Red Dragon - Thomas Harris [18]
“And what did you say?”
“I told her I didn't sell it to her like that.”
“And what did she say?”
“She said she never had any trouble returning dresses before, which was one reason she shopped at my place rather than some others that she knew about.”
“And then what did you say?”
“Oh, I said I was upset because Will talks like a jackass on the phone.”
“I see.”
“Willy's fine. He's covering some turtle eggs the dogs dug up. Tell me what you're doing.”
“Reading reports. Eating junk food.”
“Thinking a good bit, I expect.”
“Yep.”
“Can I help you?”
“I just don't have a lock on anything, Molly. There's not enough information. Well, there's a lot of information, but I haven't done enough with it.”
“Will you be in Atlanta for a while? I'm not bugging you about coming home, I just wonder.”
“I don't know. I'll be here a few more days at least. I miss you.”
“Want to talk about fucking?”
“I don't think I could stand it. I think maybe we better not do that.”
“Do what?”
“Talk about fucking.”
“Okay. You don't mind if I think about it, though?”
“Absolutely not.”
“We've got a new dog.”
“Oh hell.”
“Looks like a cross between a basset hound and a Pekingese.”
“Lovely.”
“He's got big balls.”
“Never mind about his balls.”
"They almost drag the ground. He has to retract them when he runs.
“He can't do that.”
“Yes he can. You don't know.”
“Yes I do know.”
“Can you retract yours?”
“I thought we were coming to that.”
“Well?”
“If you must know, I retracted them once.”
“When was that?”
“In my youth. I had to clear a barbedwire fence in a hurry.”
“Why?”
“I was carrying this watermelon that I had not cultivated.”
“You were fleeing? From whom?”
“A swineherd of my acquaintance. Alerted by his dogs, he burst from his dwelling in his BVD's, waving a fowling piece. Fortunately, he tripped over a butterbean trellis and gave me a running start.”
“Did he shoot at you?”
“I thought so at the time, yes. But the reports I heard might have issued from my behind. I've never been entirely clear on that.”
“Did you clear the fence?”
“Handily.”
“A criminal mind, even at that age.”
“I don't have a criminal mind.”
“Of course you don't. I'm thinking about painting the kitchen. What color do you like? Will? What color do you like? Are you there?”
“Yeah, uh, yellow. Let's paint it yellow.”
“Yellow is a bad color for me. I'll look green at breakfast.”
“Blue, then.”
“Blue is cold.”
“Well goddammit, paint it babyshit tan for all I care. . . . No, look, I'll probably be home before long and we'll go to the paint store and get some chips and stuff, okay? And maybe some new han?dles and that.”
“Let's do, let's get some handles. I don't know why I'm talking about this stuff. Look, I love you and I miss you and you're doing the right thing. It's costing you too, I know that. I'm here and I'll be here whenever you come home, or I'll meet you anywhere, anytime. That's what.”
“Dear Molly. Dear Molly. Go to bed now.”
“All right.”
“Good night.”
Graham lay with his hands behind his head and conjured dinners with Molly. Stone crab and Sancerre, the salt breeze mixed with the wine.
But it was his curse to pick at conversations, and he began to do it now. He had snapped at her after a harmless remark about his “crim?inal mind.” Stupid.
Graham found Molly's interest in him largely inexplicable.
He called police headquarters and left word for Springfield that he wanted to start helping with the legwork in the morning. There was nothing else to do.
The gin helped him sleep.
? HYPERLINK “” \l “CONTENTS” ??
Red Dragon
CHAPTER 6
Flimsy copies of the notes on all calls about the Leeds case were placed on Buddy Springfield's desk. Tuesday morning at seven o'clock when Springfield arrived at his office, there were sixtythree of them. The top one was redflagged.
It said Birmingham police had found a cat buried in a shoebox behind the Jacobis' garage. The cat had a flower between its paws and was wrapped in a dish towel. The cat's name was written on the lid in a childish hand. It wore no collar.