Chapter Three:
Russell came into Starling's deposition puzzled and wary. They were treating the agent like a hostile witness, holding it in an impressive office in the Fairfax county courthouse. Branson Scott, the lead prosecutor himself, would be doing the questioning, giving Russell some comfort. They went way back to a dirt road in Polk County. She was glad that she hadn't married him, considering what a pissant he'd become, but her intimate knowledge of his mental workings had helped her on more than one occasion. And this time, she knew she'd need all the help she could get.
Only slightly taller than her, even with lifts, Scott smothered Russell in a hug, trying to put her off balance. She hugged him back, lightly grasping his butt. He immediately released her, and she winked at him. He introduced a lanky young man with ambitious eyes as his assistant, George Hansen, then said, "And this is Colleen Matsui, Shirley, she's an attorney with the FBI."
Shirley shook the outstretched hand of the slight woman. "And why are you here, if I may ask?"
Matsui exchanged a glance with Scott. "A federal agent will be questioned today."
"So you're here to represent her," Shirley said.
"Not exactly. I'm looking after the Bureau's interests and naturally, those are Agent Starling's."
"That's comforting," came from the doorway, announcing the arrival of the first witness, Clarice Starling. She appeared even more exhausted than the day Shirley met her. Scott offered everyone seating, Russell at a far corner of the table so that she had to crane her neck the entire time. Clarice was sworn in, and they began.
Scott said, "I want to establish a timeline, if possible." Starling nodded in agreement, pulling out a Dayplanner. He surprised her by saying, "Do you remember a Robert Miggs, Agent Starling?"
She answered a bit too quickly. "Yes, sir, he was confined with Doctor Lecter at the Baltimore asylum."
"And he's dead."
"Yes, sir."
"Do you know the circumstances of his death?"
Russell didn't, but had a feeling this was the beginning of Scott's case against Lecter, and to an extent, Starling. The agent replied, "He committed suicide."
"How? Wasn't it a secure facility?"
"I believe he swallowed his tongue."
"Why would he do such a thing?"
"He was mentally ill."
"Had you had any interaction with him, while visiting Doctor Lecter?"
Starling was quiet. Scott prompted her and she said, irritated, "I assume you're referring to the fact that he threw ejaculate onto my face."
The prosecutor didn't answer directly but asked, "And how did Doctor Lecter respond?"
"He called me back to his cell and apologized for Miggs."
"You'd characterize his response as an apology?"
"Yes, he said Miggs was rude. He deplores rudeness."
"Would you describe him as agitated? Had he been yelling, for example?"
"He had to yell to call me back, sir. All the prisoners were hepped up, makin' noise-"
"But when you returned, was he calm, did he talk to you in a calm tone?"
"This was over ten years ago. It's hard to recall. You seem to have a witness with a better memory than me," she finished tartly.
"I would imagine even a brief encounter with the doctor would be very memorable," said Scott. "After all, didn't you retrieve copies of secretly taped conversations between the two of you from a former asylum orderly, Barney Matthews?"
"In the course of my last investigation, yes, I did. To jog my memory." Russell admired the way the young woman slithered on the line, but knew Scott too well to assume he'd let it drop.
"So Doctor Lecter was very angry at Miggs. Did he refer to Miggs' death during a later conversation?"
"Yes."
"Would you take his comments at that time to suggest he'd killed Miggs in retaliation for his act against you?"
"No, sir, he made no such direct statement."
"And you didn't make that leap yourself."
"No, sir. Neither my superior, Jack Crawford, nor I, saw the incident in that way."
"But others did. There's a statement to that effect in the police report for Miggs' death. That Doctor Chilton believed the prisoner was driven to the act by Lecter for what he'd done to you."
"Chilton had his own opinions. The doctor enjoys sadistic sport. Perhaps he required entertainment that evening."
"How did the subject of Miggs's death come up in your conversation with the doctor?"
Russell could see that Scott already knew the answer and her concern grew.
Starling stewed for a moment. "Doctor Lecter had been asking me about Jack Crawford. If I thought Mr. Crawford wanted me sexually. He got explicit. To shut him off, I said that sounded like the sort of trash Miggs would talk. He said, not anymore."
Russell looked down to her notepad and noticed she'd written: 'Lec willing to kill for her-10 minutes knew her.' She scratched violently through the words.
Having gotten the responses he needed, Scott started down a new road, arriving at: "Fred Chilton met with Lecter before they went to Memphis. Spilled the beans about the set-up by you and Jack Crawford. Embellished a bit, from the sound of it. Inferred you were cuckolding the doctor with Crawford, maybe would be willing to give Chilton himself a chance."
