This chapter has been delayed a bit -- it seems that FF.net no longer likes the HTML that Microsoft Word 2000 writes. (I don't blame it, personally, but it is inconvenient.) All the text I had written showed up as exclamation points. Methinks the 'adjusting FF.net to meet Apple's new browser' had something to do with it.
Fortunately, I know how to hand-code HTML, and after using Notepad's search-and-replace to kill off all the bizarre and lengthy Microsoft tags we have a document which FF.net will accept.
So here we are...three women on the job.
Prison was not quite what
Clarice had ever expected. She had
spent a week in the Reception Center, locked away from the main prison.
They'd given her a series of tests and tried
to determine how best to rehabilitate her.
She'd had to lie and tell them she didn't have a college degree.
Once she'd been assigned a cell
in the prison, things had been a bit better.
She'd been assigned a medium-security cell that she shared with two
other prisoners. She was assigned a job
working in the prison laundry. That was
pretty hard work, but she did all right.
Her two roommates were a bit of
a surprise. One was a quiet woman named
Linda. Clarice wasn't sure what she was
in for. She was hoping for parole at
her next hearing. That was about all
she shared with Clarice. The other was
someone Clarice had heard of.
Her name was Brittany Tollman,
and Clarice had heard of her. At age
eighteen, she and her boyfriend had set out on a killing spree across ten
states. They'd finally been caught in
upstate New York. Her boyfriend, Steven
Dennis, was currently serving multiple life sentences. Brittany had claimed
she'd been kidnapped by her boyfriend and hadn't killed anyone.
Eventually, though, she'd struck a plea
bargain with the state. She testified
against her boyfriend and all the murder charges except for one had been
dropped. She was serving twenty-five to
life for that one murder.
Surprisingly, Brittany was not
anything like Clarice had expected a spree killer to be like.
She was quiet, reasonably well-behaved, and
kept to herself. She was short and
pretty. She regarded Clarice with a bit
of suspicion, but all the inmates did.
Clarice was a new fish. She had
not become part of the prison social world yet.
The day itself was totally
regimented. Up at six.
Headcount.
Breakfast. Off to work.
Lunch at twelve.
Dinner at six. More
headcounts. After six, the prisoners
were released to their dayrooms to watch TV or play ping-pong or whatever
recreation they might want. Lockdown
at 10 PM.
Clarice had gotten herself a
notebook as soon as she could. It was
hard to keep track of the things she saw.
She had to remember them and then write them in the book late at night
when her cellmates were asleep.
And there was gonna be a ton of
stuff for this report. Clarice saw a
lot. Drugs were commonplace.
She didn't know how they were getting into
the prison, but they were. Either the
visitors or the guards. Common sense
dictated that.
She saw a lot of little
stuff. Male guards lurking around the
shower room, even though they were not supposed to.
Some of the inmates had more-or-less consensual relationships
with the staff. Clarice could've
stomached that, except that it was a felony anyways.
Plus, she had her doubts as to how really consensual they
were.
As far as anything darker went,
she had her suspicions, but nothing she could prove and nothing she had
witnessed with her own eyes. Crazily,
she found herself wishing she had more time.
At the rate she was going, she'd be pulled out of here before anyone
opened up enough to trust her.
It only struck her as odd
occasionally how quickly she embraced her new identity.
Dressed as a prisoner and treated like one,
she found herself almost automatically sympathizing with her fellow inmates.
The guards became an imposing force, to be
hated and despised. And yet for all her
adult life she had been a law enforcement officer herself, imposing order on
the world the same way they did.
She learned swiftly.
A prisoner who caused problems got
tickets. These cost a fine of $5.
She had always thought that was a small
amount, but when you were paid fifteen dollars for two weeks of work, it became
much more. The guards were quick to
come down hard on a prisoner they didn't like.
One who played along – one who went down to the corners and crannies
where the cameras did not reach – got a lot more leniency.
