Disclaimer: The
characters of Hannibal Lecter and Clarice Starling (as well as anyone
you may recognize) belong to Thomas Harris, not to me. But they
are so great I couldn't resist borrowing them for a while. I will turn
them back when I've finished. No copyright
infringement intended. No profit. I'm harmless and broke ... So don't
sue me.
A/N: THANKS for the reviews everybody. I liked the idea of the plastic harpy, Frylock. But it's not part of the plan right now. Maybe I can recycle it in another story though ... And now, on with the story.
Chapter 8
The sun was already high in the sky when Clarice and Jason went back to work on Sunday morning. The day was nice and sun beams were entering through Hannibal Lecter' s study large window.
The program for the day was pretty simple: the life and relationships of Nathan Willinger. Clarice started by reconnecting to the Oregon criminal record database and printed all she could find about the man. She instructed Jason on how to proceed with the research and connected for him to a few useful sites on Lecter' s laptop. She divided the work and they both concentrated on their respective tasks.
The biography of Willinger was quite a surprise. His criminal records were rather typical of a kid brought up in the dregs without any parental guidance. But the beginning of his life had been the opposite.
He was born the elder child of a rather wealthy family of Portland. His father was an associate in one of the most prestigious law firm of the state and his mother was teaching literature at university. He had two younger sisters and one brother, all well integrated in the Portland society now.
His childhood had been quiet and very much what one would expected considering his family: private school, piano lessons, holidays in the Bahamas, skiing in Vermont or in Switzerland in winter, ... The first recorded incident took place when he was fourteen. One evening he had been arrested while driving his mother' s car, obviously without license, and without his parents knowing it either. There had been no accident and as the teen' s records were stainless, he got out of it with a mere warning and a fine his father quickly paid.
Though the story seemed not very serious, it appeared it had marked a turning point in the child' s life. His performances at school had suddenly and rapidly decreased, as much as the punishments for lack of discipline had increased. The reports of the school psychologist, whom he had started to visit more and more frequently, mentioned that Willinger had an intelligence well above the average, but had difficulties with self-control. Willinger was diagnosed as unstable and unable to concentrate on one thing for a reasonable period of time.
A year or so after, his parents had apparently decided to put him in a boarding school. To teach him discipline, Clarice thought. Classical parent' s reaction ... with generally disappointing results though. The strategy seemed to work for a few months, until Nathan was accused along with three of his friends to have attacked and cruelly tortured one of their fellow student. It looked like a classical racketeering story, but the violence used again the victim was not common.
The boarding school was a very respectable institution and did not want unnecessary publicity. The case had been closed without legal proceedings, but Nathan and his friends had been gently asked to go studying somewhere else.
Again, there had been a period of peace in Willinger' s life. It lasted a few years this time. He finished high school and registered at the university of Oregon in the law department, apparently following his father' s tracks and preparing for the succession. Was that just a facade or had Willinger really calmed down ? Nobody had been able to tell.
His promising career had ended before it had even started when, at the age of twenty-one, Willinger was arrested for having taken part in a sordid burglary. There had been no easy way out that time, and he had been sentenced to two years.
From that moment on, Willinger' s existence had only been a succession of going in and getting out of various cells. He had never been convicted as the brain of the operations, though. Merely an accomplice. The last records were about a bank robbery in which he was the driver and for which he served six years in St Paul' s penitentiary.
He had been released a year ago and had apparently stayed quiet. He was working as a clerk in a furniture shop and was never late to his appointments with his parole officer ... until two weeks ago.
Jason was dealing with Willinger' s cell mates, while Clarice was investigating on his convicted or alleged accomplices. The task was tedious and after the first two hours of enthusiasm, both of them started to yawn regularly.
The first part was quite simple. Clarice had found and printed a map of the area. The biography of each known acquaintance of Willinger was studied, and if the subject had been at some point in his life registered in a range of a hundred miles from Lecter' s house, then his file was to be set apart for further investigation.
