Title: "The Blood of a Cannibal"
Chapter 8 "Discovery and Recovery"
Author: Jerome Mullins
Rating: R, adult language.
Summary and Disclaimer: See previous chapters.
Author's Notes: Despite how much I love the original characters that the great and talented Mr. Thomas Harris has created in his stories, I can't help but add a few of my own. With news of the latest Hannibal Lecter discovery spreading, and the manhunt continuing, a new reporter emerges and is hell bent on prying into the private life of Jerome Lecter. And an old acquaintance returns from a six month recovery period.
* * *
The press had already gathered in the conference room of the J. Edgar Hoover Building. Assistant Director Noonan and Special Agent Clint Pearsall sat along the side wall closest to the podium. The Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigations had insisted that there be a press conference to counter the protest rally that had gone on the day before. Noonan's secretary walked in and leaned in closer to the Assistant Director.
"I just got a call from the field office in Tampa Bay, Will Graham came into their office yesterday afternoon."
"Is he coming back?"
"He refuses. And he requests that the field office stop bringing agents to harass him and his son." She said quietly.
"Does he have any idea what he's turning down?" Noonan looked around. "Does he know what's been going on here in the last few weeks?"
"They asked him that same thing in Tampa, he didn't respond, refused to give comment. What else can they do, sir?"
"Clint," Noonan sharply turned to face Pearsall. "You and Starling get down to Gainesville and get Graham up here. We need his help."
"He all ready said no, what can we do?" Pearsall shrugged. "Besides, Starling's in Massachusetts. She's not to leave that young man's side, especially with these vultures," he gestured to the press who were still setting up their cameras for the conference.
"Call Starling down, she's going with you. I don't care what he says, you're not to come home empty handed. We are going to catch that son-of-a- bitch. This has gone on long enough." Noonan then looked to his watch. "Better get this damn thing started."
Noonan approached the podium as his secretary made her way out. Pearsall leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees and his head on his fists. He sighed and waited.
"Afternoon," Noonan paused to wait for the reporters to take their seats. "We'll be running this conference today with open questions directed to myself and Special Agent Clint Pearsall seated at my right, he's the head of the task force to find Dr. Hannibal Lecter. Fire away." He gestured to the floor.
Pearsall got up and stood next to Noonan as the floor of reports began to raise hands and call out their questions. The first came from an Asian woman wearing a navy suit sitting in the front row:
"Why wasn't the public immediately notified when Lecter's files were first discovered?"
"Simple enough," Pearsall leaned closer to the microphones. "Our task force had to go through those files and sweep for anything that might be helpful in our efforts to find Dr. Lecter. A lot of his personal files, as well as the files on his patients, were destroyed before his capture. We need those files back. There was also a possibility of those files containing a location he might have escaped to, we needed to know this first if we wanted to recapture him. Next question." He pointed to a blond woman standing in the third row from the back.
"Who made the files know to the FBI?"
"Dr. Lecter's lawyer, who had been sworn by Lecter to not reveal the existence of the files, or open them, until he got the go ahead from Lecter," Noonan said. "Lecter's lawyer was contracted through a letter. That letter has since been handed over to forensics and as of this morning was officially verified to be Lecter's handwriting. No prints have been found on the letter or on the envelope."
Several reporters asked for the name of Dr. Lecter's lawyer, both Noonan and Pearsall ignored them and gestured for them to ask the next question.
"Why were these files put away in the first place?" the woman asked before she sat down.
"We haven't determined that as of yet," Noonan paused. "Better ask Dr. Lecter that when we catch him."
A few reports laughed. Another reporter, a man wearing a blue suit stood up from his seat on the left side of the room.
"What efforts are being made in catching Dr. Lecter? What's the progress?"
"Currently we are still following leads and have been able to place him in Italy as recently as November," Noonan looked briefly to Pearsall who muffled a sigh. "Agent Pearsall's task force is working around the clock on this, the trail on Lecter is still fresh and we will find him." Pearsall rolled his eyes slightly.
"Who is on the task force?" A feminine voice from the other side of the room called out.
"Special Agent Clarice Starling and me," Pearsall said looking in the reporter's direction. "We are also have other agents in the field, as well as a joint effort to locate Dr. Lecter in Europe."
There was a low rumble from the reporters at the mentioning of Starling's name. Another reporter raised his hand.
"Starling? She wasn't fired for failing to capture Lecter last summer after two more people were murdered by Dr. Lecter?"
"Absolutely not." Pearsall said firmly. "Agent Starling put her best effort forward into capturing Dr. Lecter, she bravely handcuffed herself to him to prevent him from escaping. He evaded us only by cutting off his own hand, which easily could have been hers."
