The Silence of the Lambs - Thomas Harris [74]
She needed to know Catherine Baker Martin, and this seemed an odd place for a senator's daughter to live. Starling had read the brief biographical material the FBI had gathered, and it showed Catherine Martin to be a bright underachiever. She'd failed at Farmington and had two unhappy years at Middlebury. Now she was a student at Southwestern and a practice teacher.
Starling could easily have pictured her as a selfab?sorbed, blunted, boardingschool kid, one of those peo?ple who never listen. Starling knew she had to be careful here because she had her own prejudices and resentments. Starling had done her time in boarding schools, living on scholarships, her grades much better than her clothes. She had seen a lot of kids from rich, troubled families, with too much boardingschool time. She didn't give a damn about some of them, but she had grown to learn that inattention can be a stratagem to avoid pain, and that it is often misread as shallow?ness and indifference.
Better to think of Catherine as a child sailing with her father, as she was in the film they showed with Senator Martin's plea on television. She wondered if Catherine tried to please her father when she was little. She wondered what Catherine was doing when they came and told her that her father was dead, of a heart attack at fortytwo. Starling was positive Catherine missed him. Missing your father, the common wound, made Starling feel close to this young woman.
Starling found it essential to like Catherine Martin because it helped her to bear down.
Starling could see where Catherine's apartment was located--- two Tennessee Highway Patrol cruisers were parked in front of it. There were spots of white powder on the parking lot in the area closest to the apartment. The Tennessee Bureau of Investigation must have been lifting oil stains with pumice or some other inert pow?der. Crawford said the TBI was pretty good.
Starling walked over to the recreational vehicles and boats parked in the special section of the lot in front of the apartment. This is where Buffalo Bill got her. Close enough to her door so that she left it unlocked when she came out. Something tempted her out. It must have beep a harmlesslooking setup.
Starling knew the Memphis police had done exhaus?tive doortodoor interviews and nobody had seen anything, so maybe it happened among the tall motor homes. He must have watched from here. Sitting in some kind of vehicle, had to be. But Buffalo Bill knew Catherine was here. He must have spotted her some?where and stalked her, waiting for his chance. Girls the size of Catherine aren't common. He didn't just sit around at random locations until a woman of the right size came by. He could sit for days and not see one.
All the victims were big. All of them were big. Some were fat, but all were big. “So he can get something that will fit.” Remembering Dr. Lecter's words, Starling shuddered. Dr. Lecter, the new Memphian.
Starling took a deep breath, puffed up her cheeks and let the air out slowly. Let's see what we can tell about Cather?ine.
A Tennessee state trooper wearing his Smokey the Bear hat answered the door of Catherine Martin's apartment. When Starling showed him her credentials, he motioned her inside.
“Officer, I need to look over the premises here.” Prem?ises seemed a good word to use to a man who had his hat on in the house.
He nodded: “If the phone rings, leave it alone. I'll answer it.”
On the counter in the open kitchen Starling could see a tape recorder attached to the telephone. Beside it were two new telephones. One had no dial--- a direct line to Southern Bell security, the midSouth tracing facility.
“Can I help you any way?” the young officer asked.
“Are the police through in here'”
“The apartment's been released to the family. I'm just here for the telephone.