Red Dragon (Hannibal Lecter 1)

“May I keep the file?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” Graham said.

“Why are there no descriptions of the grounds? Here we have frontal views of the houses, floor plans, diagrams of the rooms where the deaths occurred, and little mention of the grounds. What were the yards like?”

“Big backyards, fenced, with some hedges. Why?”

“Because, my dear Will, if this pilgrim feels a special relationship with the moon, he might like to go outside and look at it. Before he tidies himself up, you understand. Have you seen blood in the moonlight, Will? It appears quite black. Of course, it keeps the distinctive sheen. If one were nude, say, it would be better to have outdoor privacy for that sort of thing. One must show some consideration for the neighbors, hmmmm?”

“You think the yard might be a factor when he selects victims?”

“Oh yes. And there will be more victims, of course. Let me keep the file, Will. I’ll study it. When you get more files, I’d like to see them too. You can call me. On the rare occasions when my lawyer calls, they bring me a telephone. They used to patch him through on the intercom, but everyone listened of course. Would you like to give me your home number?”

“No.”

“Do you know how you caught me, Will?”

“Good-bye, Dr. Lecter. You can leave messages for me at the number on the file.” Graham walked away.

“Do you know how you caught me?”

Graham was out of Lecter’s sight now, and he walked faster toward the far steel door.

“The reason you caught me is that we’re just alike” was the last thing Graham heard as the steel door closed behind him.

He was numb except for dreading the loss of numbness. Walking with his head down, speaking to no one, he could hear his blood like a hollow drumming of wings. It seemed a very short distance to the outside. This was only a building; there were only five doors between Lecter and the outside. He had the absurd feeling that Lecter had walked out with him. He stopped outside the entrance and looked around him, assuring himself that he was alone.

From a car across the street, his long lens propped on the window sill, Freddy Lounds got a nice profile shot of Graham in the doorway and the words in stone above him: “Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane.”

As it turned out, The National Tattler cropped the picture to just Graham’s face and the last two words in the stone.

8

Dr. Hannibal Lecter lay on his cot with the cell lights down after Graham left him. Several hours passed.

For a while he had textures; the weave of the pillowcase against his hands clasped behind his head, the smooth membrane that lined his cheek.

Then he had odors and let his mind play over them. Some were real, some were not. They had put Clorox in the drains; semen. They were serving chili down the hall; sweat-stiffened khaki. Graham would not give him his home telephone number; the bitter green smell of cut cocklebur and teaweed.

Lecter sat up. The man might have been civil. His thoughts had the warm brass smell of an electric clock.

Lecter blinked several times, and his eyebrows rose. He turned up the lights and wrote a note to Chilton asking for a telephone to call his counsel.

Lecter was entitled by law to speak with his lawyer in privacy and he hadn’t abused the right. Since Chilton would never allow him to go to the telephone, the telephone was brought to him.

Two guards brought it, unrolling a long cord from the telephone jack at their desk. One of the guards had the keys. The other held a can of Mace.

“Go to the back of the cell, Dr. Lecter. Face the wall. If you turn around or approach the barrier before you hear the lock snap, I’ll Mace you in the face. Understand?”

“Yes, indeed,” Lecter said. “Thank you so much for bringing the telephone.”

He had to reach through the nylon net to dial. Chicago information gave him numbers for the University of Chicago Department of Psychiatry and Dr. Alan Bloom’s office number. He dialed the psychiatry department switchboard.

“I’m trying to reach Dr. Alan Bloom.”

“I’m not sure he’s in today, but I’ll connect you.”

“Just a second, I’m supposed to know his secretary’s name and I’m embarrassed to say I’ve forgotten it.”