Carnivore, Won't You Come Digest Me?

Chapter 11

"The Ripper began his slew of killings over three years ago," Will says, pulling out the photographs of the first sounder and pinning them to the corkboard. The board is half cork, half whiteboard for notes. He affixes the autopsy reports and the lead detective's report aside each one. "The cooling off period has been decreasing, but the execution of the murders has held to the same level of brutality."

Hannibal nods, watching as Will puts up the second set of murders, then the third. They're in the FBI university building, in the corner of one of Will's lecture halls. There aren't any scheduled lectures for the day, given that it's a Saturday, so he knows they won't be interrupted by any students or faculty.

Will steps back, looking up at his board, and then turns to face Hannibal. "He has to have some kind of surgical know-how," he says. "There's no learning curve for his kills. No hesitation."

"You compared his victims to pigs," Hannibal says, leaning against the desk and folding his arms across his chest, his eyes still on the board. Will joins him and mimics his posture. On the desk is the file for the copycat murder, which Hannibal knows now he will not convince Will was anything but another of the Ripper's designs, as well as other suspected case studies that Hannibal doesn't remember seeing. Clearly Will has been doing his research.

Will nods, pressing his lips together. "The attacks were remote, the bodies discarded like garbage," he says without inflection. "Suggests an organized killer. He's patient. He waits for the right time to hunt. But I can't figure out how he's choosing them."

"If you're correct, perhaps the randomness is by design," Hannibal suggests. Of course, he knows that that's not the case – each of these people are guilty of their own sins in one way or another. Personal slights that his pride couldn't let go of.

Will frowns, and turns to meet Hannibal's eyes. "So, he's deliberately choosing people that don't matter to him?" he asks. Then he shakes his head and looks back to the board. "I don't believe that."

"Did he tell you as much?" Hannibal asks with a smile.

Will huffs, his jaw clenching, but he doesn't rise to Hannibal's bait.

"Hunters like this take their time," Will says. "They choose a target, and stalk that target for however long is necessary to make the attack. Just because it isn't personal doesn't mean it's random. It's too sophisticated for a 'Wrong place, wrong time' victimology.

Hannibal cocks his head to one side. "An insurance salesman," he says, "a dentist. An FBI trainee, a mechanic. Professional people."

Will rubs a hand over his mouth and stands up. He goes to the board and moves Miriam Lass' file across to the other side of the board. She doesn't have a crime scene photo – just the one of her smiling, which would have been taken from her personnel file. "I don't think Lass counts," he says.

"Why is that?"

"We never found her body," Will replies. "Technically she's still classified as a missing person. There's always a body, Agent Lecter."

"Serial killers like this often devolve," Hannibal says. "Perhaps he consumed her in her entirety."

Will pauses, and turns to look at Hannibal. His eyes are dark, assessing, and Hannibal tilts his head to one side. "What is it?"

"...Consuming them," he says. He looks back at the board, fingers tracing over the line of flesh of the girl Hannibal mounted on the stag's head. "Of course." His voice is soft, breathy. "I assumed he was harvesting them as trophies, or maybe selling them on the black market. What if that's why he felt such a connection to Garrett Jacob Hobbs?" He looks back at Hannibal, a pleased smile on his face that shows his teeth. "What if he's eating the organs he takes?"