The house was beautiful from the outside. Graham could see the windows that were once Lecter's rooms and he was sure the view from them was spectacular. The man who greeted them at the door was small and walked using a cane. He spoke English thankfully, for neither Graham nor Clarice were very skilled in the language as far as he knew.

"You will find the house in the same condition he left it in, I'm sure. I've been unable to rent the house since then," the man said sourly.

"No," Clarice said thoughtfully as if lost in a daydream. "I don't suppose so."

"Well," the man said, eyeing her carefully, "Let's go up, shall we?"

Graham would have like to say he wanted to go in alone, but he had a feeling that Starling would be too impatient to allow that and he knew the rooms would probably be in just the same quality condition the room at the Chesapeake house were. Clarice headed in first, and Graham followed while the landlord stood aside. "I'll just leave you to it," he said, looking nervously into the rooms. "You can give me the keys back before you go back, at the end of the week, or whenever," and with that he turned and left them alone. Graham quietly shut the door.

The rooms were outlandishly opulent, Graham noted, thinking it was just Lecter's style. The photographs had not picked up all the gold that trimmed the room and it's furnishings and Graham was overwhelmed by the work that went into putting the gold inlay around the doorframe.

Clarice, ahead of him, was looking around the room with the same bit of awe. Her heard her whisper to herself and quietly approached to hear what she was saying. "So this is where you lived, doctor…" she paused to look up at the great vaulted ceilings. "And where is it that you live now?" she said, taking a step and then beginning to open drawers and look under chairs.

Graham proceeded into the next room, knowing from the floor layouts included with the pictures that this would be the drawing room. Two great stuffed tall back chairs stood in front of a large window with dark curtains. The curtains had been drawn back with large gold ropes capped with tassels. Graham approached the chair on the left and sat in it, taking in this new room. Did you ever sit here, doctor, and contemplate what you would do to her when you encountered her again? As if answering his question, he saw an easel in front of him. It had been draped since they had taken the pictures of the room, and even in the pictures, the painting had been blurry, not revealing the subject of the painting. Graham approached the picture reverently, his curiosity getting the better of his cautious nature. With one hand, he grabbed the edge of the gray cloth where it left one corner of the painting showing. With a flourish and a small bit of dust, he threw the drape on the floor and was met with the eyes of Clarice Starling. He blinked, stunned. She was still in the next room. No, it is a painting. It's so … real. It was Clarice Starling, but not in any position that had been printed in the tabloids or anywhere Lecter might have gotten a photograph. She wore a robe reminiscent of the Romans and in one hand she held a shepherd's staff and all around her little lambs played. Her face was so serene, it reminded him of a painting of the Virgin Mary he had once seen, but it was so distinctly Agent Starling's face that he found himself calling out to her, "Agent Starling! Agent Starling!"

Starling rounded into the room and stopped stock still, her hand on her gun. Her body relaxed only slowly and her eyes locked onto the painting's eyes. She came to stand beside Graham and they stood together in front of the painting for some long minutes. "It's starting to look like a bit of a crush to me, Agent Starling."

Starling smiled. "So you've noticed it, too."

"It's getting hard to ignore. I would have thought the doctor was a little old for that sort of thing." He moved away from her then, and went into the next room, but he did not continue his search. Instead, he found a vantage point and continued to watch Starling's movements.

Clarice stood for a long time looking at the painting. Then slowly, she reached her hand up to almost touch the serene face, but stopped short. "I wish it were this way, Doctor," he heard her say to the picture and from the strength of her voice; he guessed she thought he was not listening. "They scream every night. Every night." He thought she might have started crying then, her voice had become so strained. He turned away, feeling it was wrong of him to watch her in the personal moment, but he was compelled to look again.

Clarice had regained her composure and approaching the painting, pulled it off the easel. She studied it a moment longer then turned it around and replaced it on the easel. He wondered what the symbolism of this act was until he saw her take a knife from her pocket and begin to cut the backing from the painting. She pulled the cloth up and her eyes looked satisfied for a moment before he saw her pull out a mauve envelope. As she turned it over, he was able to read the front, which in fine copperplate said only, "Clarice". Clarice looked around nervously, almost guiltily, then she pulled her shirt out from her pants laid the envelope so that the top was firmly held under her bra and the bottom was tucked into her waistline, and then re-tucked her shirt.

Graham came back into the room. "Find anything?" He asked pleasantly.

Clarice jumped. "Not a thing," she said and pulled up the backing more to show him. "You find anything?"

"No, but I thought I heard a noise in here."

She shrugged. "Everything's okay." She replaced the painting its original position and moved to look at some other paintings on the wall.

Graham slowly edged back into his own room. Maybe I imagined seeing that. She didn't seem all that upset when I came into the room. Not guilty at all.

The rest of the search was uneventful. Graham laughed when he caught Clarice looking through Lecter's liquor cabinet. "Little early in the day for a drink, isn't it, Agent Starling?"

Clarice laughed. "I'm writing down the brands and years that he buys. See? This 1890 Merlot, he's bought it before."

"Amazing you would remember that."

"I've been studying his habits for years, Mr. Graham. No one knows him better than me. No one." She said that last with an edge.

"Well, whenever you're done nipping at the liquor, we can head to the hotel. I'm getting tired."

Clarice sighed and began putting the bottles back. She put her notepad back in her backpack and let Graham hold the door for her.