T H E S I L E N C E O F T H E L A M B S
screenplay by
TED TALLY
based on the novel by
THOMAS HARRIS
2nd draft
July 28, 1989
______________________________________________________________________
NOTE
For legal reasons, the names of three
of Tom Harris's characters have had to
be changed. It is my hope, and certainly
Tom's, that the original names can be
restored in time for the making of this
movie.
For the purposes of this draft, however,
Jack Crawford has become "Ray Campbell,"
Frederick Chilton has become "Herbert
Prentiss," and Dr. Hannibal Lecter is
called "Dr. Gideon Quinn."
______________________________________________________________________
FADE IN:
INT. GRUBBY HOTEL CORRIDOR - DAY (DIMLY LIT)
A woman's face BACKS INTO SHOT, her head resting against grimy
wallpaper. She is tense, sweaty, wide-eyed with concentration.
This is CLARICE STARLING - mid-20's, trim, very pretty. She wears
Kevlar body armor over a navy windbreaker, khaki pants. Her thick
hair is piled under a navy baseball cap. A revolver, clutched in
her right hand, hovers by her ear. She raises a speedloader, in
her left hand, locks it into her cylinder, twists and reloads.
CLOSE ON
a guest room door, with a small, wired pack attached to its knob.
Suddenly, wish a sharp CRACK!, the knob explodes, and the door
bursts open.
WITH CLARICE - MOVING SHOT -
as she runs around a corner, through a cloud of smoke. She
shoulders aside the shattered door and rushes inside, gun at
the ready in both hands...
CUT TO:
INT. HOTEL ROOM - DAY
CLARICE'S POV - MOVING - as she first sees, sitting on the edge
of a bed - a FEMALE HOSTAGE. Black, late 20's, gagged, hands
behind her back. Then, SWIVELLING... she sees a startled MALE
SUSPECT - white, mid-20's - standing by a window with a rifle
in his hands. He is turning towards her...
CLARICE
drops into a combat crouch, gun extended, and shouts.
CLARICE
Freeze! FBI!
CLARICE'S POV - SLOW MOTION -
all natural SOUND suspended - as the Suspect faces her with
a strange, pleading expression. The rifle is rising in his hands,
but oddly enough, it is held across his chest, not pointing. Then
another puzzling detail registers...
THE SUSPECT'S HANDS
are taped to his gun, away from the trigger; he couldn't use it
even if he tried. Suddenly we hear a metallic CLICK, which reg-
isters with unnatural amplification, as -
CLARICE
reacts, drops to the floor, rolling sideways, and -
THE "HOSTAGE"
pulls a revolver out from behind her back, still in SLOW MOTION,
raising it in her untied hands. She fires repeatedly, flames
leaping from the muzzle; the SOUND is an echoing roar in these
close quarters, but -
CLARICE
has come up on one knee, beside an armchair, and is already
firing back herself, two quick SHOTS, which send -
THE "HOSTAGE"
pitching over the bed, backwards, to shudder and lie still in a
haze of gunsmoke. Clarice rushes to her, clamping one knee down
on her gun hand, still keeping her covered in case of movement.
HOLD for a few beats... then we hear the shrill blast of a
WHISTLE from somewhere, O.S., as normal ACTION and SOUND are
restored.
BRIGHAM (O.S.)
Okay, people, good exercise...
Clarice relaxes, lowering her gun. The lights brighten.
PULLING BACK -
we see that we're in some sort of auditorium, with the "hotel
room" and its "corridor" built as a training set. JOHN BRIGHAM
walks onto this set, thumbing a stopwatch. Mid-40's, ex-Marine.
His T-shirt's lettering says "Firearms Instructor / FBI Academy."
BRIGHAM (contd.)
Starling's reaction time was excellent.
Let's break. Critique in five.
A class of about forty young FBI trainees, of both sexes, be-
gins to rise from their seats, mingling and chatting.
CLARICE
nods amiably to the "Suspect", then gives her "Hostage" a hand
up. It's ARDELIA MAPP, her roommate. Her broad, clever face
breaks into a big smile, as they both remove ear plugs. Clarice's
voice has just a soft trace of southern accent.
ARDELIA
Damn, Clarice, how'd you make me?
CLARICE
(indicating her gun)
Never cock. Just squeeze.
ARDELIA
(grins)
I love it when you talk dirty.
As Brigham joins them, Clarice can't resist a star pupil's little
smile of pride. He frowns good-naturedly.
BRIGHAM
What're you laughin' at, Junior G-Man?
She got off four rounds to your two.
He takes out a steel-coiled grip flexer, drops it onto her palm.
BRIGHAM (contd.)
One hundred reps, each hand, every day.
Now tidy up, the Section Chief wants to
see you.
He nods a direction, then moves off. Clarice, with her smile
finally fading, looks out into the auditorium.
SPECIAL AGENT RAY CAMPBELL
sits on the top step of the aisle, looking down at her. He is 53,
strongly built. He rises impassively, exits through the back door.
He carries a think manila envelope under one arm.
ARDELIA
who is helping Clarice unbuckle her bullet-proof vest, follows
her worried gaze.
CLARICE
What'd I do?
ARDELIA
Stay cool. Just remember to call
him "God."
CUT TO:
EXT. FBI ACADEMY GROUNDS, QUANTICO, VIRGINIA - DAY
Campbell is watching a group of trainees on the firing range,
as Clarice joins him. He looks tired, haunted. Between master
and student, we sense a subtle, muted tug of sexuality.
CAMPBELL
Starling, Clarice M., good morning.
CLARICE
Good morning, Mr. Campbell.
CAMPBELL
Your instructors tell me you're doing
well. Top quarter of the class.
CLARICE
I hope so. They haven't posted anything.
CAMPBELL
A job's come up and I thought about you.
Not really a job, more of - an interest-
ing errand. Walk me to my car, Starling.
They begin to cross the academy grounds. A group of trainees
jogs by, in matching sweats, following a p.e. coach.
CAMPBELL (contd.)
We're trying to interview all of the
serial killers now in custody, for a
psychobehavioral profile. Could be a
big help in unsolved cases. Most of them
have been happy to talk to us. They have
a compulsion to boast, these people...
Do you spook easily, Starling?
CLARICE
Not yet.
CAMPBELL
You see, the one we want most refuses
to cooperate. I want you to go after
him again today, in the asylum.
CLARICE
Who's the subject?
CAMPBELL
The psychiatrist - Dr. Gideon Quinn.
Clarice stops walking, goes very still. A beat.
CLARICE
The cannibal...
Campbell doesn't respond, except to study her face.
