Hannibal (49 page)

Krendler was the icon of failure and frustration. He could be blamed. But could he be defied? Or was Krendler, and every other authority and taboo, empowered to box Starling into what was, in Dr. Lecter’s view, her little low-ceiling life?

To him one hopeful sign: Though she was imprinted with the badge, she could still shoot a hole through one and kill the wearer. Why? Because she had committed to action, identified the wearer as a criminal and made the judgment ahead of time, overruling the imprinted icon of the star. Potential flexibility. The cerebral cortex rules. Did that mean room for Mischa
within
Starling? Or was it simply another good quality of the place Starling must vacate?

B
ARNEY, BACK
in his apartment in Baltimore, back in the round of working at Misericordia, had the three to eleven shift. He stopped for a bowl of soup at the coffee shop on his way home and it was nearly midnight when he let himself into his apartment and turned on the light.

Ardelia Mapp sat at his kitchen table. She was pointing a black semiautomatic pistol at the center of his face. From the size of the hole in the muzzle, Barney judged it was a .40 caliber.

“Sit down, Nursey,” Mapp said. Her voice was hoarse and around her dark pupils her eyes were orange. “Pull your chair over there and tip back against the wall.”

What scared him more than the big stopper in her hand was the other pistol on the place mat before her. It was a Colt Woodsman .22 with a plastic pop bottle taped to the muzzle as a silencer.

The chair groaned under Barney’s weight. “If the chair legs break don’t shoot me, I can’t help it,” he said.

“Do you know anything about Clarice Starling?”

“No.”

Mapp picked up the small-caliber gun. “I’m not fucking around with you, Barney. The second I think you’re lying, Nursey, I’m gonna darken your stool, do you believe me?”

“Yes.” Barney knew it was true.

“I’m going to ask you again. Do you know anything that would help me find Clarice Starling? The post office says you had your mail forwarded to Mason Verger’s place for a month.
What the fuck, Barney?”

“I worked up there. I was taking care of Mason Verger, and he asked me all about Lecter. I didn’t like it up there and I quit. Mason was pretty much of a bastard.”

“Starling’s gone away.”

“I know.”

“Maybe Lecter took her, maybe the pigs got her. If he took her what would he do with her?”

“I’m being honest with you—I don’t know. I’d help Starling if I could. Why wouldn’t I? I kind of liked her and she was getting me expunged. Look in her reports or notes or—”

“I have. I want you to understand something, Barney. This is a one-time-only offer. If you know anything you better tell me now. If I
ever
find out, no matter how long from now, that you held out something that might have helped, I will come back here and this gun will be the last thing you ever see. I will kill your big ugly ass. Do you believe me?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know anything?”

“No.” The longest silence he could ever remember.

“Just sit still there until I’m gone.”

_______

It took Barney an hour and a half to go to sleep. He lay in his bed looking at the ceiling, his brow, broad as a dolphin’s, now sweaty, now dry Barney thought about callers to come. Just before he turned out his light, he went into his bathroom and took from his DOP kit a stainless-steel shaving mirror, Marine Corps issue.

He padded into the kitchen, opened an electrical switch box in the wall and taped the mirror inside the switch box door.

It was all he could do. He twitched in his sleep like a dog.

After his next shift, he brought a rape kit home from the hospital.

T
HERE WAS
only so much Dr. Lecter could do to the German’s house while retaining the furnishings. Flowers and screens helped. Color was interesting to see against the massive furniture and high darkness; it was an ancient, compelling contrast, like a butterfly lit on an armored fist.

His absentee landlord apparently had a fixation on Leda and the Swan. The interspecies coupling was represented in no less than four bronzes of varying quality, the best a reproduction of Donatello, and eight paintings. One painting delighted Dr. Lecter, an Anne Shingleton with its genius anatomical articulation and some real heat in the fucking. The others he draped. The landlord’s ghastly collection of hunting bronzes was draped as well.

Early in the morning the doctor laid his table carefully for three, studying it from different angles with the tip of his finger beside his nose, changed candlesticks twice and went from his damask place mats to a gathered tablecloth to reduce to more manageable size the oval dining table.

