seven

The light from the computer screen cast an eerie glow on Graham's face. He was alone in the building. The last time he'd checked, it had been past eleven. He didn't know how long ago that was. He rubbed his eyes and leaned closer to the screen. Every few seconds, he clicked the mouse.

Pearsall had offered to assign an agent to assist him, but he preferred working alone. Clarice Starling had worked alone, and he needed to get inside her head.

He thought Pearsall was too much like Crawford, working at him until he gave in and agreed to help. Thinking about Lecter was not something he liked doing. There were too many memories he'd rather forget.

Lecter telling him to keep still as he slid to the floor. Molly crying. The panic when he'd heard Dolarhyde had his home address. Lecter's smug note. Molly crying. The look on Josh's face as the broken glass dug into his neck. Molly crying. Molly spending a week away from him.

He sighed. The Internet was still new to him. Josh had once tried to explain how it worked. He wished he'd paid more attention. Damn pop-ups. No, he did not want to bet $500 dollars on online blackjack.

He typed in 'Hannibal Lecter sightings' and pressed Enter. Interest in Lecter was still very much alive, Graham discovered. How many of the reports were legitimate? He wasn't counting on a lot. He closed the window and accessed Clarice's email account with the code a techie had given him earlier. From what he'd been told about Clarice, he didn't think she would have been communicating with Lecter—especially from her work account—but it wouldn't hurt to check.

There were a couple of messages from Ardelia Mapp; one from Dwayne Ritter about a gift for Ardelia, one offering a free coupon for online shopping; an unopened internal memo and a note from Barney. Graham wrote down Dwayne and Barney's names on a notepad and closed the window.

He was sad that Clarice Starling had so few friends.

*

Churches always made Graham uncomfortable. The Community Baptist Church in Chantilly was easy to find if you knew where you were going. Graham had missed his turn and driven in circles until someone pointed him in the right direction. He found Dwayne in his office, half-hidden behind a pile of books. Dwayne didn't acknowledge him, so he cleared his throat.

When Dwayne looked up, his expression was blank. Graham was glad; he hated when people made a big deal out of his scarred face.

"Can I help you?" Dwayne said.

Graham took a step inside and pulled a badge from his pocket. It was temporary Bureau id. Just like Clarice, he'd thought when Pearsall had given it to him. "My name is Will Graham. I'm working on Clarice Starling's disappearance."

"Have a seat." Dwayne moved the pile of books aside.

Graham wished he'd called before he'd come. It was obvious that Dwayne was in the middle of preparing a sermon. He looked around the small office. There was a picture of Clarice and Ardelia in a frame on the wall. They had their arms slung casually around each other and were laughing at something. Graham smiled. Dwayne followed his gaze.

"That was taken on Clarice's birthday last year."

"How well did you know Agent Starling?"

"As well as anybody, I guess. The only person who really knew Starling was Delia."

And Lecter, Graham thought. "Did she say anything to you before she disappeared?"

"Like?"

"Like, was she unhappy in any way? Dissatisfied?"

Dwayne was silent for a moment. "Unhappy? Dissatisfied? Agent Graham, her best friend had just died. She was in hospital. Of course she was unhappy."

"I'm sorry." Graham had to tread carefully. "I meant, was she unhappy with work?"

Dwayne shrugged. "I don't know."

"And she never said anything to you about Lecter? Not even in confession?"

"Clarice didn't go to church at all. And even if she came here, she wouldn't have confessed to me. This is a Baptist church."

"You didn't answer my question, Pastor."

Dwayne sighed. "No, she didn't mention him to me."

"Thank you." Graham stood. This had been a waste of time. Dwayne's question stopped him in his tracks.

"Why do you think he took her?"

Graham didn't turn around. "I wish I knew for certain."

"Do you think you'll find her?"

"I hope so." But I don't think it's very likely.

"I'll pray for you."

*

The emergency room was busier than usual and Graham had to wait half an hour to speak to Barney. He sat on an uncomfortable plastic chair in the waiting room and sipped at his coffee while he watched the people. After a while, their faces blurred together and he turned his thoughts to Clarice Starling. What was it about her that kept Lecter coming back?

"Agent Graham."

He looked up at Barney. "Hi, Barney. Thank you for seeing me."

"I'm on a five minute break. We can talk outside."

Graham followed Barney out. They passed a trashcan on the way and Graham dumped his cold coffee in it. It was cold outside, and he put his hands in his jacket pockets and wished he were home. It was always warm at home.

"You here about Clarice?" Barney asked.

"Yeah. What do you know about it?"

"Just what I read in the papers."

Graham wondered if Barney had always been this vague, or if he knew more than he was letting on. "What's that?"

"She got hurt pretty bad in a car accident and then she went missing. I went to see her a day or so after it happened, but she was asleep. The next time I went, she was gone."

"Why'd you keep in touch with her, Barney?"

He shrugged. "I liked her. She came to talk to me after what happened the last time Dr. Lecter got away. I think she just wanted someone to talk to."

"About Lecter?"

"She tried not to speak about him. Once or twice, she'd ask what he'd said about her."

Graham thought he was onto something. "And what did he say about her?"