CLARICE (contd.)
Yes, well... Okay, right. I'm glad for
the chance, sir, but - why me?
CAMPBELL
You're qualified and available. And frankly,
I can't spare a real agent right now.
He walks on again, at a faster clip. She hurried to keep up.
CAMPBELL (contd.)
I don't expect him to talk to you, but I
have to be able to say we tried... Quinn
was a brilliant psychiatrist, and he
knows all the dodges.
(Hands her the manila envelope)
Dossier on him, copy of our question-
naire, special ID for you... If he won't
talk, then I want straight reporting.
How's he look, how's his cell look,
what's he writing? The Director himself
will see your report, over your own signa-
ture - if I decide it's good enough. I
want that by 0800 Wednesday, and keep this
to yourself.
They're reached his car. His driver stamps on a cigarette, climbs
in behind the wheel. BURROUGHS, his assistant, says something in-
to a walkie-talkie, then opens the back door. But Campbell pulls
her aside, a hand on her shoulder. His intensity is scary.
CAMPBELL (contd.)
Now. I want your full attention, Starling.
Are you listening to me?
CLARICE
Yes sir.
CAMPBELL
Be very careful with Gideon Quinn. Dr.
Prentiss at the asylum will go over the
physical procedures used with him. Do not
deviate from them, for any reason. You
tell him nothing personal, Starling. Believe
me, you don't want Gideon Quinn inside your
head... Just do your job, but never forget
what he is.
CLARICE
(a bit unnerved)
And what is that, sir?
PRENTISS (V.O.)
Oh, he's a monster. A pure psychopath...
CUT TO:
INT. PRENTISS'S OFFICE - BALTIMORE STATE HOSPITAL FOR THE
CRIMINALLY INSANE - DAY
CLOSE ON an I.D. card held in a male hand. Clarice's photo, of-
ficial-looking graphics. It calls her a "Federal Investigator."
PRENTISS (contd., O.S.)
It's so rare to capture one alive. From
a research point of view, Dr. Quinn is
our most prized asset...
DR. HERBERT PRENTISS
looks up from her card. A smarmy little peacock, behind a vast
desk; he's conceived an instant, hopeless letch for Clarice. He
smiles, stroking her card with his beloved gold pen.
PRENTISS (contd.)
You know, we get a lot of detectives here,
but I must say, I can't ever remember one
so attractive...
NEW ANGLE - REVEALS CLARICE -
now wearing a more feminine skirt suit. Hair neatly coiled, ele-
gant shoulder bag, briefcase. He has rudely left her standing.
PRENTISS (contd.)
Will you be in Baltimore overnight...?
Because this can be quite a fun town,
if you have the right guide.
Clarice tires, unsuccessfully, to hide her distaste for him.
CLARICE
I'm sure it's a great town, Dr. Prentiss,
but my instructions are to talk to Quinn
and report back this afternoon.
PRENTISS
(pause; sourly)
I see.
(beat)
Let's make this quick, then. I'm busy.
CUT TO:
INT. ASYLUM CORRIDOR - UPPER FLOOR - DAY
Clarice flinches as a heavy steel gate CLANGS shut behind her,
the bolt shooting home. Prentiss walks ahead of her.
PRENTISS
Quinn carved up nine people - that we're
sure of - and cooked his favorite bits.
We've tried to study him, of course - but
he's much too sophisticated for the stan-
dard tests. And my, does he hate us! Thinks
I'm his nemesis... Campbell's very clever,
isn't he? Using you.
CLARICE
How do you mean, Dr. Prentiss?
PRENTISS
A pretty young woman, to turn him on? I
don't believe Quinn's ever seen a woman in
eight years. And oh, are you ever his
"taste" - so to speak.
CLARICE
I graduated magna from UVA, Doctor.
It's not a charm school.
PRENTISS
Good. Then you should be able to remember
the rules.
CUT TO:
INT. DIFFERENT CORRIDOR - LOWER FLOOR - DAY
A darker, even grimmer area. Heavy grids over the lights. Dis-
tant SLAMMINGS and faint, hoarse SHOUTS. They walk briskly.
PRENTISS
Do not reach through the bars, do not
touch the bars. You pass him nothing but
soft paper - no pens or pencils. No
staples or paperclips in his paper. Use
the sliding food carrier, no exceptions.
Do not accept anything he attempts to
hold out to you. Do you understand me?
CLARICE
I understand.
PRENTISS
I'm going to show you why we insist on
such precautions... On the afternoon of
July 8, 1981, he complained of chest pains
and was taken to the dispensary. His
mouthpiece and restraints were removed
for an EKG. When the nurse bent over him,
he did this to her...
He hands Clarice a small, dog-eared photo. Looking at it, she
is stopped in her tracks. This pleases Prentiss.
PRENTISS (contd.)
The doctors managed to re-set her jaw,
more or less, and save one of her eyes.
His pulse never got over eighty-five,
even when he ate her tongue.
(pause; he smiles)
I keep him in here.
He turns, pushes a button. A steel door BUZZES slowly open, and
BARNEY - a big, impassive orderly - awaits them in an anteroom.
On its walls: restraints, mouthpieces, Mace, tranquilizer guns.
CLARICE
(quickly blocking him)
Dr. Prentiss - if Quinn feels you're his
enemy - as you've said - them maybe I'll
have more luck by myself. What do you think?
PRENTISS
(annoyed)
You might have suggested that in my office,
and saved me the time.
CLARICE
But then I would've missed the pleasure
of your company.
She holds out the photo. A beat. He grabs it, jaw twitching.
PRENTISS
When she's finished, bring her out.
He turns on his heel, goes. Barney smiles reassuringly.
BARNEY
Hi, I'm Barney. He told you, don't
get near the bars?
CLARICE
(shaking his hand)
Clarice Starling. Yes, he did.
BARNEY
Okay. Past the others, it's the last
cell. Stay to the middle. I put out a
chair for you.
Sensing her tension, he indicates a nearby security monitor.
BARNEY (contd.)
I'm watching. You'll do fine.
Clarice nods gratefully. She looks down the long corridor,
takes a deep breath, walks into it. He watches her go.
CUT TO:
INT. DR. QUINN'S CORRIDOR - DAY
MOVING SHOT - with Clarice, as her footsteps ECHO. High to her
right, surveillance cameras. On her left, cells. Some are pad-
ded, with narrow observation slits, others are normal, barred...
Shadowy occupants pacing, MUTTERING... Suddenly a dark figure
in the next-to-last cell hurtles towards her, his face mashing
grotesquely against his bars as he hisses.
DARK FIGURE
I c-can sssmell your cunt!
