Josh Graham awoke with a start. He wasn't in the basement he had been kept in before. No, he was in a bed. He tried to shift position and discovered he couldn't. Something was clamped on his right wrist and his left ankle, stretching him out. He looked up and saw a handcuff linking his right wrist to the bedpost. Glancing down showed there was a stout rope around his ankle. His left arm was not bound, he still could not use it to defend himself.
The reason for this was that he was not alone in the bed. Alice Pierpont lay next to him, her head on his shoulder and the hollow of his neck. She appeared to be dozing, a contented smile on her face. Josh trembled, aware that her teeth were much closer to his throat than he liked them.
He tried to shift as much as he was able and discovered something else troubling; he didn't think either of them was dressed. Her body was pressed against his. She was warm and soft, yes. She didn't seem to want to hurt him. That was good. Her eyes opened lazily and she smiled at him.
"Hi," she said softly.
Josh swallowed nervously. "Hi," he said. "What…what happened?"
Alice smiled a satisfied smile. "What do you think?" she asked.
He found himself trembling. "Look," he said. "Do you…um…are you going to keep me locked up here forever?"
Alice considered it for a moment. "Not forever," she said. "For now I have to because you'll still try to escape. Eventually you'll accept that we're meant to be together."
Josh closed his eyes and pondered. She sounded perfectly calm about it, as if she'd already decided it was the case and it warranted no further discussion.
"Well," he said. "What if we're not meant to be together?"
A frown crossed her face and she moved closer to him. "Nonsense," she said. "You're just confused, Josh."
Making her mad would be a bad idea. He was chained down here, after all. Plus, there was Clarice to think about. They still weren't sure what had happened when she left last night. Only that she'd come back very contented. She'd brought him up here and given him a shot. From that, he didn't remember much more.
If he made her angry, she might not hurt him, but he wasn't as sure that Clarice would escape her wrath. He couldn't allow that. As much as it galled him, as much as it scared him – he had to be careful here. Being macho wasn't worth it if it would get Clarice killed.
"Okay," he said calmly.
"Besides," Alice said, "today I want to do something fun with you." Her eyes sparkled.
Fun. Her idea of fun was sawing people's hands off and nailing them to crosses. Josh didn't think he would like this.
"Like what?" he asked.
Alice grinned and grabbed him by the shoulders, bouncing him back and forth playfully.
"I want to go to an amusement park!" she said excitedly.
Josh swallowed and stared at her uncomprehendingly. Since when did serial killers want to go to amusement parks? It seemed awfully pedestrian.
"You want to go to an amusement park?" he asked disbelievingly.
Alice nodded. Her eyes lit up. "Yep," she said. "You and me, Josh, it'll be so much fun and romantic too. We'll ride the rides and do the roller coasters and eat junk food and play the midway games and it'll be so much fun."
And you need to take your meds more often, Josh thought but dared not say.
"It's too cold. It's winter. They're not open," Josh pointed out.
"Not in Florida," she told him. It was hard to believe she was a killer; she seemed excited and delighted with what she had done. "I chartered a plane! It's six now. We can be down there in two hours. We'll have the whole day there. Disney World, Universal Studios, whatever. And we can eat at EPCOT or whatever you want. Then we fly back at night and boom, we're here!"
Josh blinked his eyes for a moment. This was pretty hard to believe. Was she serious or was this simply manic chatter?
She arose from the bed and stared at him, saucy and naked, for a moment. He couldn't help looking. She saw this in turn and it pleased her vanity.
"How could you rent a plane?" he asked.
"It's not that bad. It's like a thousand dollars," Alice answered, and giggled. "I'm rich, Josh. I can afford it."
This isn't fair, he thought ruefully. A beautiful girl is in love with me. She's standing in front of me naked. She's rich. She's going to fly me to Florida at the drop of a hat. Why does she have to be insane?
"I'm going to take a shower now," she informed him. "Then you get one. I'll put Reesey in the TV room. She'll be OK. Lots to do, lots of TV, lots of music. No phone, but I can't give her a phone, now can I? That would get in the way of our fun. I got you clothes, too. Jeans and shorts and a T-shirt and sneakers. I got the size from the shoes you had. It'll be fun!"
Josh's mind reviewed the situation quickly. Downstairs, Clarice had told him that Alice was bipolar. She was acting like it now. But she didn't seem violent. How the hell did she plan to control him at the park? All he had to do was get away from her and get to a cop. If he was quick enough she could be arrested there.
