Cherchez la femme, Will Graham thought.
He was down in Quantico. The place spooked him out. It was much as it had been when he had been an active agent. The same dark corridors, the same offices. Here was the lair of the mindhunters. They set forth from these dark underground hallways and hunted down unspeakable monsters.
But some things had changed. Their science was far superior. It occurred to Will that while he still might be useful as a mindhunter, the forensic science he had known twenty years ago was archaic. When he'd been active, he'd thought it was state of the art. Now it was all pushed aside, out of date, and worthless.
A young computer tech Josh's age was busy with the videotape from the hotel. Will watched him work. The video from the tape fed into a computer and appeared on the monitor. For a moment Will had to shake his head.
"How do you hook the VCR to the computer?" he asked.
The tech looked up at him. White light from the monitor reflected in his glasses. "Firewire," he said distractedly.
Will Graham didn't know what Firewire was.
"Getting anything?" he asked hopefully.
The tech scowled. "No," he said. "This videotape is lousy. And she never faces the camera dead on. Best I can do is to work on this shot here." He grabbed the mouse and slid the image on the screen back to where the woman on the screen turned, her profile to the camera. "Can't tell much other than that she's cute and she's got dark hair. Dark eyes, too, it looks like. But at this distance I can't tell." He let out a sigh.
Will nodded. "Can you tell her age?" he tried.
The tech shook his head. "Not from this picture," he said with distaste. He printed up a copy and handed it to Will. "There you go," he said. "It's not great, but it's a start. At least you know she's not blonde."
Will took the picture and looked at it. Yes, it was a lousy picture. But something had struck him as familiar about it. He couldn't put his finger on what.
He cleared his throat. "Who would I talk to for a copy of the folder?" he asked.
The tech glanced at him sideways. "I can do that for you," he said guardedly, and tapped out a few keystrokes. A moment later, the laser printer in the corner of the room began to hum.
"Everything's digitized," he said. "You can grab a folder from wherever you want."
Will did. For a moment, he sighed. Of all the things he had ever thought he would do, this was the last. He'd done it once before, but the circumstances had been radically different.
He was gathering a file for Dr. Hannibal Lecter's use.
Will swallowed. He gathered up the file and returned to his car, muttering something about wanting to see the file alone. That made him think of Chesapeake, all those years ago. The good doctor, examining the file Will had put in his document carrier. Do you mind if I do it privately? Give me an hour… How filmed with thought his eyes had been.
Once back in his room, he waited. Dr. Lecter had told him to take his DO NOT DISTURB sign and stick it out the bottom of his door, halfway out, as if it had fallen. After that, he was to take the room-service menu and put it in the window. He did those things and sat down in the anonymous little hotel room that had been the last place he'd ever seen his son. Was Dr. Lecter outside in the hallway, or was he spying on Will from somewhere else? Not knowing was the most unnerving part.
But he had to do this. Josh was his son. The FBI had used them; it was fair for him to use them. He was back in the FBI after all these years, but he had not always been an FBI agent. He would always be Josh's father.
Cooperate with Dr. Lecter. It made perfect sense and it was completely mad. Cooperating with the doctor when he was safely locked away made sense. Cooperating with the doctor while he was free? Now that was terrifying.
The phone interrupted his reverie. He lifted the receiver with dread.
"Hello, Will," Dr. Hannibal Lecter said.
"Dr. Lecter," Will said through dry lips. Even after all these years, his fear of the doctor was back instantly as a striking snake.
"Did you get a file for me?"
"Yes," Will snapped.
"Very good," Dr. Lecter said. "I'll need it. Open your door, please."
Will tensed. "Are you…?"
"Open your door, please."
Will padded over to the door and opened it. His hand trembled on the knob. Part of him wanted to put down the phone and pick up his gun.
Dr. Lecter was not there. Will frowned and turned his head. There he was, standing twenty feet down the hall in front of an open door. He smiled pleasantly at Will and hung up his cellular phone.
Will swallowed. Dr. Lecter was staying just a few doors down from him? Goosebumps prickled his skin. This was about the uneasiest alliance he'd ever been part of. Dr. Lecter stepped back into his room and gestured for him to follow. Will did, his tongue dry and his eyes watchful. The weight of the revolver on his belt was comforting.
When he entered the room, Dr. Lecter was already sitting at his table. He gestured for Will to join him.
"Good afternoon, Will," Dr. Lecter said politely. "Would you care for a cup of coffee? I'd offer you wine, but I understand you know longer drink."