"Agent Starling is our best agent working on this case, she knows more about Dr. Lecter than anyone. I wouldn't want her working anywhere else." Noonan said.
Inwardly, Pearsall knew better. Noonan wanted Starling off the case and to be pushed aside even further in the Bureau. Noonan believed that Starling had brought nothing but embarrassment to the FBI since the Fish Market disaster. Noonan, and the press, still looked down on Starling's decision to kill Evelda Drummgo.
The following questions went back to the efforts being made to find Dr. Lecter and about Starling's career. None of which Pearsall bothered to answer. He let Noonan give her false praise, he was waiting for a big question to come up. He got his wish.
Suddenly over the heads of the other reports came a voice from the back of the room, it was slow and deliberate while probing and accusing. "Is it true. that the FBI did not originally intend to tell the public about the existence of Lecter's son? That the press had to find out about through an anonymous source who contacted the press through a personal ad?"
Pearsall quickly covered the microphones with his hand and leaned in closer to Noonan. "Fuck. It's Williams."
"Christ," Noonan whispered back.
John Williams was the newest reporter for the _National Tattler_, a publication which, since the murder of Freddy Lounds, had decided to do the reporter homage by covering ever single story related to Dr. Lecter. He was a short man, plain cloths and plain build. He didn't look like he took care of himself but he wasn't over weight. He was not terribly handsome either with mousy brown hair. He always showed up at press conferences unshaven and sans suit and tie. He had won the coveted "Lecter Beat" after being the first reporter for the _Tattler_ to get his hands on a bootleg copy of Renaldo Pazzi's death on video tape. He had only been working with the paper for a week when Pazzi was murdered. He also impressed his editors by sneaking into the Baltimore morgue and took snapshots of Paul Krendler's body, absent of the top of his skull, before an autopsy was preformed. Though his "prize" photographs were never published, they were the only ones outside of law enforcement files that existed.
Williams leaned back in his chair in the back of the room, his tape recorder held up in the direction of Pearsall and Noonan, waiting for an answer.
"Did the FBI ever intend to inform the public about Jerome Lecter's existence or not?" he asked impatiently.
"That is a rumor that was started by the press," Noonan smirked slightly. "Started by your publication, was it not Mr. Williams? Mr. Lecter's name was to be _delayed_ from the press in order to make sure that the young man, and his family, would not be in danger of others who would take it upon themselves to hold Mr. Lecter personally accountable for his father's murders."
"If it was to be '_delayed_' as you put it, why not just tell us about Lecter's son right from the beginning? His name could have been kept from the public. Why did the press have to rely on some whistleblower to tell us what you wouldn't?"
"Which 'whistleblower' would that be?" Pearsall asked.
Williams grinned and leaned further back in his chair.
"I have heard the rumors of this so-called 'informant' or 'whistleblower' who has informed the press about Dr. Lecter's son through the personal ads, again in _your_ publication, Mr. Williams." Noonan said breaking the silence. "At this time, we are conducting an internal investigation as to who it was that contacted the press with that information. If that is it for the day, thank you for coming."
Noonan and Pearsall were on their way out when Williams' voice projected over the rumble of the other reporters.
"Some say it was Lecter himself who contacted the media, what do you say to that?"
Pearsall looked sharply back to Williams and back to Noonan who cleared his throat and stepped forward.
"The FBI has no comment on that rumor, you better get your facts straight before you print that one, Williams."
Pearsall caught up to Noonan in the hall on the way back to his office.
"I didn't hear about that."
"Don't worry about it." Noonan said coolly. "It's just a rumor, you don't investigate rumors, Clint."
"I know that, but you and I both know that internal investigation is a dead end. No one in Behavioral Science, or in my task force, has mentioned a damn thing about Jerome Lecter to anyone, and we're the only ones who knew about him. Hell I didn't even tell my wife."
"I understand that, Clint." Noonan nodded. "I even checked my own messages on my office voicemail to see if someone mentioned something and no one did. We've talked to Lecter's lawyer and he swears he hasn't mentioned a thing to anyone. He didn't even know what was in those files. But the fact still is that it got out there, Clint."
"Hypothetically," Pearsall paused. "What if it had been Lecter? What if he contacted the press and told them about his son?"
Noonan laughed. "It doesn't make sense, why take the time to seal those documents and protect his family when he was just going to release it to the public again?"
"That's exactly what he did by contacting his lawyer. We wouldn't have known about his son, or his wife, without those files." Pearsall stated simply. "He couldn't have hid those files forever. Why else release them in the first place? What if Lecter's trying to contact his son? It's been nineteen years since he's seen him."
