“Officer Starling found something in my daughter’s jewelry box and she put it in her brown envelope. I think we’d better see what it is, don’t you?”
“Officer,” Krendler said.
“May I speak to you, Mr. Krendler?”
“Of course you can. Later.” He held out his hand.
Starling’s face was hot. She knew Senator Martin was not herself, but she would never forgive Krendler for the doubt in his face. Never.
“You got it,” Starling said. She handed him the envelope.
Krendler looked in at the first picture and had closed the flap again when Senator Martin took the envelope out of his hands.
It was painful to watch
her examine the pictures. When she finished, she went to the window and stood with her face turned up to the overcast sky, her eyes closed. She looked old in the daylight and her hand trembled when she tried to smoke.
“Senator, I—” Krendler began.
“The police searched this room,” Senator Martin said. “I’m sure they found those pictures and had sense enough to put them back and keep their mouths shut.”
“No they did not,” Starling said. The woman was wounded but, hell. “Mrs. Martin, we need to know who this man is, you can see that. If it’s the boyfriend, fine. I can find that out in five minutes. Nobody else needs to see the pictures and Catherine never needs to know.”
“I’ll tend to it.” Senator Martin put the envelope in her purse, and Krendler let her do it.
“Senator, did you take the jewelry out of the rubber cabbage in the kitchen?” Starling asked.
Senator Martin’s aide, Brian Gossage, stuck his head in the door. “Excuse me, Senator, they’ve got the terminal set up. We can watch them search the William Rubin name at the FBI.”
“Go ahead, Senator Martin,” Krendler said. “I’ll be out in a second.”
Ruth Martin left the room without answering Starling’s question.
Starling had a chance to look Krendler over as he was closing the bedroom door. His suit was a triumph of single-needle tailoring and he was not armed. The shine was buffed off the bottom half-inch of his heels from walking on much deep carpet, and the edges of the heels were sharp:
He stood for a moment with his hand on the doorknob, his head down.
“That was a good search,” he said when he turned around.
Starling couldn’t be had that cheap. She looked back at him.
“They turn out good rummagers at Quantico,” Krendler said.
“They don’t turn out thieves.”
“I know that,” he said.
“Hard to tell.”
“Drop it.”
“We’ll follow up on the pictures and the rubber cabbage, right?” she said.
“Yes.”
“What’s the ‘William Rubin’ name, Mr. Krendler?”
“Lecter says that’s Buffalo Bill’s name. Here’s our transmission to ID section and NCIC. Look at this.” He gave her a transcript of the Lecter interview with Senator Martin, blurry copy from a dot-matrix printer.