Chapter Four:
The call came at three in the afternoon. Be at the Department of Justice building in D.C. within an hour; your client needs your representation.
Russell shook her head to clear it and hollered, "What the fuck?"
Scott hardly contained his glee. "The Feds want to question him on some new evidence they've received. You want to be there, right?"
She concentrated on the important part. "They've taken him out of his lock-up? Are they fuckin' crazy?"
"Really, my dear, why must you be so profane?" Russell sputtered and Scott continued. "They've got that nice little chair for him; they're completely confident nothing will happen. Besides the room will be crawling with armed men...and one woman."
"What?"
"Agent Starling's been called too. See you there," he said, hanging up.
The conference room was filled with men, some in uniforms, others in dark suits. Lecter, in his chair, had been placed in the center of the room. All the men avoided him as though he were an overflowing toilet.
Shirley hurried up, needing to share the previous unproductive day. "Dammit, you were right, Doctor. She didn't lie for herself." When his face darkened, she was sorry she'd said anything.
Scott came up behind her, but didn't even look at the doctor. "We're still waiting for Agent Starling."
"I don't believe we've been introduced," Lecter said.
Russell enjoyed presented her client to his prosecutor. Scott tipped his nose up as if something smelled. Somehow, Shirley knew this was the greatest offense he could have given Lecter. The doctor focused on Scott's shoes, and she wondered if he was going to comment on the lifts. He didn't need to; the flick of his upper lip said it for him.
Scott spun on his thick heel and tossed over his shoulder, "Let's get started. He added, "You wait on a woman, you'll be waiting 'til you die," and Lecter's hiss crawled up Russell's spine.
Just then, Starling did arrive, and Russell knew they were in trouble from the start.
Moisture from the rush had washed the younger woman's makeup down to reveal her freckled face and glowing golden neck. She was pissed, and that added to the rosy sheen. Every time Russell had met her, she'd worn low-heeled sensible shoes, but today she'd been in front of yet another review board for her comments during her deposition. She had dressed for the part in slim skirt and high heels. Agent Starling was obviously a women not accustomed to wearing either. She did nothing to adapt her gait, which was the long, flat-footed movement of an athlete. When done atop four-inch Cuban heels, the effect was of a model on the catwalk, her baneful expression completing the illusion.
There's no way to stop once a stride is established on such footwear, so she was forced to sashay to the offered chair. Settling on the seat, she tossed her head as a pretty pony flicks its forelock when you reach out to stroke its nose. All the men leaned forward in their chairs slightly, trying to catch a better view to the moist valley revealed by her partially unbuttoned blouse or her sleek legs as she crossed them with the snick of a vacuum sealed door.
All but Lecter, strapped down firmly in his heavy chair, center stage like a king on his throne. He leaned back and exhaled.
"This meeting came as a surprise, gentlemen. It's unfortunate that I wasn't informed earlier-" Starling paused and Lecter blinked once. "I wouldn't have been so tardy. It won't happen again."
Scott said, "We're sorry to put you to any inconvenience, Agent Starling," but his voice held no sincerity.
"It's you who may be inconvenienced by bringing Doctor Lecter out of his cell."
Starling looked at Lecter for the first time, and the doctor mouthed, "Good afternoon, Clarice." She couldn't help it; she glanced down to his left hand. Playfully, he wiggled his reattached thumb at her and winked.
Enraged, she leapt up. "That goddamn shit-smilin' Barney!" Her furious eyes nailed the group of Feds in the corner. "I tol' you! Check Barney!"
Behind her, Lecter gleefully parroted, "I tol' you!"
She ignored him. "Did you? Graves, you, I tol' you to check on Barney Matthews, that he was only one Lecter trusted and the only one who could get him medical attention."
Mumbles came from the cluster of suits. "You lying sack of shit. I called you up, and you said, 'it's taken care of,'" she growled.
Exhausted by her outburst, she flung herself, ever graceful, back onto the shuddering folding chair. Lecter's affectionate gaze stroked her downcast head. Shirley was reminded of Abe's answer when she'd asked him how he could possibly find a stumpy hillbilly woman attractive: "I enjoy watching you express yourself."