No point in betraying his hand now, though. He would not risk Clarice's life or his own. He closed his eyes and remembered the few times in his life his father had talked about Francis Dolarhyde. How Crawford had wanted to stick Dr. Lecter in a VA psychiatric hospital and fake an escape. At the time, Josh had been young and asked his father if that wasn't lying.
Sometimes you have to trick the bad guy, Josh, his father had said, blushing.
It was sound advice now. He would trick the bad girl. Playing along with her for now would be the best course of action. He heard the rush of the shower and sat back and waited. She came out dressed in a T-shirt and jeans. With a pair of sunglasses covering her eyes and a baseball cap covering her hair, she looked startlingly normal.
She unlocked him then and let him into the bathroom. The hot water cascading over him was a relief. It gave him some ability to think. He supposed he ought to try and pin her down, arrest her, be the big hero. But that was too simplistic. She was quite strong, and she had Clarice as her ace in the hole. If he lost, it wouldn't be only his ass on the line. Alice seemed to not want to hurt him, but he was not sure she would hold to that. The thought of Clarice nailed to the cross, or tortured with a blowtorch made him wince.
No, for now, he would play along. He couldn't see any other way.
Once he was done with his shower, Alice was waiting. She held a wide nylon belt in her hand.
"Come here," she explained.
Josh walked over to her and eyed her curiously.
"Clarice is in the TV room. She's got food and the bathroom and everything she needs. She's secure but she's comfortable. If that makes you feel better," Alice said delicately.
She placed the belt around his waist. It clicked shut with a firm click. He could feel metal prongs pressing his kidneys. The buckle had a lock on it; he would not be taking it off. After that, Alice gave him clothing: jeans, a shirt, sneakers. He swallowed.
"That's a stun belt around your waist," Alice explained. "If you try to escape on me I'll have to use it. But I don't want to, Joshie, don't make me. Pleeeeeaaaase?" She curled herself into his arms and pressed herself against him.
Oh boy, Josh thought, I have a date with an insane serial killer who thinks she's in love with me.
Still, she was in a rare good mood as she brought him out to the car and drove to the airport. Seeing her like this was odd: she was manic, but she was normal. He'd never thought serial killers would want to go to Disney World. Then again, he'd never thought serial killers would have lives even vaguely like normal people's.
True to her word, Alice drove to the airport where a private plane was waiting. The plane was small, but the seats were comfortable. Alice plunked herself down next to him companionably. This was insane, but it was happening. The plane leaped into the air and landed two hours later in Orlando.
It was bright and sunny, and they caught a cab over to Disney World. Josh found himself trembling, but Alice seemed quite happy. They caught a few rides at Disney World and then went to Universal Studios in the afternoon, as Alice much preferred the rides there.
If you discounted the fact that she was an insane serial killer holding him hostage, Josh thought, this was quite pleasant. The prongs on the stun belt pressed against his kidneys and reminded him of just how off base this situation was. But Alice did not threaten him. She made him accompany her on the rides; she made him stop at a picture studio, where they got a picture of themselves in old-fashioned clothes, and she made him win her a stuffed animal on the midway. Never once did she remind him that she could incapacitate him with the press of a button.
They ate at EPCOT center. She wanted sushi and wanted him to try it. It wasn't bad, he thought. After dinner, she told him, they would catch a cab back to the airport and fly home. When he thought about it, Clarice hadn't had it that rough either. Twelve hours or so locked in the TV room. If she had food and bathroom access, that sort of captivity would be easily tolerable.
He wasn't ready to resist her yet. If he gambled and lost, Clarice would pay the price. But he still felt vaguely cowardly about that. His father had fought Hannibal Lecter and Francis Dolarhyde; he was outmatched by Alice Pierpont. It wasn't macho and he didn't care for it. To assuage himself, he did what he was trained to do: to profile.
She seemed to want him to have a good time, he thought. She didn't threaten him. That wasn't like most sociopaths; they could be unbelievably petty. She seemed to understand that she had to restrain both him and Clarice. All the same, she seemed to have some concern for them. The conclusion was obvious: in some sort of demented way, she wanted them to like her. And in his case, she wanted more. She wanted to act like his girlfriend and did. If it was an act, it was damn good. She seemed quite happy with the situation and honestly wanted him to be happy too, stun belt or no stun belt. It struck him as bizarre, but somehow tragic. It made her human.