Noonan feel silence and then nodded. "If that's true," he added slowly. "Then Starling better tighten her watch on the young man, he might contact him. In the meantime, you need to catch a flight to Gainesville."
* * *
Outside of the FBI Headquarters building, Williams caught up to his partner and fellow photographer, Mark Anderson. He finished packing away his camera and zipped up his carrying case.
"Get everything?" Williams asked as he walked back to his car.
"I got their faces while you asked them questions, also caught both of them leaving." Anderson nodded and handed Williams a cigarette.
"How many 'l's in 'Pearsall'?" Williams asked as he lit the cigarette and wrote down names in his miniature black notebook.
"Two. You really think Lecter was the one who contacted the media?"
"I don't give a shit, I just report and get paid. Anything for a story as long as it brings in money."
"But what if he did?" Anderson asked as he got into Williams' car. "Wouldn't that be crazy?"
"Lecter's all ready fucking nuts, like it would matter? What's another risk to that twisted freak?"
"You find out anything of where Lecter's kid is?"
"No," Williams started the engine of his car and turned on the heater and the radio. "There are some reports of him being sighted in northern Massachusetts. I'm not ready to go all the way up there and find out it's nothing. We can wait a while longer."
Anderson nodded. "What if Lecter tries to contact him?"
"For a photographer, you sure as hell ask a lot of questions." Williams said coldly. "You just take the pictures, I give you credit and _I_ write the stories, right?"
Anderson silently nodded. Williams pulled out and quickly sped away from the FBI Headquarters.
* * *
Night time had descended upon London. The traffic in front of Parliament and the Big Ben had halted to a stand-still. The winter months kept a lot of the tourists away, but there were still so many people in the city of London. More and more people seemed to be walking on the streets rather than taking their own cars. The congestion of the city had returned since the end of the Christmas holiday.
It seemed strange, however, that the restaurant in the Casa Blanca hotel would be crowded on this Tuesday evening. Dr. Ivan Morrison had been successful in reserving his favorite table, but he was forced to push back his dinner time a whole hour. Dr. Morrison decided to take no offense in the delay and happily emerged from his penthouse room at the hotel and come down for supper. He wore his black Valentino suit with metallic blue and purple tie. His white shirt was freshly pressed. Upon passing an elderly dinning couple, the woman was engulfed by a pleasant wave of juniper. Dr. Morrison took great care in making sure that he smelled pleasantly when going out in public.
He sat down at his favorite table and allowed the waiter to cover his lap with a white napkin. Dr. Morrison kept his right hand on the table while his left arm hung at his side. He took great care to keep his left hand protected and hidden, it was always covered with a black leather glove. No one had asked him about it in his last four weeks of staying there in London. He always liked staying in Casa Blanca, he had never been bothered by the hotel staff there.
"Would you care to have a glass of wine before you dine, sir?" the waiter asked.
"Chianti '65 if you have some left," Dr. Morrison smiled pleasantly.
"Of course, Dr. Morrison. Would you care to hear the specials for the evening?"
"No thank you, I'll have the venison with red wine and raspberry sauce and the steamed vegetables."
"Very good sir, and would you like a bottle of our finest red wine along with that?"
"Please," Dr. Morrison smiled under his thick black beard.
Dr. Morrison spoke in a fair and even voice, calm and soothing with a slight American accent. If one were paying attention closely, it could be assumed that he was originally from Virginia, possibly Maryland.
He smiled politely to those seated around him, but he was much more interested in his private thoughts. In his mind, he was listening to Bach, soothing the tension of another day looking for another place that would serve his needs. He had found peace in London. Hong Kong and Tokyo were too crowded, and returning to Florence was a minor disappointment, yet he had been expecting it to be so. As much as he would love to return to Florence and resume his studies at the Capponi Library, he knew he could never return. At least he was able to send his drawings to the widow of the deceased Pazzi.
He smiled at the image of Allegra opening her front door and finding his note. He had been watching her from afar. He almost giggled with delight at the sight of her face drain of blood and her eyes tear up. Lines appeared on her smooth forehead in her distress. Dr. Morrison had been delighted at her pain. It is so much better, he thought to himself, when they have family members who continue to be pained by the past.
Going further into his mind, Dr. Morrison walked through his halls of hanging art work and sculptures. He smiled at all of them but continued on his stroll without stopping as he usually did when he returned to his Mind Palace. He then came to a rendition of the Gustave Doré's "Beatrice and Virgil." He paused before the plate and smiled to himself. He touched Beatrice's hair softly and he was suddenly touching Clarice Starling's hair as he removed a fickle strand of hair from her beautiful cheek as she slumbered peacefully. He then moved on to Doré's portrait of Dante Alighieri. Dr. Morrison's hand moved from Dante's chin to his laurel that surrounded his head. Dr. Morrison's smile brightened in amusement as he looked to his hands, both of them were there. He giggled slightly and then suddenly came to and realized that he was still in public.
