“That’s exactly the kind of tabloid thinking I was talking about,” Doemling said. “Hannibal Lecter does not have emotions like admiration or respect. He feels no warmth or affection. That’s a romantic delusion, and it shows the dangers of a little education.”
“Dr. Doemling, you don’t remember me, do you?” Barney said. “I was in charge of the ward when you tried to talk to Dr. Lecter, a lot of people tried it, but you’re the one who left crying as I recall. Then he reviewed your book in the American Journal of Psychiatry. I couldn’t blame you if the review made you cry.”
“That’ll do, Barney,” Mason said. “See about my lunch.”
“A half-baked autodidact, there’s nothing worse,” Doemling said when Barney was out of the room.
“You didn’t tell me you’d interviewed Lecter, Doctor,” Mason said.
“He was catatonic at the time, there was nothing to get.”
“And that made you cry?”
“That’s not true.”
“And you discount what Barney says.”
“He’s as deceived as the girl.”
“Barney’s probably hot for Starling himself,” Krendler said.
Margot laughed to herself, but loudly enough for Krendler to hear.
“If you want to make Clarice Starling attractive to Dr. Lecter, let him see her distressed,” Doemling said. “Let the damage he sees suggest the damage he could do. Seeing her wounded in any symbolic way will incite him like seeing her play with herself. When the fox hears a rabbit scream, he comes running, but not to help.”
CHAPTER
52
“I CAN’T deliver Clarice Starling,” Krendler said when Doemling was gone. “I can pretty much tell you where she is and what she’s doing, but I can’t control Bureau assignments. And if the Bureau puts her out there for bait, they’ll cover her, believe me.”
Krendler pointed his finger into Mason’s darkness to make his point. “You can’t move in on that
action. You couldn’t get outside that coverage and intercept Lecter. The stakeout would spot your people in no time. Second, the Bureau won’t initiate proactive unless he contacts her again or there’s evidence he’s close—he wrote to her before and he never came around. It would take twelve people minimum to stake her out, it’s expensive. You’d be better off if you hadn’t gotten her off the hot seat in the shooting. It’ll be messy, reversing your field and trying to hang her with that again.”
“Shoulda, woulda, coulda,” Mason said, doing a fair job with the s, all things considered. “Margot, look in the Milan paper, Corriere della Sera, for Saturday, the day after Pazzi was killed, check the first item in the agony column. Read it to us.”
Margot held the dense print up to the light. “It’s in English, addressed to A. A. Aaron. Says: Turn yourself in to the nearest authorities, enemies are close. Hannah. Who’s Hannah?”
“That’s the name of the horse Starling had as a kid,” Mason said. “It’s a warning to Lecter from Starling. He told her in his letter how to contact him.”
Krendler was on his feet. “Goddammit. She couldn’t have known about Florence. If she knows about that, she must know I’ve been showing you the stuff.”
Mason sighed and wondered if Krendler was smart enough to be a useful politician. “She didn’t know anything. I placed the ad, in La Nazione and Corriere della Sera and in the International Herald-Tribune, to run the day after we moved on Lecter. That way if we missed, he’d think Starling tried to help him. We’d still have a tie to him through Starling.”
“Nobody picked it up.”
“No. Except maybe Hannibal Lecter. He may thank her for it—by mail, in person, who knows? Now, listen to me: You’ve still got her mail covered?”
Krendler nodded. “Absolutely. If he sends her anything, you’ll see it before she does.”
“Listen carefully to this, Krendler: The way this ad was ordered and paid for, Clarice Starling can never prove she didn’t place it on her own, and that’s a felony. That’s crossing the bright line. You can break her with it, Krendler. You know how much the FBI gives a shit about you when you’re out. You could be dog meat. She won’t even be able to get a concealed weapon permit. Nobody will watch her but me. And Lecter will know she’s out there by herself. We’ll try some other things first.” Mason paused to breathe and then went on. “If they don’t work, we’ll do like Doemling says and ‘distress’ her with this ad—distress her, hell, you can break her in two with it. Save the half with the pussy, is my advice. The other end is too goddamned earnest. Ouch—I didn’t mean to blaspheme.”
CHAPTER
53
CLARICE STARLING running through falling leaves in a Virginia state park an hour from her house, a favorite place, no sign of any other person in the park on this fall weekday, a much-needed day off. She ran a familiar path in the forested hills beside the Shenandoah River. The air was warmed by the early sun on the hilltops, and in the hollows suddenly cool, sometimes the air was warm on her face and cool on her legs at the same time.