She'd seen herself some favored prisoners
given coffee from the guard's machine, small baubles, cigarettes, and things of
that nature.
The lieutenants and sergeants on
duty seemed amenable to all this.
Clarice found that intensely annoying.
A guard offering some inmate a trinket to do him some close personal
favors was not good. A guard harassing
an inmate for refusing was bad. But in
Clarice's book, the rank who simply looked the other way were the worst:
they could have stopped it and didn't.
But Clarice knew what her job
was, and she knew this wasn't forever.
Knowing that – and knowing that she would probably be the only voice for
these forgotten women – gave her the strength to carry on.
She did what she was supposed to.
She observed.
She took names. And she
wrote them down and waited until she would be free of this place to tell her
tale.
…
Isabelle Pierce was discharged
from the hospital two days after her operation.
Although she was tired, she was feeling in much better
shape. Dr. Litton had prescribed her
painkillers. She'd really been quite
helpful throughout the surgery.
Detective Pierce found herself feeling some mixed emotions about what
she was about to do.
Isabelle
Pierce was not the only detective who had ever found Dr. Hannibal Lecter in his
sanctuary. But she was not so base as
Rinaldo Pazzi had been. Her
determination was to capture the criminal, not sell him.
She held back not because she meant to sell
him, but because she simply had to have the background.
She knew perfectly well what would happen if
she attempted to arrest Dr. Lecter without any type of proof.
She'd recognized Dr. Lecter when she was
recuperating from anesthesia. She
needed some sort of proof before she could simply run them in. Her superiors
would not be inclined to grant her an arrest warrant on someone she'd seen
while just after being operated on. She
could see it now: So, Detective
Pierce, you were groggy and half-awake at the time you believed you saw
Hannibal Lecter? And you expect an
arrest warrant based on that?
Besides, she knew perfectly
well that if she were wrong, she'd be likely to be a crossing guard for the
remainder of her career. The Littons
were fairly well known in Sydney society.
She had to have all her ducks in a row before she could possibly think
of arresting him. For that matter,
there was the question of Elaine Litton.
Did she know who her husband was?
She made her way back into the
office, moving slowly just a bit. Most
of the detectives and police officers seemed glad to see her.
Her capture of Steven Armington had not gone
unnoticed in the department, particularly when the bastard had shot her in
trying to get away. Of course, there
were a few ockers in the department who thought that police work was a man's
job, but most of them seemed positive.
"G'day, Isabelle!" one of them
said as she made her way back to her desk.
"G'day," she said, smiling.
"Good to have you back," the
officer continued.
"Good to be back," she
said. She sat down at her desk and
stared at her computer monitor for a moment.
She pulled up the files they had on the Sydney cannibal killer.
That was what she was supposed to be
doing.
Then she stopped and picked up
the phone. She had to at least
check.
She opened up Internet Explorer
on her computer and settled her fingers on the keyboard.
You're being silly.
She's just an American surgeon who came here
with her husband. You were high as a
kite when you saw him and you were just confused.
Leave it be. Catch the
cannibal killer; that's what your job is.
But the connection was
there, clear as day. The murders looked
awfully like Dr. Hannibal Lecter's prior work.
She'd be a sloppy detective if she didn't at least see.
She typed www.fbi.gov in the window.
A few moments later, the FBI's web site
appeared. She clicked the link for
'Most Wanted'. Dr. Hannibal Lecter's
picture appeared with other criminals who had made the most-wanted list.
Isabelle clicked on it. She was rewarded with a few larger pictures of Dr. Lecter. Was he the man who had smiled at her in the hallway? It was hard to say. The eyes were different, but then his wife was a surgeon. She could've easily done the work herself. It had been dark and hard to see.
She read the vitals under
the picture. According to his date of
birth, he very well could be the man she'd seen.
Height and weight…she thought so, but it was hard to be
sure. She'd been quite groggy and out
of it when she saw him. The Remarks
section caught her eye.