No one had heard his momentary glee. Although he had to check his hand. He raised the left hand into his lap and pulled back on the glove slightly. The smooth, soft plastic prosthetic stared back at him blankly, a mockery of his former flesh. He quickly covered his hand again and let it hang limply. He sighed heavily and looked up to see the waiter returning with his meal. Dr. Morrison nodded his thanks as he was served with his meal a glass of Chianti and red wine. Dr. Morrison was anxious for his meal, he kept his pace light and respectful, but inside he was starved. He had been so busy that day that he worked from the time he awoke straight through breakfast and lunch.
Now feeling satisfied, he could feel his shoulders and neck ache and cry for rest. He had been taking it easy in the last six months, he knew he couldn't over-exert himself, he needed rest. A few more weeks and he would be ready to return to the public eye. But for now he decided to remain patient and bide his time before making a return home.
After dinner, Dr. Morrison quietly returned to his room where the house services had cleaned his room and made his bed. His second pair of black leather shoes, freshly polished, had been placed inside his closet along with the hanging pair of freshly dry-cleaned suits. On his desk, where his paper work had been stowed away before he made his way down to dinner, a new copy of _The Washington Post_, _The London Times_ and _The National Tattler_ had been laid out neatly for his evening reading.
He reached to remove his leather glove from his left hand when the bright, bold yellow headline from the _Tattler_ caught his eye: "Manhunt for Lecter continues: Shocking discovery from FBI, Lecter has son." He winced at the sight of his family's name plastered all over the cover of such a publication, but he was pained more deeply by the sight of the Harrington family on the front cover just under the headline.
Dr. Morrison retrieved the paper with his good hand and stared at the picture. The Harrington's were rushing through a barrage of photographers on their way to the family car. No doubt off to mass, Dr. Morrison thought to himself. All of the children held closely to each other and their parents while Luke and Dana lead them through to their car. Sure enough, in the back of the group, fitting in quite naturally was a young man who matched his father's build and cold stare. The young man was holding onto the elderly daughter's hand, Dr. Morrison could tell there was a great closeness between the two of them. Dr. Morrison moved the picture closer to the light, he was thrilled to see Luke again, but he was breathless upon viewing the young Lecter. His eyes glazed a bit as he stared at him, he could almost guess what scent he was wearing at the time of the photograph.
Wasting not a moment more, Dr. Morrison tore through the magazine and found the article on his estranged family. He felt so odd, reading the names of his own kinsmen in a tabloid magazine, he suddenly felt as if he were any other _Tattler_ reader, disrespectfully peering into the lives of this poor family, but the awkwardness didn't last as he came to another set of photos of Jerome Lecter. The young man's senior year photo had been donated to the _Tattler_. Jerome adorned a relaxed, posed, smile in his dark suit and white shirt. The tie was a metallic navy blue. Jerome's eyes were a piercing green, like his mothers. Yet there was something of his father in him, the look the young man gave made one feel as if the young Lecter was peering into the soul of the observer.
The second photo was of Jerome Lecter with the Harrington family, it was no doubt a rather dull Christmas family photo, but nevertheless Jerome fit in well with this family. There was a strong resemblance between Luke and Jerome, Dr. Morrison was sure that there had been a few times, especially in Jerome's youth, when the two of them had been mistaken for father and son. Luke had aged pleasantly, as did Dana, she was still as beautiful as the last time he had seen her. The other four children, however, he did not know. Yet he could see both of their parents in their features, especially the youngest two, these were Luke and Dana's children. Jerome Lecter had adapted well into the Harrington family, Dr. Morrison couldn't be more pleased with his choice of guardians.
A grin crossed Dr. Morrison's face, the young man was so handsome and pleasant. His only regret was that he could not hear Jerome's voice. Was it deep and cultured with a soothing under-tone? Was there an accent? He was well mannered, Dr. Morrison was sure of it, but was he a reader? So many curious questions, all of them he had written down on a list he had made in his head. He would go through each question when he finally met with the young man. It wouldn't be long now before Dr. Morrison would return to the United States.
* * *
And old favorite and a new character in the same chapter. Gee. I wonder who Dr. Ivan Morrison really is. Jerome and Clarice will be coming back shortly, but I felt that I should spend some time away from them for a while. Please let me know what you think, I enjoy reading the criticism, praise, encouragement, and whatever else you can think of.
