Will Graham was worried.
Josh had dropped by the night before, and since then nothing had been heard of him. Crawford had called around ten this morning, asking if he knew what had happened. Josh had not shown up to work. His phone in his apartment rang unanswered. That was unlike Josh. After Clarice's disappearance, that sort of thing did not go unnoticed at Behavioral Sciences.
He'd waited for a few hours. Fear probed his gut with cold fingers. He kept trying to assure himself it was all right. It wasn't working. He knew all the horrible things that could happen. Images of monsters past flicked through his mind.
Will headed out to the lobby and glanced around, as if his son might've spent the past twelve hours in the hotel gift shop or perhaps the hotel bar. There were uniformed bellboys ready to help with his luggage, young attractive girls behind the hotel counter eager to take care of whatever needs he might have that the hotel could help him with, but no Josh. Would one of them have seen him? Probably not. They'd work shifts.
Will adjusted his jacket and headed out into the parking lot. The cold air of Washington in winter was not so much bracing as raw. It stung his face, used to the kind Florida sunshine. Snow was heaped up around the parking lot where the hotel had politely pushed it aside so that its guests could park in the parking lot.
Had someone seen him, they might have thought he was wandering around aimlessly. A homeless person, perhaps, or mentally ill. In fact, the opposite was true. Will had been one of the best mindhunters in the business. When he had something, he focused on it exclusively. But when he had nothing, he had to get something. Meandering around the parking lot was a means of opening the inner doors to contemplation and reflection. He was trying to have an idea.
As he crossed the lot, he got his wish in a much more concrete manner than he wanted.
Parked between an SUV and a Cadillac was a ten-year-old Civic. It was blue, and reasonably well cared for. On the back window was a sticker with an outline of Eric Cartman from South Park on it. On the driver's side window was a parking sticker for the Quantico base. The interior of the car was relatively clean and neat. A few file folders lay strewn on the passenger's seat.
Josh's car.
Will turned and ran back into the hotel. A few people watched him as he ran. He skidded to a halt in front of the elevator. That well-made machine leisurely descended to the lobby, numbers flicking amber as it went. Sweat broke out on the back of his neck as he waited. He felt full of anger and fear and electricity. His heels tapped a nervous tattoo.
Finally the elevator deigned to open and admit him. Will entered the elevator and stared at his brassy reflection for several moments before hitting his floor. As if mocking him, the elevator closed and began rising ever so slowly.
Back in his room, he grabbed the phone. It was slick and smooth against his hand. Electronic boops sounded in his ear as he punched several digits. There was a brief wait, then the muted electronic burr of a ring.
"Crawford," a voice said.
"Crawford, it's Graham." He paused. "Will Graham."
"Hi, Will," Crawford said. "Heard anything from Josh? This isn't like him."
"Jack, Josh's car is still in the hotel parking lot. From when he came to see me last night."
Crawford was silent for several moments.
"Has anyone touched it?"
"I don't think so," Will answered. "Jesus Christ, what the hell is going on here?"
Crawford exhaled. "Sit tight, Will," he said. "I'm gonna call out a forensics team and have them go over the car and the hotel. Just sit tight."
Will Graham had wanted to leave his demons at the FBI behind him. He'd done that for years. These days he thought of himself as a boat mechanic whose son was an FBI agent. He'd found some peace there.
Crawford had tried to drag him back on a few other occasions, after Dolarhyde, but he'd turned them all down. He'd never wanted to come back. He'd served his watch; now it was time for others to take the helm. Now, it seemed, he had little choice.
"What do you want me to do?" he asked, and wondered if he'd just forfeited his soul.
"For now, sit tight. You're too close to the situation to do any good. Let me do my thing and we'll find a role for you."
The FBI moved quickly when it had to. Perhaps twenty minutes later, an assemblage of FBI technicians surrounded the Civic. One of the techs grabbed a slim jim and popped the car's door open easily. Will watched them work, priests and acolytes of forensic science enacting their rituals. He shuddered as he watched. Behind him, Crawford walked up to him and stood by companionably.
"We've got the hotel's security tapes from last night," he said. "You want to see?"
Will tensed, staring at his son's car as if it might tell him what had happened. "Is there something?"
"Yeah," Crawford said.
Will went along with him to the hotel's security office. A few men in polyester uniforms stood around and gawped at the real authorities as they crowded into the small room. A television on a stand commanded their attention. Crawford pointed at one of the security guards.
"Roll it back," he said.
