Chapter 30
She blinked at Hannibal's frozen image on her laptop.
Crappy connection.
Surely he didn't just say what she thought she heard.
A moment later his image started moving again and she knew he was back.
"Ah. There you are. For a second I thought you said you wanted to have Skype sex." Then she laughed, though it came out more high pitched than normal.
He gave her a suave smile. "I did, my dear."
Startled, she laughed again, this time a deep, rich sound. She loved that she still couldn't predict him, despite their many months together. Her own nervousness surprised her as well. Often she was the aggressor in their intimate moments, and she shied away from little. But this?
She grinned at him. "I feel like this is one of those things, you know, those things you don't talk about beforehand. It either happens or it doesn't." She tucked her feet beneath her on the hotel chair she lounged on and propped one hand under her chin, settling in to see where this went. "Like a kiss. You don't really talk about it in advance. It just happens."
He leaned forward, closer to the camera. "I see, like two fingers grazing each other. The smallest bit of skin on skin contact?"
She swallowed, her humor evolving into something else. "Uh, yes, exactly like that."
Sometime later, tech-savvy Clarice Starling had an entirely new appreciation for the mile-closing wonders of the modern world. [D]
.
It worked - those bastardos lost track of us! They're good, but I'm better. Just a few changes of habit and I'm untraceable - let them try and catch me now!
Seven days to go. Seven days here in this shithole town or in Hirtshals - even worse.
Fuck.
Fuck again.
I need...
.
"Yes?" was his simple answer when she called him Monday morning.
"They struck again, I think."
"Ah, do you?"
"I take it you didn't notice the article in the... Jyllands-Posten?"
"I did not. Tell me."
"It says a girl was stabbed to death in a most brutal way. No pictures, but the article used enough of our flag words to attract the attention of our Scent Hound program."
"Denmark it is, then. What place was she slain, and when?"
"Aarhus, this Saturday. You weren't following the news?"
"I was not, my dear. I attended Janine Jansen yesterday and have entertained myself with music since. Pray hold for a moment, will you?"
Clarice waited until Hannibal returned to the line. It took about two minutes before he did.
"They're headed for Iceland, the touristic route," he said.
"Iceland?" [MB]
"Sure enough," he replied.
They disconnected soon after, and she held her phone in her hand, staring at it for a long moment.
How very un-Hannibal-like. Detached, nearly disinterested. No warm greeting, no "my love" or "my dears."
They were far from an overtly demonstrative couple; theirs was a quiet affection. But still, something had been off with him. Then she smiled, remembering their rather exuberant noises during their last Skype call only two days previous. Okay, perhaps quiet wasn't quite the word for them.
She shrugged it off. Perhaps he really was just engrossed with his music. The twins were largely her project, and she was happy to pursue them solo.
She had just flipped open her laptop and started a search for flights to Iceland when a knock at the door disturbed her. Standing and slipping into a robe, she tried to recall if she'd placed a breakfast order the night before. She didn't think so.
Approaching the door with caution, she squinted through the peephole and then released a sound unkind souls might label a squeal.
She unlocked the deadbolt and pulled open the door, then launched herself into Hannibal's arms.
"You ridiculous man, I love you."
He grinned at her, sheepish. "I missed you. Though I really did see Janine Jansen yesterday." [D]
"Look at her as much as you want from your seat in the sixth row," she replied and pulled him inside.
"No meet and greet?"
"Not without me, you don't. She's majestic on one side and so down to earth on the other. Captivating."
"As are you, my Love. I'm captivated even when you're not around, pulled towards you by an invisible elastic band, tied with a bond that..."
She pulled him nearer and embraced him with fervor.
"Smooth talker..."
.
"Why Iceland?" she asked when the post-coital bliss had finally faded away.
"It's all in the map, in their route. They're tourists, doing some sightseeing. When you're bound for Sweden or Norway in that capacity you take the Øresund Bridge to Malmö, you don't proceed into Northern Jutland and visit a place like Aarhus. And since they're still en route - they wouldn't have killed if they weren't - I looked at their options. There's a ferry at Hirtshals that goes to Iceland. Ergo..."
"Iceland."
"Correct."
"Why?"
"Your guess is as good as mine."
"Do you think we should go back to Portugal and see if we can find their home town, maybe their family? We never gave that a thought."
"No, we didn't talk about it."
There was something in his words - or rather in what he didn't say - that scratched at her mind. No, they hadn't talked about it, and she'd not thought of it before... but, she then realized, he definitely meant he had.
"You know, in my profession, and also when I still was with the FBI, it used to be standard procedure to check someone's background. I should have done that." [MB]
He didn't reply, just reached for her hand resting on his chest and pulled it to his lips to kiss the soft skin between her thumb and forefinger.
She sighed and gave him a reluctant smile, then twisted to stare up at the ceiling. He was giving her processing time. How very teacher-ish of him.
A younger her would have been annoyed and perceived his behavior as patronizing. But mature her knew there was a lesson here.
After a few more moments of quiet, she said, "For these two, a background check likely wouldn't be worth the time investment for us at this point. We know them well enough and there is such a thing as overanalyzing. We just need to catch the fuckers."
He grinned, pleased. "If you say so, my dear."
She laughed and rolled over to straddle him. "I do say so, Professor Lecter." She very much had the urge to dig her fingers into his ribs to tickle him, but unfortunately Hannibal Lecter wasn't ticklish. Ah, well. She settled for nestling into his chest and wrapping her arms around him.
"So, Iceland, huh? I've never been."
He reached up to stroke her hair. "It's an extraordinary place. Fire and ice."
She smiled. "Sounds like dragons should live there."
"Indeed. Perhaps they do. There are other beasties. I once ate what was essentially rotten shark on one visit."
She wrinkled her nose. "Really? Local delicacy?"
"Is there any other kind?" At that point, she did dig a few fingers into his ribcage. He laughed, but at her, not because he found the touch ticklish. "These sharks have the equivalent of antifreeze for blood. Eating them straight from the water would prove fatal. But bury them for a few weeks or months, and the decay process makes them accessible to the human digestive track."
"Lovely," she said, then squealed as he rolled them over and pinned her arms above her head.
"You're lovely."
Some time later they finally got around to purchasing plane tickets. [D]