The dark and forbidding sideboard looked less like an
aircraft carrier when high service pieces and bright copper warmers stood on it. In fact, Dr. Lecter pulled out several of the drawers and put flowers in them, in a kind of hanging gardens effect.

He could see that he had too many flowers in the room, and must add more to make it come back right again. Too many was too many, but way too many was just right. He settled on two flower arrangements for the table: a low mound of peonies in a silver dish, white as SNO BALLS, and a large, high arrangement of massed Bells of Ireland, Dutch iris, orchids and parrot tulips that screened away much of the table’s expanse and created an intimate space.

A small ice storm of crystal stood before the service plates, but the flat silver was in a warmer to be laid at the last moment.

The first course would be prepared at table, and accordingly he organized his alcohol burners, with his copper
fait-tout
and sauté pan, his condiments and his autopsy saw.

He could get more flowers when he went out. Clarice Starling was not disturbed when he told her he was going. He suggested she might like to sleep.

I
N THE
afternoon of the fifth day after the murders, Barney had finished shaving and was patting alcohol on his cheeks when he heard the footsteps on the stairs. It was almost time for him to go to work.

A firm knock. Margot Verger stood at his door. She carried a big purse and a small satchel.

“Hi, Barney.” She looked tired.

“Hi, Margot. Come in.”

He offered her a seat at the kitchen table. “Want a Coke?” Then he remembered that Cordell’s head was driven into a refrigerator and he regretted the offer.

“No thanks,” she said.

He sat down across the table from her. She looked over his arms as a rival bodybuilder, then back to his face.

“You okay, Margot?”

“I think so,” she said.

“Looks like you don’t have any worries, I mean from what I read.”

“Sometimes I think about the talks we had, Barney. I kind of thought I might hear from you sometime.”

He wondered if she had the hammer in the purse or the satchel.

“Only way you hear from me, maybe I’d like to see how you’re doing sometime, if that was okay. Never asking for anything. Margot, you’re cool with me.”

“It’s just, you know, you worry about loose ends. Not that I’ve got anything to hide.”

He knew then she had the semen. It was when the pregnancy was announced, if they managed one, that she’d be worried about Barney.

“I mean, it was a godsend, his death, I’m not going to lie about that.”

The speed of her talk told Barney she was building momentum.

“Maybe I would like a Coke,” she said.

“Before I get it for you, let me show you something I’ve got for you. Believe me, I can put your mind at rest and it’ll cost you nothing. Take a second. Hold on.”

He picked a screwdriver out of a canister of tools on the counter. He could do that with his side to Margot.

In the kitchen wall were what appeared to be two circuit breaker boxes. Actually one box had replaced the other in the old building, and only the one on the right was in service.

At the electrical boxes, Barney had to turn his back to Margot. Quickly he opened the one on the left. Now he could watch her in the mirror taped inside the switch box door. She put her hand inside the big purse. Put it in, didn’t take it out.

By removing four screws, he was able to lift out of the
box the disconnected panel of circuit breakers. Behind the panel was the space within the hollow wall.

Reaching carefully inside, Barney removed a plastic bag.

He heard a hitch in Margot’s breathing when he took out the object the bag contained. It was a famous brutish visage—the mask Dr. Lecter had been forced to wear in the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane to prevent him from biting. This was the last and most valuable item in Barney’s cache of Lecter memorabilia.

“Whoa!” Margot said.

Barney placed the mask facedown on the table on a piece of waxed paper under the bright kitchen light. He knew Dr. Lecter had never been allowed to clean his mask. Dried saliva was crusted inside the mouth opening. Where the straps attached to the mask were three hairs, caught in the fastenings and pulled out by their roots.

A glance at Margot told him she was okay for the moment.

Barney took from his kitchen cabinet the rape kit. The small plastic box contained Q-tips, sterile water, swatches and clean pill bottles.

