some of the more grisly objects. In the far reaches of the basement, the cameras could show only the low, lime-sprinkled thresholds of the chambers holding Gumb’s tableaux. The body count in that part of the basement stood at six so far.
Twice Crawford heard Starling expel air through her nose. The news went to a commercial break.
“Good morning, Starling.”
“Hello,” she said, as though it were later in the day.
“The U.S. Attorney in Columbus faxed me your depositions overnight. You’ll have to sign some copies for him.… So you went from Fredrica Bimmel’s house to Stacy Hubka, and then to the Burdine woman at the store Bimmel sewed for, Richards’ Fashions, and Mrs. Burdine gave you Mrs. Lippman’s old address, the building there.”
Starling nodded. “Stacy Hubka had been by the place a couple of times to pick up Fredrica, but Stacy’s boyfriend was driving and her directions were vague. Mrs. Burdine had the address.”
“Mrs. Burdine never mentioned a man at Mrs. Lippman’s?”
“No.”
The television news had film from Bethesda Naval Hospital. Senator Ruth Martin’s face framed in a limousine window.
“Catherine was rational last night, yes. She’s sleeping, she’s sedated right now. We’re counting our blessings. No, as I said before, she’s suffering from shock, but she’s rational. Just bruises, and her finger is broken. And she’s dehydrated as well. Thank you.” She poked her chauffeur in the back. “Thank you. No, she mentioned the dog to me last night, I don’t know what we’ll do about it, we already have two dogs.”
The story closed with a nothing quote from a stress specialist who would be talking with Catherine Martin later in the day to assess emotional damage.
Crawford shut it off.
“How’re you hittin’ ’em, Starling?”
“Kind of numb … you too?”
Crawford nodded, quickly moved along. “Senator Martin’s been on the phone overnight. She wants to come see you. Catherine does too, as soon as she can travel.”
“I’m always home.”
“Krendler too, he wants to come down here. He asked for his memo back.”
“Come to think of it, I’m not always home.”
“Here’s some free advice. Use Senator Martin. Let her tell you how grateful she is, let her hand you the markers. Do it soon. Gratitude has a short half-life. You’ll need her one of these days, the way you act.”
“That’s what Ardelia says.”
“Your roomie, Mapp? The Superintendent told me Mapp’s set to cram you for your makeup exams on Monday. She just pulled a point and a half ahead of her archrival, Stringfellow, he tells me.”
“For valedictorian?”
“He’s tough, though, Stringfellow—he’s saying she can’t hold him off.”
“He best bring his lunch.”
In the clutter on Crawford’s desk was the origami chicken Dr. Lecter had folded. Crawford worked the tail up and down. The chicken pecked.
“Lecter’s gone platinum—he’s at the top of everybody’s Most Wanted list,” he said. “Still, he could be out for a while. Off the post, you need some good habits.”
She nodded.
“He’s busy now,” Crawford said, “but when he’s not busy, he’ll entertain himself. We need to be clear on this: You know he’d do it to you, just like he’d do anybody else.”
“I don’t think he’d ever bushwhack me—it’s rude, and he wouldn’t get to ask any questions that way. Sure he’d do it as soon as I bored him.”
“Maintain good habits is all I’m saying. When you go off the post, flag your three-card—no phone queries on your whereabouts without positive ID. I want to put a trace-alert on your telephone, if you don’t mind. It’ll be private unless you push the button.”