Chapter 7 Chapter Six

On Monday morning, Starling found this note from Crawford in her mailbox: Ke-Shi: Get your hands on Charles Spear's car.Use your own spare time.My office will give you a credit card number for long distance calls.To touch that heritage or where to go, get in touch with me beforehand.Report to me at four o'clock on Wednesday afternoon. The Director has your signed report on Lecter.Well done. Jack-K 8 Starling was very happy.She knew that Crawford was just getting an exhausted rat to chase her down for exercise.But he wanted to teach her, and he wanted her to do well, which was better for Starling than being polite to her every time.

Raspail had been dead for eight years. What evidence could have stayed in the car for that long? She knew from her family's experience that cars depreciated extremely quickly, so the court with the right to accept appeals would allow the depositor to sell the car before probate, and the proceeds from the sale of the car would be handed over to a third party for safekeeping.It appears that even with a disputed estate as entangled as Raspail's, there's no way a titleholder could keep a car for so long. There is also a question of time.Including the lunch break, Starling had an hour and fifteen minutes a day to call during office hours.She had to report to Crawford on Wednesday afternoon, so she had only three hours and forty-five minutes to track the car over the three days, which also took up her study time, and her homework was only at night. Make up.She took good notes during her investigative procedure class, and she had the opportunity to ask the teacher for general questions.

During lunch on Monday, workers at the Baltimore County Courthouse kept Starling on hold; three times in a row they forgot about her.Later, when she was studying, she was connected to a very kind clerk in the court building, who opened the verification record of Raspail's estate for her. One car had been approved for sale, the clerk confirmed.He will be the model of this car.The serial number and the name of the owner after the transfer were given to Starling. On Tuesday, half lunch time was spent looking up that name, and the other half was spent looking up the Maryland Department of Motor Vehicles, only to find out that the department couldn't find the vehicle by the serial number, only by the registration number or current license plate number .

On Tuesday afternoon, a downpour drove the trainees from the range into the building.In a conference room, former Marine Corps gunnery instructor John Blum was sweaty and sweaty, his clothes steaming.He singled out Starling to test her hand strength in front of the class to see what she could do with a Smith & Wesson 19 in a minute. How many trigger pulls. She scored seventy-four dunks with her left hand.She blew away a strand of hair that was blocking her view, and started over with her right hand; another student counted for her.She stood firmly in Weaver's gait, the front sight perfectly sharp, the rear sight and improvised target suitably blurred.In the middle of the fight, she allowed herself to walk away for a while to relieve the pain.The target on the wall became clear, a certificate of honor from her mentor, John Blum, from the Department of State Commerce Enforcement.

While another cadet counted the trigger pulls of her revolver, she turned her mouth to Bram and asked: "If only the car number..." "Six five, six six, six seven, six eight, six..." "And the model, there is no current license plate number..." "Seventy-eight, seventy-nine, eighty, eighty-one..." "How did you find its current registration number?" "... Eighty nine, ninety. Time is up." "Okay, gentlemen," said the instructor, "I want you to pay attention to what has just happened. The strength of the hand is the main factor in continuous shooting in combat. Some of you gentlemen are worried, and I will call them next. Yours It's understandable to be worried - Li Dalin's strength in both hands is far above the average, and that's because she has worked hard. You all have the chance to touch those little hands, she has practiced hard, Most of you are not used to practice, and the hardest thing you can pinch is no more than yours" - he has been wary of using his old Marine Corps idiom, so he smiled politely after searching for a while —"Little Puscar," he said finally, "seriously, Starling, you're still not good enough. I'd like to see you hit ninety plus with your left hand before you graduate. Teams of two, time each other— Quick! Quick!

"Not you, Starling. Come here. What else do you have with that car?" "It's just the serial number and model, it's gone. There's also the owner of the car five years ago." "Okay, listen. Most people get... get it wrong because they're trying to jump from owner to owner in the registration number. It gets messed up from state to state, I mean, even when The police sometimes do that too. All the computer has is the registration number and the license plate number, which we're all used to, instead of sequential vehicle numbers." The sound of the trigger of his blue-handled training revolver filled the room, and he had to shout into her ear.