Chapter 8 "Discovery and Recovery"
Author: Jerome Mullins
Rating: R, adult language.
Summary and Disclaimer: See previous chapters.
Author's Notes: Despite how much I love the original characters that the great and talented Mr. Thomas Harris has created in his stories, I can't help but add a few of my own. With news of the latest Hannibal Lecter discovery spreading, and the manhunt continuing, a new reporter emerges and is hell bent on prying into the private life of Jerome Lecter. And an old acquaintance returns from a six month recovery period.
* * *
The press had already gathered in the conference room of the J. Edgar Hoover Building. Assistant Director Noonan and Special Agent Clint Pearsall sat along the side wall closest to the podium. The Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigations had insisted that there be a press conference to counter the protest rally that had gone on the day before. Noonan's secretary walked in and leaned in closer to the Assistant Director.
"I just got a call from the field office in Tampa Bay, Will Graham came into their office yesterday afternoon."
"Is he coming back?"
"He refuses. And he requests that the field office stop bringing agents to harass him and his son." She said quietly.
"Does he have any idea what he's turning down?" Noonan looked around. "Does he know what's been going on here in the last few weeks?"
"They asked him that same thing in Tampa, he didn't respond, refused to give comment. What else can they do, sir?"
"Clint," Noonan sharply turned to face Pearsall. "You and Starling get down to Gainesville and get Graham up here. We need his help."
"He all ready said no, what can we do?" Pearsall shrugged. "Besides, Starling's in Massachusetts. She's not to leave that young man's side, especially with these vultures," he gestured to the press who were still setting up their cameras for the conference.
"Call Starling down, she's going with you. I don't care what he says, you're not to come home empty handed. We are going to catch that son-of-a- bitch. This has gone on long enough." Noonan then looked to his watch. "Better get this damn thing started."
Noonan approached the podium as his secretary made her way out. Pearsall leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees and his head on his fists. He sighed and waited.
"Afternoon," Noonan paused to wait for the reporters to take their seats. "We'll be running this conference today with open questions directed to myself and Special Agent Clint Pearsall seated at my right, he's the head of the task force to find Dr. Hannibal Lecter. Fire away." He gestured to the floor.
Pearsall got up and stood next to Noonan as the floor of reports began to raise hands and call out their questions. The first came from an Asian woman wearing a navy suit sitting in the front row:
"Why wasn't the public immediately notified when Lecter's files were first discovered?"
"Simple enough," Pearsall leaned closer to the microphones. "Our task force had to go through those files and sweep for anything that might be helpful in our efforts to find Dr. Lecter. A lot of his personal files, as well as the files on his patients, were destroyed before his capture. We need those files back. There was also a possibility of those files containing a location he might have escaped to, we needed to know this first if we wanted to recapture him. Next question." He pointed to a blond woman standing in the third row from the back.
"Who made the files know to the FBI?"
"Dr. Lecter's lawyer, who had been sworn by Lecter to not reveal the existence of the files, or open them, until he got the go ahead from Lecter," Noonan said. "Lecter's lawyer was contracted through a letter. That letter has since been handed over to forensics and as of this morning was officially verified to be Lecter's handwriting. No prints have been found on the letter or on the envelope."
Several reporters asked for the name of Dr. Lecter's lawyer, both Noonan and Pearsall ignored them and gestured for them to ask the next question.
"Why were these files put away in the first place?" the woman asked before she sat down.
"We haven't determined that as of yet," Noonan paused. "Better ask Dr. Lecter that when we catch him."
A few reports laughed. Another reporter, a man wearing a blue suit stood up from his seat on the left side of the room.
"What efforts are being made in catching Dr. Lecter? What's the progress?"
"Currently we are still following leads and have been able to place him in Italy as recently as November," Noonan looked briefly to Pearsall who muffled a sigh. "Agent Pearsall's task force is working around the clock on this, the trail on Lecter is still fresh and we will find him." Pearsall rolled his eyes slightly.
"Who is on the task force?" A feminine voice from the other side of the room called out.
"Special Agent Clarice Starling and me," Pearsall said looking in the reporter's direction. "We are also have other agents in the field, as well as a joint effort to locate Dr. Lecter in Europe."
There was a low rumble from the reporters at the mentioning of Starling's name. Another reporter raised his hand.
"Starling? She wasn't fired for failing to capture Lecter last summer after two more people were murdered by Dr. Lecter?"
"Absolutely not." Pearsall said firmly. "Agent Starling put her best effort forward into capturing Dr. Lecter, she bravely handcuffed herself to him to prevent him from escaping. He evaded us only by cutting off his own hand, which easily could have been hers."