Clarice was the first one to find a possible suspect. Clive Leach had participated to Willinger' s second robbery case. Before that, he had lived a couple of years in Birmington, a little town distant of thirty five miles from where they were. This first finding gave both Clarice and Jason courage and they went on with the work more heartily.
At four in the afternoon, they had both come to the end of their respective lists. For a total of six possible suspects. Clarice knew that the possibility that one of the kidnappers was among these six people was very thin. But this was all they had. So she took the files and started to study them further in details.
She took the phone on Lecter' s desk and dialed the number of Leach' s mother. A young female voice answered after a few seconds. She couldn't possibly be Mrs. Leach. Clarice pretended she was an employee of Baylor Insurance and was in charge of updating old files or closing them. She asked to speak with Mrs. Martha Leach. There were a few seconds of silence, then the woman on the phone seemed to finally understand what she was talking about.
" - Oh ! You mean the former tenant !" she said.
" - I don't know. This is the last coordinates we have here.
- Yes. Mrs. Leach. I'm sorry but I'm afraid you can close your file. Mrs. Leach died about two years ago from what I understood.
- I see. Do you know by any chance if she still has some family I could contact ?
- I've no idea. I never met her. My husband and I bought the house a few weeks after she passed away.
- I understand. Sorry to have disturbed you.
- No problem. Good luck."
Clarice looked at Jason.
" - Dead." she said.
" - It's not gonna be easy.
- We'll find a way."
Leach had a sister, Sharon, but her phone number or address was not mentioned in his file. Clarice connected to one on-line directory and started her search. Leach' s sister was married at the time of his trial. Clarice began to look for her husband' s name. There were exactly eighteen Philip M. Browning in the directory. She sigh but picked up the phone and dialed the first number.
Clarice changed her story and introduced herself as Sarah Dogan, working in the administration department of Portland court, and trying to find a Clive Leach for a problem of unpaid procedure expenses. When the eleventh Philip Browning she called confirmed he was the husband of Sharon Browning, previously Leach, Clarice felt her luck was coming back.
But it did not last more than a few seconds. His wife was not home but Browning informed Clarice that she could find Clive Leach in Armory penitentiary, North Carolina, where he was serving a twenty years sentence. Clarice thanked him and hanged up. She did not have to say anything. Jason understood at once. Clarice crossed out Leach' s name from her list. Next ...
Her next three attempts were not more successful. One was dead; one had apparently completely changed life and was now a respectable car salesman somewhere in Nevada; and the third one had moved to England before Willinger was released from jail.
It was 7:30 pm already and Clarice was starting feeling hungry and tired. She decided she needed a little break. In the last hours, Jason had had nothing to do but to listen to her making her phone calls. Clarice could see tension and discouragement grow on his face minute after minute.
" - Would you prepare me something to eat ?" she asked.
" - Of course. What would you want ?
- Pasta ? But don't bother with the sauce.
- No bother." he answered smiling. "That will keep me busy."
Once he had left the room, Clarice closed her yes and tried to think of what they could do if the two remaining names on the list did not give anything. Of course, they could always wander through the area with the picture of Willinger and pray someone would recognize him. But the land was vast, much too vast to be covered in one day if they had not a single idea of where to start. Then they would only rely on luck. And luck had never been a major factor in Clarice Starling' s life.
She sighed and looked back at the list. Harold Menendez. She took the stuff Jason had printed on him.
Menendez had shared Willinger' s cell for nearly two years at St Paul. He was there for drug dealing and had been released about six months before Willinger. Clarice went on reading. There was an ex-wife in San Diego. It was worth trying. Once again she picked up the phone and dialed a number. It rang eight times before someone finally answered.
" - Allo.
- Good evening. Mrs. Menendez ?" There was silence at the other end of the line. "Am I speaking with Mrs. Rachel Menendez ?" Clarice repeated.