Clarice flinches momentarily, but then walks on.
DR. QUINN'S CELL
is coming slowly INTO VIEW... Behind its barred front wall is a
second barrier of stout nylon net... Sparse, bolted-down furni-
ture, many softcover books and papers. On the walls, extraordi-
narily detailed, skillful drawings, mostly European cityscapes,
in charcoal or crayon.
CLARICE
stops, at a police distance from his bars, clears her throat.
CLARICE
Dr. Quinn... My name is Clarice Starling.
May I talk with you?
DR. GIDEON QUINN
is lounging on his bunk, in white pajamas, reading an Italian
Vogue. He turns, considers her... A face so long out of the
sun, it seems almost leached - except for the glittering eyes,
and the wet red mouth. He rises smoothly, crossing to stand be-
fore her; the gracious host. His voice is cultured, soft.
DR. QUINN
Good morning.
CUTTING BETWEEN THEM
as Clarice comes a measured distance closer.
CLARICE
Doctor, we have a hard problem in psych-
ological profiling. I want to ask for
your help with a questionnaire.
DR. QUINN
"We" being the Behavioral Science Unit,
at Quantico. You're one of Ray Campbell's,
I expect.
CLARICE
I am, yes.
DR. QUINN
May I see your credentials?
Clarice is surprised, but fishes her ID card from her bag,
holds it up for his inspection. He smiles, soothingly.
DR. QUINN (contd.)
Closer, please... clo-ser...
She complies each time, trying to hide her fear. Dr. Quinn's
nostrils lift, as he gently, like an animal, tests the air.
Then he smiles, glancing at her card.
DR. QUINN (contd.)
That expires in one week. You're not
real FBI, are you?
CLARICE
I'm - still in training at the Academy.
DR. QUINN
Ray Campbell sent a trainee to me?
CLARICE
We're talking about psychology, Doctor,
not the Bureau. Can you decide for your-
self whether or not I'm qualified?
DR. QUINN
Mmmmm... That's rather slippery of you,
Officer Starling. Sit. Please.
She sits in the folding metal desk-chair. He waits politely
till she's settled, then sits down himself, faces her happily.
DR. QUINN (contd.)
Now then. What did Miggs say to you?
(She is puzzled)
"Multiple Miggs," in the next cell. He
hissed at you. What did he say?
CLARICE
He said - "I can smell your cunt."
DR. QUINN
I see. I myself cannot. You use Evyan skin
cream, and sometimes you wear L'Air du
Temps, but not today. You brought your
best bag, though, didn't you?
CLARICE
(beat)
Yes.
DR. QUINN
It's much better than your shoes.
CLARICE
Maybe they'll catch up.
DR. QUINN
I have no doubt of it.
CLARICE
(shifting uncomfortably)
Did you do those drawings, Doctor?
DR. QUINN
Yes. That's the Duomo, seen from the
Belvedere. Do you know Florence?
CLARICE
All that detail, just from memory...?
DR. QUINN
Memory, Officer Starling, is what I have
instead of view.
A pause, then Clarice takes the questionnaire from her case.
CLARICE
Dr. Quinn, if you'd please consider -
DR. QUINN
No, no, no. You were doing fine, you'd
been courteous and receptive to courtesy,
you'd established trust with the embar-
rassing truth about Miggs, and now this
ham-handed segue into your questionnaire.
It won't do. It's stupid and boring.
CLARICE
I'm only asking you to look at this,
Doctor. Either you will or you won't.
DR. QUINN
Ray Campbell must be very busy indeed if
he's recruiting help from the student
body. Busy hunting that new one, Buffalo
Bill... Such a naughty boy! Did Campbell
send you to ask for my advice on him?
CLARICE
No, I came because we need -
DR. QUINN
How many women has he used, our Bill?
CLARICE
Five... so far.
DR. QUINN
All flayed...?
CLARICE
Partially, yes. But Doctor, that's an
active case, I'm not involved. If you
could -
DR. QUINN
Do you know why he's called Buffalo Bill?
Tell me. The newspapers won't say.
CLARICE
I'll tell you if you'll look at this form.
(He considers, then nods)
It started as a bad joke in Kansas City
Homicide. They said... this one likes to
skin his humps.
DR. QUINN
Witless and misleading. Why do you
think he takes their skins, Officer
Starling? Thrill me with your wisdom.
CLARICE
It excites him. Most serial killers
keep some sort of - trophies.
DR. QUINN
I didn't.
CLARICE
No. You ate yours.
A tense beat, then a smile from him, at this small boldness.
DR. QUINN
Send that through.
She rolls him the questionnaire, in his sliding food tray. He
rises, glances at it, turning a page or two disdainfully.
DR. QUINN (contd.)
Oh, Officer Starling... do you think you
can dissect me with this blunt little tool?
CLARICE
No. I only hoped that your knowledge -
Suddenly he whips the tray back at her, with a metallic CLANG
that makes her start. His voice remains a pleasant purr.
DR. QUINN (contd.)
You're sooo ambitious, aren't you...?
You know what you look like to me, with
your good bag and your cheap shoes? You
look like a rube. A well-scrubbed, hust-
ling rube with a little taste... Good
nutrition has given you some length of
bone, but you're not more than one gen-
eration from poor white trash, are you -
Officer Starling...? That accent you're
trying so desperately to shed - pure
West Virginia. What was your father, dear?
Was he a coal miner? Did he stink of
the lamp...? And oh, how quickly the boys
found you! All those tedious, sticky
fumblings, in the back seats of cars,
while you could only dream of getting out.
Getting anywhere - yes? Getting all the
way - to the F...B...I.
His every word has struck her like a tiny, precise dart. But
she squares her jaw and won't give ground.
CLARICE
You see a lot, Dr. Quinn. But are you
strong enough to point that high-powered
perception at yourself? How about it...?
Look at yourself and write down the truth.
(She slams the tray back at him)
Or maybe you're afraid to.
DR. QUINN
You're a tough one, aren't you?
CLARICE
Reasonably so. Yes.
DR. QUINN
And you'd hate to think you were common.
My, wouldn't that sting! Well you're far
from common, Officer Starling. All you
have is the fear of it.
(beat)
Now please excuse me. Good day.
CLARICE
And the questionnaire...?
DR. QUINN
A census taker once tried to test me. I
ate his liver with some fava beans and
a nice chianti... Fly back to school,
little Starling.
He steps backwards, then returns to his cot, becoming as still
and remote as a statue. Frustrated, Clarice hesitates, then
finally shoulders her bag and goes, leaving the questionnaire
in his tray. But after just a few steps, as she passes -
MIGG'S CELL -
she sees that creature at his bars again, hissing at her.