The words were kind, but Dr. Lecter's eyes were mocking. For a moment Will wondered if he could see into his mind. The years of drinking and the toll they had taken flashed through him. No, the doctor could not know everything; he simply pressed the buttons he felt would cause the most fun.
Never forget what he is.
Dr. Lecter took the file and gave Will a cup of coffee in exchange. It was strong and good, and Will found himself liking it despite himself. He allowed Dr. Lecter a few minutes to study the file. For his part, the cannibalistic psychiatrist seemed interested only in the file, reading it and pondering. Will's hand twitched above the grip of the pistol. He could feel sweat on his palms. He did not take his eyes off the man in the chair.
"Interesting," Dr. Lecter mused. He held up a picture. "You can barely make it out, but the woman in this picture has the normal amount of fingers on her hand."
Will stared hard at the doctor. "So do you," he pointed out.
"Surgically," Dr. Lecter admitted, and held up his scarred hand. "Perhaps that's what the gloves are for. She might be self-conscious about the scar. But then it would have been quite recent, Will. If this is the woman you seek, she had six fingers on her left hand as lately as a week ago."
Will continued to observe the doctor as if he was a mad dog who might attack at any moment. Then an idea began to sink into him. The same dark hair, pale skin. The doctor's scarred hand versus the Six Fingered Killer's…and the woman in gloves.
"You never had any children, did you?" Will asked suspiciously.
Dr. Hannibal Lecter put the file down for a moment and eyed Will for a moment. He seemed nonplussed. Will's eyes narrowed as he carefully studied the other man's reactions.
"Don't be silly, Will," Dr. Lecter said. "Of course not."
Will Graham was afraid, but he was not a coward. Neither was he stupid. As he studied the doctor, he was sure of it. Yes, there it was.
Dr. Lecter was not lying, per se. But he was beginning to wonder himself. Will could see the questioning in his eyes. Perhaps it was madness, an attempt to create a connection where none existed. Will knew better than to ask the doctor. He'd check that one out himself.
Good Lord, he thought. Does Hannibal Lecter have a daughter? Does she have my son?
…
The guesthouse was rich without being ostentatious. It stood by the mansion as if it was a lady-in-waiting to the grand dame. It was much smaller than the manse itself, but quite comfortable inside. It also had its own driveway and entrance to the grounds, which Alice appreciated. She wanted privacy.
She could hear music blasting from the house as she pulled into the driveway and parked. The main house itself was some distance away. Eddie's large and ostentatious SUV was parked so that it hid her Mustang anyways. Dearest Mummy wouldn't know she was here. Not until it was too late.
She slipped from the car and strode purposefully up to the door. Loud rock music blared from inside. When she pressed the door, it slipped open. Alice stuck her head in and then entered.
She spoke to herself in a low tone. The words were not her own. She'd read them years ago in school. They spoke eloquently to her, though, and she'd always wanted to say them.
"Why bastard? Wherefore base? When my dimensions are as well compact, my mind as generous, and my shape as true, as honest father's issue? Why brand they us with base? With baseness? Bastardy? Base, base?"
By any objective standards, the guesthouse was exquisite. The furniture was expensive. Silk wallpaper decorated the walls. A Matisse print graced the foyer. A chandelier lit the entranceway. Alice smiled coldly. Her dear old mother, spending money faster than her stepfather could make it.
Edgar Morgan III slouched on the sofa in the living room. In one hand he held a crystal glass half-filled with whiskey. In the other he held a cigar. His eyes were bloodshot and his face slack and flushed. He observed his older half-sister with sardonic humor.
There was little resemblance between the two. No one looking at them would have ever thought they shared a parent or that they had been carried in the same womb. The only thing that did bind Alice Pierpont to Edgar Morgan was their sociopathic nature. In his own way, Edgar Morgan III was as monstrous as his sibling. The only difference was that he slaked his lusts for the flesh rather than lusts for blood. His victims were left alive, but he cared no more for their aftermaths than Alice cared for her victims.
"Alice," he slurred. "Hey, sis. What the hell are you doing here?"
Alice smiled coldly at him. "Eddie," she said briskly. "How are you?"
He raised the glass in a drunken salute. "I'm…I'm partying," he said. "Having me a good time."
"I'd be careful of that if I were you," she said. "You are out on bail. For rape charges, no less."
He shook his head and took another drag on his cigar. Alice's nostrils flared. The aroma was pungent and unpleasant.
