Hannibal (Hannibal Lecter 3)

“Yes,” she said. “Suzy called it the most remarkable party since Capote’s Black and White Ball.”

“Mrs. Rosencranz, if you should hear from him, would you please call the FBI at the number I’ll give you? Another thing I’d like to ask you if I may, do you have any special anniversaries with Dr. Lecter? And Mrs. Rosencranz, I need to ask you your birth date.”

A distinct chill on the phone. “I would think that information was easily available to you.”

“Yes, ma’am, but there are some inconsistencies among the dates on your social security, your birth certificate and your driver’s license. In fact, none of them are the same. I apologize, but we’re keying custom orders on high-end items to the birthdays of Dr. Lecter’s known acquaintances.”

“‘Known acquaintances.’ I’m a known acquaintance now, what an awful term.” Mrs. Rosencranz chuckled. She was of a cocktail and cigarette generation and her voice was deep. “Agent Starling, how old are you?”

“I’m thirty-two, Mrs. Rosencranz. I’ll be thirty-three two days before Christmas.”

“I’ll just say, in all kindness, I hope you’ll have a couple of ‘known acquaintances’ in your life. They do help pass the time.”

“Yes, ma’am, and your birth date?”

Mrs. Rosencranz at last parted with the correct information, characterizing it as “the date Dr. Lecter is familiar with.”

“If I may ask, ma’am, I can understand changing the birth year, but why the month and day?”

“I wanted to be a Virgo, it matches better with Mr. Rosencranz, we were dating then.”

The people Dr. Lecter had met while he was living in a cage viewed him somewhat differently:

Starling rescued former U.S. Senator Ruth Martin’s daughter, Catherine, from the hellish basement of the serial killer Jame Gumb and, had Senator Martin not been defeated in the next election, she might have done Starling much good. She was warm to Starling on the telephone, gave her news of Catherine, and wanted her news.

“You never asked me for anything, Starling. If you ever want a job—”

“Thank you, Senator Martin.”

“About that goddamned Lecter, no, I’d have notified the Bureau of course if I heard from him, and I’ll put your number here by the phone. Charlsie knows how to handle mail. I don’t expect to hear from him. The last thing that prick said to me in Memphis was ‘Love your suit.’ He did the single cruelest thing anybody’s ever done to me, do you know what it was?”

“I know he taunted you.”

“When Catherine was missing, when we were desperate and he said he had information on Jame Gumb, and I was pleading with him, he asked me, he looked into my face with those snake eyes and asked me if I had nursed Catherine. He wanted to know if I breast-fed her. I told him yes. And then he said, ‘Thirsty work isn’t it?’ It just brought it all back suddenly, holding her as a baby, thirsty, waiting for her to get full, it pierced me like nothing I ever felt, and he just sucked down my pain.”

“What kind was it, Senator Martin?”

“What kind—I’m sorry?”

“What kind of suit did you have on, that Dr. Lecter liked.”

“Let me think—a navy Givenchy, very tailored,” Senator Martin said, a little piqued at Starling’s priorities. “When you’ve got him back in the slammer, come see me, Starling, we’ll ride some horses.”

“Thank you, Senator, I’ll remember that.”

Two phone calls, one on each side of Dr. Lecter, one showed his charm, the other his scales. Starling wrote down:

Vintage keyed to birthdays, which was already covered in her little program. She made a note to add Givenchy to her list of high-end goods. As an afterthought she wrote down breast-fed, for no reason she could say, and there was no time to think about it because her red phone was ringing.

“This is Behavioral Science? I’m trying to get through to Jack Crawford, this is Sheriff Dumas in Clarendon County, Virginia.”

“Sheriff, I’m Jack Crawford’s assistant. He’s in court today. I can help you. I’m Special Agent Starling.”

“I needed to speak to Jack Crawford. We got a fella in the morgue that’s been trimmed up for meat, have I got the right department?”

“Yes sir, this is the mea—yes, sir, you certainly do. If you’ll tell me exactly where you are, I’m on the way, and I’ll alert Mr. Crawford as soon as he’s through testifying.”

Starling’s Mustang got enough second-gear rubber out of Quantico to make the Marine guard frown at her, and wag his finger, and keep himself from smiling.