Dr. Lecter is an avid reader
with an interest in medieval history. He has worked in museums under cover
identities in other countries. He is
physically fit and quite strong for his age.
He is believed to be traveling with his female companion, Dr. Erin
Lander. He was sent to a
maximum-security asylum for the criminally insane in the 1980's and escaped in
1992. Two correctional officers were
murdered in his escape. After hiding
for a time in Florence, Italy, Dr. Lecter murdered an Italian police officer
and returned to the United States where he murdered Mason Verger and several
others. He kidnapped a federal agent
and killed another.
Dr. Lecter was discovered in
2002 in Berlin, Germany. Although he
escaped arrest, his female companion was captured.
She was held briefly by the FBI and escaped federal custody.
Dr. Lecter is known to carry a knife and
should be considered armed and extremely dangerous.
There was a link over the
name 'Dr. Erin Lander', and Isabelle clicked it.
It brought her to another page.
This one did not have a blue 'FBI Top Ten Most Wanted Fugitive' banner
atop it; instead it had a red 'Wanted by the FBI' banner on it.
Under that were the words HARBORING A
FEDERAL FUGITIVE in black and the name ERIN MARIE LANDER in red.
There were photos of the woman the FBI
sought. In one, she had long black
hair. In the other, she was blonde.
Isabelle thought she must've had a good
beautician. Dr. Litton had chin-length
brown hair, but that could've easily come from a bottle.
The aliases listed for Dr.
Lander were simply Angela Lind and Angela Brinkley.
The date of birth seemed close enough to be Dr. Litton.
The occupation noted for her was
'Surgeon'. That made Isabelle think.
Remarks:
Erin Lander has a dual kidney
transplant. It is believed she obtained
this transplant from Dr. Hannibal Lecter, with whom she is traveling.
She requires extensive immune suppressant
medication. Dr. Lander fraudulently
obtained German citizenship, which has since been revoked.
She may be working as a surgeon.
Hmmm,
Isabelle thought and tapped
her pen thoughtfully against her teeth.
Did Elaine Litton have a kidney transplant?
That would be harder to find out.
Medical records were confidential.
Still, she'd have a scar, and she'd need a chemist if she were a
kidney transplant patient. A bit of
poking around might turn up something.
The Department of Immigration
and Multicultural Affairs would have files on them.
She thought about calling them and seeing what they might
have. Only one way to find out.
A lieutenant stuck his head out
of a meeting room.
"Cannibal Task Force meeting,"
he said. "Everyone on the Cannibal Task
Force, assemble now in the meeting room.
She had to make
that. They hadn't sent her to America
for nothing. Isabelle fired off a quick
email to the police contact at Immigration asking for any files they might have
on Hamilton and Elaine Litton. Then she
got up and went into the meeting, wondering if she might have a suspect for
these murders.
…
Deputy Assistant Attorney
General Bob Sneed entered the FBI's building at Quantico and glanced
around. For him, this was a subordinate
agency. But there was a good offer in
it for him. He proceeded down past the
security checkpoints and took the elevator down to the offices of Behavioral
Sciences.
Once there, he checked in with
the secretary and walked down to an office.
It had a new nameplate on the door reading Rebecca DeGould.
Seated behind her desk was the very
agent he had sought.
"Hi, DeGould," he said
calmly. "How're you doing?"
Rebecca DeGould turned around
and eyed him.
"Hello, Bob," she said
calmly. "How are you?"
"Doin' all right," he said.
"Wanted to see how you were settling in now
that you're back."
Rebecca DeGould smiled
coldly. "I'm just fine," she assured
him. "Back in the swing of things.
I do have some things I want to talk to you
about. Could you close the door?"
Sneed did and then sat down
without being asked.
"What's on your mind?" he
asked.
Her eyes turned cold.
She ran a hand through her reddish-blonde
hair. At the corner of her forehead was
a small scar. Sneed looked at it with
some regret. That was where that psycho
Lynch had worked her over with a crowbar.
