Chapter 44 Chapter Forty-Three

Dr. Hannibal Lecter stands at the check-in desk at the elegantly appointed Marcus Hotel in St. Louis.He wore a brown cap and a raincoat that buttoned up to his neck.A clean surgical bandage covered his nose and cheeks. He signed the register as "Lloyd Wyman," a signature he had practiced in Wyman's car. "How will you pay, Mr. Wyman?" said the waiter. " "Amex." Dr. Lecter handed the man Lloyd Wyman's credit card. Soft piano music played in the lounge.At the bar, Dr. Lecter sees two people with bandages on their noses.A middle-aged couple, humming a Cole Porter tune, walks across the foyer to the elevator. The woman has a gauze over one eye.

The waiter stamped the credit card. "You must be aware, Mr. Wyman, that you are entitled to a medical garage." "Yes, thank you," Dr. Lecter said.He had already parked Weman's car in the garage, and Weman was in the trunk. The footman carried Wyman's bag to a small apartment, and he got a five-dollar note from "Wyman" as a tip. Dr. Lecter ordered a drink and a sandwich and took a long shower to relax. After so long in captivity, the suite seemed spacious to Dr. Lecter.He happily walked up and down the suite, back and forth. From the window he could see across the street the Myron-Sadie-Fletcher Pavilion at St. Louis Municipal Hospital, where one of the world's best centers for craniofacial surgery was located.

Dr. Lecter's face was already too well known for him to take advantage of plastic surgery here, but it was one place in the world where he could walk around with a bandage on his face without arousing curiosity. He had been here once before, many years ago, when he was doing psychiatric research at the superb Robert J. Bruckman Memorial Library. Got a window, got several windows, and he's already intoxicated!He stood at the darkened window, watching the headlights move over the MacArthur Bridge, sipping his drink.He was tired after the five-hour drive from Memphis, but comfortably tired.

The only thing I really needed to rush this evening was in the underground garage of the Memphis International Airport.Cleaning the back of a parked ambulance with swabs, alcohol, and distilled water is not at all convenient.He had donned a paramedic's white coat and had done nothing more than catch a lone traveler in a back passage of the long-term car park in the huge garage.The man thoughtfully leaned into the trunk of the car to get his sample box, not seeing Dr. Lecter approaching him from behind. Dr. Lecter wondered if the police would think he was stupid enough to fly from the airport.

On the drive to St. Louis, the only trouble was figuring out where the lights, low beams, and wipers were on the foreign car, since Dr. Lecter was not familiar with the stalk-mounted controls next to the steering wheel. Tomorrow he would buy what he needed, hair dye, hairdressing supplies, sun lamps; and a few more prescriptions, which he would get as well, so that his appearance could be changed in an instant.He waited until it was convenient for him to move on. There is no reason to be too hasty.