"Where did you hear about this? And Miggs...you must have your hands on Barney. Don't trust him. He won't sell you the entire package."
"Been ripped off by Barney?" Hansen asked from his spot behind Scott's left elbow.
Starling shrugged. "Barney's a nice guy, but Barney's a survivor. He'll do what he has to do."
Quelling his junior with a glance, Scott returned to his questions: "Cryptic comments aren't necessary, Agent Starling. Did Fred Chilton make sexual overtures towards you?"
"He was patronizing and unprofessional. But I assumed he did that with many women. He had that style."
"Do you know Mr. Chilton's fate?"
"No, sir."
"Do you have any theories?"
The young woman hedged. "It's assumed that Doctor Lecter killed him. He disappeared while in protective custody."
"Anything else gives you that impression?"
"In our last conversation-Doctor Lecter called me during a reception after graduation-he said, I'm having an old friend for dinner. Chilton went missing that afternoon."
Russell covered a laugh with a cough and muttered, "Excuse me," when everyone looked to her.
Scott plowed on: "In your statement, you said that you believed Paul Krendler had a role in Verger's capture of Lecter and that's why Lecter targeted him."
"Yes." Starling seemed ready to say something more but stopped herself.
"How could Lecter have known that?"
"He knows many things. He could have broken into his home, searched his papers, I really don't know."
"But you believed this yourself?" A suggestion hung unsaid, but Clarice refused to step into the trap.
"Yes," she said. "I'm certain of it. Paul had political aspirations; this was well known. Mason Verger had supported politicians before. Paul sent me to Verger on what was a set-up. Verger claimed to have evidence about Lecter's location that he knew wasn't valid."
"What did Mr. Verger hope to gain by having you go to his home?"
"I think he wanted to look me over." Hansen barely contained his sneer that said, she thinks she's so hot.
She cocked an eyebrow at him and slowly, as one speaks to a child, said, "He needed to evaluate my value as bait, in my opinion. Although he was using Paul Krendler, I doubt someone of his position got successful by believing toadies."
"Excuse me?" came from Matsui.
"Paul Krendler was a mouthpiece, not an investigator. He had no training for, or knowledge of, profiling. In one breath, he would suggest Doctor Lecter was a homosexual and unspoken, that I was a lesbian, and in another, with that obviously fake postcard, that the doctor was 'a nut with a crush,' and again, unspoken, that I reciprocated these feelings. The two do not add up."
"Which part did he have wrong?" Scott asked, but she didn't reply before Colleen Matsui cut in with, "Testing hasn't disproved that Doctor Lecter sent that postcard."
"Earlier, along with his letter, Doctor Lecter had sent me a $150 nine ounce container of hand cream, specially prepared for my body chemistry," Starling said. "He would not send me an open note on a $2 postcard. The nibs for his pens cost more than that."
Scott grinned at how much Clarice showed him without intention. "You know his tastes pretty well then, eh?" he said.
"That is-was my job," she said.
"Did you have any direct proof of this supposed collusion between Paul Krendler and Mason Verger?"
Her brow wrinkled. "I was concentrating on other matters during the investigation. It was simply a detail I kept reserved." She looked to Matsui. "I'm not privy to any follow-up investigation." The FBI attorney stared back, unblinking.
It sunk in for Russell, and she sensed for Starling as well, that there had been no follow-up investigation of Krendler, leaving them up a shit creek.
They took a short break that Russell desperately needed after drinking four cups of coffee. Then Scott had Starling start recounting the events of the last days before Krendler's death.
"Doctor Lecter came into my house at night-I'd fallen asleep in a chair, in the living room."
Scott said, "How did you know?"
"In the morning, I woke to the phone ringing, immediately saw things out of place-"
"Such as?" Russell knew Scott had hoped Starling would say 'jism on my coffee table,' when he looked peeved at her actual comment: "I saw that he'd cut out a newspaper picture of me, laid it over the face of a model in a magazine."
Frankly, Russell found that more disturbing. Clarice continued, "He was on the phone; instructed me to get my guns and get in my car-"
"He told you to get your guns?"
Starling was becoming frustrated with the constant interruptions. "No, he told me I could bring the guns if I wanted to, but reminded me I'd be breaking the law," she said.
"Big of him," Matsui said dryly.