Josh Graham was not a Christian. His father had never been religious. But there was one phrase that occurred to him from the Bible that inspired him here, in this bizarre fun-park captivity. He closed his eyes and thought it now.
Be as simple as doves and wily as serpents.
That's what I have to do for now, Josh thought. Be a dove. But once this belt comes off me, you'll see what a serpent I can be.
…
Dr. Hannibal Lecter was thinking.
He had never once believed that he might be a father. It had been something he had never seriously questioned. He'd never had reason to. He had been a bit of the playboy, to be sure. But that had been twenty years ago. He'd been incarcerated for eight years. Then, for more than a decade, he had lived quietly and free far from American borders. Only his brief return for the Verger affair had interrupted that.
He had no children. The idea was ridiculous. He never, never would have thought it possible. But yet the Six Fingered Killer had a resemblance to him that he could not ignore. To begin with, there was the six-fingered left hand. If the girl in the hotel was the Six Fingered Killer, then she resembled him in other ways – the same dark hair, the same pale skin. Even the terrible picture in the videocamera made that clear. A hotel's black-and-white security camera could easily confuse maroon eyes for brown or black.
The answer was not proven, to be sure. But he could not discount it.
It would be easy enough to check out. Dr. Lecter settled in with his paper and thought. If he had an unknown daughter, there were only a few women who could have borne her. He'd been a bit of a playboy then, but not that much of one.
Rachel DuBerry was a possibility. He doubted it would be her, though. They had called their relationship off two years before his incarceration. Had he sired a child on her, he would have known about it beforehand. For her, he thought, he would have likely done the honorable thing.
No, if it was anyone, it was either Marianne van Brint or Jane Pierpont. Of the two, it was likelier that it would be Jane; he'd dated her later. Still, his relationship with Miss Van Brint had come to an end six months before his incarceration. She was possible. Dr. Lecter shuddered, remembering how petty and cruel she had been.
Whatever was I thinking? he wondered. No matter. He was entitled to his youthful indiscretions as was any other man.
Yet it would be easy to find out. Dr. Lecter picked up the phone and dialed a number from memory quickly. He didn't know if either woman had changed her number – after all, it had been more than twenty years. He tried Marianne first. Like most of the women he had dated, she had married well in the interim. Her last name was Corleigh now. Her secretary answered.
"Good morning," Dr. Lecter said courteously. "This is Gregory Baxter from the Baltimore Sun. I'm doing an article on mothers and daughters who have been on our society pages."
The secretary seemed a bit nonplussed.
"I'd be glad to help you, Mr. Baxter," she said smoothly. "Mrs. Corleigh doesn't like to have her daughter in pictures, though. She believes she is too young for that."
"I see," Dr. Lecter said, the soul of politeness. "Would it be presuming to ask how old she is?"
"Not at all. Natalie is thirteen."
No, Dr. Lecter thought. "I don't mean to be rude, so I must ask your pardon," he said ruefully. "I'm operating off a list I received with just some names. Is that Mrs. Corleigh's only daughter?"
"No offense at all," the secretary said. "Yes. That's her only daughter."
"Thank you so much," Dr. Lecter said calmly.
He thought he knew what the answer was, but he would make sure. A quick call to Jane Morgan's secretary clinched the deal. Dr. Lecter repeated the same story. This time, the secretary was much more tense.
"I'm sorry, there's been a family tragedy right now," the secretary told him. "Mrs. Morgan is not available to come to the phone right now."
"I just wanted to ask about her daughter," Dr. Lecter said.
The secretary sucked in breath. Dr. Lecter tilted his head and felt his curiosity engage.
"Mrs. Morgan's daughter…has removed herself from the family at the current time," the secretary said frostily.
"I see. Do you have a telephone number for her, perhaps?"
"I'm sorry, I don't. Mrs. Morgan does not maintain contact with her daughter currently. She feels quite bad about it, but Alice has made her choice, and Mrs. Morgan will regretfully respect it until such time as Alice is ready to rebuild the relationship."
The speech had the feel of rote memorization. Dr. Lecter did not believe a word of it, except for two things. First off, that Jane did not maintain contact with her daughter. And secondly, that her –and his – daughter's name was Alice.
"I see. I'm awfully sorry things have come to that. Could you tell me how old Alice is?" he asked calmly.
"Certainly. She's twenty-one."
Dr. Lecter pursed his lips and nodded. Of course. Presumably, it was the last night he and Jane had spent together. Idly he wondered when her birthday was.
I have a daughter, Dr. Lecter thought.
