Graham held on to the railing of the jury box with both hands.
Freddy Lounds sounded tired and frightened.
“I have had a great privilege. I have seen . . . I have seen with wonder . . . wonder and awe . . . awe . . . the strength of the Great Red Dragon.”
The original recording had been interrupted frequently as it was made. The machine caught the clack of the stop key each time. Graham saw the finger on the key. Dragon finger.
“I lied about Him. All I wrote was lies from Will Graham. He made me write them. I have . . . I have blasphemed against the Dragon. Even so . . . the Dragon is merciful. Now I want to serve Him. He . . . has helped me understand . . . His Splendor and I will praise Him. Newspapers, when you print this, always capitalize the H in ‘Him.’
“He knows you made me lie, Will Graham. Because I was forced to lie, He will be more . . . more merciful to me than to you, Will Graham.
“Reach behind you, Will Graham . . . and feel for the small . . . knobs on the top of your pelvis. Feel your spine between them . . . that is the precise spot . . . where the Dragon will snap your spine.”
Graham kept his hands on the railing. Damn if I’ll feel. Did the Dragon not know the nomenclature of the iliac spine, or did he choose not to use it?
“There’s much . . . for you to dread. From . . . from my own lips you’ll learn a little more to dread.”
A pause before the awful screaming. Worse, the blubbering lipless cry, “You goddanned astard you romised.”
Graham put his head between his knees until the bright spots stopped dancing in front of his eyes. He opened his mouth and breathed deep.
An hour passed before he could listen to it again.
He took the recorder into the jury room and tried to listen there. Too close. He left the tape recorder turning and went back into the courtroom. He could hear through the open door.
“I have had a great privilege . . .”
Someone was at the courtroom door. Graham recognized the young clerk from the Chicago FBI office and motioned for him to come in.
“A letter came for you,” the clerk said. “Mr. Chester sent me with it. He told me to be sure and say the postal inspector fluoroscoped it.”
The clerk pulled the letter out of his breast pocket. Heavy mauve stationery. Graham hoped it was from Molly.
“It’s stamped, see?”
“Thank you.”
“Also it’s payday.” The clerk handed him his check.
On the tape, Freddy screamed.
The young man flinched.
“Sorry,” Graham said.
“I don’t see how you stand it,” the young man said.
“Go home,” Graham said.
He sat in the jury box to read his letter. He wanted some relief. The letter was from Dr. Hannibal Lecter.
Dear Will,
A brief note of congratulations for the job you did on Mr. Lounds. I admired it enormously. What a cunning boy you are!
Mr. Lounds often offended me with his ignorant drivel, but he did enlighten me on one thing—your confinement in the mental hospital. My inept attorney should have brought that out in court, but never mind.
You know, Will, you worry too much. You’d be so much more comfortable if you relaxed with yourself.