"He instructed me to drive to Union Station. Once there, I searched for him. I could tell from the background noise when he was close, but never spotted him. Instead, I saw that someone else was following us. Someone less skilled but dangerous. They turned out to be the men who would abduct the doctor."
"That's when you discovered the shoes he left you?" Scott asked.
"Yes."
"What was the significance?"
"They were a gift."
"Obviously, Agent Starling, but why shoes? Why not...panties?"
Russell grunted in protest but Starling answered anyway. "It's sort of a joke with us, I guess." Russell wasn't happy at all by use of words like 'us' but could do nothing to stop the young woman's automatic replies. "The first time we met, he criticized my shoes. I suppose he thought I still needed help in that area."
The men found this noteworthy and scratched away at their pads.
Starling was saying, "He had led me around to find the shoes, but ended the conversation. I suppose he'd lost interest in the game," and Russell remembered something. The news channels had been replaying the footage from the Union Station mall security camera that had first aired after Krendler's death. This time accompanied by commentary from 'experts' suggesting the two had been engaging in some sexual game of cat and mouse.
Starling, standing by the merry-go-round, intent on the cell phone conversation. The horses whirling past, children laughing. A man's hand coming out, and ever so lightly brushing her hair. What would have happened that day if Verger's thugs hadn't captured him? Russell shivered.
"What did you do after Lecter was captured?" Scott said.
"I was ordered to head home; let the troopers go check Verger's house."
"But you didn't."
"No, I did not. I knew that was a snipe hunt."
"You are aware you broke both procedure and the law by pursuing Lecter?" Matsui asked.
"Yes, Ma'am. But I had an opportunity the proper authorities did not." Starling sipped water and finally Scott asked her what she meant.
She fixed her solemn gaze on him. "Verger probably didn't give me another thought; I'd served my purpose. He'd underestimated me; that happens often in the field-it's natural for men, of course-and I use it to my advantage. The suspect looks away from the woman to the man; gives me a perfect opportunity to kick and break his kneecap or a get off a kill shot through the ribs."
Hansen cleared his throat and then muttered, "Nothing," when Scott glanced to him.
Watching Starling's matter of fact manner, Russell suddenly remembered seeing that killers on death row and surgeons shared the same brain scans: one group focused their need for stimulation on saving lives while the other let it explode out harmfully.
Starling shook her head as if trying to dislodge something. When asked why, she said, "When I got home...after everything, Paul's voice was on my machine, admonishing me not to go to Verger's. It was strange."
Without commenting on that statement, Scott led her through the Lecter rescue from the Verger estate quickly, then got to them to Krendler's house.
Starling was saying, "I made my way down the stairs, hearing voices, not sure who it was, what was happening...discovered my handcuffs and gun by a disconnected phone, fixed the phone, called for help..." Scott let her ramble, silencing Hansen's attempted protest with a wave of his hand. "I found the doctor in the dining room with Krendler tied to a chair and his skull already cut open..."
"Had you armed yourself?" Scott asked quietly.
"I'd picked up a snowglobe." Clarice met his judging eyes, knowing how ridiculous that sounded.
"Not your gun?"
"No, sir. I didn't know what was happening. I see now, it was hard for me to make judgments; the drugs made my head...unclear."
"Or perhaps you were frightened. It's all right to admit fear in this situation, Clarice," he said with patronizing warmth. Russell expected him to pat the agent's hand.
"No, sir," the young woman said. "If anything, that was my error. I'm not afraid of Doctor Lecter and it made me sloppy at that moment. It hadn't occurred to me that he may have gotten someone-Paul." She shook her head. "I have no idea what he was doing with Paul."
Matsui said, "How can you not be afraid, Agent Starling?" her own face showing fear for a man she'd never met.
"He told me he wouldn't kill me. I believe him."
Scott flipped through his papers. "Yes, in your original statement about his phone call in '90, you said he told you that you needn't fear him; the world's a more interesting place with you in it."
"Correct," she said. "But-" She shook her head again in frustration. "This is going to sound stupid."
"Oh, no," Scott said. "I'm sure not."
Russell finally spoke up. "Agent Starling, I must urge you to seek legal representation at this time. And not her," she said, nodding to Matsui.
"No, it's fine. I was only going to say, I don't fear anything. I mean that. Oddly, I've only noticed this recently." Clarice met everyone's skeptical gazes with her own clear eyes.
She spoke with painful care, making Russell writhe in embarrassment for her.