MIGGS
I b-bit my wrist so I c-can diiiieeee!
S-ee how it bleeeeeeeeds?
The dark figure suddenly flings his palm towards her, and -
CLARICE
is spattered on the face and neck - not with blood, but with
pale droplets of semen. She gives a little cry, touching her
fingers to the wetness. Stunned, near tears, she forces her-
self to straighten up and walk on, fumbling for a tissue. From
behind her, Dr. Quinn calls out, very agitated.
DR. QUINN (O.S.)
Officer Starling... Officer Starling!
Clarice slows, stops. She shudders, but makes the very diffi-
cult choice to turn, walk back, stand again in front of -
DR. QUINN -
who's shivering with rage. For an instant his face opens, and
we catch a glimpse into hell itself. Then he's composed again.
DR. QUINN
I would not have had that happen to you.
Discourtesy is - unspeakably ugly to me.
CLARICE
Then please - do this test for me.
DR. QUINN
No. But I will make you happy... I'll
give you a chance for what you love
most, Clarice Starling.
CLARICE
What's that, Dr. Quinn?
DR. QUINN
Advancement, of course.
(beat)
Go to Split City. See Miss Mofet, an
old patient of mine. M-O-F-E-T...
Now go. Go.
(a smile)
I don't think Miggs could manage again
so soon, even if he is crazy - do you?
CUT TO:
EXT. THE HOSPITAL - PARKING LOT - DAY
The grim gothic pile of the asylum looms overhead as Clarice
rushes out the front doors. She is badly shaken, almost stumb-
ling, as she rubs at her face. She looks around for, and fi-
nally, with some relief, spots -
HER CAR
an old Pinto, parked nearby. This image begins to BLUR...
CLOSE ON
her face, fighting tears, as the CAMERA begins to WHIRL AROUND
her, almost dizzily. She is seeing, in her mind's eye -
IN FLASHBACK
A screen door banging open, on a wooden porch, and a 10-year
old girl - the young Clarice - rushing outside, down the
front steps, and running joyfully across her front yard to -
MOVING ANGLE - THE GIRL'S POV -
A car - late 60's vintage - parked in the dirt road. A MAN,
Clarice's father, is just climbing out. He's tall, handsome,
and has a marshal's badge pinned on his dark suit. He grins,
seeing her, and spreads his arms wide as
THE YOUNG CLARICE
rushes into them, and he sweeps her up in a hug, spinning
her around, the CAMERA SPINNING with them, and capturing
both their laughing faces, before we abruptly return to -
THE ADULT CLARICE
alone in the parking lot, sagging against her car. Her face
is buried in her arms, she shoulders shaking. SOUND UPCUT -
a steady, rapid series of GUNSHOTS, as we
CUT TO:
INT. FBI ACADEMY FIRING RANGE - DAY
Clarice, in a combat stance, and wearing a sound-muffling
headset, is squeezing off ROUND after ROUND at
A MOVING TARGET -
the sillouette of a man, approaching along a track. Her shots,
tightly grouped, are all finding the center chest. The target
stops, quite close to her, still swaying.
CLARICE
stares at it, deftly working her speedloader. Then she puts
a final, emphatic shot right through
THE FIGURE'S FOREHEAD
CUT TO:
INT. FBI ACADEMY LIBRARY - NIGHT
CLOSE ON a microfilm monitor - a grainy newsphoto of Dr. Quinn,
scrawling past, with an accompanying story ("New Horrors in
Cannibal Trial"), dated 1980.
CLARICE
is punching keys on the terminal. Other trainees study at
nearby tables. She pauses, jotting a note on her pad, as
Ardelia comes by, carrying an armful of books.
ARDELIA
Phone call, Clarice. It's God.
CLARICE
Thanks, Ardelia.
MOVING ANGLE
as Clarice rises, grabbing her notebook, and follows Ardelia
past high metal bookstacks.
ARDELIA
You missed Fourth Amendment law.
Unlawful seizure, real juicy stuff.
Where were you all afternoon?
CLARICE
Pleading with a crazy man, with come
all over my face.
Ardelia stares at her, figures it's a put-on, laughs.
ARDELIA
Damn. Wish I had time for a social life.
Clarice grins, as Ardelia indicates a phone receiver resting
on the check-out desk, then moves on. Clarice picks it up.
CLARICE
(on phone)
Mr. Campbell?
CUT TO:
INT. CAMPBELL'S HOUSE - STUDY - NIGHT
Campbell, in a cardigan, sits in a wing chair in the book-
lined study of his suburban home. He turns the pages of
Clarice's memo as they talk. His tone is sharp.
CAMPBELL
I've read your interim memo on Quinn.
You sure you've left nothing out?
INTERCUTTING -
STARLING
It's all there, sir, practically
verbatim.
CAMPBELL
Every word, Starling? Every gesture?
STARLING
(a bit heatedly)
Right down to the kleenex I used.
(He is silent)
Sir, why? Is something wrong?
CAMPBELL
He mentioned a name, at the very end.
"Mofet..." Any followup on her?
STARLING
I spent all evening on the mainframe.
Quinn altered or destroyed most of his
patient histories, prior to capture. No
record of anyone named Mofet. But "Split
City" sounded like it might have have
something to do with divorce. I tracked
it down in the library's catalogue of
national yellow pages.
(glancing at her notes)
It's a mini-storage facility outside
Baltimore, where Quinn had his practice.
She pauses, expecting some soft of approval for her cleverness.
CAMPBELL
Well? Why aren't you there right now?
STARLING
Sir, that's a field job. It's outside
the scope of my assignment. And I've
got a test tomorrow on -
CAMPBELL
Do you recall my instructions to you,
Starling? What were they?
STARLING
To complete and file my report by 0800
Wednesday. But sir -
CAMPBELL
Then do that, Starling. Do just exactly
that.
STARLING
Sir, what is it? There's something you're
not telling me.
CAMPBELL
(beat)
Miggs has been murdered.
STARLING
(startled, upset)
Murdered...? How?
CAMPBELL
The orderly heard Quinn whispering to
him, all afternoon, and Miggs crying.
They found him at bed check. He'd
swallowed his own tongue... Prentiss
is scared stiff the family will file
a civil rights lawsuit, and he's try-
ing to blame it on you. I told the
little prick your conduct was flawless.
(beat)
Starling...?
STARLING
I'm here, sir, I just - I don't know
how to feel about it.
CAMPBELL
You don't have to feel any way about
it. Quinn did it to amuse himself.