Barney just smiled. "It won't help you find her, Agent Graham."

"Barney—"

"Do you know why he killed Miggs?"

Okay, Barney. I'll play. "I thought Miggs killed himself."

"He was rude to Clarice. Same reason he killed that other guy, Krennick."

"Krendler."

"Whatever."

"He killed Miggs to amuse himself, Barney. He was bored—"

"You were rude to him too. That's why he sent the Tooth Fairy to your house."

That was enough for Graham. "What makes you think he won't come after you?"

Barney smiled. "He'd think it was rude." An ambulance pulled up, sirens blazing. Barney looked back at Graham over his shoulder as he went to assist. "I'm sorry I couldn't help you, Agent Graham."

Graham stood in the cold until his toes were numb. He hailed a cab and sat in silence until he reached his hotel. Once in his room, he stared at the telephone next to the bed, aching to call Molly. She hadn't been happy about him coming here, but she'd known better than to try and stop him. He needed to put this particular demon to rest. He'd lost count of how many nights he'd woken up shaking and covered in sweat, lying frozen in Molly's arms until the panic passed.

He'd call her tomorrow.

With a sigh, he sat in the middle of the bed and opened the box of case files, spreading files and photos around him. He recognized some of the very early reports as his own, and buried them under others. He would look at those later. He was interested in Clarice Starling's reports for now. He pored over the files for hours until he passed out from sheer exhaustion.

*

Even though he'd picked up a key from Clarice's lawyer, Graham still felt like a trespasser in her house. He pulled on a pair of latex gloves and closed the front door behind him. All the curtains were drawn and the house was dark. Lights or flashlight, Graham debated. He didn't want to open the curtains. Lights. He flicked the switch. The message light on the answering machine was blinking.

Graham took a deep breath. Was he ready to do this? The last time he'd played an answering machine message it had haunted him for a long time.

Something shrill jerked him from his thoughts. It was a moment before he realized it was the cell phone Pearsall had assigned him. He pulled it from his pocket. "Graham."

"It's Pearsall."

Of course it was. Graham's eyes darted around the hallway, his mind only half-on the conversation.

"How's it going?" Pearsall asked.

"Slowly."

"Oh . . . Well, we got a report here. Someone says they saw Lecter in Amsterdam. Do you think he's left the country again?"

Amsterdam? "How long ago?"

"Three days."

"With Agent Starling?"

There was a rustle of papers. "Uh . . . no."

"He's still here. She's in no condition to travel."

"You think she's still alive?"

Pearsall's tone was enough to get Graham's full attention. "Yes."

"Well, I think we'll follow up on this one anyway. Thanks."

Graham hung up, more than a little annoyed. If Pearsall didn't want his help, he should have never gotten him involved in the first place. He jabbed at the button on Clarice's answering machine, then wished he hadn't when he heard Dwayne's voice.

"Hey, Clare. Neither of you are answering your cell phones and I got Delia's machine too. I, uh, well, we're getting a little worried over here. You were supposed to be here an hour ago. Well, just call when you get this. I know I'm worrying for nothing."

There were no other messages. Graham lifted the telephone and heard a pleasant female voice telling him the service had been disconnected. He made his way into the living room, switching on more lights as he went.

"What was so special about you, Clarice? What does he like about you?"

Graham sat in an armchair and closed his eyes. He pictured Clarice sitting the way he was; pictured Lecter coming into the house while she was asleep. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled and he jumped up, then felt foolish when he realized he was alone. He glanced once more around the room then went upstairs. If he was really going to get to know Clarice, he was going to have to look at her bedroom. Molly always said you could tell everything about a woman from the state of her bedroom.

"Did you have a boyfriend? Did you bring him up here? How did Lecter feel when he saw you with another—"

He stopped himself. He was thinking as if Lecter was in love with her. Which was completely ridiculous, of course.

Unless—

He sat on the edge of the bed and stared at his reflection in the dresser mirror. Lecter had sacrificed his own thumb when he could have easily cut off hers. It didn't fit. Self-preservation had always been at the top of Lecter's priorities. He hadn't hurt her. Clarice Starling was pretty, sure, and Lecter did like pretty things . . . but that couldn't be the reason he hadn't hurt her. Why? It couldn't be love; Lecter was a monster. Monsters didn't feel. Monsters didn't have mercy.

But Lecter hadn't hurt her.

Graham knew he was on the right track and the knowledge left him uneasy. He wondered what exactly had happened that night. He was sure Clarice had left things out of her report. Things which he desperately needed to know.

Profiling Clarice was not going to help them find Lecter. She could be a bargaining tool if the need arose, although they would have to watch themselves. Krendler and Verger had tried to use her and they were both dead.

Graham realized he'd just thought of Clarice as a tool, and he felt sick. More than ever, he wished he were home. Suddenly claustrophobic, he ran down the stairs and outside, where he leaned on the porch railing and drew deep breaths.

The chances of finding them were slim, and he wondered if Clarice wouldn't be better off dead. As he sank to his haunches, he thought he heard Lecter's voice in his head. Catch me if you can, Willy. We're the same, after all.