Author's note: Back from Las Vegas. Didja miss me? Here we go, some exposition and a letter.
The restaurant was calm and quiet. It was a simple place. Clean but not fancy. The tables were small and the chairs stackable, the specials of the day written up on a board in purple marker, but the food was good. A cop's restaurant. It was quite popular with the Boston cops who worked in this area. And at a far back table, against the wall, Lisa Starling and Jason Sullivan were having a lunch meeting.
Seeing them, one might have thought they made a cute couple. He was tall and muscular, but clean-cut. She was shorter, blonde, and had pleasing delicate features. This impression would have been dashed once the subject of their conversation came to light.
"So the Bludgeon Man's been a busy boy," Lisa Starling said calmly, examining a picture of his third and fourth victims. She did not flinch. Lisa Starling was an experienced veteran of Behavioral Sciences and knew well what depredations and atrocities that serial killers can inflict on their victims. But the Bludgeon Man was bad.
"Yeah, he is," Detective Sullivan said. "Real bad. Real sophisticated, too. He either picked the lock or got them to let him in. That's what I think."
Lisa nodded. "Yes and no," she said absently. "That isn't as sophisticated as you might think. Just knock on the door and say you're either Domino's, the police, or building maintenance, most people will open the door for you then. But I do agree that this is definitely a sophisticated criminal. He's done this before. He's very good. Wouldn't surprise me if we've seen him before…except,…,"
"Except what?"
Lisa folded the file and looked up to gather her thoughts. "The amount of violence on the victims suggests that this guy may be mentally ill. I mean…he might be sane, but he's angry. Furiously angry about…something."
"Well, yeah, that goes without saying, Agent Starling," the detective said, pronouncing it Stah-ling and making her grin. "Is that all you profilers do?"
"Nope," she said. "But from that, I can tell you that he probably lives alone. Guy like this is gonna be hard to live with. He'll be noticeable. He'll want to live alone. He's also pretty confident, pretty experienced at what he does. Whether he's picking the lock or talking his way in, he knows what he's doing. He's in his late twenties, maybe, early thirties. White male. Serial killers almost exclusively hunt in their own ethnic groups. I wouldn't be surprised if our boy's been in prison before. Someone capable of this level of violence and this level of planning would've come to the attention of law enforcement."
That made her think of her cousin, capable of great violence and of that level of planning. The thought made her tremble briefly and feel ashamed. Susana Alvarez Lecter had murdered her friends and co-workers. She was arguably the most-wanted cop-killer on the face of the planet. And Lisa Starling, who had sworn to enforce the law, knew everything. She knew that Susana was living in Paris, working as a surgeon, and enjoying a wealthy life with her son and all the benefits her vast fortune could provide.
But Susana also held a very powerful noose around Lisa's neck preventing her from saying anything. Four years ago, Lisa had tracked her cousin to Argentina, where she had hidden away with an American serial killer she had met during her brief incarceration. Lisa had shot and killed him in self-defense. She herself had been arrested and charged with murder. But Susana had seen to that too. The devil's bargain she had struck with Lisa had been simple. She now had the contents of the FBI's file, which Lisa had given her. In return, the evidence against Lisa Starling had mysteriously vanished. The charges had been dropped, and Lisa had returned to her life. The terms of the bargain after that had been simple: so long as Susana remained free, so would Lisa. If Susana was ever arrested, the evidence against Lisa would come to light, and the murder charges against her would be filed again.
At the time, Lisa had little choice. Susana had been free already, and refusing the deal would have done nothing but damn Lisa to a life sentence in a foreign jail. But ever since then, every time the phone rang, every time someone rushed into her office, Lisa would flinch for a moment, dreading the words We just caught Susana Alvarez. Because shortly after that, Lisa knew, would come another set of words: Lisa, I don't get it…we just got a request from the Argentine government for your arrest and extradition…I'm sorry, but you have to come with us.
But Susana had settled down into a quiet but affluent life with her son. Even had there not been the weight of a foreign prison sentence over Lisa's head, getting her out of France would have been very hard anyway. The charges against her carried the death penalty, and Susana was rich enough to fight extradition for years. And France would simply refuse to extradite her back so long as her life hung in the balance. An unspoken understanding had come into existence between the killer and the FBI agent; so long as Susana stayed on her side of the Atlantic, Lisa was willing to let her stay there. Her life was worth Susana's.
But that didn't mean she didn't feel guilty about it. Every time she passed the plaque in Behavioral Sciences listing the names of the Behavioral Sciences personnel Susana had killed in order to stay free, every time her case was brought up, Lisa found herself feeling horribly guilty and ashamed. It was true that the FBI had hidden away evidence from Susana's attorneys. It was true that they had accused her of murders she had not actually committed. But the sheer, inescapable fact remained. Lisa Starling knew where she was and said nothing.