Starling said, low, "And now you're bringing Lecter out here, to show what big dicks you all got,;how you've caged the monster."
The doctor raised an outraged eyebrow.
"Every precaution has been taken-" came from Scott.
The officer in charge of a cluster of state troopers, Cartwright, pointed out: "This chair's got him secure. Got it from the Department of Defense. They use it for terrorism questionings in foreign parts. We got nothing to worry about."
"As much as I'm enjoying your sales pitch," Starling said with a curl of her lip, "Can we get started on this-whatever this is." She had an expression of grim defeat, like that of a nun standing before a parochial school sexual education class.
"First things first," Cartwright said. "Are you armed, Agent Starling?" He had to have seen the bulge at her blazer's waist during her outburst.
"Why?" sounded like an odd reply to Russell, but Starling was clearly in a combative mood.
"As you yourself just pointed out, we're in the presence of a dangerous man."
"All the more reason I should be armed."
Cartwright took a swaggering step towards her, but called a junior officer forward. "Jackson, take possession of Agent Starling's weapons until this is over, would ya?"
The young officer, his shaved head glistening blue-black under the fluorescent lights, nervously said, "Ma'am, if you could give me your sidearm."
She flicked open her blazer, and smoothly yanked her .45 out. Russell sensed alertness in all men again, this time the tension came from seeing a truly great weapon. It swallowed light, rather than reflected it, glowing black like her mother's best iron skillet. Starling discharged the clip and dropped it into the outstretched hand of the young man. She popped a bullet from the chamber and caught it effortlessly as it danced in the air.
"A bullet in the chamber and you didn't have the safety on, Starling," Cartwright said. "Didn't your trainer teach you that's dangerous?"
She didn't reply and lay the gun alongside its bullets across Jackson's wide palm. He stuttered, "Thank you, Ma'am."
"Is that all?" Cartwright said, suggesting he knew it wasn't.
She slid her skirt up, ripped open the Velcro holding a knife sheath to her thigh so quickly the men hardly got to ogle. Snagging the weapon before it fell, she said, "That's it."
"Expecting trouble, Agent Starling?" Scott asked, his normally ruddy face having turned green-yellow.
"Always."
Russell had been watching Lecter during her performance and wonder how a man could stare at a woman as she bent and twisted, her snug clothes moving against restless muscles, for that long, that intently, without giving the impression of leering.
A voice came from the cluster of silent suits across the table. "She normally carries another gun. A 9 mm tucked in somewhere."
"Pretty heavily armed for a basement techie, aren't you, Agent Starling?" Cartwright said.
She held her arms out wide and said, "Do you want to do a pat-down?" to Jackson. He gulped and shook his head no.
Russell hauled herself to her feet, starting to protest, but Scott put a stop to all this. "Siddown, everyone, let's get this going." He glanced at Cartwright. "You satisfied?"
"Sure am. I think she's properly disarmed," Cartwright said with a Mamma's boy grin.
Starling scooted her chair closer to the table, and folded her long legs under it, gripping the leg with her ankles like she would a tree in a hurricane. "Now that the floor show's over, what is this all about?"
Cartwright jerked his head towards a black TV screen. "It's here. I doubt you two saw the camera. You were busy."
Russell had been wondering if it was a great effort for Starling to keep from looking at Lecter but she found voice to say, "I'm going to file a motion to suppress-"
Cartwright waved his short-fingered hand. "Now, now, counselor, no need to get your panties in a twist-"
Starling hissed.
"Sorry ladies, no offense."
Lecter's tongue flitted out as his gaze bored into Cartwright. Starling looked at the doctor, her expression grave. His eyes switched to the TV that had flickered to life with a blue screen.
The officer didn't notice any of this exchange. "We simply wish both survivors of the...Incident...At Verger's to fill in some blanks of a video that has turned up."
Russell opened my mouth but before she could say it, he said, "And you can advise your client to keep quiet or not. But this is part of an investigation and he's a witness."
The man's plump cheeks expanded as he grinned. "Hell, he's a victim." And with a dramatic flourish, he clicked on the VCR.
