The Silence of the Lambs (Hannibal Lecter 2)

Dr. Lecter’s eyes focused on her. “That flag smells like cigars,” he said. “Did you nurse Catherine?”

“Pardon me? Did I…”

“Did you breast-feed her?”

“Yes.”

“Thirsty work, isn’t it…?”

When her pupils darkened, Dr. Lecter took a single sip of her pain and found it exquisite. That was enough for today. He went on: “William Rubin is about six feet one, and would be thirty-five years old now. He’s strongly built—about one hundred ninety pounds when I knew him and he’s gained since then, I expect. He has brown hair and pale blue eyes. Give them that much, and then we’ll go on.”

“Yes, I’ll do that,” Senator Martin said. She passed her notes out the door.

“I only saw him once. He made another appointment, but he never came again.”

“Why do you think he’s Buffalo Bill?”

“He was murdering people then, and doing some similar things with them, anatomically. He said he wanted some help to stop, but actually he just wanted to schmooze about it. To rap.”

“And you didn’t—he was sure you wouldn’t turn him in?”

“He didn’t think I would, and he likes to take chances. I had honored the confidences of his friend Raspail.”

“Raspail knew he was doing this?”

“Raspail’s appetites ran to the louche—he was covered with scars.

“Billy Rubin told me he had a criminal record, but no details. I took a brief medical history. It was unexceptional, except for one thing: Rubin told me he once suffered from elephant ivory anthrax. That’s all I remember, Senator Martin, and I expect you’re anxious to go. If anything else occurs to me, I’ll send you word.”

“Did Billy Rubin kill the person whose head was in the car?”

“I believe so.”

“Do you know who that is?”

“No. Raspail called him Klaus.”

“Were the other things you told the FBI true?”

“At least as true as what the FBI told me, Senator Martin.”

“I’ve made some temporary arrangements for you here in Memphis. We’ll talk about your situation and you’ll go on to Brushy Mountain when this is … when we’ve got it settled.”

“Thank you. I’d like a telephone, if I think of something.…”

“You’ll have it.”

“And music. Glenn Gould, the Goldberg Variations? Would that be too much?”

“Fine.”

“Senator Martin, don’t entrust any lead solely to the FBI. Jack Crawford never plays fair with the other agencies. It’s such a game with those people. He’s determined to have the arrest himself. A ‘collar,’ they call it.”

“Thank you, Dr. Lecter.”

“Love your suit,” he said as she went out the door.

CHAPTER 33