But now she had a new wolf to hunt. One whose capture would not result in her own damnation. So Lisa took a deep breath and dismissed the thought of her cousin from her mind. Better to concentrate on the Bludgeon Man. She perused the files and continued.
"So he's got a record," the detective mused.
"I think so, yes. We'll have to check other cities, see if there are similar crimes we can find."
"But he's probably from Boston, don't you think? I read somewhere that serial killers usually pick places they feel comfortable."
"He could have," Lisa admitted. "You'd have seen him before, then." She stared up at the ceiling and thought. "I know I don't remember anything like this when I was here--,"
"You were in Boston?" Detective Sullivan grinned. "When?"
"Years ago," Lisa said, grinning herself. "When I first started out in the FBI. I was part of a task force in DC, then they sent me to the Boston field office. Did four years there, then went back to Behavioral Sciences."
"You don't talk like you lived here," the detective noted.
"I'm from West Virginia," Lisa said. She cleared her throat and grinned. "But I used to be able to do it." The drawl dropped out of her voice suddenly. "You know, get the kah kis, get in the kah, bang a left, and go down to the Stah Mahket. You get the ideer."
Detective Lieutenant Jason Sullivan threw back his head and laughed. "Not too bad!"
"Wicked good, actually," Lisa said, and grinned herself.
"So you've got some familiarity with the area. What do you think?"
"Well," Lisa allowed, "there weren't any serial killers active when I was here. I'm going to work up my profile, see what I can get you in order to help you search."
Sullivan nodded. "That'll work," he said. "Hey, look, if any of my guys gives you Feds lip, let me know. I want this guy caught, not slipping out because of some stupid territorial thing."
Lisa nodded. "So far everyone's been fine," she said calmly.
"So you've been doing this a while," he said, more of a question than a statement.
"Hunting them, yeah. This is my first time in charge, though."
"Same here," he said. "Just made Lieutenant couple months ago."
"Congratulations," Lisa said, smiling.
"Yeah, thanks," he said. "Hey, listen, I thought I read about this in the paper….sorry if this is a weak point or something, but aren't you related to that Susana Lecter who blew up those cops down in DC?"
Lisa sighed. Somehow, it always came to this: she was known best not as the Deputy Chief of Behavioral Sciences but as the cousin of Susana Alvarez Lecter. Or Susanner Lectah, as he had pronounced it.
"I am Clarice Starling's cousin," she said calmly. "Susana Alvarez is her daughter. She is my cousin once removed, so yes. But Clarice was a lot older than I am. Susana and I are the same age."
"Didn't mean to offend," he said apologetically.
"No," Lisa sighed, "it's all right. She's…well…she's Hannibal Lecter's daughter."
"They never found her after she kilt all those FBI agents," he said.
Lisa took a deep breath. "No," she said finally. "She had fled down to Argentina and disappeared. No one has seen her since."
"Ever think about that? If she might come to getcha?"
Come to get me? No, I don't think so. Think about her? Every day, Lisa Starling thought.
"I doubt it," she said calmly. "She's wanted for twenty-five counts of murder. No one's heard anything at all from her in four years. Wherever she is, she's going to be very quiet, very low-key. Somewhere where she can fight extradition if she ever does get caught. She won't pop her head up stupidly." God, I hope so, she added mentally.
"She was around here for a bit, wasn't she?"
"Yes," Lisa admitted. "She went to Harvard Medical School and then did her residency at Massachusetts General Hospital."
Detective Sullivan shivered. "Freaky," he said. "She didn't kill anyone when she was here, though."
"No," Lisa affirmed. "If you're interested, there are two other doctors who became killers. One was her father, Hannibal Lecter. The other was Michael Swango. But Susana was more like her father than Swango – Swango was a lousy doctor. Both the Lecters were very good at their jobs. Her ratings were always good. The death rate of her patients was actually lower than the norm. She wasn't killing her patients. Or anyone else that we know of – she usually liked to make it clear when it was her."
"Still don't like the idea of killer doctors in my town," Sullivan commented.
Her cell phone buzzed and she grabbed it, interrupting the conversation.
"Chief Starling?"
Lisa took a moment, as she occasionally did, to enjoy the sound of the words Chief Starling.
"Yes, I'm here," she said.
"Agent Krause here. We just got a letter you might want to see when you get back."
She blushed and grinned at Detective Sullivan, who simply shrugged. "Go ahead, take your call."
"What is it?"
"Someone's offering us help with the investigation," Agent Krause told her.
"Okay," Lisa said doubtfully, wondering why this prompted a call, let alone the alarm in Agent Krause's voice. "Well…odds are they're just a helpful crank, that's what they usually are. Get a statement."
"He insisted on talking only with you," Agent Krause said.
"Why?"
"He didn't say," the younger agent admitted.