" - Who are you ?"
Clarice could feel the anxiety in the woman' s voice. A mix of fear and anger. Something she had heard before. She decided to change strategy.
" - Mrs. Menendez, my name is Sarah Dogan. Special agent Dogan, from the FBI. I'd like to ask you a few questions.
- The FBI ? What the hell ...
- It's about your husband, Mrs. Menendez.
- My ex-husband.
- Yes, I know. But ...
- What has he done this time ?
- It's just routine investigation, Mrs. Menendez ... At least for the moment. But I am not authorized to give you more details. I am trying to locate your ex-husband and I wondered if you had had contacts with him recently.
- No. Not recently. Now I must go out and I'm already late so ...
- It is very important, Mrs. Menendez."
Again there was silence. For a moment, Clarice feared the woman would just hang up on her. But she didn't.
" - The last news I received from my dear husband was in the shape of a little coffin he made of a piece of wood. He packed it neatly and sent it to me ... My name was carved on it.
- I see ... Mrs. Menendez, I understand this is not easy for you, but ... When did the parcel arrive ?
- About three months ago.
- Do you remember if there was any indication on it, something telling where it had been sent from ?
- ... "
She had not hanged up. Clarice could feel there was more to it. But she could also feel the fear, almost smell it threw the receiver.
" - Mrs. Menendez ?
- ... Greyson.
- Greyson ?
- This is what was written on the parcel. Greyson."
Clarice frantically grabbed the map. "Could you spell it for me, Mrs. Menendez ?" The woman complied and Clarice wrote it down.
" - That's all I know, OK. I don't want to have anything to do with that son of a bitch ever again. So leave me in peace now.
- All right. Thank you very much, Mrs. Menendez.
- And ... Agent Dogan, if Harry discovers I spoke to you, I'm dead. do you understand that ?
- He won't know it. That, I can promise you.
- He's a monster. Believe me ...
- I won't even mention your name in the file. As far as I'm concerned, this conversation has never happened.
- Good. I'll hang up now. Don't call me again.
- OK. Thanks again.
...
- Agent Dogan ...
- Yes ?
- If you find him ... kill him."
And then the line was cut. Clarice put down the receiver and bent on the map. Her finger was running on it inch by inch. Greyson was sounding familiar, but where had she seen it ? Her eyes were tired and excitement made her very slightly shake. And suddenly it was there. Just under her index finger. Greyson. A little town about thirty miles away ...
Clarice sat back on her chair and took a deep breath. Willinger' s fingerprints first, and now Greyson and Menendez ... After all, maybe luck was on her side this time. She stood up and joined Jason in the kitchen.
Jason was standing by the stove, busy with their dinner. He turned back to her when he heard her steps on the kitchen floor. "Will be ready in five minutes." he said. "Just sit down and help yourself a glass of ..." Jason realized something had happened and froze in the middle of his sentence.
" - What ?" he asked, is voice being merely a whisper.
" - We've got one.
- We've got one ? One what ?
- One of the names on the list. Harold Menendez. He lives near Greyson, or at least he was there three months ago. It's thirty miles from here.
- Yeah. I know where Greyson is. I've been there a number of times."
Clarice could not help shivering.
" - You've been there ?
- Yes. They have the only shooting gallery in the area. It is where my father taught me how to use a gun.
- You went there recently ?
- During my last visit. About two months ago. He always bring me there at least once each time ... for training.
- Ever heard the name of Menendez ?
- No. Not that I remember."
Clarice shook her head. "My God, I'm stupid. We should have started with that ... the place you're used to go. I can't imagine why I did not ... I must be more rusty than I thought." Jason's laugh interrupted her. It was a clear kid' s laugh. "Clarice, it's fantastic ! What do we do now ?". She stared at him and gave him a smile. "First thing we eat." she said. "I'm gonna faint if I don't get anything in my stomach. Then I have to think."