"I haven't felt fear since I shot Jame Gumb. I was in the dark, blind, petrified. So scared, I'd pissed myself. If I'd had any food in me, I'd probably have shit. I could barely hold my gun up. But I had to go on, I had to. And I knew he was out there-then I heard him cock his pistol but mine was already cocked and I had that one second to kill him first. And I did. I fired and fired and fired, even though my first shot killed him. He got one shot off, deafened me for weeks, burnt my cheek and ear with gunpowder. I was one second and one inch from death and I've never been scared again." She dropped into silence.
Russell watched the contempt of the men in the room. How dare Starling be alive? They were much more comfortable with the concept of a pretty woman, her pale skin battered to purple, her vagina torn, lying on a steel slab. A live, unshaken survivor repulsed them. She asked, "What do you feel in these situations, if not fear?" cutting through the thick hate in the air.
Starling seemed grateful that someone took her seriously. "Alertness. I feel very alert."
She grinned and it was a frightening sight. The smile slipped away. "But maybe if I could feel fear like a normal person, I would have run from that house, and without an audience, the doctor wouldn't have finished Paul off. Instead I just walked into the room to see what was going on."
Then, in short, simple detail, she told them how the doctor fed Paul Krendler his own brain. From there, they entered the kitchen, with Starling pressed to the refrigerator by Lecter's weight.
She recounted, "He said, 'I came halfway around the world to see you run, now let me run.'"
"Do you think he was planning on chasing you; hunt you for sport?" Scott asked.
"No. When I'd been jogging a few days before, I felt him there-"
"And you didn't report this immediately?"
She shook her head in frustration. "I didn't know it was him, specifically. I felt someone following, caught glimpses of a figure, but never saw him. It's a jogging trail. I thought I was just spooked after watching him kill Pazzi on that video. But as soon as he said that, I knew it had been him."
Scott pressed. "But don't you think that suspicion would have been worth reporting?"
Her jaw set, mule-strong. "I get enough flack for being a woman, sir. I don't need to be running to my superiors every time I get a creepy feeling."
"Even when you're the obsession of a serial killer who's resurfaced?"
"I didn't-don't see myself as that. So the answer would be no."
Scott got around to asking her why she'd refused to have the rape kit administered at the hospital.
"I knew that I hadn't been sexually assaulted."
Hansen butted in: "So sure, Agent Starling?"
"I knew," she repeated. "There was no point in having the test done."
"You don't believe Doctor Lecter is capable of such acts?" said Scott.
"That's a consideration. He has not sexually attacked anyone before."
Colleen Matsui said, "That we know of," only earning an eyelid twitch from Starling.
Scott continued with his oily insinuations. "Surely that should have been a concern for you, Agent Starling. The doctor had shown attraction towards you...You were alone...Drugged...Your clothes gone..."
Shirley cut in to say, "Goodness, Scotty, are you getting a little hot and bothered?"
"That was unwarranted, Ms. Russell," he said.
"Your suggestions are unwarranted, Mr. Scott," she shot back.
"He was in my home earlier, alone with me," Clarice said, "if rape was the intent, he could have done it then. As for this time, as I said, if he'd done anything to me, I have no memory of it and there was no physical evidence. The rape kit would only give the Tattler one more thing to buy from Evidence." Matsui flushed an ugly red color at that comment. "They bagged my panties, Mr. Scott. Perhaps you can have those tested, if you're so darned curious."
"He'd put underwear on you?" Scott asked, cruel. "From the photographs of that dress, it would appear to be only panties, right? No bra?" All the men grinned but the FBI's attorney had the grace to look ashamed.
"Branson, I swear to Jesus," Russell fumed.
"Pardon me," he said with his best courtly gentleman tone. "Let me move on. Did you keep the dress? It was lovely on you."
"Jesus Christ!" yelled Russell.
Scott did move on then, signaling Starling to continue: "He said, Would you ever say to me, 'Stop. If you loved me, you'd stop'?" A deadly silence fell over the room. Russell sucked on her lower lip, worried, but Starling kept her head up, defiant.
Scott asked, silky, "You've never felt this particular comment was worth sharing before?"
"What do you mean, sir?"
"That wasn't in your report."
"It had nothing to do with Krendler's murder or Lecter's escape. No, I did not. It was merely a passing comment. You've asked me to repeat everything he said that night, I am."
"A passing comment, Agent Starling?!" Scott huffed. "My God, he professes love, gives you a way to stop him-"
"He did no such thing, Mr. Scott. He was trying to manipulate me, just as an abusive husband tells his wife that he'd stop beating her if only she loved him enough. These were his choices, not mine, or anything I could do. No, it was a test. If I'd been weak again, as I'd been begging for Krendler's life, he would have killed me just as easily as he finished off Paul. My rejection was the correct response. The one that he showed his admiration for."
