Author's note: at long last, here is Chapter 7.
Dr. Hannibal Lecter carefully stacked his things into the Vuitton suitcase. He rather liked the carryall: it smelled of rich leather and the brass hardware shone attractively. Atop it was a matching briefcase that contained his documents. He had three false identities, with complete paperwork for each. He had ten thousand dollars in cash. Although Dr. Lecter found such large quantities of cash to be a bit vulgar, he had long ago accepted that it would be a necessity of life as a fugitive. He had checkbooks to access his accounts and a signed lease from a property-management company.
The city was not quite as cosmopolitan as Dr. Lecter would have liked, but it would do. Fortunately, an hour outside of the city provided ample small towns and farmland. Dr. Lecter had found a very nice home in an isolated area. He would not be disturbed, and the house was quite comfortable. It would make an excellent hideaway while he waited to heal. Finding him would not be an easy task, even for the FBI.
Dr. Lecter knew that the FBI's search methods primarily revolved around their belief that he would not want to deny himself those things he enjoyed. A good idea, he thought, but they seemed to forget that he had done without those things for years in jail. He knew well how to lie low. And anything he absolutely couldn't do without, he could find a way to get.
He had made plans to take Erin out for dinner. It would be pleasant. A copy of Zagat's had told him where he could find a highly rated French restaurant. Once she got back, he would tell her that he had secured a more comfortable home. She was welcome to stay with him, if so she chose. The house was nicely furnished and much larger than the apartment. He would miss the opportunity to attend the world-class orchestras he was used to, but the local symphony orchestra would do just about as well. At least for the time being. Of course, he could always improve it by weeding out the unacceptable musicians. And it had been so long since he'd last had sweetbreads....
The apartment door clicked, interrupting his reverie. Dr. Lecter's head turned to watch it carefully. A moment later, it opened and Erin came in. She looked at him, puzzled.
"New suitcase?" she asked.
"Yes," he said calmly.
"Are you leaving?"
"I'll discuss that with you over dinner. We have reservations in an hour and a half."
Her head tilted curiously. "Where?"
"The Refectory," Dr. Lecter answered. "Highly rated by Zagat's."
"That's ritzy," Erin observed.
"I can well afford it." Dr. Lecter pointed out. "I took the liberty of providing clothing for you," he said. He indicated a bag sitting on the kitchen table calmly.
Erin blinked. "Thank you," she said finally.
"I trust you'll like it," Dr. Lecter added.
Erin complied. Dr. Lecter sat patiently in the living room while she got ready. He had already obtained a tuxedo, even though the restaurant did not demand black tie. He slipped into the jacket, adjusted his bow tie, and he was ready. A CD of the Goldberg Variations served to amuse him while he waited. He kept a close eye on his watch, since he did not want to be late. The cell phone he had purchased that day under an assumed name rang from the pocket of his tuxedo jacket. He examined the screen and noted the number.
He lifted the phone to his ear and pressed TALK.
"Dr. Lister?" came a young man's voice.
"Speaking," Dr. Lecter said calmly.
"I'm here. Parked downstairs."
"Very good," Dr. Lecter said. "We shall be down shortly."
"Yes, sir," the voice replied.
Much later than Dr. Lecter would have liked, Erin came out of her bedroom hesitantly. Dr. Lecter smiled as she stood before him. He was quite pleased with what he saw, even though she was obviously hesitant and uncomfortable in this level of dress.
She wore a simple black silk dress that fell to just above the knee. It was not terribly dissimilar from the dress he had chosen for Clarice a few days ago at Chesapeake. Her hair was drawn back into a glossy black bun atop her head. In one hand she held the small black clutch purse he had selected to go with the outfit. Around her neck she wore a strand of pearls. Dr. Lecter did not recognize them and supposed they were probably inherited: they looked antique.
She looked nervous and pensive. Dr. Lecter nodded approvingly.
"You look lovely," he pronounced.
"Thank you. So do you," she said nervously.
He offered her his arm as they walked downstairs. Erin's heels clattered noisily against the concrete stairs. At the base of the stairway, she saw the black limousine parked outside and stopped.
"Oh!," she said in surprise. "Is that...?"
"Yes," Dr. Lecter affirmed. "Driving can be such a chore, don't you think?"
The chauffeur, who had called Dr. Lecter before, got out of the car and opened the rear door politely for them.
"Good evening, Dr. Lister," he said. "Ma'am."
Once in the car, Erin gave Dr. Lecter a puzzled look. "Dr. Lister?"
"You know I favor pseudonyms," Dr. Lecter explained.
"Joseph Lister?" she pressed.
Dr. Lecter smiled and nodded once. "You know your history," he commented. "Impressive, Dr. Lander."
