The Silence of the Lambs - Thomas Harris [57]
Starling walked up and down the linoleum of the shabby lounge far underground. She was the only brightness in the room.
We rarely get to prepare ourselves in meadows or on graveled walks; we do it on short notice in places with?out windows, hospital corridors, rooms like this lounge with its cracked plastic sofa and Cinzano ashtrays, where the café curtains cover blank concrete. In rooms like this, with so little time, we prepare our gestures, get them by heart so we can do them when we're fright?ened in the face of Doom. Starling was old enough to know that; she didn't let the room affect her.
Starling walked up and down. She gestured to the air. “Hold on, girl,” she said aloud. She said it to Catherine Martin and she said it to herself. “We're better than this room. We're better than this fucking place,” she said aloud. “We're better than wherever he's got you. Help me. Help me. Help me.” She thought for an in?stant of her late parents. She wondered if they would be ashamed of her now--- just that question, not its pertinence, no qualifications--- the way we always ask it. The answer was no, they would not be ashamed of her.
She washed her face and went out into the hall.
The orderly Alonzo was in the corridor with a sealed package from Crawford. It contained a map and in?structions. She read them quickly by the corridor light and pushed the button for Barney to let her in.
The Silence of the Lambsr
CHAPTER 25
Dr. Lecter was at his table, examining his corre?spondence. Starling found it easier to approach the cage when he wasn't looking at her.
“Doctor.”
He held up a finger for silence. When he had finished reading his letter, he sat musing, the thumb of his six-?fingered hand beneath his chin, his index finger beside his nose. “What do you make of this?” he said, putting the document into the food carrier.
It was a letter from the U.S. Patent Office.
“This is about my crucifixion watch,” Dr. Lecter said. “They won't give me a patent, but they advise me to copyright the face. Look here.” He put a drawing the size of a dinner napkin in the carrier and Starling pulled it through. “You may have noticed that in most cruci?fixions the hands point to, say, a quarter to three, or ten till two at the earliest, while the feet are at six. On this watch face, Jesus is on the cross, as you see there, and the arms revolve to indicate the time, just like the arms on the popular Disney watches. The feet remain at six and at the top a small second hand revolves in the halo. What do you think?”
The quality of the anatomical sketching was very good. The head was hers.
“You'll lose a lot of detail when it's reduced to watch size,” Starling said.
“True, unfortunately, but think of the clocks. Do you think this is safe without a patent?”
“You'd be buying quartz watch movements--- ?wouldn't you? and they're already under patent. I'm not sure; but I think patents only apply to unique me?chanical devices and copyright applies to design.”
“But you're not a lawyer, are you? They don't re?quire that in the FBI anymore.”
“I have a proposal for you,” Starling said, opening her briefcase.
Barney was coming. She closed the briefcase again. She envied Barney' s enormous calm. His eyes read neg?ative for dope and there was considerable intelligence behind them.
“Excuse me,” Barney said. “If you've got a lot of papers to wrestle, there's a onearmed desk, a school desk, in the closet here that the shrinks use. Want it?”
School , image. Yes or no?
“May we talk now, Dr. Lecter?”
The doctor held up an open palm.
“Yes, Barney. Thank you.”
Seated now and Barnet' safely away.
“Dr. Lecter, the Senator has a remarkable offer.”
“I'll decide that. You spoke to her so soon?”
“Yes. She's not holding anything back. This is all she's got, so it's not a matter for bargaining. This is it, everything, one offer.” She glanced up from her brief?case.
Dr. Lecter, murderer of nine, had his fingers steepled beneath his nose and he was watching her. Behind his eyes was endless night.
“If you help us find Buffalo Bill