Why not, what can they do? Take away
his books for awhile, and no jello...
(a bit softer)
I know it got ugly today. But this is
your report, Starling - take it as far
as you can. On your own time, outside
of class. Now carry on.
ANGLE ON CLARICE -
as we hear the loud CLICK of Campbell hanging up. She stares
at her receiver, stung by his abruptness.
CLARICE
Well God damn it! You old creep. Creepo
son of a bitch. Let Miggs squirt you
and see how you like it.
She slams her receiver into its cradle.
ANGLE ON CAMPBELL -
as he flips aside her memo, then rises, wearily. He leaves his
study, flicking off the lamp, and pads away in his slippers.
CUT TO:
INT. CAMPBELL'S BEDROOM - NIGHT
A private nurse, in white, stands marking a clipboard chart, as
Campbell enters his tidy bedroom.
CAMPBELL
I'll take over, Patricia. You get
some rest.
The nurse nods, hands him the chart, and goes. He glances at
it, then sets it aside. He crosses to -
BELLA CAMPBELL -
who lies in an elevated hospital bed. Nearby are an oxygen
tank and mask, floral arrangements. Her breathing is shallow,
very labored. Campbell looks down at his comatose wife for a
long moment, tenderly brushes a strand of her hair back into
place, then bends over to kiss her forehead. SOUND UPCUT -
THUNDER and RAIN...
DISSOLVE TO:
EXT. "SPLIT CITY MINI-STORAGE" - DUSK (RAINING)
An orange neon sign, streaked with rain, identifies out loca-
tion. It looms over a hurricane fence, topped with barbed wire.
Inside, row on row of garage-sized, cinderblock sheds.
MR. YOW (V.O.)
Unit 31 was leased for ten years. Pre-
paid in full... The contract is in the
name of "Miss Hester Mofet."
CUT TO:
EXT. STORAGE UNIT NUMBER 31 - DUSK
Clarice, kneeling before a closed, roll-up metal door, takes a
FLASH photo of its sealed padlock. EVERETT YOW, a fat, 60ish
Chinaman, holds an umbrella over them both. He looks unhappy.
CLARICE
So no one's been in here since - 1980?
She opens the padlock, using a fat ring of tagged keys, then
sets aside both keys and lock.
MR. YOW
Not to my knowledge. Privacy is a great
concern to my customers. But, if you say
this is an FBI matter...
CLARICE
I won't disturb anything, Mr. Yow, I
promise. Be gone before you know it.
Slinging her camera over a shoulder, she tugs at the handle, but
the door won't budge. Another tug, harder - no good. Mr. Yow
stoops to help, puffing hard, but it's firmly stuck. He sighs.
MR. YOW
We could return tomorrow, with my
son. Or perhaps some workmen...?
Clarice crosses to her Pinto, which faces the shed, reaches in
to turn on her headlights. Mr. Yow blinks in the sudden bright-
ness. Then she opens her truck, rummaging inside, and returns
with a bumper jack, a flashlight, and a rubber floor mat.
CLARICE
Would you hold these, please?
She gives him her flashlight and camera, drops the mat on the
ground, then sets the bumper jack in place, under the center
of the door. She pumps on the jack handle as the door SQUEALS
slowly up, but it won't go higher than about 18 inches, despite
all her exertions. She spreads out the rubber mat on the ce-
ment, takes the flashlight from Mr. Yow, then lies on the mat.
CUT TO:
INT. THE STORAGE SHED - DUSK (VERY DARK)
Clarice, backlit, peers under the door. She reaches in, makes
a sweep with her flashlight. We catch shadowy outlines - boxes,
then the flattened tires of a car... SOUND of rain on the tin
roof, and other noises, too - small RUSTLINGS. Mr. Yow's chubby
face appears down beside Clarice's.
MR. YOW
It smells like mice... I think I hear
them, too - don't you?
Clarice turns onto her back, starts squirming under the door.
MR. YOW (contd.)
You're going in there?
CUT BACK TO:
EXT. STORAGE UNIT NUMBER 31 - DUSK
Clarice pulls her head back out again, reaching to take her cam-
era from him. She hands him a card, trying to appear nonchalant.
CLARICE
Mr. Yow, if this door should fall down
- ha ha! - or anything else - would you
be kind enough to call this number? It's
our Baltimore field office. They know
you're here with me... Do you understand?
MR. YOW
Might I suggest tucking your pants into
your socks? To prevent mouse intrusion.
CLARICE
(beat)
Good idea.
CUT BACK TO:
INT. STORAGE SHED - DUSK (VERY DARK)
Clarice squirms, on her back, through the narrow opening. As
she squeezes all the way in, she snags one thigh on the metal
edge of the door. She curses softly, shining her flashlight on
her ripped khakis - there's a small streak of blood.
MR. YOW (O.S.)
Okay, Miss Starling?
CLARICE
Okay, Mr. Yow...
She shines her light around. In its narrow beam, we see -
CLARICE'S POV - UPWARD, SHIFTING -
Spiderwebs, everywhere... high stacks of cardboard boxes...
a few dusty pieces of furniture... the big car, oddly long
and tall, covered with a tarp... Suddenly there's a scurrying
of loud MUSICAL NOTES. Clarice turns, scared, her beam captur-
ing... an old upright piano.
MR. YOW (O.S.)
You're playing a piano, Miss Starling?
CLARICE
That wasn't me.
MR. YOW (O.S.)
Oh.
CLARICE
crawls a bit further. There's hardly room to stand, but she
finally manages to wriggle upright, clawing away cobwebs, next
to the car. Holding her light under one arm, she takes several
FLASH photos of the shed's interior, ending with the car. Then,
slinging her camera over the shoulder, she folds back the tarp,
resting it on the roof. The resulting clouds of dust make her
cough.
THE CAR -
is an antique beauty, a 1931 Packard. It's very dusty, despite
the tarp. Curtains close off the back passenger compartment,
but there's a narrow gap in them. More mousy RUSTLINGS.
CLARICE
peers in through the gap, aiming her flashlight.
HER POV - SHIFTING -
as the thin flashlight beam picks out: the broad back seat...
as open album of lacy, old-fashioned Valentines... a crumpled
lap rug, on the floor... and then a pair of women's shiny, high-
heeled pumps... Above these, the hem of a fancy satin evening
gown - and a pair of pale, stockinged legs.
CLARICE
recoils, alarmed, then steadies herself.
CLARICE
Mr. Yow? Oh Mr. Yow...? It looks like
somebody is sitting in this car.
MR. YOW (O.S.)
Oh my! Oh my... Maybe you better come
out now, Miss Starling.
