Disclaimer: The characters of Hannibal Lecter, Clarice Starling, Jack Crawford, Clint Pearsall and Paul Krendler do not belong to me, but to Thomas Harris. No copyright infringement intended. I won't make any money of it. Just borrowing them for a while. Lecter' s blue eyes belong to Anthony Hopkins, though (I'm not sure there's a copyright on this).


Chapter 7: Think, Clarice

Starling sat on her chair and let her purse fall down next to it. She definitely hated these morning rushes. But she had made it !

She turned on her computer. She had to adjust a few things in the case files after the discussions she had with Ted Wallace the day before. But first she decided to check her email. The only interesting one was from Ardelia. She was informing her friend that after a good night of thinking, she had decided to stay with Brian. Clarice smiled.

She opened her files and started to re-read her nodes. She had been working for about ten minutes when her fax machine started to cough. She gave it a lazy look and went on typing: this God damned machine was so slow one could die watching it. When the noise finally stopped, she laid her harm and caught the one page message. She kept it in her hand while checking what she had just written and then finally started to read:

Things are not always as significant as they seem, Clarice.
Why don't you get yourself a copy of Newsweek Magazine of January 11th, 1972, and have a look at page 32.

This time, Starling did not loose her calm. As if she had been expecting it. " Here you are, my friend !". She put the 'Print Receipt' button on her fax machine and ten seconds later she had the number from which the fax was sent. She took her phone and dialed an internal number. "Nick ? Starling speaking ... Fine, thank you, and you ? ... Great. Tell me, I took down a fax number in my notebook but I don't remember why or who it corresponds to, could you tell me that ? ... Yeah, hold on" She gave him the number and waited for one minute. " Ha yeah. I remember now. Thanks Nick. Send my love to Nora and the kids".

The post office on Rikers avenue. You smart ass. She put the fax in her purse and headed towards the elevator. Two minutes later, she entered the post office. She passed before the people waiting and showed her credentials to the clerk.

" - Clarice Starling. FBI." The lady did not look impressed. " Somebody came this morning and sent a fax from this office. Do you remember him ?
- Do you have an idea of how many people come here everyday ?
- How many faxes were sent in the last half an hour ?
- Let me see ... Three so far.
- Do you keep a receipt for each operation ?
- Of course we do !" Now she was offended.
" - Could I see the ones of this morning ?
- I'm sorry but I cannot take such a responsibility. Let me call Mr. Saunders. You will discuss it directly with him."

Starling had to wait twelve minutes and show a sense of diplomacy she didn't even know she had before being authorized to have a look at the receipts. She rapidly found what she was looking for. "John Starling. OK, you got me this time." she said to herself. She got out and took one minute to think of her next move, totally unaware of the pair of eyes that were fixing her from the other side of the street.


" And now what , Clarice ? " He could not detach his eyes from her fine silhouette. "Come on my dear. I drove three hours in the night to help you. Don't let me down now. Think, Clarice" He saw her take the sheet of paper from her bag and read it. "That's it. Read it. Now, where does it lead ?". She folded the page and kept it in her hand. She started to run back to the FBI building.

"All right little Starling. I knew I could count on you." He had to go now. It was already nine and his students were expecting professor Lanterbach at 14:00 in his classroom.


Starling went directly to the library on the first floor of the building. She'd heard it had one of the biggest collection of press issues in the country. If she had to find a Newsweek issue of thirty years ago, this was the place.

She showed her badge at the entrance and explained what she was looking for. A young employee showed her to the section where she was more likely to find it. The reputation of the place was an understatement. Twenty three galleries thirty feet long with newspapers and magazines from floor to ceiling. Wasn't gonna be a walk in the park !

In fact, it took her thirty five minutes and the help of the employee just to understand how things were organized. And then another hour and a half before she finally found what she had come for. "You bastard, if you made me do all this for nothing, I swear I will find you and make you pay for it" she thought while getting down the ladder. As soon as she was down, she opened the magazine and looked for page 32.

When she found it, she had to sit on the floor not to fall. On page 32 of the issue of January 11th, 1972 of Newsweek was an ad for a toothpaste. At the center of the page, was the photo of a kid smiling. The same photo they had found on each and every victim of the daffodil killer.


To be continued ... Thanks for reading. Reviews welcome.
Absolut