"Look," she said.
"I came back here to do something.
I have no plans to make the FBI a
career. You know what I did before I
came here?"
Sneed shrugged.
"I hadn't heard," he said delicately.
"That's because you didn't
care. That's fine," she said.
"I can deal with you on a quid pro quo basis,
that's just fine. I worked in the
brokerage house my father runs. Made
three times what I did here. Now listen
up, Sneed, I know you've got two kids and one's going to college pretty soon.
"
Rebecca DeGould tossed her
head. "I'm back here because I need to
be. I want revenge for what
happened to me, Sneed. Clarice Starling
did this to me. I know she
did."
Sneed coughed.
He didn't know if Starling had anything to
do with it or not. But there might be
something in it for him.
"Gregory Lynch got straightened
out in the asylum," she continued. "He
admitted what he'd done and said Dr. Lecter told him that I was a dirty girl
and that he needed to take care of me.
Dr. Lecter didn't know me from Adam; he would've only done it if
Starling told him to. Bitch was
probably dealing with him all the time."
Her voice was hard.
"Whatever happened to him?"
Sneed asked curiously. "I mean…if you
don't want to tell me."
DeGould's eyes clouded over with
repressed rage. "We got him declared
competent and had him stand trial," she said.
"He drew a twenty-year term.
Worked in the prison laundry. A
year ago he was killed by another prisoner."
She smiled with no kindness.
"Died breathing in Hexlite and lye cleaner.
They had to ID him by his fingerprints.
What a tragedy. But he did
verify that it was Dr. Lecter who sicced him on me."
Sneed strongly suspected DeGould
had more of a hand in the death of Gregory Lynch than she let on, but did not
say anything. DeGould continued.
"Before…before I was going to
take it easy on Starling. She'd have
lost her job and that would've been it.
But if she wants to play hardball…then I can play hardball too."
Her eyes shifted to Sneed as if over open
sights.
"If you help me, Sneed, I can
get you out of government service and get you making some real money.
Quarter-million a year.
No biggie.
Your kids go to college and you'll be a millionaire in short
order. I just have to talk to my dad,
and he'll give you a shot. And it's
easy enough. Just making deals, that's
all."
Sneed nodded.
"I'm listening," he said instantly.
"I'm going to want some things,
and I'm going to want to know how to do some things.
What I need from you is how to do them and no questions
asked."
Sneed considered.
"You know you're probably taking a risk," he
said. "What if we get caught?"
"If I get caught, you'll
be OK. If you get caught I'll protect
you as much as I can. My dad has people
in the House and Senate on speed dial.
Shouldn't be an issue. You're a
good sneak, Sneed. That's why I want
you."
He considered.
His kids were coming up on college
and some money would be helpful. A job
in the big New York brokerage house that Charles DeGould ran would help.
Whatever DeGould had planned for
Starling…well, Starling was just small fish anyway.
Who cared what happened to her?
"What do you want?" he
asked.
"Your first assignment for me,"
Rebecca DeGould said. "Chief Conway has
an FBI credit card. I want the account
number and the expiration date." She
chuckled. "Everything I need to…make a
few purchases."
Sneed snapped his fingers.
"Easy," he said.
"DOJ can get that for you quietly.
I'll pull nine other ones random to smokescreen it."
Rebecca DeGould smiled.
"Good," she said.
"Stick with me, Sneed."
Then she stopped and kept a firm eye on him.
"You probably don't understand
why I'm doing this," she said. "You
think I'm being stupid; I can see it in your eyes.
But I am doing this, Sneed.
If you help me, you'll be a rich man for your trouble, and once
you're in the family fold I can guarantee you that any legal issues will be stopped.
We've got enough Senators and
Representatives in our pockets. Fail me
and you're toast. Screw me over, and
you'll be in the same boat with Starling.
Stick with me and you'll be rich.
I want this, Bob. I will have
my revenge."