"The inventor of antiseptic medicine," Erin said. "I know I've had patients I wouldn't mind putting carbolic acid on. Most surgeons do, I guess."
"So do most psychiatrists," Dr. Lecter parried. While Erin was joking, he was not. Dr. Lecter had actually used acid once, on one of his more annoying patients. He did not mention it, however. Erin would not appreciate that side of him. A pity, really.
The limo's sound system was playing classical music, the volume turned down low. Erin seemed nervous amidst the elegance. Dr. Lecter simply watched her, enjoying it. He knew what she was thinking—that she did not deserve all this elegance. A bizarre way of thinking to Dr. Lecter's mind, but that was how it was.
"You didn't have to do all this," she said finally.
"I know I didn't have to," Dr. Lecter said calmly. "I wanted to. Why should I not?"
The ride to the restaurant was quick. The chauffeur helped them alight from the car. Dr. Lecter gave his alias and they were seated at an out-of-the-way table in the corner. The room was dimly lit and quite calm. Conversations at the other tables were hushed and did not interrupt them in the slightest.
Dr. Lecter ordered wine and Beluga caviar to start. Erin seemed distressed when he did. Dr. Lecter sighed. After all, her transplant had cost him much more than that, and he didn't mind.
"Would you like an hors d'oeurve?" the waiter asked.
"Certainly," Dr. Lecter said. "Tell me about the ragout."
The waiter nodded. "It's crayfish and escargot," he said. "Excellent, really."
Dr. Lecter seemed disappointed. Then again, he doubted they would prepare the special ragout he had once made. This restaurant was the finest in the city, but he did not think they would prepare ragout made from orchestra musicians.
"We'll try that," he said calmly.
For dinner, Dr. Lecter selected the baby lamb loin. It was much more preferable to Raspail, he discovered. The lamb was tasty and well cooked. Raspail had been flabby and his sweetbreads gamy. Erin chose the ostrich loin, with mushrooms and Grand Veneur sauce. Both entrees were excellent, and up to the rare standards of Dr. Hannibal Lecter.
Over dinner, they discussed her day and procedures. Dr. Lecter thought she would make a fine surgeon, once completed with her residency. After she had explained the different surgeries she had performed and watched that day, she cleared her throat.
"Dr. Lecter?" she asked.
Dr. Lecter tilted his head.
"First I wanted to say thank you for...all this. But I was wondering. And you don't have to tell me."
"What is your question?" Dr. Lecter asked kindly.
"Well...I was wondering how you came to cut off your thumb in the first place. And what...," she steeled herself visibly to ask. "What your plans are."
"I had an unfortunate encounter and needed to get out of a sticky situation rather quickly," Dr. Lecter explained. "I had to get out of a pair of handcuffs. As far as my plans...," He paused and ate a forkful of the wonderfully tender baby lamb loin. He savored its flavor briefly and thought of Clarice.
"My plans, as they are, are to remain in the area while I still need your care," he said calmly. "Which should be what, another week or so? After that, I can't say. The FBI is still after me, and they will eventually track me here."
She seemed to be taking this well. That was good, Dr. Lecter thought. She'd always been firmly on the side of rationality, as most surgeons were.
"Don't be upset," he said. "It's not you, certainly. I'm quite grateful for your help, more than you know. But the United States will not be the most comfortable place for me now. You can understand that."
Erin nodded.
"I can't force you to come with me," he added. "Life as a fugitive would not agree with you. You've got your health to think of, and you've got a career ahead of you."
She sighed and took a deep breath. Her fork clinked as she put it down. Her dark eyes fixed Dr. Lecter's. She took a sip of wine to fortify herself.
"What if I want to?" she asked.
...
Five o'clock came and went. Then six o'clock, then seven, then eight. Clarice Starling continued working along with Paul D'angelo. Sometimes they worked separately, particularly in calling the various state medical boards. Sometimes they worked together. They were a good match, Clarice thought: they challenged each other. To his credit, Paul D'angelo did not get annoyed when Clarice came up with ideas that he had not. It wasn't until eight-fifteen that Clarice called his attention to the time.
"If you've got to go, you can," Paul said. "I've been pulling late hours."
Clarice shook her head. "I'll stay with you," she said. "Better that way."
"Want to split a pizza?" he suggested.
"Sure," Clarice returned. She perused several sheets of paper that had been faxed to her.
"Found what you're looking for?" Paul asked.
"Looking for it," Clarice grumbled. "Where did you say the plane was found?"
"Little airport in New Hampshire. Lecter's probably making a break for Canada. Why?"
"New Hampshire?" Clarice said in astonishment. "No, wait. That can't be right."