With infinite care he swabbed up the saliva flakes with a moistened Q-tip. He put the Q-tip into a pill bottle. The hairs he pulled loose from the mask and put them into a second bottle.

He touched his thumb to the sticky sides of two pieces of scotch tape, leaving a clear fingerprint each time, and taped the lids on the bottles. He gave the two containers to Margot in a baggie.

“Let’s say I got in some trouble and I lost my mind and I tried to roll over on you—say I tried to tell the police some story on you to beat some charges of my own. You
have proof there that I was at least an accomplice in the death of Mason Verger and maybe did the whole thing myself At the least I supplied you with the DNA.”

“You’d get immunity before you ratted.”

“For conspiring maybe, but not for physically taking part in a big-publicity murder. They’d promise me use-immunity on conspiracy and then fuck me when they figured I helped. I’d be screwed forever. It’s right there in your hands.”

Barney was not positive of this, but he thought it sounded pretty good.

She could also plant the Lecter DNA on Barney’s still form anytime she needed to, and they both knew it.

She looked at him for what seemed like a very long time with her bright blue butcher’s eyes.

She put the satchel on the table. “Lot of money in there,” she said. “Enough to see every Vermeer in the world. Once.” She seemed a little giddy, and oddly happy. “I’ve got Franklin’s cat in the car, I’ve got to go. Franklin and his stepmother and his sister Shirley and some guy named Stringbean and God knows who else are coming out to Muskrat when Franklin gets out of the hospital. Cost me fifty dollars to get that fucking cat. It was living next door to Franklin’s old house under an alias.”

She did not put the plastic bag into her purse. She carried it in her free hand. Barney guessed she didn’t want him to see her other option in the purse.

At the door he said, “Think I could have a kiss?”

She stood on tiptoe and gave him a quick kiss on the lips.

“That will have to do,” she said primly. The stairs creaked under her weight going down.

Barney locked his door and stood for minutes with his forehead against the cool refrigerator.

S
TARLING WOKE
to distant chamber music, and the tangy aromas of cooking. She felt wonderfully refreshed and very hungry A tap at her door and Dr. Lecter came in wearing dark trousers, a white shirt and an ascot. He carried a long suit bag and a hot cappuccino for her.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Great, thank you.”

“The chef tells me we’ll dine in an hour and a half. Cocktails in an hour, is that all right? I thought you might like this—see if it suits you.” He hung the bag in the closet and left without another sound.

She did not look in her closet until after a long bath, and when she did look she was pleased. She found a long dinner gown in cream silk, narrowly but deeply décolleté beneath an exquisite beaded jacket.

On the dresser were a pair of earrings with pendant cabochon emeralds. The stones had a lot of fire for an unfaceted cut.

Her hair was always easy for her. Physically, she felt
very comfortable in the clothes. Even unaccustomed as she was to this level of dress, she did not examine herself long in the mirror, only looking to see if everything was in place.

The German landlord built his fireplaces oversized. In the drawing room, Starling found a good-sized log blazing. She approached the warm hearth in a whisper of silk.

Music from the harpsichord in the corner. Seated at the instrument, Dr. Lecter in white tie.

He looked up and saw her and his breath stopped in his throat. His hands stopped too, still spread above the keyboard. Harpsichord notes do not carry, and in the sudden quiet of the drawing room, they both heard him take his next breath.

Two drinks waited before the fire. He occupied himself with them. Lillet with a slice of orange. Dr. Lecter handed one to Clarice Starling.

“If I saw you every day, forever, I’d remember this time.” His dark eyes held her whole.

“How many times have you seen me? That I don’t know about?”

“Only three.”

“But here—”

“Is outside of time, and what I may see taking care of you does not compromise your privacy. That’s kept in its own place with your medical records. I’ll confess it
is
pleasant to look at you asleep. You’re quite beautiful, Clarice.”

“Looks are an accident, Dr. Lecter.”

“If comeliness were earned, you’d still be beautiful.”

“Thanks.”

“Do not say
‘Thanks
.’” A fractional turn of his head was enough to dash his annoyance like a glass thrown into the fireplace.