Lisa sighed. "Then bring him in, and I'll talk to him when I have time,"
"I don't think I can do that, Chief Starling. It's Professor Thomas Creed. He's on New York's death row."
Lisa took in a sharp breath. "The Death Professor," she said.
"The same. He wrote a letter to the Bludgeon Man task force stating that he has information that would be helpful in capturing the Bludgeon Man."
Lisa Starling sat there wondering how in hell a man incarcerated on a secure unit another state away would have any knowledge of a currently active serial killer. But, after all, Susana Alvarez Lecter would never have been born had another man, long ago, in a secure psychiatric hospital not had information about another then-active serial killer.
"I see," she said. "Well, send someone out to get a statement."
"Don't shoot the messenger, Chief Starling, but he stated in the letter that he would only speak with you."
Lisa Starling let out a hiss. She had worked on the task force that had unmasked Professor Creed six years ago. He couldn't want revenge on her, though; she had just been profiling on that case. It had been before she was deputy chief, just a grunt agent. Quincy had been the one leading the task force. It was possible that Professor Creed had gotten her name, somehow. Maybe he wanted revenge. Professor Creed could have no more taken revenge on Don Quincy than he could have taken revenge on Jack Crawford, who'd run the department years before. Susana Alvarez Lecter had taken that opportunity away from the professor, decapitating Quincy rather gorily two years after the professor had been tried and sentenced to death.
Thomas Creed had been a professor of philosophy at Cornell. Very bright, very cultured, and very charming. He was quite demanding towards his students. Students who did not meet his standards in one way or another had been found around the area, in various states of dismemberment and torment. His victims were mostly male, but not exclusively so: two women had met their deaths at his hands.
But Creed had been on death row for five or six years. He had been off the prison grounds only for court visits. What information could he possibly have?
"I'll check it out," she said. "It's probably nothing. Creed is probably just trying to jerk us around."
"Okay," Agent Krause told her, and that ended the call.
"What was that about?" Detective Sullivan asked.
"Oh, just the office. They have a letter they want me to look at."
"From Professor Creed? Now there's a freakin' nutbag."
Lisa nodded slowly. "That's…not something to announce to the public," she said slowly.
"Understood." He rose. "Well, I gotta head back to the station myself. You know your way back, right? I can have someone drive you."
"I have a car," Lisa assured him.
"Thanks for meeting with me. Appreciate your time."
"Of course, Detective," Lisa Starling said.
Back at the temporary offices that Boston PD had arranged for the FBI task force, Lisa Starling walked in and asked for the letter. What she got was a copy; the original was currently at Logan Airport where it would be flown down to the FBI's crime labs in Washington. She examined the letter carefully. Professor Creed's handwriting was quite neat and tidy. Lisa's eyes scanned the letter carefully.
Dear Agent Starling,
When last we met, you were part of the task force sworn to bring me to justice. I assure you that this letter is neither a puerile swearing of revenge, nor do I bear you enmity for having discovered my admittedly novel means of improving the student body at my former place of employment. It was your task in life to see that such things don't happen.
Rather, I think that perhaps I might be able to offer you some assistance. Currently, I see from the papers and the news that Boston has become the hunting grounds of a killer – a very angry one, one who bludgeons his victims so badly that they are barely recognizable. And yes, Agent Starling, the papers have said the victims were badly beaten, but no, they do not indicate the depths of the depravity to which this killer subjects his victims. They're not recognizable as human, are they? Beaten quite severely, indicative of a deep, deep rage.
Come by and see me if you like – Clinton Correctional Facility in Dannemora, New York. I believe you'll be able to find your way here. I must emphasize that this invitation is personal, Agent Starling – to you and you alone. If you should send an underling, I will not speak with them I should refer to you as Chief Starling, should I not? My apologies. But perhaps it might be fun to chat.
See you soon,
Thomas L. Creed, PhD
"There's the letter," one of her agents noted. "Whatcha gonna do with it?"
"He's probably just jerking us around," Lisa said. "Quincy's not around to do it, so I'm elected."
Then she sighed. Perhaps this was part of his appeals, to convince a judge he deserved to be commuted to life. Maybe he was just looking for an excuse to jerk her around, make a few comments and get under her skin. Maybe this was just for his idle amusement – the guy didn't have a whole lot to do.
The damnable thing was that he was right. The papers had reported that the victims had been beaten, but they had refrained from pointing out just how beaten they had been. The Bludgeon Man had knocked the crap out of his victims, to put it bluntly. How the hell a man who'd been held in maximum security for the past six years knew that was beyond the ken of Lisa Starling. But he did.
And what if…just what if he was on the level? What if he had something that might help put away the Bludgeon Man? Going and having a look-see couldn't possibly hurt. It might save the life of the Bludgeon Man's next victim. That was a chance Lisa Starling could not take.