was worth. With those thoughts came the chill again, almost a deep, foreboding sense of evil, and Clarice swayed on her feet. "Stay there a minute," she said to Layton before heading to the bathroom for Tylenol. The drug rid her of the headache but could not stop her shivering.
She stood there a moment, with her head against the mirror, her breath fogging the glass. The chill ran through her body again, and her body shook. For a moment she considered calling off the interview, but changed her mind. Layton would get suspicious. And besides, there were some things she needed to say to him before she left. She returned to the kitchen to find Layton crouching by the refrigerator, furiously scrubbing a coffee stain from the floor with a mounting pile of paper towels. "Ms. Starling, I'm so sorry..."
Clarice almost ignored the mess completely as every neuron of her brain was intently focused on one thing. "Agent Layton, let me ask you something. Off the record. What do YOU think my relationship with Hannibal Lecter is? Purely your opinion, please."
Layton paused, for he knew that Starling did not want a simple answer to this question. "Your profile on Lecter is incredible. I've read it from cover to cover several times over. You don't try to dissect him or explain his actions, it's all civil opinion. And respect, I guess. Both of you have a deep respect for the other." Mention what he heard in the tape? No.
Clarice smiled coyly. "Is that it? No suspicions of romantic attachments to the infamous serial killer?"
"No." Layton answered so quickly that he did not give himself any time to think. No time for his thought process to be displayed on his face. His promptness might have saved his life. More words came out of his mouth, none of them planned, pondered over, or predictable. "The media wants food for thought and the tabloids deliver."
"Hmm...would you like another cup of coffee?"
The final interview went smoothly enough. Nothing learned, nothing lost. If everything went well, Layton could submit his report to the FBI in a week, and then they could begin their sweep of South America. Maybe the United States as well. You could never be too careful.
A little while later, Hannibal entered the house silently, his purchase held in one hand in front of him. It had taken him over two hours to choose and there had been the waiting period of two weeks, but now it was finally in his hands. He walked slowly to kitchen, careful not to make any unnecessary noises. It had to be a surprise for Clarice.
The object of his desire was standing in the kitchen wondering what she should prepare for dinner that night when she felt a light touch at her elbow. Clarice nearly jumped out of her skin. No matter how many times Hannibal entered the house, he would never lose his penchant for surprise entrances. After the shock was over, she got mad. She whirled around to face him, ready to tell him off, and then stopped cold. Her mouth just quit working as she gaped at the sight before her.
The dress was cream-colored, lavishly tailored out of expensive silk with rubies the color of blood set here and there in tantalizing patterns. Clarice could not take her eyes off it. It was some time before she noticed the holder of the dress.
Hannibal laughed. "Do you like it?"
Clarice's mouth gaped open and closed several times like a goldfish before she could find her breath. "It's--it's beautiful. Hannibal--how--I've never seen a dress so beautiful. Is it, is it for me?"
"No, for some other love of my life. Yes, it's for you, Clarice." A slight disturbance as the refrigerator started roaring, expelling heat in warm currents of air. "As are these," Hannibal continued as he drew out two plane tickets from his jacket pocket. "Two first-class tickets to Florence, Italy, departing in four days. One way, under the names of Mr. and Mrs. James Robinson."
It was as if all her dreams had come true. "Oh my--thank you, Hannibal, thank you so much--." It was too much to keep to herself, and she didn't try. She threw her arms around him and covered his face with kisses.
It was some time before Hannibal could regain his composure. In that time, the refrigerator quieted again and they were once more at peace. "I thought it would be a fitting gift. Don't be too happy, yet. I still need to purchase the complementary gifts..." His words fell upon dead ears and eventually he gave it up and returned Clarice's kisses, before carrying her and the dress upstairs.
However, a mile away, sitting inside a parked car in a deserted lot, someone was listening VERY intently. Almost refusing to believe what he was hearing, Layton adjusted his headphones. He waited until all sounds had faded before rewinding the tape and playing it over and over again until he had to accept it. He sat back in his car seat, running his fingers through his hair. This was a little too much to take in at one moment.
He let it sink in slowly before playing the tape again and listening even more carefully. One part bothered him to no end. In his haste that afternoon, he had had no time to properly place the electronic bug that Bowman had given him (heaven knows how Bowman had laid his hands on THAT). When Layton had heard Starling returning to the kitchen from the bathroom, the best he could do was hurriedly place the bug underneath the refrigerator while pretending to spill his coffee.
And now, the unwelcome roar and clatter of escaping heat drowned Lecter's words in mid-sentence. What Layton wouldn't give to have heard what had been said. He had a feeling it would have been very important.
As for the bug, Bowman had insisted on it, knowing it was the only way to get Layton what he wanted. The FBI? He needn't tell them. In the time that it would take to get an order legalizing the use of electronic surveillance, it would be too late. If what Bowman thought was true, they didn't have a lot of time left. At long last, Agent Layton had reluctantly agreed, and now he was glad he had let his friend talk him into it.
So the "Beauty and the Beast" stories were true. But...after their discussion that afternoon, he knew it was more than that. It was true enough that he didn't agree with the mainstream ideas. What did he think really, though?
Layton knew it had always been reported that Lecter had not lost his mind in the state hospital, not like so many others. He had a strong spirit, made stronger still by the fact that he was not held back by the ethical restraints that governed society. Starling had been destroyed by the very symbol of law in the country, the FBI. Maybe Starling had found a type of morbid peace with Hannibal Lecter. Persephone wished to remain in the Underworld forever. Everything was always more complicated than it looked.
It didn't matter. All this was shoved aside quickly by a prospect. Hannibal Lecter! In the States! And a mere mile from where he sat now. Forget sergeant, if he managed to take him in, it might boost him to the sectional chief level.
What to do now? The first thought that came to mind was to inform the FBI of his success. Then he remembered the means he had used to gain the information. Of course, he couldn't let them know that he had resorted to illegal means. That was a perfectly legitimate reason. Then the green-eyed monster of jealousy and pride roared in like a storm. He would keep it to himself, he knew, because he wanted it to be HIS victory and his alone. The FBI probably wouldn't care how Lecter had been captured as long as he was apprehended. And the rewards...Layton could barely imagine. But he would need help, and only from the one he could trust completely. Layton shifted his car into drive and began the now familiar trip to Baltimore in the dead of night.
------------------------
Three days later, Hannibal was standing inside the small jewelry shop, his fingers running slowly across the display cases. He had discovered this place a week ago and made a mental note. This evening, he had left Clarice in the house to take care of last-minute packing while he made his way to the shop. The store was small and empty, so few people able to afford its contents. Or perhaps because it was such a well-kept secret. The store was well stocked but tucked away carefully in a now silent strip of other shops.
Hannibal had the entire store to himself. He had been standing at the counter for over an hour, pondering a decision while the manager behind the cash register had been getting more and more agitated. Hannibal let his eyes roam over every piece in the display case once again before returning to one. Rubies set in white gold, it was a perfect match for Clarice's dress. He paused for one more moment, taking in the beauty of the piece, before raising his finger to the greatly relieved store manager.
He paid cash for the purchase and tucked the brown paper package safely away into his coat pocket. He turned toward the door, savoring the reception he would receive once he returned home.
And from the mouth of an alley several yards away, unbeknownst to Hannibal, Frank Bowman watched his every move.