Russell contained her chuckle of relief as Scott grunted in frustration. They were home free-
"How did he show that admiration?" Scott asked.
Confident, Starling tossed off, "Well, he had to have the last word, as usual, so he kissed me."
"Did you kiss him back?"
"No, Mr. Scott, I did not. I used the distraction to handcuff him."
Russell grinned, imagining the doctor's face at that moment.
"His response?" Scott said, cold in defeat.
"He said something about it being interesting; demanded the key. I refused." Starling's face went blank. The agent may not feel fear, but she didn't like to revisit these dark events. "He picked up a cleaver and threatened to cut off my hand."
"And you looked him down again, right?" Scott asked, sneering.
"Yes, sir. He asked where I wanted him to make the cut. I didn't answer, and then he told me it was really going to hurt. But he cut off his own thumb instead, put it in a plastic bag with ice from an ice bucket, said 'Bye' and walked out, calm," she said, slightly breathless from her speed.
Scott reviewed his notes, then asked, "Why do you think he cut off his thumb after threatening to sever your hand?"
"I have no idea, sir. I had looked away. I didn't know it was his thumb until the cuff didn't go slack. He had to pull his remaining fingers through-"
"You had looked away?" Scott had gone snake-still, his voice gentle.
The bottom dropped out of Russell's stomach. The confidence washed away like a retreating tide from Starling's face. "Yes, sir," she whispered.
"The woman who feels no fear was going to give Lecter the satisfaction to see you turn away?"
Starling's eyes were large and wet. She remained mute. Scott said, "Or was it because you knew-were certain-he was going to cut off his own hand, Agent Starling? That you could not bear to watch him do that?"
All the air sucked from the room. Starling could barely gasp, "Yes, sir."
Scott's pen scratched at the paper with an orgasmic screech. Not looking up, he said, "Thank you for your time, Agent Starling. Your witness, Shirley."
"Let's take another break," Russell said, breathless.
"No," Starling said. "Let's continue. I have to get back to work."
Russell shrugged and kept it simple. "Do you believe, trained in forensic psychology as you are, that Doctor Hannibal Lecter is mentally ill?"
When Clarice said, "I'm uncertain," the attorney just wanted to throw her hands in the air.
"What are you certain of?" she asked.
"That he is very dangerous. That he acts against many with no consideration or pity. That he has deep contempt for most. And an intense love for certain aspects of life. That he has knowledge to share."
"Do you believe he deserves the death penalty?"
"Deserve? Probably. But so do I, for that matter. I've taken a great number of lives-"
"Good God, Agent Starling," Matsui said, "how can you even equate the two?"
"According to the Ten Commandments, that's how. But back to the question.
"His death would not return a single victim to life or give anyone true peace. I know how much confinement harms him; it would be the greater punishment than death. He feels nothing but curiosity towards his own death, I think. And if his knowledge of the criminal mind could save even one life, it's worth him living."
"Thank you, Agent Starling," Russell said, still defeated.
The attorneys gathered outside the office after Starling had left.
"Her last lay is taking a dirt nap at Arlington Cemetery, and according to our sources, that was a coon's age ago," Scott said.
"And?" Russell asked, aggressive.
"A woman gets lonely. Here's a woman who likes a thrill, from the sound of it." Russell ground her teeth. That's all Scott got out of Starling's story of facing down death?
Before she could respond, the next witness, Hannibal Lecter's former psychiatrist orderly, Barney Matthews, joined them. He loomed over the smaller white men and they shifted back on their heels. His quiet voice replied to greetings and then he introduced his attorney. Shirley knew Clyde Winger from his late-night TV ads. His large mouth full of teeth gleamed at them. Russell didn't like the way Scott and Winger exchanged knowing glances.
Barney sat with his chair pushed away from the table as though to allow himself an easier escape. He explained his connection to the murderous doctor.
Scott started his questions on the now familiar track: "How would you describe the relationship between Hannibal Lecter and Clarice Starling?"
The large man shifted back as though Scott had farted. "What do you mean?"
"You observed them together."
"They weren't together; there was a barrier between them."
"Literal man, eh, Barney?"
The large man looked puzzled.
"So Agent Starling only saw him in his cell? They were never allowed to meet outside confinement?"
"Goodness, no. I thought-" Barney stopped.