Jason suddenly remembered the pasta and turned to the stove. While finishing preparing the sauce he bombarded her with questions. He wanted to know how she had spotted Menendez. Clarice answered kindly. The enthusiasm of her young companion was starting to grow on her.
He joined her at the table with two copious plates of pasta with fresh tomato sauce. The smell of it provoked a rumbling in Clarice' s stomach. She started to eat avidly, not even waiting for him to sit in front of her. Only when her appetite was somewhat satisfied, did she start to talk again.
" - No late sleeping tomorrow." she said. "I want to be in Greyson when the first shops open. We don't have so much time left.
- All right. Takes about twenty minutes to get there.
- Good. We will start in the town. Then, if we don't find anyone who can recognize Willinger or Menendez and can give us information, we will enlarge the circle.
- Are we just gonna show their pictures ? Simple as that ?
- ... We'll have to be very careful, Jason. We have no idea if they have friends there, or even accomplices. If someone warns them, they will disappear and we will never see them again.
- You've done that before, haven't you ?
- Yes. A number of times.
- What are our chances, do you think ?
- Well ... It's difficult to say. But I think if we handle this properly, more than fifty percent.
- I will do whatever you say.
- OK."
They went on eating in silence for a while. When Clarice rose her face again, she saw Jason' s eyes had darkened again. He was looking in her direction but she was pretty sure he was not seeing her.
" - Jason ?" she said softly. And then she put her hand on his on the table. He watched her deeply.
" - Clarice ...
- Yes ?
- I'd like you to give me an honest answer ... without trying to protect me.
- What is it ?
- ... Do you think my father' s still alive ?" His voice had been low but quiet. Clarice thought for a moment, trying to sort out her feelings.
- Yes. I do." she finally answered. "Until the delivery of the ransom, your father is worth four million dollars for these men. I'm pretty sure they took good care of their investment."
He smile to her, gratefully. But she could see his curiosity was not yet fully satisfied.
" - What else ?" she asked.
" - Have you thought of what you will do if ... when we find him ?
- ... No. One thing at a time, Jason."
To be continued ... Thanks for reading. Reviews are as usual MOST welcome ...
Absolut.
A/N: THANKS for the reviews everybody. I liked the idea of the plastic harpy, Frylock. But it's not part of the plan right now. Maybe I can recycle it in another story though ... And now, on with the story.
Chapter 8
The sun was already high in the sky when Clarice and Jason went back to work on Sunday morning. The day was nice and sun beams were entering through Hannibal Lecter' s study large window.
The program for the day was pretty simple: the life and relationships of Nathan Willinger. Clarice started by reconnecting to the Oregon criminal record database and printed all she could find about the man. She instructed Jason on how to proceed with the research and connected for him to a few useful sites on Lecter' s laptop. She divided the work and they both concentrated on their respective tasks.
The biography of Willinger was quite a surprise. His criminal records were rather typical of a kid brought up in the dregs without any parental guidance. But the beginning of his life had been the opposite.
He was born the elder child of a rather wealthy family of Portland. His father was an associate in one of the most prestigious law firm of the state and his mother was teaching literature at university. He had two younger sisters and one brother, all well integrated in the Portland society now.
His childhood had been quiet and very much what one would expected considering his family: private school, piano lessons, holidays in the Bahamas, skiing in Vermont or in Switzerland in winter, ... The first recorded incident took place when he was fourteen. One evening he had been arrested while driving his mother' s car, obviously without license, and without his parents knowing it either. There had been no accident and as the teen' s records were stainless, he got out of it with a mere warning and a fine his father quickly paid.
Though the story seemed not very serious, it appeared it had marked a turning point in the child' s life. His performances at school had suddenly and rapidly decreased, as much as the punishments for lack of discipline had increased. The reports of the school psychologist, whom he had started to visit more and more frequently, mentioned that Willinger had an intelligence well above the average, but had difficulties with self-control. Willinger was diagnosed as unstable and unable to concentrate on one thing for a reasonable period of time.
