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“I’d rather clip them to do DNA. I don’t need them ID’d by finger, but separate them hand from hand, if you would, Doctor.”

“Can you run PCR-STR?”

“They can in the main lab. We’ll have something for you, Sheriff, in three to four days.”

“Can you do that deer blood yourself?” Warden Moody asked.

“No, we can just tell it’s animal blood,” Starling said.

“What if you was to just find the deer meat in somebody’s Frigidaire,” Warden Moody offered. “You’d want to know whether it come out of that deer, wouldn’t you? Sometimes we have to be able to tell deer from deer by blood to make a poaching case. Ever individual deer is different. You wouldn’t think that, would you? We have to send blood off to Portland, Oregon, to the Oregon Game and Fish, they can tell you if you wait long enough. They come back with ‘This is Deer No. One,’ they’ll say, or just call it ‘Deer A,’ with a long case number since, you know, a deer don’t have any name. That we know of.”

Starling liked Moody’s old weather-beaten face. “We’ll call this one ‘John Doe,’ Warden Moody. That’s useful to know about Oregon, we might have to do some business with them, thank you,” she said and smiled at him until he blushed and fumbled with his cap.

As she bent her head to rummage in her bag, Dr. Hollingsworth considered her for the pleasure it gave him. Her face had lit up for a moment, talking with old Moody. That beauty spot in her cheek looked very much like burnt gunpowder. He wanted to ask, but thought better of it.

“What did you put the papers in, not plastic?” she asked the sheriff.

“Brown paper sacks. A brown paper sack never hurt much of anything.” The sheriff rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, and looked up at Starling. “You know why I called your outfit, why I wanted Jack Crawford over here. I’m glad you came, now that I recollect who you are. Nobody’s said ‘cannibal’ outside this room because the press will tromp the woods flat as soon as it’s out. All they know is it could be a hunting accident. They heard maybe a body was mutilated. They don’t know Donnie Barber was cut for meat. There’s not that many cannibals, Agent Starling.”

“No, Sheriff. Not that many.”

“It’s awful neat work.”

“Yessir, it is.”

“I may be thinking about him because he’s been in the paper so much—does this look like that Hannibal Lecter to you?”

Starling watched a daddy longlegs hide in the drain of the vacant autopsy table. “Dr. Lecter’s sixth victim was a bow hunter,” Starling said.

“Did he eat him?”

“That one, no. He left him hanging from a peg board wall with all sorts of wounds in him. He left him looking like a medieval medical illustration called Wound Man. He’s interested in medieval things.”

The pathologist pointed to the lungs spread across Donnie Barber’s back. “You were saying this was an old ritual.”

“I think so,” Starling said. “I don’t know if Dr. Lecter did this. If he did it, the mutilation’s not a fetish—this arrangement’s not a compulsive thing with him.”

“What is it then?”

“It’s whimsy,” she said, looking to see if she put them off with the exact word. “It’s whimsy, and it’s what got him caught last time.”

CHAPTER

59

THE DNA lab was new, smelled new, and the personnel were younger than Starling. It was something she’d have to get used to, she thought with a twinge—she’d be a year older very soon.

A young woman with A. BENNING on her name tag signed for the two arrows Starling brought.

A. Benning had had some bad experiences receiving evidence, judging from her evident relief when she saw the two missiles wired carefully to Starling’s evidence board with twist ties.

“You don’t want to know what I see sometimes when I open these things,” A. Benning said. “You have to understand that I can’t tell you anything, like in five minutes—”

“No,” Starling said. “There’s no reference RFLP on Dr. Lecter, he escaped too long ago and the artifacts have been polluted, handled by a hundred people.”

“Lab time is too valuable to run every sample, like fourteen hairs say from a motel room. If you bring me—”

“Listen to me,” Starling said, “then you talk. I’ve asked the Questura in Italy to send me the toothbrush they think belonged to Dr. Lecter. You can get some epithelial cheek cells off it. Do both RFLP and short tandem repeats on them. This crossbow quarrel has been in the rain, I doubt you’ll get much off it, but look here—”