"Agent Starling is our best agent working on this case, she knows more about Dr. Lecter than anyone. I wouldn't want her working anywhere else." Noonan said.
Inwardly, Pearsall knew better. Noonan wanted Starling off the case and to be pushed aside even further in the Bureau. Noonan believed that Starling had brought nothing but embarrassment to the FBI since the Fish Market disaster. Noonan, and the press, still looked down on Starling's decision to kill Evelda Drummgo.
The following questions went back to the efforts being made to find Dr. Lecter and about Starling's career. None of which Pearsall bothered to answer. He let Noonan give her false praise, he was waiting for a big question to come up. He got his wish.
Suddenly over the heads of the other reports came a voice from the back of the room, it was slow and deliberate while probing and accusing. "Is it true. that the FBI did not originally intend to tell the public about the existence of Lecter's son? That the press had to find out about through an anonymous source who contacted the press through a personal ad?"
Pearsall quickly covered the microphones with his hand and leaned in closer to Noonan. "Fuck. It's Williams."
"Christ," Noonan whispered back.
John Williams was the newest reporter for the _National Tattler_, a publication which, since the murder of Freddy Lounds, had decided to do the reporter homage by covering ever single story related to Dr. Lecter. He was a short man, plain cloths and plain build. He didn't look like he took care of himself but he wasn't over weight. He was not terribly handsome either with mousy brown hair. He always showed up at press conferences unshaven and sans suit and tie. He had won the coveted "Lecter Beat" after being the first reporter for the _Tattler_ to get his hands on a bootleg copy of Renaldo Pazzi's death on video tape. He had only been working with the paper for a week when Pazzi was murdered. He also impressed his editors by sneaking into the Baltimore morgue and took snapshots of Paul Krendler's body, absent of the top of his skull, before an autopsy was preformed. Though his "prize" photographs were never published, they were the only ones outside of law enforcement files that existed.
Williams leaned back in his chair in the back of the room, his tape recorder held up in the direction of Pearsall and Noonan, waiting for an answer.
"Did the FBI ever intend to inform the public about Jerome Lecter's existence or not?" he asked impatiently.
"That is a rumor that was started by the press," Noonan smirked slightly. "Started by your publication, was it not Mr. Williams? Mr. Lecter's name was to be _delayed_ from the press in order to make sure that the young man, and his family, would not be in danger of others who would take it upon themselves to hold Mr. Lecter personally accountable for his father's murders."
"If it was to be '_delayed_' as you put it, why not just tell us about Lecter's son right from the beginning? His name could have been kept from the public. Why did the press have to rely on some whistleblower to tell us what you wouldn't?"
"Which 'whistleblower' would that be?" Pearsall asked.
Williams grinned and leaned further back in his chair.
"I have heard the rumors of this so-called 'informant' or 'whistleblower' who has informed the press about Dr. Lecter's son through the personal ads, again in _your_ publication, Mr. Williams." Noonan said breaking the silence. "At this time, we are conducting an internal investigation as to who it was that contacted the press with that information. If that is it for the day, thank you for coming."
Noonan and Pearsall were on their way out when Williams' voice projected over the rumble of the other reporters.
"Some say it was Lecter himself who contacted the media, what do you say to that?"
Pearsall looked sharply back to Williams and back to Noonan who cleared his throat and stepped forward.
"The FBI has no comment on that rumor, you better get your facts straight before you print that one, Williams."
Pearsall caught up to Noonan in the hall on the way back to his office.
"I didn't hear about that."
"Don't worry about it." Noonan said coolly. "It's just a rumor, you don't investigate rumors, Clint."
"I know that, but you and I both know that internal investigation is a dead end. No one in Behavioral Science, or in my task force, has mentioned a damn thing about Jerome Lecter to anyone, and we're the only ones who knew about him. Hell I didn't even tell my wife."
"I understand that, Clint." Noonan nodded. "I even checked my own messages on my office voicemail to see if someone mentioned something and no one did. We've talked to Lecter's lawyer and he swears he hasn't mentioned a thing to anyone. He didn't even know what was in those files. But the fact still is that it got out there, Clint."
"Hypothetically," Pearsall paused. "What if it had been Lecter? What if he contacted the press and told them about his son?"
Noonan laughed. "It doesn't make sense, why take the time to seal those documents and protect his family when he was just going to release it to the public again?"
"That's exactly what he did by contacting his lawyer. We wouldn't have known about his son, or his wife, without those files." Pearsall stated simply. "He couldn't have hid those files forever. Why else release them in the first place? What if Lecter's trying to contact his son? It's been nineteen years since he's seen him."