Obediently, the guard rewound the VCR and hit play. A black-and-white image came to flickering light on the screen. It was the hotel's lobby. A few people stood in a line waiting to check in. Bellboys pushed gaudy golden carts full of luggage further into the hotel.
Crawford pointed at a young woman sitting on a bench. "Watch her."
The elevator doors opened and a young man walked out. Although the image was blurry and hard to see, Will recognized his son. According to the time-date stamp, this would've been just after Josh left his room. Everything perfectly normal.
The young woman's head swiveled as Josh walked out of the elevator. Her hair was dark; brown or black. She wore a dress and opera-length gloves. Long ones, too; they ended just below her shoulders. That was odd; Will didn't remember having seen a woman actually wear those except at their senior proms or something like that. A fair amount of the men on the tape seemed to be looking at her. A fair amount of the agents watching the tape did too. She stood and deliberately angled herself so she was in Josh's path. One of the guards let out a whistle.
"Man, I wouldn't mind a piece of that," he said.
"Stow that shit," Crawford said irritably.
Josh collided with the young woman. Will shook his head, his blue eyes locked on the flickering gray images. He's always been like that. Walks around in a fog sometimes. He watched his son get embarrassed and chat with the girl. That was a bit surprising; Josh was usually shy around women. Always had been. It had made Will worry sometimes.
Now they left the hotel together, or at least the field of view offered by the camera. The security guard hit the stop button and the image of the lobby was replaced by static. Will exhaled.
"We have to find that girl," he said. "She's the last person who ever saw Josh. Where would they have gone?"
Crawford nodded calmly. "We're gonna take these tapes back to Quantico," he said. "Also we're running down the concierge to see if they asked for a place to eat or get some drinks. We'll find him, Will. Keep your head."
The words came rising far more easily to his lips than he ever would have thought.
"Don't shut me out, Jack. Keep me in the loop. That's my boy she's got there."
Crawford raised his eyebrows. "You asking to come back?"
Will Graham thought of the Six Fingered Killer and then thought of his son.
"Yes," he said simply.
…
The dining room was set for two. The lights were turned down. Candles burned atop the table dividing it into flickering thirds. Low music played.
Josh Graham sat in a chair. He wore his suit and tie. His ankles and waist were bound to his chair with duct tape. He watched the woman entering the room nervously.
Alice Pierpont entered the room, carrying a covered tray that she laid down in front of him. She removed the cover dramatically to reveal a steaming platter covered with meat. She smiled tenderly at him.
"Here you are, Josh," she said. "Filet mignon. You told me you liked your steak rare, so I made it nice and rare for you."
She lifted off a healthy-sized steak and put it on his plate. He looked down at it and then back up at her. Meanwhile, she poured a glass of wine and offered it to him. The candlelight sent maroon rays through it dancing on the tablecloth. Then she assumed her own seat and smiled at him predatorially.
"Who are you?" he asked. "And what do you want with me?"
Her face fell a bit as if disappointed, but she recovered quickly enough. "My name is Alice," she said slowly. "As far as what I want with you…just dinner, for now. Eat up, Josh. I spent a long time cooking that."
Josh picked up his fork and prodded the steak. It smelled like steak and looked like steak. The knife cut into it nicely. For a moment, he wondered if it might be…something else, and then he saw Alice's face begin to harden.
It was nice and red in the middle, just the way he liked it. Despite his fear, his stomach growled. He cut off a piece and sampled it. His mind screamed at him not to. It might be Clarice, for all he knew. It might be someone else. It might be injected with drugs or rat poison.
It was soft and good in his mouth. Just steak. He chewed and swallowed.
"It's just steak," she said, as if reading his mind, and seemed hurt. "You're thinking of someone else. Try the wine."
Josh took the wine glass and raised it to his lips. That tasted like regular old red wine. It was dry and tart. He eyed the woman across the table nervously.
"The wine is great," he said unsteadily. "Now tell me…are you the Six Fingered Killer?"
"Not tonight," Alice said, and began to eat herself.
He ate a little more steak. Despite himself, he was hungry and the steak was very, very good. And he didn't want to make her angry. She'd kidnapped him out of his hotel pretty easily. If she was the Six Fingered Killer, God only knew what she was capable of.
"Do you have Clarice?" he asked.
Alice made a moue. "Clarice, Clarice, Clarice," she said. "That's all you ever talk about. Gramma's downstairs. I put her in for her nap."
"Is she alive?" Josh pressed.
Alice rolled her eyes. "The last time I checked," she said irritably. "Enough about Clarice. It's tacky. She's too old for you, Josh."