On the screen, Doctor Lecter was wide-armed, fastened to a forklift, bound at the wrists and ankles in a perverse crucifix stance. A muzzle-like mask covered the lower half of his head. His bare feet glowed white on the screen. Russell said, "Agent Starling, I must again recommend that you seek counsel at this time-"
The young woman had turned to watch, and her rough dialect gave her words a hard edge. "It's all right, Ms. Russell. I'll just keep my mouth shut if som'pum doesn't seem right."
Russell's fingers flew through her files until she found Starling's statement about her discovery of Lecter at Verger's estate. It read with the usual clean, concise verbiage of a highly trained government employee until she drove onto the property. Then the details became few and sparse. Starling claimed that her injury and subsequent medication had affected her memory. When Russell had discussed this with Starling, the agent had said, 'I only remember emotions, and that doesn't belong in a report.'
"The audio doesn't pick up everything, you see," Scott said. "We need to fill in those blanks."
"To what purpose, Mr. Scott?" said Starling.
"A number of crimes took place during this period, Agent Starling. They must be catalogued and charges filed if necessary."
"Against whom?" she asked next. "Krendler, who was in cohoots with Verger? Oh, that's right, he's dead. Verger's pig breeder's bones? The conveniently missing Cordell?" Her slim hand was rock steady as she sipped water from a glass left in front of her on the table.
"Me?" she asked next. The drink's ice tickled in the quiet room.
Russell broke in. "Exactly my point-"
"Any number of crimes," Scott repeated. "The swine got into this country somehow. Laws were broken-"
Lecter chuckled, a warm sound in the overly cooled room. Starling traced her glass's rim, collecting the condensation. The doctor said, "Please show us the film, Mr. Scott. I'm terribly interested."
The agent's gaze shifted to him for only the third time since entering the room. His low voice whispered, "Like watching our home movies."
The VCR whirred. The camera had focused on Lecter, but took a wide enough angle to capture the entire pen where he was suspended. Two large men in soiled coveralls labored with heavy electrical cords. Lecter watched with palatable curiosity. From somewhere off camera came the sound of low porcine squealing. All three men paid the sound no mind, but the hair rose on the back of Russell's neck. She'd visited an uncle's pig farm as a child and knew what the creatures were capable of.
The room had fallen completely silent. The men no longer shifted in their chairs, too small for their wide government-issue asses. On the screen, Lecter's head turned slightly, his gaze focusing to the wall of the enclosure. Everyone in the room started when his voice murmured from behind them, "She's...coming."
Scott quickly motioned for Cartwright to stop the film and took over the remote. "What did you say, Doctor?"
"I was giving you a bit of a preview," Lecter replied casually.
"No, Doctor, you were narrating. On there-" Scott backed the film up a few frames so they could watch Lecter's head turn again. "You react. Did you know she was coming?"
"Oh, yes, Agent Starling and I staged this entire scenario so that we might kill Mason Verger," said Lecter, droll. "You have to admit, Clarice being shot was a dramatic flourish, and we pulled off the entire performance beautifully." He clapped his hand on the chair arm.
Scott was not a man who gave up. "Did you hear her, perhaps see she through the slats?"
As the doctor said, "No, but Agent Starling is very persistent," he tried to lift his shoulders in a shrug. "I had hoped she would arrive." Shocked murmurings ran around the room at that statement.
"Actualization through visualization?" Russell suggested, hoping to delay whatever was going to happen next on the screen. Lecter rewarded her with his lovely smile and she hated herself for smiling back.
"Exactly," he said. "Let's see, where were we? Oh, yes, Agent Starling was about to burst in, having ridden to my rescue on her black charger, her trusty, rusty Mustang."
Starling seethed, but kept her eyes locked on the TV.
"That's one thing I intended to do while free, Clarice, drive a Mustang. I prefer something with better suspension, but you make it appear so fun-" He drew the word 'fun' out indecently- "I wanted to give it a try."
Another agent called from the back, "Okay, okay, let's pick this thing up," seeing that Lecter had taken over the procedure.
As Scott started the film again, Starling stared at the screen as though she could walk into the scene. And then she was there. In the monochrome, her hair was washed gray and her white, white arms held the big black gun on the men.
One of the farmhands said something.
"Whadda he say?" grunted Cartwright and retrieved the remote to stop the film.