A year or so after, his parents had apparently decided to put him in a boarding school. To teach him discipline, Clarice thought. Classical parent' s reaction ... with generally disappointing results though. The strategy seemed to work for a few months, until Nathan was accused along with three of his friends to have attacked and cruelly tortured one of their fellow student. It looked like a classical racketeering story, but the violence used again the victim was not common.
The boarding school was a very respectable institution and did not want unnecessary publicity. The case had been closed without legal proceedings, but Nathan and his friends had been gently asked to go studying somewhere else.
Again, there had been a period of peace in Willinger' s life. It lasted a few years this time. He finished high school and registered at the university of Oregon in the law department, apparently following his father' s tracks and preparing for the succession. Was that just a facade or had Willinger really calmed down ? Nobody had been able to tell.
His promising career had ended before it had even started when, at the age of twenty-one, Willinger was arrested for having taken part in a sordid burglary. There had been no easy way out that time, and he had been sentenced to two years.
From that moment on, Willinger' s existence had only been a succession of going in and getting out of various cells. He had never been convicted as the brain of the operations, though. Merely an accomplice. The last records were about a bank robbery in which he was the driver and for which he served six years in St Paul' s penitentiary.
He had been released a year ago and had apparently stayed quiet. He was working as a clerk in a furniture shop and was never late to his appointments with his parole officer ... until two weeks ago.
Jason was dealing with Willinger' s cell mates, while Clarice was investigating on his convicted or alleged accomplices. The task was tedious and after the first two hours of enthusiasm, both of them started to yawn regularly.
The first part was quite simple. Clarice had found and printed a map of the area. The biography of each known acquaintance of Willinger was studied, and if the subject had been at some point in his life registered in a range of a hundred miles from Lecter' s house, then his file was to be set apart for further investigation.
Clarice was the first one to find a possible suspect. Clive Leach had participated to Willinger' s second robbery case. Before that, he had lived a couple of years in Birmington, a little town distant of thirty five miles from where they were. This first finding gave both Clarice and Jason courage and they went on with the work more heartily.
At four in the afternoon, they had both come to the end of their respective lists. For a total of six possible suspects. Clarice knew that the possibility that one of the kidnappers was among these six people was very thin. But this was all they had. So she took the files and started to study them further in details.
She took the phone on Lecter' s desk and dialed the number of Leach' s mother. A young female voice answered after a few seconds. She couldn't possibly be Mrs. Leach. Clarice pretended she was an employee of Baylor Insurance and was in charge of updating old files or closing them. She asked to speak with Mrs. Martha Leach. There were a few seconds of silence, then the woman on the phone seemed to finally understand what she was talking about.
" - Oh ! You mean the former tenant !" she said.
" - I don't know. This is the last coordinates we have here.
- Yes. Mrs. Leach. I'm sorry but I'm afraid you can close your file. Mrs. Leach died about two years ago from what I understood.
- I see. Do you know by any chance if she still has some family I could contact ?
- I've no idea. I never met her. My husband and I bought the house a few weeks after she passed away.
- I understand. Sorry to have disturbed you.
- No problem. Good luck."
Clarice looked at Jason.
" - Dead." she said.
" - It's not gonna be easy.
- We'll find a way."
Leach had a sister, Sharon, but her phone number or address was not mentioned in his file. Clarice connected to one on-line directory and started her search. Leach' s sister was married at the time of his trial. Clarice began to look for her husband' s name. There were exactly eighteen Philip M. Browning in the directory. She sigh but picked up the phone and dialed the first number.
Clarice changed her story and introduced herself as Sarah Dogan, working in the administration department of Portland court, and trying to find a Clive Leach for a problem of unpaid procedure expenses. When the eleventh Philip Browning she called confirmed he was the husband of Sharon Browning, previously Leach, Clarice felt her luck was coming back.