"Nuh-uh, sis," he said. "I'm not guilty. Gonna beat the rap." He laughed at the thought. "Beat…the…rap."
Alice chuckled shortly. "You mean Mommy's going to beat it for you. Or try, as she always has. She'll either intimidate the victim into recanting or try and break her into doing so. You did it, Eddie. I know you. You never learned consequences." She chuckled and shook her head. Her dark hair slid back and forth.
Eddie shook his head mutely. Alice didn't think he was actually claiming innocence, per se. He simply didn't think he'd done anything wrong. Which is why this would be so much fun.
"Who's the lucky girl for tonight?" Alice asked brightly.
Eddie shrugged. "This chick Trish," he said. "You don't know her." He grinned and swayed back and forth drunkenly. Yes, he was three sheets to the wind, Alice thought. Along with some pillowcases and a few towels. "We were partying out at a couple clubs. She's on the big…X. Both of us."
Alice nodded calmly. "Ecstasy," she said. "I see."
"You ought to try screwing on it," Eddie informed her. "Blows your goddam mind. C'mon, didn't you party over in jolly old fuckin' England?"
"I had fun, yes," Alice allowed, "although my idea of fun doesn't involve quite so many psychoactive substances as yours."
Eddie blinked owlishly.
"Besides, dear Eddie, you're wasting your money. You're so drunk the Ectasy is barely going to make a dent in you. How many have you had?"
Eddie's eyes rolled up in his head as he pondered. "Ummm…about twenty, I guess. I sort of lost count."
"Of course," Alice said. "Here, let me refill your glass." She picked up the crystal glass and strode neatly across the living room, legs smooth in sheer black hose. Her heels rapped against the parquet floor. If Mom were checking out the guesthouse from the main house, she'd simply think Eddie had gotten himself another girl. Wouldn't be the first time, either. There wasn't much amongst the bacchanal that Edgar Morgan III had not tried.
There was a nice wooden bar with a full sink set up in one corner. Alice reached down and selected a bottle of Jack Daniel's. Sweet and powerful, and one of her brother's favorites. Her brother watched her desultorily as dark amber liquid cascaded into the glass.
"Are those new gloves?" Eddie asked.
Alice dropped a few ice cubes into his glass and glanced over her shoulder at him. "Yes," she said calmly.
"Those look nice," he said. For a moment, she was surprised. Was he actually learning some manners?
He didn't surprise her after all. "Sexy," he said. "Kind of fetishy, don't you think?"
"I think I'm your sister, and you shouldn't think of me like that, you degenerate," Alice said, and slipped a small envelope out of the top of one glove. She poured a small quantity of white powder into his drink. Stirring it dissolved it satisfactorily. She gave it back to him and watched him drink. The dope she'd put it in should be tasteless; he would expect nothing.
"Well, excuuuuse me," Eddie said blearily. "Just saying it, that's all."
Across the hall, a door opened. A young woman appeared in the doorway. Party girl, Alice thought immediately. She wore a short, tight dress. Her blond hair cascaded over her head in a crass style. Honestly, Alice thought. Farah Fawcett was a loooong time ago, kiddo. Her features were pretty but vapid. An expression of ire crossed her face as she examined Alice and scanned her for competitive advantage.
Alice smiled disarmingly. "Hi," she said sweetly, and held out her hand. "I'm Alice. I'm Eddie's sister."
The other girl's expression eased as she realized there would be no battle today. Well, not how she was expecting. Then a look of confusion crossed her face.
"I didn't know Eddie had a sister," she said.
Alice smiled tightly. "It's sort of the family secret," she explained. "I'm his half-sister. We have different fathers."
The girl nodded with disinterest and sat down next to Eddie on the couch. As if a switch had been thrown, they set to drunken necking. They appeared not to care in the slightest that Alice was present or watching.
Alice watched them crawl over each other like drunken goats for a few moments. Then she gathered her purse and headed for the bathroom the other girl had just vacated.
In her purse she had a surgical gown, folded up to fit in the purse, as well as a pair of latex gloves. She put on the gloves and then the robe, reaching around to tie the gown in the back. There was a plastic bag in the purse as well, for when she was done. For what she'd paid for these custom-made gloves, she wanted to avoid getting blood on them if she could.
