Red Dragon (Hannibal Lecter 1)

“I didn’t think I could look at him, but I did.”

“They’ll fix him up. The doctor told me. They can do it. You want somebody to stay with you, Molly? I brought Phyllis down, she—”

“No. Don’t do anything else for me.”

She turned away, fumbling for a tissue. He saw the letter when she opened her purse: expensive mauve stationery that he had seen before.

Crawford hated this. He had to do it.

“Molly.”

&n

bsp; “What is it?”

“Will got a letter?”

“Yes.”

“Did the nurse give it to you?”

“Yes, she gave it to me. They’re holding some flowers from all his friends in Washington too.”

“May I see the letter?”

“I’ll give it to him when he feels like it.”

“Please let me see it.”

“Why?”

“Because he doesn’t need to hear from . . . that particular person.”

Something was wrong with the expression on his face and she looked down at the letter and dropped it, purse and all. A lipstick rolled across the floor.

Stooping to pick up Molly’s things, Crawford heard her heels tap fast as she left him, abandoning her purse.

He gave the purse to the charge nurse.

Crawford knew it would be nearly impossible for Lecter to get what he would need, but with Lecter he took no chances.

He had an intern fluoroscope the letter in the X-ray department. Crawford slit the envelope on all sides with a penknife and examined its inside surface and the note for any stain or dust—they would have lye for scrubbing at Baltimore Hospital, and there was a pharmacy.

Satisfied at last, he read it:

Dear Will,

Here we are, you and I, languishing in our hospitals. You have your pain and I am without my books—the learned Dr. Chilton has seen to that.

We live in a primitive time—don’t we, Will?—neither savage nor wise. Half measures are the curse of it. Any rational society would either kill me or give me my books.

I wish you a speedy convalescence and hope you won’t be very ugly.

I think of you often.

Hannibal Lecter

The intern looked at his watch, “Do you need me anymore?”