"Signora bella," Lecter said helpfully. "Beautiful woman." Starling's jaw clenched as he continued, "That's an Italian for you. He notes the lovely lady before the gun. To his detriment."
The film started, and with two rapid shots from the agent, the men fell. She quickly handcuffed them as they lay in the dirt.
Lecter, courtly, continued to narrate, "Now I say good evening, but our vigilant agent is not so polite and tells me to shut up." Starling approached the confined man and began to cut at his bindings. "Always direct, she tells me if I touch her once loose, she'll shoot me." Having freed one hand, Starling was true to her threat, training her gun on him as she moved to the other arm. "She said, 'Do right and you'll live through this.'"
He chuckled and Cartwright paused the film to allow the doctor to collect himself. Lecter said to Clarice, "That still amuses me."
The young woman carefully brushed her hair back behind her ear and Russell wondered if it was just her imagination, or was she flipping him off?
The VCR started again. "I asked her for the knife to speed things up," and few shocked murmurs accompanied Starling's action of handing him the weapon.
But then the doctor said, "Please stop the film," and Cartwright complied. "I must have been distracted by Agent Starling's arrival. I made an error. I should have pointed out the man in the loft immediately." His gaze moved over the agent's averted face. "I apologize, Clarice. It is my fault you were shot. I know it does not matter to you but I wish you would exercise more caution. While I cleaned your body, I counted six wound scars. Whatever have you been up to these past ten years?
"Perhaps you touch those marks in the darkness, as another woman would caress her clitoris, but the rending of your flesh disturbs me. Following this course, you will end up dying in the welfare ward as your Daddy did. You are much too precious for such a fate."
During his entire discourse, Starling didn't face him. Russell thought; she looked him in the eye when he threatens to cut off her hand, but turns coward when he expresses his devotion?
No one stopped him, so he kept talking. "Why, Clarice? Why do you remain in that fetid fold you call the FBI? I consider you one of the great modern martyrs, but even this cannot give you perverse joy."
She finally spoke: "Where was I supposed to go?"
"Could it be?" he whispered. "My Bodecia...Is still just that little girl lost with her lamb?"
"His bodice?" Hansen asked, looking up from his notes.
"Can we get this finished sometime today?" Russell asked.
The remote clicked and the Starling on screen heard the doctor's warning. She spun with a hammer thrower's grace, searching the loft for the third man. Bright flashes accompanied their shots, and she fell just as the doctor freed himself.
Starling lay twisted in the dirt, and even as she lost consciousness, she scratched frantically for her gun. Lecter was off the forklift and deftly snagged her weapon, and pop, it was in his pocket. Even muted by the film's poor quality, the sound of the thrashing beasts got louder.
Russell felt terror for the couple, though they sat whole and healthy beside her. The animals swarmed in as the doctor scooped the young woman up. They surrounded him but showed no interest. One of the officers gagged as the animals fell upon the handcuffed men but Russell focused only on Lecter's calm, straight body and the way Clarice's head lolled towards his shoulder, finding comfort.
They could hear some barking voice, but not make out the words. Lecter helped: "It's Mason, thinking he's going to get a dinner show. Well, in a way, he does. I believe he actually suggested that pansy doctor should go down into the loft, get the dropped weapon and engage in some gun battle with me. Ridiculous, but I suppose when you're used to having insane orders followed, one more can't hurt."
The camera only captured the lower half of Cordell's legs and Verger's wheelchair. Lecter continued, "So they're having a heated debate about this, all quite annoying, and I suggest Cordell dump Verger in." Some garbled words passed. "I offer to take credit for Mason's death, and-" A body flew into the pen and was engulfed by the swine. "Cordell wisely takes me up on it." He chuckled as one of the federal agent jumped up and hurried from the room.
Russell herself was becoming lightheaded from the terrible visions frozen on the VCR. She could barely say, "Doctor Lecter-"
"Shouldn't you have stopped me from admitting that earlier?" he chided glibly.
"Actually, I think you cleared yourself of a crime."
"Goodness, you're right." Mimicking Scott's own insincere honey tones, he told the prosecutor, "So sorry."
"You urged that man-"
"Dammit, Scott," Russell said. "If I tol' you to jump outa a window, would you?"
