Starling collected sugar packets at the condiment stand and watched Corey seat herself at the agreed table.

You may labor under the misconception that all Protestants look alike. Not so. Just as one Caribbean person can often tell the specific island of another, Starling, raised by the Lutherans, looked at this woman and said to herself, Church of Christ, maybe a Nazarene at the outside.

Starling took off her jewelry, a plain bracelet and a gold stud in her good ear, and put them in her bag.

Her watch was plastic, okay. She couldn't do much about the rest of her appearance.

"Inelle Corey? Want some coffee?"

Starling was carrying two cups.

"It's pronounced Eyenelle. I don't drink coffee."

"I'll drink both of them, want something else? I'm Clarice Starling."

"I don't care for anything. You want to show me some picture ID?"

"Absolutely," Starling said. "Ms Corey – may I call you Inelle?"

The woman shrugged.

"Inelle, I need some help on a matter that really doesn't involve you personally at all. I just need guidance in finding some records from the.Baltimore State Hospital."

Inelle Corey speaks with exaggerated precision to express righteousness or anger.

"We have went through this with the state board at the time of closure, Miss-" "Starling."

"Miss Starling. You will find that not a patient went out of that hospital without a folder. You will find that not a folder went out of that hospital that was not approved by a supervisor. As for as the deceased go, the Health Department did not need their folders, the Bureau of Vital Statistics did not want their folders, and as for as I know, the dead folders, that is the folders of the deceased, remained at the Baltimore State Hospital past my separation date and I was about the last one out. The elopements went to the city police and the sheriff's department."

"Elopements?"

"That's when somebody runs off. Trusties took off sometimes."

"Would Dr Hannibal Lecter be carried as an elopement? Do you think his records might have gone to law enforcement?"

"He was not an elopement. He was never carried as our elopement. He was not in our custody when he took off. I went down there to the bottom and looked at Dr Lecter one time, showed him to my sister when she was here with the boys. I feel sort of nasty and cold when I think about it. He stirred up one of those other ones to throw some" – she lowered her voice – " jism on us. Do you know what that is?"

"I've heard the term," Starling said. "Was it Mr. Miggs, by any chance? He had a good arm."

"I've shut it out of my mind. I remember you. You came to the hospital and talked to Fred – Dr Chilton and went down there in that basement with Lecter, didn't you?"

"Yes."

Dr Frederick Chilton was the director of the Baltimore State I-hospital for the Criminally Insane who went missing while on vacation after Dr Lecter's escape.

"You know Fred disappeared."

"Yes, I heard that."

Ms Corey developed quick, bright tears. "He was my fiancé," she said. "He was gone, and then the hospital closed, it was just like the roof had fell in on me. If I hadn't had my church I could not have got by."

"I'm sorry," Starling said. "You have a good job now.

"But I don't have Fred. He was a fine, fine man. We shared a love, a love you don't find everyday. He was voted Boy of the Year in Canton when he was in high school. "

"Well, I'll be. Let me ask you this, Inelle, did he keep the records in his office, or were they out in reception where your desk -"."They were in the wall cabinets in his office and then they got so many we got big filing cabinets out in the reception area. They was always locked, of course. When we moved out, they moved in the methadone clinic on a temporary basis and a lot of stuff was moved around."

"Did you ever see and handle Dr Lecter's file?"

"Sure."

"Do you remember any X rays in it? Were X rays filed with the medical reports or separate?"

"With. Filed with. They were bigger than the files and that made it clumsy. We had an X-ray but no full-time radiologist to keep a separate file. I honestly don't remember if it was one with his or not. There was an electrocardiogram tape Fred used to show to people, Dr Lecter – I don't even want to call him a doctor was all wired up to the electrocardiograph when he got the poor nurse. See, it was freakish – his pulse rate didn't even go up much when he attacked her. He got a separated shoulder when all the orderlies, you know, grabbed aholt of him and pulled him off of her. They'd of had to X-ray him for that. They'd have give him plenty more than a separated shoulder if I'd had something to say about it."

"If anything occurs to you, any place the file might be, would you call me?"

"We'll do what we call a global search?"

Ms Corey said, savoring the term, "but I don't think we'll find anything. A lot of stuff just got abandoned, not by us, but by the methadone people."

The coffee mugs had the thick rims that dribble down the sides. Starling watched Inelle Corey walk heavily away like hell's own option and drank half a cup with her napkin tucked under her chin.

Starling was coming back to herself a little. She knew she was weary of something. Maybe it was tackiness, worse than tackiness, stylelessness maybe. An indifference to things that please the eye. Maybe she was hungry for some style. Even snuff-queen style was better than nothing, it was a statement, whether you wanted to hear it or not.

Starling examined herself for snobbism and decided she had damn little to be snobbish about. Then, thinking of style, she thought of Evelda Drumgo, who had plenty of it. With the thought, Starling wanted badly to get outside herself again.

AND SO, Starling returned to the place where it all began for her, the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, now defunct. The old brown building, house of pain, is chained and barred, marked with graffiti and awaiting the wrecking ball.

It had been going downhill for years before the disappearance on vacation of its director, Dr Frederick Chilton. Subsequent revelations of waste and mismanagement and the decrepitude of the building itself soon caused the legislature to choke off its funds. Some patients were moved to other state institutions, some were dead and a few wandered the streets of Baltimore as Thorazine zombies in an ill-conceived outpatient program that got more than one of them frozen to death…Waiting in front of the old building, Clarice Starling realized she had exhausted the other possibilities first because she did not want to go in this place again.

The caretaker was forty-five minutes late. He was a stocky older man with a built-up shoe that clopped, and an eastern European haircut that may have been done at home. He wheezed as he led her to a side door, a few steps down from the sidewalk. The lock had been punched out by scavengers and the door secured with a chain and two padlocks. There were fuzzy webs in the links of the chain. Grass growing in the cracks of the steps tickled Starling's ankles as the caretaker fumbled with his keys. The late afternoon was overcast, the light grainy and without shadows.

"I am not knowing this building well, I just check the fire alarums," the man said.

"Do you know if any papers are stored here? Any filing cabinets, any records?"

He shrugged. "After the hospital, they had the methadone clinic here, a few months. They put everything in the basement, some beds, some linens, I don't know what it was. It's bed in there for my asthma, the mold, very bed mold. The mattresses on the beds were moldy, bad mold on the beds. I kint breed in dere. The stairs are hal on my leck. I would show you, but-?"

Starling would have been glad of some company, even his, but he would slow her down. "No, go on. Where's your office?"