"Yes," Scott said, leaning closer, imagining he'd get some dirt.
"I didn't think much of the way Agent Starling was used in the whole thing, Mr. Scott. They staked her out like a lamb in the forest-" Barney frowned as though trying to place his reference, and his face cleared when he remembered.
"Why was that wrong, Barney?"
"They thought the doctor would get turned on by a young woman, I guess."
Scott said, "Did it work?" then tempered his smarmy comment by changing it to: "Did he develop special feelings for Clarice Starling?"
"He liked her. I don't know if that makes his feelings special."
"Liked her? As a woman?"
"She is a woman, so how could he avoid liking her as a woman?" Barney said slowly.
Russell was enjoying this immensely.
Scott took a deep breath. "Did he speak about women with you during his stay in the asylum?"
"No. He wasn't that sort. Most of the prisoners were obsessed with sex because they couldn't have it. He never talked about sex, I mean, other than to needle folks. His own sex life, he didn't mention."
Russell made a note of Barney's comments. This could lead to something-if she could find a therapist willing to ask Lecter about his sexual urges.
"Never? You had twenty-four hour access to him-"
"Are you asking me if he jerked off?" Barney asked.
Russell made a point of scratching her pen loudly on the notepad.
When no one spoke, Barney answered his own question. "I never witnessed anything of that sort. Eight years, never. If he did it, it was damn quiet and clean. Not like most of the patients, the messes we had to clean up-"
Scott said, "Okay, that's fine-"
"But I'm not saying he didn't do it, but he wasn't going to give us the satisfaction of knowing about it," Barney continued.
The prosecutor cut him off. "Yes, all right." Barney's great ox-eyes blinked slowly and he waited patiently for the next question.
"What sort of things did he say about Agent Starling?"
"He enjoyed her company. He sketched her. But he never talked sexually about her."
"But do you think he desired her?"
"That's a hard question since I don't know what desire means for him. She was-is, damn pretty, looks like she'd be fun once you got a couple of drinks in her, she listens-that's always good in a woman. But those aren't qualities I'd guess Doctor Lecter's looking for in a lady friend.
"Only time he came close to suggesting such a thing, he told her he thought it would be quite something to know her in private life. That's not like asking her out on a date or anything, though." Exhausted by his long speech, he lapsed into silence.
"How does Agent Starling feel towards Doctor Lecter?"
"I wouldn't know-"
"You spoke with her in this past year, didn't you, Barney?"
"Yes," he said, shifting uneasily.
"Did she make specific comments about the doctor?" Scott asked.
"Yes."
Scott gave him a moment, then pushed. "And they were-"
"I asked her if she thought about him. She said she did. Every day."
"Even after ten years?" Scott said.
"I think about him every day," Barney replied. "He's a memorable person. I learned a lot from him."
Scott didn't want to hear about Barney's relationship with the doctor but the big man was on a roll. "He recommended books, explained things I didn't understand. After some reading, I came to see their relationship as a tragic romance-"
Hansen sneered. "Tragic? More like twisted."
"Tragic with a big 'T'," Barney explained. "In the classical literature sense. With the Courtly Ideal of love, the man and woman never got together, never had sex. It was all about yearning and wanting but never gettin' any. I'd say that pretty much sums them up."
"Just like Romeo and Juliet, only not," said Hansen. Scott hushed him, wanting Barney to continue in this vein.
"They're kept separate, not by tragic elements, but their own personalities...which I suppose is their tragic element. She'll never forget what he is; he'll never change."
Russell thought, isn't that the problem with every relationship? Then again, Barney wasn't married.
"They're doomed," he was saying, "sometimes it depresses me."
Russell had to ask, "Why?"
Barney smiled. "They're nice folks. I like them. It'd be good to see them happy. They're not particularly happy people."
Russell asked a few questions about Barney's thin credentials and his professional opinion of Lecter. He seemed much more comfortable with her.
When finished, Russell was drained. She couldn't rise from her chair, or even push her notes into her briefcase. Dimly, she was aware of Winger and Scott conferring in the corner. When she turned to watch, Scott took the other attorney's arm and pulled him from the room.
Russell barely made it through her front door. She let her things drop on the floor and collapsed on the couch. Abe had the TV on. They watched the raging from one of the murdered Memphis police officers' brother. "If bleeping that bleep is all that bleeper needs to stop killing, I'll hold her down and let him go at her."
"Oh, fuck," Russell said. "The leaks are getting home before I do."
~end Chapter 3