“How were they?”
“Worn out from work.”
“Were there other children?”
“No.”
“Where did you live?”
“On a ranch.”
“A sheep ranch?”
“Sheep and horses.”
“How long were you there?”
“Seven months.”
“How old were you?”
“Ten.”
“Where did you go from there?”
“The Lutheran Home in Bozeman.”
“Tell me the truth.”
“I am telling you the truth.”
“You’re hopping around the truth. If you’re tired, we could talk toward the end of the week. I’m rather bored myself. Or had you rather talk now?”
“Now, Dr. Lecter.”
“All right. A child is sent away from her mother to a ranch in Montana. A sheep and horse ranch. Missing the mother, excited by the animals…” Dr. Lecter invited Starling with his open hands.
“It was great. I had my own room with an Indian rug on the floor. They let me ride a horse—they led me around on this horse—she couldn’t see very well. There was something wrong with all the horses. Lame or sick. Some of them had been raised with children and they would, you know, nicker at me in the mornings when I went out to the school bus.”
“But then?”
“I found something strange in the barn. They had a little tack room out there. I thought this thing was some kind of old helmet. When I got it down, it was stamped “W. W. Greener’s Humane Horse Killer.” It was sort of a bell-shaped metal cap and it had a place in the top to chamber a cartridge. Looked like about a .32.”
“Did they feed out slaughter horses on this ranch, Clarice?”
“Yes, they did.”
“Did they kill them at the ranch?”
“The glue and fertilizer ones they did. You can stack six in a truck if they’re dead. The ones for dog food they hauled away alive.”
“The one you rode around the yard?”
“We ran away together.”
“How far did you get?”
“I got about as far as I’m going until you break down the diagnostics for me.”