CLARICE
Not yet! - just wait for me.
(under the breath)
Maybe in about two seconds.
She leans down with her camera, takes a FLASH through the gap,
then tries the door handle. Locked. So is the front door. She
looks around, aiming her light, and locates a tangle of coat-
hangers, sticking out of a carton of bric-a-brac. She pulls out
one of these, straightens it quickly, bends the tip into a hook.
CLOSE ANGLE
as she jams this tool inside the join at the top of the back
passenger window, then fishes around till she can snag the in-
side door latch, pulling up. A satisfying CLICK.
CLARICE
opens the door - it hits stacked boxes, and won't open far -
then very cautiously leans inside, aiming her flashlight.
HER POV - MOVING LIGHT BEAM -
revealing more of the evening gown... a pair of hands, in
white, elbow-length gloves - one rests on the lap, the other
atop a large, beaded, drawstring evening bag... thick strands
of costume pearls over the breasts... and finally the white
neck stub of a female mannequin. No face or head.
CLARICE
sighs with relief. She takes a couple more FLASHES, then very
carefully lifts out the Valentine album, holding it by the
corners, and setting it atop the car. Then she eases herself
inside, onto the back seat, as the springs SQUEAK loudly.
ONE GLOVED HAND
slides off the lap, brushing Clarice's thigh.
CLARICE
starts a bit, then pokes at the gloved arm, hard. She peels
back a bit of glove, revealing the white, synthetic elbow. She
smiles, shaking her head at her own jumpiness, as she reaches
over the mannequin's lap to loosen the evening bag's drawstring.
A SEVERED HUMAN HEAD
stares back at her, as the beaded material slides away.
CLARICE
lurches back, gasping loudly, and several long, heart-pounding
moments pass before she can make herself look more closely.
THE HEAD
bobs gently in a pool of alcohol, in a laboratory specimen jar.
It is a man's head, but grotesquely transformed, by the addi-
tion of heavy makeup, earrings, and a sodden wig, into a wo-
man's face. Over the years the makeup has smeared badly, and
the pupils have gone almost milky white.
CLARICE -
staring at this terrible thing, is pleased to find herself
quickly regaining control. She murmurs to herself.
CLARICE
Well, Toto, we're not in Kansas anymore.
CUT TO:
EXT. QUINN'S HOSPITAL - PARKING LOT - NIGHT (RAINING)
A loud clap of THUNDER, as a flash of LIGHTNING illuminates
the eerie towers and barred windows of the asylum.
MOVING ANGLE
on Clarice as she climbs from her car, runs through heavy
rain towards the main entrance, where a guard admits her.
CUT TO:
INT. DR. QUINN'S CELL AND CORRIDOR - NIGHT (DIM LIGHT)
On a noiseless TV screen, an evangelist rants, waving his arms.
Behind him, a swaying choir in gaudy robes.
CLARICE (O.S.)
It's an anagram, isn't it, Doctor?
PAN TO Clarice, with her wet hair plastered flat, sitting on
the corridor floor to one side of this TV, which has been
stationed so that Dr. Quinn cannot avoid seeing it.
CLARICE (contd.)
Hester Mofet... "The rest of me."
Miss The-Rest-of-Me... Meaning, you
rented that place.
HER POV
He's lost in shadows; we can't see him. He doesn't respond.
CUTTING BETWEEN THEM -
Clarice and the darkened call - as she tries again.
CLARICE (contd.)
You put those - things in there. Paid
for it in advance, ten years ago...
Why, Dr. Quinn?
The food carrier suddenly SWISHES out of the cell, making her
jump up. In its tray is a clean, folded white towel. She hes-
itates, then crosses, takes this.
CLARICE (contd.)
Thank you.
She sits again, rubbing her wet hair. When he finally speaks,
he's on the floor, too - a deeper, hunching darkness in the
shadows, occasionally striped by the flickering TV light.
DR. QUINN
Your bleeding has stopped.
CLARICE
How did -
(she stops herself)
It's nothing. A scratch.
DR. QUINN
Why don't you ask me about Buffalo Bill?
CLARICE
(surprised, a beat)
Why? Do you know something about him?
DR. QUINN
I might if I saw the case file. You
could get that for me.
CLARICE
Why don't you tell me about "Miss Mofet?"
You wanted me to find him. Or do I have
to wait for the lab?
DR. QUINN
(sighs)
His real name is Benjamin Raspail. A former
patient of mine, whose romantic attach-
ments ran to, shall we say, the exotic...?
I didn't kill him, merely tucked him away.
Very much as I found him, in that ridicu-
lous car, in his own garage, after he's
missed three appointments. You'd have him
under "Missing Person" - which, in poor
Raspail's case, could hardly be more true.
CLARICE
If you didn't kill him, then who did?
DR. QUINN
Who can say...? Best thing for him, really.
His therapy was going nowhere.
CLARICE
Wouldn't it have been easier to just
leave him for the police to find?
DR. QUINN
And have them clomping about in my life?
Oh dear, no... At that time I still had
certain private amusements of my own.
(beat)
How did you feel when you saw him, Clarice?
May I call you Clarice?
CLARICE
Scared, at first. Then - exhilarated.
DR. QUINN
Ahhh... Why?
CLARICE
Because you weren't wasting my time.
DR. QUINN
Do you have something you use, when you
need to get up your courage? Memories,
tableaux... scenes from your early life?
CLARICE
I don't know. Next time I'll have to check.
DR. QUINN
Ray Campbell is helping your career,
isn't he? Apparently he likes you. And
you like him, too.
CLARICE
I never thought about it.
DR. QUINN
Your first lie to me, Clarice. How sad.
Tell me - do you think Campbell wants
you, sexually? True, he's much older,
but - do you think he visualizes...
scenarios, exchanges...? Fucking you?
CLARICE
That doesn't interest me, Doctor. And
it's the sort of thing Miggs would ask.
DR. QUINN
Not anymore.
(beat)
Surely the odd confluence of events hasn't
escaped you, Clarice. Campbell dangles
you before me. Then I give you a bit of
help. Do you think it's because I like
to look at you, and imagine how good you
would taste...?
CLARICE
I don't know. Is it?
DR. QUINN
Or doesn't this all begin to suggest to
you a kind of... negotiation? There's
something Campbell can give me, and I
want to trade for it. I even wrote to
him, offering my help. But he hates me,
so he won't deal directly.
Dr. Quinn slowly turns up the rheostat in his cell. As his
lights rise, we see that the cell's been stripped bare. Gone
are his books, drawings, mattress - even his toilet seat. She
stands, too, startled. They face each other.