"There is a very simple way. The RL Polk company that prints the directory of city industrial and commercial firms also publishes a catalog of current car license plates organized by model and serial number. This is the only one. Car dealers want to find them for advertising. How do you Know you want to ask me?" "You worked in Interstate Commerce Enforcement, and I reckon you inspected quite a few vehicles. Thanks." "You have to be rewarded by me--practice your left-handed kung fu until you meet the requirements, and lose the face of these boring people." She went to the phone booth again during study time; her hands were shaking so badly that she could barely see what was being recorded.Raspail's car was a Ford, and there was a Ford dealer near the University of Virginia who had patiently repaired her Pinto over the years as best he could.Today, the auto dealer does the same for her in Polk's catalog.He returned to the telephone and gave her the name and address of the man who had last acquired Benjamin Raspail's car.

Good luck to Clarice, Clarice can restrain herself.Don't get carried away with such joy; call the man's house and I'll see, Arkansas, Ninth Ditch.Jack Crawford would never let me go there, but at least I can verify who's driving that car. No one answered, called again, still no one answered.The ringing of the phone sounded funny and far away, jingling twice, like a telephone on the same line.At night she tried again, but still no one answered. Around lunchtime on Wednesday, a man answered Starling's phone: "MPOO Radio is playing oldies now." "Hello, I want to find-"

"I don't love any aluminum siding and I don't want to live in a trailer park in Florida, what else do you have?" Starling heard a lot of Arkansas mountain accents in the man's voice.She could talk to anyone with that accent if she wanted to, but she didn't have time right now. "Yes sir, I would be very grateful if you could do me a favor. I would like to get in touch with Mr. Lomax Bardwell. My name is Clarice Starling." "Starling or something," the man yelled at the others in the room. "What's the matter with Budwell?" "This is the Central South Branch of Ford's Unqualified Product Recycling Department. He is entitled to the company's free warranty on his LTD car."

"I'm Budwell. Thought you were trying to sell me something by making the easy long distance call. It's too late for any repairs. What I want is a whole car. My wife and I were in Little Rock, Pulling out of the Southland business district over there,—listen?" "Yes, sir." "The goddam connecting rod poked out of the oil pan and got oil all over the place. You know that Orkin truck with the big bug on top? It hit the oil and slid over the side." "God bless!" "Washed down the Furtmeat shed, and the shed slumped down from the wooden blocks under it, and the glass fell. The kid in the Furtmeat shed came out in a daze, walking in all directions, Just don't let him go."

"Well, if I could. What happened then?" "What happened after that?" "car" "I told Brother Xibo at the scrap car dismantling yard that he wanted to come and pick it up, and I sold it for fifty yuan. I guess he has already dismantled the car to pieces." "Can you give me his number, Mr. Bardwell?" "Why are you looking for Xibo? If anyone wants to get something out of it, it should be me!" "I understand, sir. I just do what they tell me, until five o'clock. They say find the car. Do you have the number, please?" "I can't find my phone number book. It's been a long time since I lost it. You know what it's like to have these little grandchildren. The switchboard should give you the number. That place is called Xibo Scrap Recycling Yard." "Thank you, Mr. Bardwell." The scrapyard confirmed the car had been dismantled and cubed for recycling.The field chief reported the recorded vehicle number to Starling. Shit rats!Starling thought.She hasn't quite gotten rid of her earthy accent yet.Dead end.What a Valentine's Day gift! Starling rested her head on the cold drop box in the phone booth.With a book on her hip, Adeleji Mapp knocked on the door of the telephone booth several times, and then handed in a bottle of orange juice. "Thank you, Adeleji. I have to make a phone call. If it can be done in time, I'll meet you in the cafeteria, okay?" "How I wish you could get rid of that dreadful dialect," said Mapp, "and get some books to help you out, and stop using the colorful dialects of my neighborhood! You come here Talking so slurred, people say you're into those crappy things, girl." Mapp shut the door of the phone booth. Starling felt the need to try to get some more information out of Lecter.If she made an appointment first, Crawford might have sent her back to the asylum again.She dialed Dr. Chilton's number, but was stopped by his secretary. Dr. Chilton was with the coroner and the assistant district attorney.The woman said, "He's already talked to your superiors and has nothing to say to you. Goodbye."