“This is the Mid-South regional office of the Ford recall division? He’s entitled to some warranty work on his LTD free of charge?”
“I’m Bardwell. I thought you was trying to sell me something on that cheap long distance. It’s way too late for any adjustment, I need the whole thing. Me and the wife was in Little Rock, pulling out of the Southland Mall there?”
“Yessir.”
“Durn rod come out through the oil pan. Oil all over everywhere and that Orkin truck that’s got the big bug on top of it? He hit that oil and got sideways.”
“Lord have mercy.”
“Knocked the Fotomat booth slap off the blocks and the glass fell out. Fotomat fella come wandering out addled. Had to keep him out of the road.”
“Well I’ll be. What happened to it then?”
“What happened to what?”
“The car.”
“I told Buddy Sipper at the wrecking yard he could have it for fifty if he’d come get it. I expect he’s parted it out.”
“Could you tell me what his telephone number is, Mr. Bardwell?”
“What do you want with Sipper? If anybody gets something out of it, it ought to be me.”
“I understand that, sir. I just do what they tell me till five o’clock, and they said find the car. Have you got that number, please?”
“I can’t find my phone book. It’s been gone a good while now. You know how it is with these grandbabies. Central ought to give it to you, it’s Sipper Salvage.”
“Much oblige, Mr. Bardwell.”
The salvage yard confirmed that the automobile had been stripped and pressed into a cube to be recycled. The foreman read Starling the vehicle serial number from his records.
Shit House Mouse, thought Starling, not entirely out of the accent. Dead end. Some Valentine.
Starling rested her head against the cold coin box in the telephone booth. Ardelia Mapp, her books on her hip, pecked on the door of the booth and handed in an Orange Crush.
“Much oblige, Ardelia. I got to make one more call. If I can get done with that in time, I’ll catch up with you in the cafeteria, okay?”
“I was so in hopes you’d overcome that ghastly dialect,” Mapp said. “Books are available to help you. I never use the colorful patois of my housing project anymore. You come talking that mushmouth, people say you eat up with the dumb-ass, girl.” Mapp closed the phone booth door.
Starling felt she had to try for more information from Lecter. If she already had the appointment, maybe Crawford would let her return to the asylum. She dialed Dr. Chilton’s number, but she never got past his secretary.
“Dr. Chilton is with the coroner and the assistant district attorney,” the woman said. “He’s already spoken to your supervisor and he has nothing to say to you. Good-bye.”
CHAPTER 7
“Your friend Miggs is dead,” Crawford said. “Did you tell me everything, Starling?” Crawford’s tired face was as sensitive to signals as the dished ruff of an owl, and as free of mercy.
“How?” She felt numb and she had to handle it.
“Swallowed his tongue sometime before daylight. Lecter suggested it to him, Chilton thinks. The overnight orderly heard Lecter talking softly to Miggs. Lecter knew a lot about Miggs. He talked to him for a little while, but the overnight couldn’t hear what Lecter said. Miggs was crying for a while, and then he stopped. Did you tell me everything, Starling?”
“Yes sir. Between the report and my memo, there’s everything, almost verbatim.”
“Chilton called up to complain about you.…” Crawford waited, and seemed pleased when she wouldn’t ask. “I told him I found your behavior satisfactory. Chilton’s trying to forestall a civil rights investigation.”
“Will there be one?”
“Sure, if Miggs’ family wants it. Civil Rights Division will do probably eight thousand this year. They’ll be glad to add Miggs to the list.” Crawford studied her. “You okay?”