Hannibal Page #3

Go on, now.

You've grieved long enough.

And what'd he say?

What'd he say about me|late at night?

He was talking about inherited,|hard-wired behavior.

He used genetics|in roller pigeons as an example.

They fly way up in the air...

roll backwards in a display,|falling toward the ground.

There are shallow rollers,|and there are deep rollers.

You can't breed|two deep rollers...

or their young, their offspring,|will roll all the way down...

hit and die.

Agent Starling|is a deep roller, Barney.

Let us hope|one of her parents was not.

Surely,|the odd confluence of events...

hasn't escaped you, Clarice.

Jack Crawford dangles you|in front of me...

then I give you a bit of help.

Do you think it's because|I like to look at you...

and imagine how good|you would taste...

Clarice?

I don't know. Is it?

I've been in this room|for eight years now, Clarice.

I know they will never, ever|let me out while I'm alive.

What I want is a view.

I want a window where I can see|a tree...or even water.

I want to be|in a Federal institution...

far away from Dr. Chilton.

far away from Dr. Chilton.

The Capponi Correspondence|goes back to the 13th Century.

Dr. Fell might hold in his hand,|his non-Italian hand...

a note from Dante Alighieri|himself...

but would he recognize it?|I think not.

Gentlemen, you have examined him|in Medieval Italian...

and I will not deny that|his language is admirable...

for a straniero, but...

is he acquainted|with the personalities...

of the pre-Renaissance Firenze?

I think not.

What if he came upon a note|in the Capponi Library...

say from Guido de Cavalcanti?

Would he recognize that?

I think not.

They're still arguing.

The Capponi Correspondence|goes back to the 13th Century.

Sogliato wants the job|for his nephew.

But the scholars|seem satisfied...

with the temporary guy|they appointed.

If he's such|an expert on Dante...

Let him lecture on Dante|to the Studiolo.

Let him face them if he can.

I look forward to it.|Let's set a date.

Very well. On the 14th.

Dr. Fell?

Chief Inspector Rinaldo Pazzi|of the Questura.

Commendatore.|How can I be of service?

I'm sorry. I'm investigating|the disappearance...

of your predecessor...

Signore de Bonaventura.|I was wondering if--

"Predecessor" implies|I have the job.

Unfortunately, I don't. Not yet.

Though I am hopeful.

They are letting me|look after the library.

For a stipend.

The officers|who first checked...

didn't find any sort|of farewell or suicide note.

I was wondering if you--

If I come across anything|in the Capponi Library...

stuffed in a drawer or book...|I'll call you at once.

Thank you.

You've been reassigned.

Pardon?

You were on the Il Mostro case,|I'm sure I read.

Yes, that's right.

Now you're on this.

This is much less grand a case,|I would think.

Well, if I thought of my work|in those terms...

yes, I guess I'd agree.

A missing person.

Sorry?

Were you unfairly dismissed|from the grander case or...

did you deserve it?

Regarding this one, Dr. Fell...

are the signore's|personal effects...

still at the palazzo?

Packed neatly in four cases|with an inventory.

Alas...no note.

I'll send someone over|to pick them up.

Thank you for your help.

Thanks.

How's it goin'? Any leads?

Yeah, they're all leads.|They just don't lead to him.

I don't know how you live|with this stuff.

Oh, God.

This is from "The Guinness Book|of World Records"...

congratulating me on being|"The Female FBI Agent...

"Who Has Shot and Killed|the Most People."

Geoffrey,|would you excuse me, please?

Sure.

Dear Clarice...

I have followed|with enthusiasm...

the course of your disgrace|and public shaming.

My own never bothered me...

except for the inconvenience|of being incarcerated.

But you may lack perspective.

In our discussions|down in the dungeon...

it was apparent to me|that your father...

the dead night watchman...

figures largely|in your value system.

I think your success|in putting an end...

to Jame Gumb's career|as a couturier...

pleased you most...

because you could imagine|your father being pleased.

But now, alas, you're in|bad odor with the FBI.

Do you imagine your daddy|being shamed by your disgrace?

Do you see him|in his plain pine box...

crushed by your failure?

The sorry, petty end|of a promising career?

What is worst about|this humiliation, Clarice?

Is it how your failure...

will reflect|on your mommy and daddy?

Is your worst fear that people|will now and forever...

believe they were indeed...

just good old trailer camp,|tornado-bait, white trash?

And that perhaps you are, too?

By the way,|I couldn't help noticing...

on the FBI's|rather dull public website...

that I have been hoisted...

from the Bureau's archives|of the common criminal...

and elevated|to the more prestigious...

Ten Most Wanted List.

Is this coincidence,|or are you back on the case?

If so, goody goody.

I need to come out of retirement|and return to public life.

I imagine you sitting|in a dark basement room...

bent over papers|and computer screens.

Is that accurate?

Please tell me truly,|Special Agent Starling.

Regards, your old pal,|Hannibal Lecter, M.D.

P.S.

Clearly this new assignment|is not your choice.

Rather, I suppose it is|part of the bargain...

but you accepted it, Clarice.

Your job is to craft my doom.

So I am not sure how well|I should wish you...

but I'm sure|we'll have a lot of fun.

Ta-ta. "H."

On the letter...

there's one partial fingerprint,|here.

Not enough to hold up in court,|but--

I know it's him.

Where he was when he wrote it|is what I need.

The paper isn't gonna help.

And, yes, it's linen fiber|and on the expensive side...

but, no, it isn't so rare|that you won't find it...

in a thousand different|stationary stores...

throughout the world.

It's the same with the ink.

And the same with the wax.

And your Las Vegas postmark,|well, you can check it out...

but I'll bet you a dollar it|came from a remailing service.

No, Las Vegas would be|the last place he'd be.

It'd be an assault|on his sense of taste.

Don't you feel eyes|moving over your body, Clarice?

I hardly see how you couldn't.

And don't your eyes move|over the things you want?

All right, then, tell me how.

No. It's your turn|to tell me, Clarice.

You have no more vacations|to sell on Anthrax Island.

Quid pro quo, Clarice.

I tell you things,|you tell me things.

Not about this case.|About yourself.

Quid pro quo.

Yes or no, Clarice?

Hand cream.

Raw ambergris base.

Tennessee lavender.

Trace of something else.

Fleece.

Lovely.

What's ambergris?

Ambergris is a whale product.

Alas, much as we'd like to,|we can't import it.

Endangered Species Act.

Where isn't it illegal?

Japan, of course.|Couple of places in Europe.

You'd almost certainly find it|somewhere in Paris...

Rome, Amsterdam.

Maybe London.

This bouquet was hand engineered|to someone's specifications.

Is there any way|of knowing which shops?

Of course.|We'll give you a list.

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