Noonan feel silence and then nodded. "If that's true," he added slowly. "Then Starling better tighten her watch on the young man, he might contact him. In the meantime, you need to catch a flight to Gainesville."
* * *
Outside of the FBI Headquarters building, Williams caught up to his partner and fellow photographer, Mark Anderson. He finished packing away his camera and zipped up his carrying case.
"Get everything?" Williams asked as he walked back to his car.
"I got their faces while you asked them questions, also caught both of them leaving." Anderson nodded and handed Williams a cigarette.
"How many 'l's in 'Pearsall'?" Williams asked as he lit the cigarette and wrote down names in his miniature black notebook.
"Two. You really think Lecter was the one who contacted the media?"
"I don't give a shit, I just report and get paid. Anything for a story as long as it brings in money."
"But what if he did?" Anderson asked as he got into Williams' car. "Wouldn't that be crazy?"
"Lecter's all ready fucking nuts, like it would matter? What's another risk to that twisted freak?"
"You find out anything of where Lecter's kid is?"
"No," Williams started the engine of his car and turned on the heater and the radio. "There are some reports of him being sighted in northern Massachusetts. I'm not ready to go all the way up there and find out it's nothing. We can wait a while longer."
Anderson nodded. "What if Lecter tries to contact him?"
"For a photographer, you sure as hell ask a lot of questions." Williams said coldly. "You just take the pictures, I give you credit and _I_ write the stories, right?"
Anderson silently nodded. Williams pulled out and quickly sped away from the FBI Headquarters.
* * *
Night time had descended upon London. The traffic in front of Parliament and the Big Ben had halted to a stand-still. The winter months kept a lot of the tourists away, but there were still so many people in the city of London. More and more people seemed to be walking on the streets rather than taking their own cars. The congestion of the city had returned since the end of the Christmas holiday.
It seemed strange, however, that the restaurant in the Casa Blanca hotel would be crowded on this Tuesday evening. Dr. Ivan Morrison had been successful in reserving his favorite table, but he was forced to push back his dinner time a whole hour. Dr. Morrison decided to take no offense in the delay and happily emerged from his penthouse room at the hotel and come down for supper. He wore his black Valentino suit with metallic blue and purple tie. His white shirt was freshly pressed. Upon passing an elderly dinning couple, the woman was engulfed by a pleasant wave of juniper. Dr. Morrison took great care in making sure that he smelled pleasantly when going out in public.
He sat down at his favorite table and allowed the waiter to cover his lap with a white napkin. Dr. Morrison kept his right hand on the table while his left arm hung at his side. He took great care to keep his left hand protected and hidden, it was always covered with a black leather glove. No one had asked him about it in his last four weeks of staying there in London. He always liked staying in Casa Blanca, he had never been bothered by the hotel staff there.
"Would you care to have a glass of wine before you dine, sir?" the waiter asked.
"Chianti '65 if you have some left," Dr. Morrison smiled pleasantly.
"Of course, Dr. Morrison. Would you care to hear the specials for the evening?"
"No thank you, I'll have the venison with red wine and raspberry sauce and the steamed vegetables."
"Very good sir, and would you like a bottle of our finest red wine along with that?"
"Please," Dr. Morrison smiled under his thick black beard.
Dr. Morrison spoke in a fair and even voice, calm and soothing with a slight American accent. If one were paying attention closely, it could be assumed that he was originally from Virginia, possibly Maryland.
He smiled politely to those seated around him, but he was much more interested in his private thoughts. In his mind, he was listening to Bach, soothing the tension of another day looking for another place that would serve his needs. He had found peace in London. Hong Kong and Tokyo were too crowded, and returning to Florence was a minor disappointment, yet he had been expecting it to be so. As much as he would love to return to Florence and resume his studies at the Capponi Library, he knew he could never return. At least he was able to send his drawings to the widow of the deceased Pazzi.
He smiled at the image of Allegra opening her front door and finding his note. He had been watching her from afar. He almost giggled with delight at the sight of her face drain of blood and her eyes tear up. Lines appeared on her smooth forehead in her distress. Dr. Morrison had been delighted at her pain. It is so much better, he thought to himself, when they have family members who continue to be pained by the past.
Going further into his mind, Dr. Morrison walked through his halls of hanging art work and sculptures. He smiled at all of them but continued on his stroll without stopping as he usually did when he returned to his Mind Palace. He then came to a rendition of the Gustave Doré's "Beatrice and Virgil." He paused before the plate and smiled to himself. He touched Beatrice's hair softly and he was suddenly touching Clarice Starling's hair as he removed a fickle strand of hair from her beautiful cheek as she slumbered peacefully. He then moved on to Doré's portrait of Dante Alighieri. Dr. Morrison's hand moved from Dante's chin to his laurel that surrounded his head. Dr. Morrison's smile brightened in amusement as he looked to his hands, both of them were there. He giggled slightly and then suddenly came to and realized that he was still in public.
