The Silence of the Lambs - Thomas Harris [76]
The belongings of a privileged kid, a student and practice teacher who lived better than most.
Lots of letters in the secretary. Loopy backhand notes from former classmates in the East. Stamps, mailing labels. Gift wrapping paper in the bottom drawer, a sheaf in various colors and patterns. Starling's fingers walked through it. She was thinking about questioning the clerks at the local drivein market when her fingers found a sheet in the stack of gift wrap that was too thick and stiff. Her fingers went past it, walked back to it. She was trained to register anomalies and she had it half pulled out when she looked at it. The sheet was blue, of a material similar to a lightweight blotter, and the pattern printed on it was a crude imitation of the cartoon dog Pluto. The little rows of dogs all looked like Pluto, they were the proper yellow, but they weren't exactly right in their proportions.
“Catherine, Catherine,” Starling said. She took some tweezers from her bag and used them to slide the sheet of colored paper into a plastic envelope. She placed it on the bed for the time being.
The jewelry box on the dresser was a stampedleather affair, the kind you see in every girl's dormitory room. The two drawers in front and the tiered lid con?tained costume jewelry, no valuable pieces. Starling wondered if the best things had been in the rubber cabbage in the refrigerator, and if so, who took them.
She hooked her finger under the side of the lid and released the secret drawer in the back of the jewelry box. The secret drawer was empty. She wondered whom these drawers were a secret from--- certainly not burglars. She was reaching behind the jewelry box, pushing the drawer back in, when her fingers touched the envelope taped to the underside of the secret draw.
Starling pulled on a pair of cotton gloves and turned the jewelry box around. She took out the empty drawer and inverted it. A brown envelope was taped to the bottom of the drawer with masking tape: The flap was just tucked in, not sealed. She held the paper close to her nose. The envelope had not been fumed for fin?gerprints. Starling used the tweezers to open it and extract the contents. There were five Polaroid pictures in the envelope and she took them out one by one. The pictures were of a man and a woman coupling. No heads or faces appeared. Two of the pictures were taken by the woman, two by the man, and one ap?peared to have been shot from the tripod set up on the nightstand.
It was hard to judge scale in a photograph, but with that spectacular 145 pounds on a long frame, the woman had to be Catherine Martin. The man wore what appeared to be a carved ivory ring on his penis. The resolution of the photograph was not sharp enough to reveal the details of it. The man had had his appendix out. Starling bagged the photographs, each in a sandwich bag, and put them in her own brown enve?lope. She returned the drawer to the jewelry box.
“I have the good stuff in my pocketbook,” said a voice behind her. “I don't think anything was taken.” Starling looked in. the mirror. Senator Ruth Martin stood in the bedroom door. She looked drained.
Starling turned around. “Hello, Senator Martin. Would you like to lie down? I'm almost finished.”
Even exhausted, Senator Martin had a lot of pres?ence. Under her careful finish, Starling saw a scrapper.
“Who are you, please? I thought the police were through in here.”
“I'm Clarice Starling, FBI. Did you talk to Dr. Lecter, Senator?”
“He gave me a name.” Senator Martin lit a cigarette and looked Starling up and down. “We'll see what it's worth. And what did you find in the jewelry box, Of?ficer Starling? What's it worth?”
“Some documentation we can check out in just a few minutes,” was the best Starling could do.
“In my daughter's jewelry box? Let's see it.”
Starling heard voices in the next room and hoped for an interruption. “Is Mr. Copley with you, the Memphis special agent in---”
“No, he's not, and that's not an answer. No offense, Officer, but I'll see what you got