Too pissed off to care about how it looked, Scott sneered at Lecter. "If you're going to be so honest, why didn't you eat Verger yourself when you had the chance?" He put an unseemly suggestion into: "What was so special about that guy?"
Lecter said, "During my visit to his home, he pressed up against me with his pathetic erection, then masturbated before me. The thought of eating any part of his body would have given me unpleasant connotations."
Russell heard a snicker and with horror, realized it had come from Starling.
Returning his attention to Scott, the doctor said, "However, I must give Mason Verger credit. I assumed he would die from blood loss; a slow bleedout seemed fitting for him. But no, he lived on, somewhat worse for wear."
"Why'd you do it?" Hansen burst in, "some guy, coming to you for treatment, earns a death sentence?"
Obviously the young man hadn't read all the files, so Lecter reminded him gently, "I dislike those who hurt children."
Cartwright turned the video back on without being asked and Lecter carried Clarice from the pen. The TV flashed bright blue and they all blinked. "That's it," the officer said unnecessarily.
Scott still smarted. "And what was Paul Krendler's crime, Doctor? Had Clarice Starling told you he'd rubbed up against her with his erection? And you had to do something about it, like you took care of Miggs and Chilton?"
Russell felt like she was watching her granddad firing his shotgun into the river to see if anything edible floated to the surface. "Let the record show that Mr. Scott has gone completely around the bend," she barked.
Before the prosecutor could make his retort, the doctor said, "If making sexually suggestive and lewd remarks about Agent Starling is a death sentence, one would note that you are walking on very thin ice, Mr. Scott."
The room fell into a frightened silence, then Lecter said, "But let us put this unpleasantness aside. I'll make a deal with you." Russell tried to protest but he told her, "You're fired," without even looking her way. "I'll plead guilty if Agent Starling isn't put on the stand. None of her statements can go into the public record."
Sweating, Scott made a recovery. "That can be taken under consideration-"
Everyone started talking at once.
From Clarice: "Doctor, stop right there; I can handle this-"
From the doctor: "Clarice, please remain silent."
From Russell: "Even if I'm fired, I can tell you, Scott's a lying sack of shit. Clarice would be put on the stand for the sentencing. There's no way you can keep her off. She witnessed the murder."
He heard that. "My deal is acceptance of death, but no trial, not even sentencing."
"It doesn't work that way; the judge decides the sentence," Russell explained but she got no further, because Lecter's face started to turn purple.
It took everyone a beat to realize what he was doing. He'd tested the chair carefully, and had discovered that he could induce the machine to choke him. The troopers swarmed forward, but no one dared touch him. Only confused orders bounced back and forth.
Starling forced her way through the circle of men. "Get the hell out of my way." She grabbed Lecter's heavy head and held it up, opening his airway. "Dammit, Doctor, stop being an ass." She leaned in close and Russell fought the urge to cover her eyes as she did at the circus when the lion tamer put his head in the beast's mouth.
Starling searched his half-opened eyes for signs of consciousness. "Doctor, this is getting us nowhere," she said. Her hands moved close to his mouth. Russell flinched when Clarice's fingers brushed across his lips as she shook his head. Then the light came back to his eyes and the attorney held her breath in fear. Would he bite?
Their eyes met for just a moment and Russell knew the sexual energy she'd felt from the doctor was merely a toss off, a toy with which he amused himself. This was something different, and she hated that all the men smirked when they saw it.
Starling stepped back. "He's fine now."
Russell demanded that the questioning, such as it was, end for the day and Scott agreed. As she packed her briefcase with shaking hands, she knew he'd gotten what he wanted anyway. She took some comfort knowing he'd been conned by Barney and his fancy attorney; they'd obviously worked an immunity exchange for the video-how the nurse got that, she could only speculate-and now it turned out he'd sheltered Lecter.
Scott and his team headed out and she hurried after him in time to hear him chortle, "Well, that was fun," as the men clustered in the hall.
"How so?" Russell asked, barely containing her fury.
"Watching Lecter mentally fuck our lovely young agent fifteen different ways; you don't get to see that every day in our line of work."