He had never known. For some reason, that piqued him. Just as Mischa had been taken away from him, so had his daughter. He had never been able to watch any of the milestones of her life. All of it taken away from him. Jane had never told him. He had a daughter, and her name was Alice. He allowed the name to echo in his mind.
But from the looks of the paper Jane had her own problems. Across the front page of the Baltimore Sun was the headline Murder at Morgan estate. Dr. Lecter scanned it briefly. Edgar Morgan III, Jane's son, had been arrested for the murder of a young woman at the guesthouse of the mansion. As a side note, the article noted that he had been on bail for rape charges. His bail had been revoked and he had been returned to jail to await trial.
"The fruit doesn't fall far from the tree," Dr. Lecter mused.
But he would not worry about a lady friend from twenty years ago, particularly one as dislikable as Jane. He was more concerned with the daughter she had borne. If he found her, he would find Clarice.
Dr. Lecter's first attempt to find his daughter in the phone book was unsuccessful, as he had first thought she might have taken her stepfather's name. There were a few listings for 'Alice Morgan', but one was disconnected and the other two were too old to be his daughter.
He tried again, and this time was successful. There was an 'A. Pierpont' listed in a nice area of Baltimore. Dr. Lecter took the address down and rose.
Better not to tell Will, he thought. The alliance was clearly uneasy from Will's point of view. Dr. Lecter was not afraid of Will, but he was all too aware that Will might bring down the FBI on his head once his boy was safe.
Dr. Hannibal Lecter put his Harpy in his pocket and glanced outside. He had a simple Honda outside – nothing terribly fancy, but comfortable and anonymous enough for his purposes. Night was falling, and he had a trip to Baltimore to make.
…
Will Graham was doing his own thinking. He'd finally managed to force himself to consider the case like any other. In order to save Josh, he had to start being a profiler and stop thinking like a father. That was damn near impossible.
His uneasy alliance with Dr. Lecter troubled him. He knew what the doctor was capable of. Dr. Lecter was a monster, nothing more. He needed to keep that in mind. Ultimately, his alliance with the doctor would last only so long as Josh remained in captivity. After that, all bets were off. And if the doctor got to Josh first…
Horrible images of atrocities past kept playing in the back of his mind. A gut-freezing mental movie that he was not able to stop. Had he known that his son's worst suffering today was the Twilight Zone ride a few states away, he might have been immeasurably comforted.
Yet he was hard at work, driven by the need to see his son alive. He'd gotten Clarice's desk blotter back from the lab. Sure enough, the names 'Amanda Taylor' and 'Edgar Morgan' had come up. Crawford had already sent out some agents to find out if Amanda Taylor knew anything. According to the interview report, she said that Edgar Morgan III had assaulted her a year ago, but she denied going to the police.
Will knew better. He could see it. The Six Fingered Killer had employed Amanda's name as an alias. That was all. An alias to get close to Clarice. An alias that would stand up to scrutiny.
But there was something there, too. The agents who had interviewed Miss Taylor might not think to ask the question. Crawford might not think to ask it himself. But Will Graham could, and did.
How had the Six Fingered Killer known that Amanda Taylor was a victim of Eddie Morgan?
There were two answers: either Amanda had told her or Eddie had told her.
Amanda Taylor hadn't said much. Will was not unsympathetic to the victims, and he thought it might be easier to check out Eddie Morgan. He'd been in jail, then out on bail, and returned to jail pending the murder. As Will observed him in the paper, he wondered if he ought to try bracing Eddie or not. From all views the kid was a perfect snot. Thank God Josh hadn't ever turned out like that.
As it turned out, he didn't need to see another jailed monster. The jail was more than happy to give him a copy of Eddie Morgan's visitor list. A simple call got it faxed to him. He sat in a borrowed office at Quantico, looking it over.
2/12/2002 Morgan, Jane. Relationship: Mother.
2/12/2002 Morgan, Edgar. Relationship: Father.
2/12/2002 Entsfield, Richard. Relationship: Attorney.
Those names repeated over and over. Will scowled. Was this a dead end?
No, wait. There, five names down from the bottom, was a different name.
1/31/2002 Pierpont, Alice. Relationship: Sister.
"Aha," Will Graham said, and sat up. His fingers stabbed the computer keyboard rapidly. To open up a computer link to the Maryland Department of Motor Vehicles was easy even for such an old coot as himself. A moment later, he had the address.
Five minutes later, he was on the Baltimore-Washington expressway, heading north.