At the bottom of her purse was another knife. It was much like the twin Tanto knives she had; the same model, and the same San Mai III steel. A mean knife for a mean world. But it wasn't her knife. She'd ordered it from a knife shop on the Internet, using one of Eddie's credit card numbers. Obtaining the numbers themselves had been easy. Any waitress at any of Eddie's favorite clubs could have gotten it multiple times. Alice herself had simply arranged to bump into him at a club several months ago and simply memorized the number when he bought a round of drinks.
This knife differed from hers in one other way: the monogram EM III was engraved at the base of the blade. She wanted to make this as easy as possible for the authorities. Engraving 'MURDER WEAPON' on the blade would've been just a little too much.
She'd wanted to do something to Eddie for years. Now just seemed like the perfect time. It got her mind off Clarice and Josh. She needed Clarice to find her father. Besides, she'd come to like her. And Josh? Josh was hers, hers the way Clarice Starling was her father's. It was meant to be. But sometimes she would have to be away from him so that she did not hurt him.
But for now she was benefiting the public good. All these people did was consume large amount of drugs and indulge themselves in empty, pointless sex. She thought of her prior union with Josh, the night before, and a catlike smile crossed her face.
"Now, gods, stand up for bastards!" she said to herself in the mirror.
Had they gotten to it yet? She tilted her head and listened. Heavy panting and moans came from the other room. Alice stepped out of her shoes and crept down the hallway. Her feet were silent on the wooden floor. Eddie might try and begin the act, but he wouldn't be able to finish the deal. She glanced around cautiously. Yes, there was his glass on the table. Empty, no less. What a lush.
Sure enough, Eddie was slumped unconscious atop his girl of the evening. She was making noise about her displeasure as Alice re-entered the room.
"Eddie? C'mon, Eddie…what the fuck?" the girl whined.
Alice appeared over them like a vision of death, her maroon eyes glowing. Yes, she felt much better.
"I'm sorry, he's in a drunken stupor right now," Alice said merrily. "Can I take a message?"
She grabbed Eddie's arm and rolled his limp form off the couch. A meaty thud echoed in the room as he landed. Alice ignored it, the knife held high. The girl saw the knife and stared at it for a few moments as it descended. Only a few moments too late did she realize that this wasn't a fun trip after all.
The knife shuddered as it entered her victim's abdomen. The girl let out a scream, which was swiftly stopped up as Alice clamped her hand over the girl's mouth. With controlled ferocity she stabbed Trish five or six more times. Then, satisfied that she was dead or dying, Alice leaned down.
She picked up Eddie's limp form and held him over the blood as if painting him with a crimson power-sprayer. For a few moments he soaked in the blood of the dying girl. Then, satisfied, she turned him on his back and lowered him to the floor. It took only a moment to lift the knife and put it in his hand, clamping hers over his so there would be good fingerprints for the cops to find.
He'd be out until the cops got here. Alice returned to the bathroom, put her shoes back on, and put her surgical robe and gloves in the trash bag she had brought along with her. Checking herself in the mirror revealed no blood.
She walked back into the abattoir and observed the slaughter scene calmly. Eddie lay on his back on the floor, the knife by his hand. His girlie was quite dead. All for the best. Mother would be so furious when she found out. Eddie's bail would be revoked. Her precious little boy was going back to jail for the time being.
And she felt so much better.
But now she had to ensure that the cops got here first. There was an easy way to do that. Trish's purse was near her corpse, and Alice rooted through the junk in it until she found what she wanted. A cell phone. Perfect. The authorities would instantly identify the house phone. The cell phone would buy her a few more minutes.
Alice dialed 911 and waited a moment.
"911 emergency," a voice said.
She took a deep breath. "Oh my GOD! " she screamed. "He's killing me! Help! Help!"
Eddie snorted and twitched on the floor.
"Ma'am, can you tell me your location?" the tinny voice on the other end asked.
Alice dropped the phone and walked out the door without dallying. Figure five minutes for them to track the phone to the right location. Another five for the cruisers to roll. More than enough time to get away, but not enough time to sit around and admire her handiwork.
The Mustang boomed down the driveway and out to the road. Then it was another several minutes on some back roads until she picked up the highway. Alice circled the highway a few times, just in case she was being tailed. Nothing in her rearview. Nothing at all.
On the way home, she decided to pick up some ice cream. A talk with Clarice would be nice, now that she was feeling more in control and less upset. She'd have to bring Josh up to the bedroom; she'd want some girl-talk time with Clarice. Two tubs of double-chocolate-fudge ice cream served as refreshment. Clarice would appreciate that. After that, a little chat with Josh.
After all, kissing and making up was the best part.