DR. QUINN (contd.)
Punishment, you see. For Miggs. Just
like that gospel program. When you leave,
they'll turn the volume way up. Prentiss
does enjoy his petty torments.
CLARICE
Who killed Raspail, Doctor...? You know,
don't you?
DR. QUINN
I've been in this room for eight years,
Clarice. I know they will never, ever
let me out while I'm alive. What I want
is a view. I want a window where I can
see a tree, or even water. I want to be
in a federal institution, away from
Prentiss - and I want a view. I'll give
good value for it. Campbell could do that
for me, but he won't. You persuade him.
CLARICE
(almost a whisper)
Who killed your patient?
DR. QUINN
Oh, a very naughty boy. Someone you and
Ray Campbell are most anxious to meet.
CLARICE
Buffalo Bill...?
(incredulous)
Bill killed him, all those years
ago...? That's impossible.
But Dr. Quinn only smiles, enigmatically.
DR. QUINN
Who is he stalking right now, Clarice?
I wonder, don't you? How many more
young women will have to die, before
you trade with me...?
As Clarice stares at him, unsure how to respond -
DISSOLVE TO:
INT. CATHERINE MARTIN'S APT. - MEMPHIS, TENNESSEE - NIGHT
CATHERINE MARTIN takes a long toke from a bong pipe. She is 21,
a tall, big-boned, rather fleshy girl with long brown fair.
Her head is on the lap of her boyfriend, CODY; they're sprawled
on a couch in the den of her well-furnished apartment. The TV
in on, with low SOUND.
CATHERINE
This stuff's givin' me the munchies.
Where's that bag of popcorn?
CODY
Shit. Left the groceries in the car.
He starts to rise, but she pushes him back.
CATHERINE
'S okay, I'll go.
She rises, goes out the front door.
CUT TO:
EXT. PARKING LOT - THE APARTMENT COMPLEX - NIGHT
Catherine straightens, with her bag of groceries, shutting
her car's back door. She sees, a short distance away -
A MAN -
standing at the open rear door of a brown panel truck. His
right forearm is in a cast and sling; he is struggling, un-
successfully, to hoist an armchair into the truck. Parked
nearby, other cars, RVs, a boat on a trailer. A thin, breast-
high fog fills the lot; arc lights make yellow pools.
CATHERINE
hesitates, then crosses towards the man.
CATHERINE
Help you with that?
MAN
Would you? Thanks.
His voice is odd, strained, very soft. A fog lamp, set on end
on the ground, distorts his features from below. We can't get
a good glimpse of his face, but his body is plump, above average
height; he's in his mid 30's. She sets down the bag, then to-
gether they easily lift the chair into the truck.
MAN (contd.)
Let's slide it up, you mind?
CUT TO:
INT. THE PANEL TRUCK - NIGHT
He climbs inside the truck, ducking under a small hand winch,
and grabs the chair. She hesitates again, but climbs in after
him; together they slide the chair forward, behind the seats.
MAN
Are you about a size 14?
CATHERINE
(surprised)
What?
Suddenly, in the shadowy dark, he clubs her over the back of
her head with his cast. She moans, slumps unconscious, sliding
off the armchair to lie on her stomach. He pulls off his cast
and sling, tosses them aside, then hops out of the truck, grabs
his lamp, climbs back inside, and pulls the door shut. He bends
over her face with the lamp. We hear her shallow BREATHING.
MAN
Good.
He peels back the collar of her blouse, reading the size tag.
MAN (contd.)
Good.
He carefully slits her blouse up the back, with a pair of
bandage scissors, peeling apart the two halves. There's no
bra strap. He strokes her bare skin delicately, very happily.
MAN (contd.)
Gooood...
CUT TO:
EXT. THE PARKING LOT - NIGHT
LOW ANGLE - CLOSE - on Catherine's grocery bag, as her blouse
is tossed out beside it. SOUND of the truck's motor starting.
The truck backs up, one rear wheel knocking over the bag, partly
squashing it. Then is drives away, taillights shrinking, as
a lone orange rolls slowly away from the bag...
DISSOLVE TO:
INT. FBI ACADEMY CLASSROOM - QUANTICO - DAY
CLOSE ON a large video screen, where a BLURRY image gradually
sharpens, resolving into two separate pieces of fabric.
INSTRUCTOR (O.S.)
Electron microscopy reveals fiber
"signatures" that are nearly as dis-
tinct as fingerprints...
CLARICE
sits at a long table, with other trainees. Ardelia is beside
her. Other tables and students in the b.g. Each trainee has his
own microscope. Clarice is tired, but straightens, hearing -
INSTRUCTOR (contd.,O.S.)
Both of these blouses were worn by vic-
tims of Buffalo Bill. They were found in
two different states, and four months
apart. He always slits them up the back,
like a funeral suit...
ON THE SCREEN -
successively CLOSER VIEWS of the cut fabric edges, until we are
seeing individual threads, big as tree limbs. The cuts match.
INSTRUCTOR (contd.,O.S.)
The bunching you see - this compression -
is characteristic of scissor cuts, rather
than a single blade. And, as you see -
Bill always uses the same pair...
ANGLE ON THE DOOR -
as John Brigham, the gunnery instructor, sticks his head in.
BRIGHAM
Clarice Starling! Are you in here?
CUT TO:
INT. HALLWAY - CLASSROOM BUILDING - DAY
Clarice and Brigham walk briskly down the hall, passing other
trainees. He carries a small canvas bag.
BRIGHAM
Get your field gear, take stuff for
overnight. You're goin' with Campbell.
CLARICE
Where?
BRIGHAM
Some fishermen in West Virginia found
an unidentified girl's body. It's a
Buffalo Bill-type situation. Been in
the water about a week, and Ray needs
somebody that can print a floater.
Think you can handle it?
CLARICE
(thinking quickly)
I'll need the big fingerprint kit...
and the one-to-one Polaroid, the CU-5,
with film packs and batteries.
CUT TO:
INT. BRIGHAM'S JEEP CHEROKEE - DAY (DRIVING)
Brigham steers as they pass hangars, parked planes, an airstrip.
Clarice holds a big fingerprint kit and a weekend bag.
BRIGHAM
Ray's pretty tough on you, isn't he?
Impatient...
CLARICE
Sometimes.
BRIGHAM
He's got a lot on his mind besides
Buffalo Bill... His wife, Bella, is
real sick. Comatose... I'm tellin'
you about it now, 'cause he may never.
Clarice absorbs this in silence as they stop near an ancient,
rather dilapidated Beechcraft. Its door is open, the twin props
and beacons already turning. Brigham turns to her, holding out
his small canvas bag.
