“Nope.”
Mapp nodded, not surprised. “The drum says they’re covering your mail.”
“Who is?”
“Confidential directive from the Postal Inspector. You didn’t know that, did you?”
“No.”
“So discover it some other way, we need to cover my post office buddy.”
“Okay.” Starling put down her cleaver for a moment. “Jesus, Ardelia.”
Starling had stood at the post office counter and bought her stamps, reading nothing in the closed faces of the busy postal clerks, most of them African-American, and several of whom she knew. Clearly someone wanted to help her, but it was a big chance to take with criminal penalties and your pension on the line. Clearly that someone trusted Ardelia more than Starling. Along with her anxiety, Starling felt a happy flash at having a favor from the African-American hot line. Maybe it expressed a tacit judgment of self-defense in the shooting of Evelda Drumgo.
“Now, take those green onions and mash them with the knife handle and give them here. Mash the green and all,” Ardelia said.
When she had finished the prep work, Starling washed her hands and went into the absolute order of Ardelia’s living room and sat down. Ardelia came in in a minute, drying her hands on a dish towel.
“Hell kind of bullshit is this?” Ardelia said.
It was their practice to curse heartily before taking up anything truly ominous, a late-century form of whistling in the dark.
“Be Got Dam if I know,” Starling said. “Who’s the sumbitch looking at my mail, that’s the thing.”
“PI’s office is as far back as my folks can go.”
“It’s not the shooting, it’s not Evelda,” Starling said. “If they’re looking at my mail, it’s got to be about Dr. Lecter.”
“You turned in every damn thing he ever sent you. You down with Crawford on that.”
“Damn straight. If it’s the Bureau OPR checking up on me I can find that out, I think. If it’s Justice OPR, I don’t know.”
The Justice Department and its subsidiary, the FBI, have separate Offices of Professional Responsibility, which theoretically cooperate and sometimes collide. Such conflicts are known in-house as pissing contests, and agents caught in the middle sometimes get drowned. In addition, the Inspector General at Justice, a political appointee, can jump in anytime and take over a sensitive case.
“If they know something Hannibal Lecter’s up to, if they think he’s close, they got to let you know it to protect yourself. Starling, do you ever … feel him around you?”
Starling shook her head. “I don’t worry about him much. Not that way. I used to go a long time and not even think about it. You know that lead feeling, that heavy gray feeling when you dread something? I don’t ever have that. I just think I’d know if I had a problem.”
“What would you do, Starling? What would you do if you saw him in front of you? All of a sudden? Have you got it set in your mind? Would you throw down on him?”
“Fast as I could grab it out of my britches, I’d throw down on his ass.”
Ardelia laughed. “And then what?”
Starling’s smile went away. “That would be up to him.”
“Could you shoot him?”
“To keep my own chitterlings in place, are you kidding me? My God, I hope that never happens, Ardelia. I’d be glad if he got back in custody without anybody else getting hurt—including him. I’ll tell you though, sometimes I think, if he’s ever cornered, I’d want to take the point going in for him.”
“Don’t even say that.”
“With me he’d have a better chance to come out alive. I wouldn’t shoot him because I’m scared of him. He’s not the wolf man. It would just be up to him.”
“Are you scared of him? You better be scared enough.”
“You know what’s scary, Ardelia? It’s scary when somebody tells you the truth. I’d like to see him beat the needle. If he can do that, and he’s put in an institution, there’s enough academic interest in him to keep his treatment pretty good. And he won’t have any problem with roommates. If he was in the slams I’d thank him for his note. Can’t waste a man that’s crazy enough to tell the truth.”