Russell closed the gap between them. "So you find emotional rape entertaining-"
"Excuse me," Starling said quietly, and brushed through them to stride down the hall. The men watched her go with interest and Russell with despair.
"Is that how she saw it?" Scott said from behind Russell.
"What are you suggesting?" she asked, forcing her gaze back to him.
"When he was coming around, I saw him touch her bare stomach where her shirt rode up. If she shifted back an inch, he couldn't get to her. She didn't."
"Perhaps she realized it was an irrational concern. What was he going to do, scratch her?"
"He was touching her, Shirley. He wants to touch her-with his eyes, his voice, his fingers. And she let him."
"You set her up today. You're no better than a pimp."
"Sho' you right, Shirl. This ain't Polk County courthouse anymore, defending Elmer the drunk. You can't take the heat, honey-what would yo' Mamma say?"
"Fuck you, and the mule who's your sweetheart, Branson Helford Scott, that's what my Mamma would say." With that, she returned to her client.
The proper pale color had returned to the doctor's face and although he didn't move, his excitement hummed like bees' wings.
Russell pulled a chair close, but not too close. "Doctor, that didn't go well at all. Surely you can see that."
"She appears tired," he said, "don't you think?"
"Yes, Doctor." Shirley ran her hands through her untidy hair. "I've requested and have been denied, the right for you to appear in court out of this chair, not even in shackles. They have allowed you to wear a suit, however. Who knows, it may help."
"I don't think she's been eating properly," he said. "She needs fattening up-a proper meal, none of those fast food remnants I found under her car seats."
Shirley rose. "Doctor, I'll see you tomorrow." The troopers closed in but apparently distracted, her normally polite client did not say goodbye. She wondered if he was mentally flipping through his recipes, seeking just the right dish for Agent Starling.
Russell returned home to discover uproar. A reporter, posing as a pizza deliveryman, had gotten into the house, Casper not being one to ask questions when food was offered. Getting him out was the difficult part, since neither of her men was inclined to use violence. Shirley had no such qualms, and frog marched the man out the door, his money offers littering behind him with the napkins and cheese packets.
Abe gave his report: the press had been calling and ringing the doorbell all day. Unfortunately, none of the psychologists that Abe had contacted had agreed to testify, let alone interview Dr. Lecter.
"I dunno, Sugar, maybe I'm still under the cloud from Bush's election, but it seems as though our usual wells have run dry," he said. "This is a new America."
"Yes, the climate's changed, and none of these guys wants to be seen as excusing a serial killer," she mused. "But not even Schlock?"
"I didn't bother to call him," Abe said. "He's known as our pet witness. I can't think that will help the case."
As they dug into the pizza-Shirley wondered if she owed the reporter something now-her husband asked, "Anything new today?"
"Shit so deep, I shoulda brought a shovel," she said, sighing around her bite of pizza. "It was all bad."
She gave an outline of Scott's machinations. Abe laughed at the part where Lecter touched Starling. "Count on this Lecter to take the opportunity to cop a feel."
Casper took it all in with bright eyes. A smart boy, he examined the problem. "If they can prove he cares about this Clarice Starling, he's just a plain old murderer, right? Instead of a sociopathic killer who plays with bodies for kicks."
Working on another piece of pizza, his mother nodded. Casper asked, "Well, does he?"
"I dunno," she said glumly.
"Couldn't he just be a stalker, that 'nut with a crush'?" Abe suggested. "He could still be insane then. I mean, what's the attraction, you think?"
Ever practical, their son asked, "Is she hot?"
"I wouldn't call her that," Shirley said. "I know nothing about this guy, but I'm gonna say some ginger-haired, freckled, skinny, hillbilly girl wouldn't be his style."
"She's smart, right?" Casper said. "He's smart-"
"She's sort of somber, terse, even," Shirley said. "He seems more...Fun-loving, if that's the right term." She took a swig of beer. "No, decadent is a better word. She's definitely not."
Abe gave her a knowing grin. "Some guys like that schoolmarm thing, you know. She's all tied up in herself...What's it going to take to get a reaction-"
"She didn't flinch when he threatened to cut her hand off. I'm a bit scared to imagine what he'll do next to get that reaction." She got up and took her beer bottle over to the sofa, curling up in the broken down cushions.