"Here's the report," Paul D'angelo answered calmly.
The report he passed over was a simple local police report stating that a Piper Cub had been discovered abandoned at a municipal New Hampshire airport. Handwritten notations on it stated that an FBI forensics team was crawling over the plane.
Clarice consulted her other paperwork. The New Hampshire medical board had indicated to her that no physician by the name she had given was licensed in that state.
"That's not it," she said heatedly.
Paul D'angelo sighed. "How do you know?" he asked. "You can't get too attached to your pet theory, you know. Lecter's very difficult to predict."
"Look," she hissed. "Lecter cut off his thumb. He would not want to go through life with that disability. He wouldn't leave the country until it was fixed."
"And how sure are you that this woman is the one he would go to?" Paul asked. "I mean, Lecter had all sorts of friends in Baltimore. Maybe the plane thing is wrong. Just coincidence. Lecter could have gone to one of his friends and paid him to treat him quietly."
Clarice shook her head. "Dammit, Paul," she said, "it's Lander. I know. Baltimore's too obvious. He knows we'd look for him there."
"How do you know?" he challenged.
Clarice tilted her head and grinned at him. "Woman's intuition," she said sarcastically.
"She's not cleared as a Lecter victim," he pointed out. "She ID'ed the perp as someone else, according to the file you showed me. Not even when you leaned on her."
Clarice sighed. "She lied," she said flatly. "It was Lecter. Lecter helped her out and she owes him a favor. She lied to protect him."
Paul eyed her suspiciously. "Why would anyone in their right mind protect Hannibal Lecter?"
Why, indeed, Clarice Starling, who had invaded Muskrat Farms specifically to protect Dr. Lecter, thought.
"She was afraid of him," she said thoughtfully. "He may have done something to her...and he did something FOR her, obviously. And he didn't kill her. Stockholm syndrome, I don't know. But it was him. And it's her he's going to now."
"We haven't popped up a medical license for her yet, even. Maybe she dropped out of med school. Maybe she's working somewhere non-medical," he pointed out.
"Maybe we still have more states left to check," Clarice added.
"Tell me about it." He rubbed his eyes. From a desk drawer, he took a glass carafe and crossed out to the hall. Clarice heard the bang and hum of the water fountain. When he returned, he poured the contents of the carafe into a coffee maker on his desk. The rich smell of brewing coffee soon filled the room. Clarice closed her eyes and inhaled the pleasant aroma.
Once it was ready, Clarice went through her papers. She filled a mug with blessedly strong black coffee. There were still fifteen states left to check. The state medical board offices were closed. She decided to try the web.
She was awfully glad the FBI had several T-1 lines, as it made searching much faster. Clarice surfed to each state government website and poked around to see if they had licensing information on the web. Not all of them did, and Clarice found herself cursing under her breath more often than not.
Starling surfed to another site, typed in a name, and there it was. She grinned triumphantly. The web page on her monitor offered her the name, location, license number, and specialty of anyone who practiced medicine with that name or something similar. There it was, second one down.
"Ha!" she said. Paul D'angelo looked over at her from his own monitor.
"You sound victorious," he said. "Whatcha got, Starling?"
"I'll make you a bet," she said. "Bet you the cost of that pizza I know where Lecter is. Bet you another pizza that that the New Hampshire plane is the wrong one, and that Dr. Lecter's plane went there." She covered up the monitor with her fingers.
Paul D'angelo made a big show of rubbing his chin and thinking about it. "I dunno," he said dubiously. "Two pizzas. You must be real sure, Starling." His finger stabbed at her. "If you're wrong, it'll be a real gruesome spectacle. I like my pizzas with ham. And pineapples. And anchovies. All on the same slice. It's vile, I tell you."
Clarice laughed, and wondered how long it had been since a man last made her laugh.
"Yes, I am," she said. "Bet or no bet?"
He nodded once. "You're on," he said calmly.
Clarice drew herself up proudly.
"You know where he's hiding?" she asked.
He grinned. "Spill it," he said.
"You sure you want to know?" she asked. "After all, you seem to think Dr. Lecter went to New Hampshire." Her impish grin showed she meant no offense. Normally, she was not so giddy. But the lateness of the hour, the caffeine coursing through her system, and the fact that she really liked Paul D'angelo made her feel comfortable in being slightly playful.
"Find me another plane and I'll look at it," he said. "Now show me what you got."
Clarice uncovered the LCD panel of the laptop. Paul craned his neck to see what she was hiding.
LANDER, ERIN MARIE. COLUMBUS, OH. 35-296522352. SURGERY.
"Dr. Lecter is in Columbus, Ohio," she said.