But it did not last more than a few seconds. His wife was not home but Browning informed Clarice that she could find Clive Leach in Armory penitentiary, North Carolina, where he was serving a twenty years sentence. Clarice thanked him and hanged up. She did not have to say anything. Jason understood at once. Clarice crossed out Leach' s name from her list. Next ...
Her next three attempts were not more successful. One was dead; one had apparently completely changed life and was now a respectable car salesman somewhere in Nevada; and the third one had moved to England before Willinger was released from jail.
It was 7:30 pm already and Clarice was starting feeling hungry and tired. She decided she needed a little break. In the last hours, Jason had had nothing to do but to listen to her making her phone calls. Clarice could see tension and discouragement grow on his face minute after minute.
" - Would you prepare me something to eat ?" she asked.
" - Of course. What would you want ?
- Pasta ? But don't bother with the sauce.
- No bother." he answered smiling. "That will keep me busy."
Once he had left the room, Clarice closed her yes and tried to think of what they could do if the two remaining names on the list did not give anything. Of course, they could always wander through the area with the picture of Willinger and pray someone would recognize him. But the land was vast, much too vast to be covered in one day if they had not a single idea of where to start. Then they would only rely on luck. And luck had never been a major factor in Clarice Starling' s life.
She sighed and looked back at the list. Harold Menendez. She took the stuff Jason had printed on him.
Menendez had shared Willinger' s cell for nearly two years at St Paul. He was there for drug dealing and had been released about six months before Willinger. Clarice went on reading. There was an ex-wife in San Diego. It was worth trying. Once again she picked up the phone and dialed a number. It rang eight times before someone finally answered.
" - Allo.
- Good evening. Mrs. Menendez ?" There was silence at the other end of the line. "Am I speaking with Mrs. Rachel Menendez ?" Clarice repeated.
" - Who are you ?"
Clarice could feel the anxiety in the woman' s voice. A mix of fear and anger. Something she had heard before. She decided to change strategy.
" - Mrs. Menendez, my name is Sarah Dogan. Special agent Dogan, from the FBI. I'd like to ask you a few questions.
- The FBI ? What the hell ...
- It's about your husband, Mrs. Menendez.
- My ex-husband.
- Yes, I know. But ...
- What has he done this time ?
- It's just routine investigation, Mrs. Menendez ... At least for the moment. But I am not authorized to give you more details. I am trying to locate your ex-husband and I wondered if you had had contacts with him recently.
- No. Not recently. Now I must go out and I'm already late so ...
- It is very important, Mrs. Menendez."
Again there was silence. For a moment, Clarice feared the woman would just hang up on her. But she didn't.
" - The last news I received from my dear husband was in the shape of a little coffin he made of a piece of wood. He packed it neatly and sent it to me ... My name was carved on it.
- I see ... Mrs. Menendez, I understand this is not easy for you, but ... When did the parcel arrive ?
- About three months ago.
- Do you remember if there was any indication on it, something telling where it had been sent from ?
- ... "
She had not hanged up. Clarice could feel there was more to it. But she could also feel the fear, almost smell it threw the receiver.
" - Mrs. Menendez ?
- ... Greyson.
- Greyson ?
- This is what was written on the parcel. Greyson."
Clarice frantically grabbed the map. "Could you spell it for me, Mrs. Menendez ?" The woman complied and Clarice wrote it down.
" - That's all I know, OK. I don't want to have anything to do with that son of a bitch ever again. So leave me in peace now.
- All right. Thank you very much, Mrs. Menendez.
- And ... Agent Dogan, if Harry discovers I spoke to you, I'm dead. do you understand that ?
- He won't know it. That, I can promise you.
- He's a monster. Believe me ...
- I won't even mention your name in the file. As far as I'm concerned, this conversation has never happened.
- Good. I'll hang up now. Don't call me again.
- OK. Thanks again.
...
- Agent Dogan ...
- Yes ?
- If you find him ... kill him."