"I'm not…no, not like that," Josh said. "I just want to see that she's all right."
Alice paused. Her steak knife glinted at him, aimed at a forty-five degree angle. The candlelight slid lovingly along the serrated edges of the blade.
"She is all right, Josh," Alice said in a thin tone. "She's in the basement with some Pringles. She likes Pringles. I read that somewhere. Now quit talking about her, or I'll do something nasty, which you know I'm capable of doing."
It wasn't clear who would be the recipient of her nasty behavior, and Josh didn't want to find out. He was in a bad situation here. He had to backpedal a bit. Get some leverage. She must want him for something. His mind flicked back to Winfield and he found himself wondering if she was going to light him on fire or saw his hand off. For a few minutes they both ate quietly.
"So how is the hunt for the Six Fingered Killer going?" she asked brightly.
"We're working on it," he promised. "It's very likely they'll catch you. If you let me go, I can help you."
"You mean they're going to catch me?" Alice asked. A sly grin crossed her face.
Josh nodded. "Look," he said kindly. "We can help you."
"I doubt they'll catch me," Alice said. "I might point out that the two agents who know the case best are in my custody." She chuckled.
Okay. Okay. He had to think his way out of this.
"Tell me a little about yourself," he said. "What do you do?"
Alice considered. "I'm independently wealthy," she explained. "I'm also an RN, but I don't always do that. Just a few visiting-nurse jobs hither and yon to keep my certifications current and to restock my supply of drugs when it gets low. Oh, and I have a bachelor's in chemistry." Her eyes glittered at him in the light in amused red points.
Josh thought about the psycho next to him looming over a helpless patient and found himself shuddering.
"Why…why did you bring me here?" he asked.
"It's fate," she answered easily.
"What do you mean, fate?" he pressed.
Alice smiled. "I'll get dessert," she explained, and then stepped back into her kitchen. She returned a moment later with a glass bowl. In it she spooned a whipped brown substance. She placed the bowl in front of him and then grasped his wrists. She was wearing the gloves again, he noticed. Her grip was surprisingly strong. His own handcuffs ratcheted shut around his wrists. Where the hell had she kept them, anyway?
Alice took the bowl and picked up a spoon. She dipped it into the bowl and came up with a spoonful of chocolate mousse. Her left hand remained on his wrists, holding them down. Josh found himself feeling vaguely humiliated. But he took the spoonful of mousse. It was powerfully sweet.
Calmly, Alice fed him the entire bowl. A pleased smile crossed her face. A sort of electricity crackled between the two of them; tense and electrical. Controlled, but still there. Once she was done, she carefully wiped his face as if he was a child. Then she cut the duct tape holding his ankles and waist free and brought him into a sitting room. Already waiting were two cappuccinos.
"It's fate," Alice repeated, as if just answering the question. "I knew it when I got Starling. When I called you that was a joke. But then I was thinking. My father has Starling. Why should I not have you, then?"
Josh Graham sipped the cappuccino and eyed her nervously. He could feel sweat on the back of his neck. He felt sort of dopey again. The room seemed to pulse. What the hell was going on? But he focused on her words.
"Your…father?"
Alice nodded. "Dr. Lecter is my biological father," she said and blinked several times. "Golly Jeepers, Josh, where'd you think I got these peepers?" She smiled predatorily at him and slid her arms around him. "But I don't want to talk about that. Later. But I do have another confession to make."
Josh tilted his head. Everything seemed swimmy and floaty. What had she done to him?
"I…don't like…when you say that," he rasped. "You…you drugged me, didn't you?"
Alice smiled calmly. "Yes," she said. "Not morphine, not GHB like I used last time. It's Dostinex, Josh. Better than Viagra, so they say." Her arms slid around him again and she guided him to the couch. Her fingers began working calmly at the buttons of his shirt. Josh inhaled the scent of warm girl near him and felt himself respond.
Josh Graham had always been a shy, inhibited boy who became a shy, inhibited man. Yet now his inhibitions seemed to flow away like wet paper. Plus he was sporting a regular old railspike. The fact that she was a serial killer who had kidnapped him no longer seemed to matter. The fact that he was an FBI agent didn't seem to matter either. All that mattered was that he was ready and she sure seemed to be. His arms came up and curled around her. Alice smiled tightly again.
He rolled over atop her. His hands groped for her body. The drug pounded deep in his brain, awakening his lizard mind. She brought him down to her, eager and welcoming.
"Oh, Joshua," Alice cooed.