No one had heard his momentary glee. Although he had to check his hand. He raised the left hand into his lap and pulled back on the glove slightly. The smooth, soft plastic prosthetic stared back at him blankly, a mockery of his former flesh. He quickly covered his hand again and let it hang limply. He sighed heavily and looked up to see the waiter returning with his meal. Dr. Morrison nodded his thanks as he was served with his meal a glass of Chianti and red wine. Dr. Morrison was anxious for his meal, he kept his pace light and respectful, but inside he was starved. He had been so busy that day that he worked from the time he awoke straight through breakfast and lunch.
Now feeling satisfied, he could feel his shoulders and neck ache and cry for rest. He had been taking it easy in the last six months, he knew he couldn't over-exert himself, he needed rest. A few more weeks and he would be ready to return to the public eye. But for now he decided to remain patient and bide his time before making a return home.
After dinner, Dr. Morrison quietly returned to his room where the house services had cleaned his room and made his bed. His second pair of black leather shoes, freshly polished, had been placed inside his closet along with the hanging pair of freshly dry-cleaned suits. On his desk, where his paper work had been stowed away before he made his way down to dinner, a new copy of _The Washington Post_, _The London Times_ and _The National Tattler_ had been laid out neatly for his evening reading.
He reached to remove his leather glove from his left hand when the bright, bold yellow headline from the _Tattler_ caught his eye: "Manhunt for Lecter continues: Shocking discovery from FBI, Lecter has son." He winced at the sight of his family's name plastered all over the cover of such a publication, but he was pained more deeply by the sight of the Harrington family on the front cover just under the headline.
Dr. Morrison retrieved the paper with his good hand and stared at the picture. The Harrington's were rushing through a barrage of photographers on their way to the family car. No doubt off to mass, Dr. Morrison thought to himself. All of the children held closely to each other and their parents while Luke and Dana lead them through to their car. Sure enough, in the back of the group, fitting in quite naturally was a young man who matched his father's build and cold stare. The young man was holding onto the elderly daughter's hand, Dr. Morrison could tell there was a great closeness between the two of them. Dr. Morrison moved the picture closer to the light, he was thrilled to see Luke again, but he was breathless upon viewing the young Lecter. His eyes glazed a bit as he stared at him, he could almost guess what scent he was wearing at the time of the photograph.
Wasting not a moment more, Dr. Morrison tore through the magazine and found the article on his estranged family. He felt so odd, reading the names of his own kinsmen in a tabloid magazine, he suddenly felt as if he were any other _Tattler_ reader, disrespectfully peering into the lives of this poor family, but the awkwardness didn't last as he came to another set of photos of Jerome Lecter. The young man's senior year photo had been donated to the _Tattler_. Jerome adorned a relaxed, posed, smile in his dark suit and white shirt. The tie was a metallic navy blue. Jerome's eyes were a piercing green, like his mothers. Yet there was something of his father in him, the look the young man gave made one feel as if the young Lecter was peering into the soul of the observer.
The second photo was of Jerome Lecter with the Harrington family, it was no doubt a rather dull Christmas family photo, but nevertheless Jerome fit in well with this family. There was a strong resemblance between Luke and Jerome, Dr. Morrison was sure that there had been a few times, especially in Jerome's youth, when the two of them had been mistaken for father and son. Luke had aged pleasantly, as did Dana, she was still as beautiful as the last time he had seen her. The other four children, however, he did not know. Yet he could see both of their parents in their features, especially the youngest two, these were Luke and Dana's children. Jerome Lecter had adapted well into the Harrington family, Dr. Morrison couldn't be more pleased with his choice of guardians.
A grin crossed Dr. Morrison's face, the young man was so handsome and pleasant. His only regret was that he could not hear Jerome's voice. Was it deep and cultured with a soothing under-tone? Was there an accent? He was well mannered, Dr. Morrison was sure of it, but was he a reader? So many curious questions, all of them he had written down on a list he had made in his head. He would go through each question when he finally met with the young man. It wouldn't be long now before Dr. Morrison would return to the United States.
* * *
And old favorite and a new character in the same chapter. Gee. I wonder who Dr. Ivan Morrison really is. Jerome and Clarice will be coming back shortly, but I felt that I should spend some time away from them for a while. Please let me know what you think, I enjoy reading the criticism, praise, encouragement, and whatever else you can think of.