And then the line was cut. Clarice put down the receiver and bent on the map. Her finger was running on it inch by inch. Greyson was sounding familiar, but where had she seen it ? Her eyes were tired and excitement made her very slightly shake. And suddenly it was there. Just under her index finger. Greyson. A little town about thirty miles away ...
Clarice sat back on her chair and took a deep breath. Willinger' s fingerprints first, and now Greyson and Menendez ... After all, maybe luck was on her side this time. She stood up and joined Jason in the kitchen.
Jason was standing by the stove, busy with their dinner. He turned back to her when he heard her steps on the kitchen floor. "Will be ready in five minutes." he said. "Just sit down and help yourself a glass of ..." Jason realized something had happened and froze in the middle of his sentence.
" - What ?" he asked, is voice being merely a whisper.
" - We've got one.
- We've got one ? One what ?
- One of the names on the list. Harold Menendez. He lives near Greyson, or at least he was there three months ago. It's thirty miles from here.
- Yeah. I know where Greyson is. I've been there a number of times."
Clarice could not help shivering.
" - You've been there ?
- Yes. They have the only shooting gallery in the area. It is where my father taught me how to use a gun.
- You went there recently ?
- During my last visit. About two months ago. He always bring me there at least once each time ... for training.
- Ever heard the name of Menendez ?
- No. Not that I remember."
Clarice shook her head. "My God, I'm stupid. We should have started with that ... the place you're used to go. I can't imagine why I did not ... I must be more rusty than I thought." Jason's laugh interrupted her. It was a clear kid' s laugh. "Clarice, it's fantastic ! What do we do now ?". She stared at him and gave him a smile. "First thing we eat." she said. "I'm gonna faint if I don't get anything in my stomach. Then I have to think."
Jason suddenly remembered the pasta and turned to the stove. While finishing preparing the sauce he bombarded her with questions. He wanted to know how she had spotted Menendez. Clarice answered kindly. The enthusiasm of her young companion was starting to grow on her.
He joined her at the table with two copious plates of pasta with fresh tomato sauce. The smell of it provoked a rumbling in Clarice' s stomach. She started to eat avidly, not even waiting for him to sit in front of her. Only when her appetite was somewhat satisfied, did she start to talk again.
" - No late sleeping tomorrow." she said. "I want to be in Greyson when the first shops open. We don't have so much time left.
- All right. Takes about twenty minutes to get there.
- Good. We will start in the town. Then, if we don't find anyone who can recognize Willinger or Menendez and can give us information, we will enlarge the circle.
- Are we just gonna show their pictures ? Simple as that ?
- ... We'll have to be very careful, Jason. We have no idea if they have friends there, or even accomplices. If someone warns them, they will disappear and we will never see them again.
- You've done that before, haven't you ?
- Yes. A number of times.
- What are our chances, do you think ?
- Well ... It's difficult to say. But I think if we handle this properly, more than fifty percent.
- I will do whatever you say.
- OK."
They went on eating in silence for a while. When Clarice rose her face again, she saw Jason' s eyes had darkened again. He was looking in her direction but she was pretty sure he was not seeing her.
" - Jason ?" she said softly. And then she put her hand on his on the table. He watched her deeply.
" - Clarice ...
- Yes ?
- I'd like you to give me an honest answer ... without trying to protect me.
- What is it ?
- ... Do you think my father' s still alive ?" His voice had been low but quiet. Clarice thought for a moment, trying to sort out her feelings.
- Yes. I do." she finally answered. "Until the delivery of the ransom, your father is worth four million dollars for these men. I'm pretty sure they took good care of their investment."
He smile to her, gratefully. But she could see his curiosity was not yet fully satisfied.
" - What else ?" she asked.
" - Have you thought of what you will do if ... when we find him ?
- ... No. One thing at a time, Jason."
To be continued ... Thanks for reading. Reviews are as usual MOST welcome ...
Absolut.