The Silence of the Lambs Page #13

CLARICE:

You haven't said a word today about

that garage. Or what I found there.

CRAWFORD:

What should I say? You did fine work.

We'll wait on the lab.

CLARICE:

You knew. You knew from the start

that Lecter held the key to this...

But you weren't up front with me.

You sent me in to him naked.

CRAWFORD:

(beat)

Are you finished?

CLARICE:

He starts this - buzzing in me, in

my head. He makes me feel violated...

You used me, Mr. Crawford.

A shadow of regret passes over his face, but he answers

sternly.

CRAWFORD:

Number One. Maybe there's a

connection, maybe not. Lying and

breathing are the same thing to

Lecter. Number Two. If I'd sent you

in there with something to hide from

him, he'd have known it, instantly.

He'd never have trusted you.

She starts to answer, then is silent. He is right.

By now the two cars are entering a tidy little town - tree-

lined streets, wooden houses, one-story shops, mountains in

the background. They slow, turn.

CRAWFORD:

Number Three, I didn't bring you

along today just because you can do

first-rate forensics. If Lecter is

becoming part of this case, you've

got the most current read on him.

And Number Four - you don't have to

like me, or the way I do things. But

you do have to keep a cool head.

Especially now... Because from here

on out, you'll know everything I do.

Are we straight on that?

Clarice nods, silently; it's as close to an apology as she's

likely to get. She stares out the windshield.

JUST AHEAD OF THEM

the highway patrol cruiser noses into a curb, next to other

police cars, facing a big white frame house. Its sign reads

"Potter Funeral Home." Two troopers climb from the car.

Crawford parks too, then kills the engine. He turns to her,

removing his sunglasses, gestures to the case file.

CRAWFORD:

(softly)

You think about him long enough, you

get a feel for him... Then, if you're

lucky, out of all the stuff you know,

one little part of it tugs at you,

tries to get your attention... You

let me know when that happens,

Starling. Live right behind your

eyes, today. Don't try to impose any

patterns on this guy. Just stay open

and let him show you...

One of the troopers, impassive in his sunglasses and hat,

peers in through Crawford's window. Crawford nods to him,

then turns back to Clarice.

CRAWFORD:

School's out, Starling.

CUT TO:

EXT. SIDEWALK OF THE FUNERAL HOME - POTTER, WEST VA. - DAY

SOUND of organ music, as Clarice, carrying her fingerprint

kit, mounts some steps to the sidewalk. She stops, seeing -

COUNTRY PEOPLE:

in their somber best, filing into the mortuary for a service.

The music - "Shall We Gather At The River?" - is issuing

from the open double doors. Several of the mourners glance

over at her curiously.

ANGLE ON CLARICE

staring back at the mourners, hearing the music, as a sense

memory is triggered in her...

IN FLASHBACK - LOW ANGLE, MOVING

as we approach, down the aisle of a country chapel, an open

wooden coffin. Sad country faces turn, looking at us from

the flanking pews. The b.g. organ hymn is "Shall We

Gather...?"

THE SAD, 10 YEAR-OLD CLARICE

in her best dress, is reluctantly approaching the casket.

Her hands are held by the plump hands of unseen matrons.

CHILD'S POV

on the looming coffin... closer and closer... until finally

she can see, lying inside it... her dead father, arms folded,

his marshal's badge still pinned to his lapel.

CRAWFORD (V.O.)

Starling...?

NEW ANGLE (PRESENT DAY)

as the grownup Clarice turns towards the impatient Crawford.

Like her, he carries a large case.

CRAWFORD:

We're around back.

CUT TO:

INT. FUNERAL HOME - BACK CORRIDOR - DAY

A young deputy, several state troopers, and a SHERIFF are

all waiting, as Crawford and Clarice enter. The dim, cluttered

corridor doubles as storage space - there's a treadle sewing

machine, a soft-drink machine, a tricycle. The MUSIC is

closer. Crawford shakes hands with the sheriff.

CRAWFORD:

Sheriff Perkins? Jack Crawford, FBI...

This is Officer Starling. We

appreciate your phoning us.

SHERIFF:

(grim, unsociable)

I didn't call you. That was somebody

from the state attorney's office...

'For you do a thing else, I'm gon'

find out if this girl's local. It

could just be somethin' that outside

elements has dumped on us.

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