But Lecter had found a way to make Clarice flinch-Shirley remembered the faint scar ringing his thumb. This was the problem. It would be easy to stand up there in court and paint the portrait of an older man, trapped for years in a dungeon, developing an obsession for a lovely young face that appeared out of that gloom-but she wouldn't be able to sell it. Her upward mobility in the law profession had stalled because she couldn't lie convincingly.
Shirley had been in love long enough to know the emotion, after the passage of time, had little to do with physical attraction or sexual prowess. It tied together with boring fiducial elements of trust, devotion and sacrifice, sounding more like a club motto than something electric. If she used that definition to examine Lecter's feelings towards Starling, she became uneasy. She'd seen the devotion first hand. Sacrifice? The scar appeared to her again.
She weighed his arrogance. He processed information very rapidly. Could he have formulated a plan to contact Barney in the time it took to swing the cleaver? Yes. But it was a gamble, and as much as he loved a risk, would it be worth the loss of a digit? It would have simply been easier to cut off her hand if he cared nothing for her.
And now he was trying with great determination to sacrifice his own life to save Starling's.
Trust. This was harder to quantify. Then she remembered the look they'd exchanged as he regained consciousness. The men in the room had enjoyed seeing that, but it hadn't been about desire. It had been more intimate; it had been the intimacy of trust.
Aloud, she said, "I'm fucked."
Casper snickered through his pizza. "You know, Mom, maybe you should try a different tactic."
She was desperate. "What you got?"
"I've seen this documentary on the National Geographic channel about food taboos in culture-totally cool. We have this thing against eating people, but really, does it matter when you're dead?" Shirley reflected; there's a bit of psychopath in every teenager.
Abe pointed out: "He had Mason Verger and Paul Krendler eat their own flesh. That's got an extra ick factor."
"Yeah, we've got this thing about being eaten, for sure. People, I mean. I wonder if the other animals just sort of expect it." Casper gulped down soda. "I saw another show, and a lot more people are killed by moose than by bears every year. But which one are we terrified of? The one that eats us."
"How is this going to help the case?"
"Prejudice against cannibals," her son said.
"I think we need to rethink paying for full cable," Shirley said.
Abe wasn't giving up. "Perhaps we can find an expert that will suggest Lecter has a mineral deficiency that leads him to eat human flesh."
"Yeah, I saw another show about people who're compelled to eat dirt-" Casper suggested.
"I really shouldn't be saying this, but there's holes in the insanity defense anyway," Abe said. "You know Karl, the guy who works at Wan's Drycleaning? He's a sociopath; I'm convinced. The stories he has, about seducing women and tossing them aside. If I were Wan, I'd check my books. Karl's completely without remorse or emotion. But he's only breaking hearts, ruining lives. Only if he decides to kill one of those poor women, then he gets tossed in jail. But shouldn't destruction be destruction? He's fully capable of murder; why are we waiting for him to do it?"
Russell wondered if Judge Marsh was a Southern Baptist, or better, Pentecostal. She knew they'd found the most conservative judge they could. Should she try suggesting Hannibal Lecter was the Devil? Surely the Devil had been in love before, but couldn't be held responsible for his actions. She didn't say these thoughts aloud. Her husband was an intellectual, a secular Jew; he couldn't comprehend this. But she'd been raised by a mother who saw little green demons sitting under her kitchen table. Mamma would have looked at the doctor and recognized him instantly.
Her head hurt. Suddenly, she felt close to tears. Abe noticed and said, "Baby, go to bed-"
She lashed out. "I've got tons of paperwork, I've got to look through old cases, and we've got to find a psychologist-"
Abe was before her, gathering her close. She let a few tears loose, knowing his nubby sweater would catch them.
"Honey, we can't win them all."
She knew he was right, but fought her way free from his grip nonetheless. "But we have to try."
She found her briefcase and snapped it open. She heard her son and husband whispering in the background but ignored them. She stared at a photograph of Starling from the Krendler murder scene. This time, she noticed the neat, precise stitches closing the agent's gunshot wound. Starling had sacrificed. She trusted the killer with her life. What was the depth of her devotion? Russell knew that would determine the outcome of this case.
~end Chapter 4