BRIGHAM
You're goin' in the field, so you
gotta have full kit. Take this - it's
my own...
Clarice opens the bag, stares at the big blue gun nestled in
its shoulder holster. She looks up at him, touched.
BRIGHAM (contd.)
Wear it, don't ever leave it in your
purse. Dry fire it whenever you get the
chance. And do your exercises.
CLARICE
I will... I promise.
BRIGMAN
Listen, I hope you never need a thing
I've taught you. But you've got some-
thing... Ray sees it, I do too. If
you ever need to, you can shoot.
She nods, climbs out. Then she looks back in at him. They're
both moved by this rite of passage, but a little embarrassed.
BRIGHAM (contd.)
Bless you, Starling...
CUT TO:
INT. BEECHCRAFT PLANE - DAY (FLYING)
CLARICE'S POV - out the plane's window, at the landscape far
below. Wisps of cloud, a quilt of farms.
CLARICE
turns from the window, looks at a think folder in her lap. The
cover reads "Case File: / BUFFALO BILL." Clarice is moody, dis-
tracted. She hesitates, then opens the file, begins to scan.
INSERTS - HER POV -
Police forms, some handwritten... Typed lab reports; we catch
words, phrases: "Autopsy Protocols", "Histamine Analysis"...
Grainy enlargements of bullet slugs, showing matched grooves...
And then a stack of victim photos. The first one, taken from a
good distance away, shows a nude female body, face down on a
pebbly riverbank, surrounded by bits of litter.
CLARICE
hesitates again, then flips this photo to look at the next. It
makes her flinch, just slightly. Quickly she turns through sev-
eral more photographs, trying hard to concentrate.
CAMPBELL (O.S.)
He keeps them alive for three days.
NEW ANGLE -
shows Campbell standing over her, swaying with the plane's
motion. Behind him, the open cockpit door, the pilot's back.
Campbell sits, removing sunglasses. He rubs his eyes.
CAMPBELL (contd.)
Why, we don't yet know... There's no
evidence of rape or physical abuse
prior to death. All the mutilation you
see there is post-mortem.
(a beat; he glances at her)
I'm hot, are you hot? Bobby, it's too
damned hot back here...
The pilot adjusts a valve. Campbell turns to her again.
CAMPBELL (contd.)
So. Three days. Then he shoots them,
skins them - usually just the torsos -
and dumps them. Each body in a different
river, in a different state, downstream
from an interstate highway. The water
leaves us no fingerprints, fibers, DNA
fluids - no trace evidence at all. That's
Fredrica Bimmel, the first one...
A COLOR PHOTO - IN CLARICE'S HANDS -
shows a pretty, plump-cheeked brunette, in her high school grad-
uation cap and gown. She smiles at us with touching optimism.
CAMPBELL (contd., O.S.)
A big girl, like all the rest. Went
about 160... Her corpse was the only
one he took the trouble to weight down,
so actually, she was the third girl
found. After her, he got lazy...
NEW ANGLE -
as Clarice stares at the girl's face, moved. Campbell pulls
a map from the file, spreads it out. It shows the central and
eastern U.S., with widely-spaced, hand-drawn markings.
CAMPBELL (contd.)
Blue square for Belvedere, Ohio, where
the Bimmel girl was abducted. Blue
triangle where her body was found - down
here in Missouri. Same marks for the
other four girls, in different colors.
This new one, today... washed up here.
(He marks with a Flair pen)
Elk River, in West Virginia, about six
miles below U.S. 79. Real boonies.
CLARICE
There's no correlation at all between
where they're kidnapped and where
they're found...?
(He shakes his head)
What if - what if you trace the heaviest-
traffic routes backwards from the dump
sites? Do they converge at all?
CAMPBELL
Good idea, but he thought of it, too.
We've run simulations, using different
vectors and the best dates we can assign.
You put it all in the computer, and
smoke comes out. No, this one is dif-
ferent. Then one has seen us coming...
CUT TO:
INT. RENTAL CAR - DAY (DRIVING)
Campbell steers, following a highway patrol car along a wind-
ing mountain road. Clarice has the file open on her lap. He
glances at her, inscrutable behind his sunglasses.
CAMPBELL
Talk about him, Starling. Tell me what
you see.
CLARICE
(choosing her words carefully)
He's a white male... Serial killers tend
to hunt within their own ethnic group.
And he's not a drifter - he's got his
own house, somewhere. Not an apartment.
CAMPBELL
Why?
CLARICE
What he does with them - takes privacy...
Time, tools... He's in his 30's or 40's -
he's got real physical strength, but
combined with an older man's self-control.
He's cautious, precise, never impulsive...
This won't end in suicide, like they
often do.
CAMPBELL
Why not?
CLARICE
He's got a real taste for it now. And
he's getting better at his work.
CAMPBELL
(a beat; impressed)
Maybe you've got a knack for this...
I guess we're about to find out.
CLARICE
(quietly, evenly)
Like I have a "knack" for Dr. Quinn?
He studies her a few moments, measuring her anger.
CAMPBELL
Okay, Starling. Let's have it.
CLARICE
You haven't said a word today about
that garage. Or what I found there.
CAMPBELL
What should I say? You did fine work.
We'll wait on the lab.
CLARICE
You knew. You knew from the start that
Quinn held the key to this... But you
weren't up front with me. You sent me in
to him naked.
CAMPBELL
(beat)
Are you finished?
CLARICE
He starts this - buzzing in me, in my
head. He makes me feel violated...
You used me, Mr. Campbell.
A shadow of regret passes over his face, but he answers sternly.
CAMPBELL
Number One. Maybe there's a connection,
maybe not. Lying and breathing are the
same thing to Quinn. Number Two. If I'd
sent you in there with something to hide
from him, he'd have known it, instantly.
He'd never have trusted you.
She starts to answer, then is silent. He is right. By now the two
cars are entering a tidy little town - tree-lined streets, wooden
houses, one-story shops, mountains in the b.g. They slow, turn.
CAMPBELL (contd.)
Number Three, I didn't bring you along
today just because you can do first-rate
forensics. If Quinn is becoming part
of this case, you've got the most current
read on him. And Number Four - you don't
have to like me, or the way I do things.
But you do have to keep a cool head.
Especially now... Because from here on
out, you'll know everything I do. Are we
straight on that?
Clarice nods, silently; it's as close to an apology as she's
likely to get. She stares out the windshield.
JUST AHEAD OF THEM -
the highway patrol cruiser noses into a curb, next to other
police cars, facing a big white frame house. Its sign reads
"Potter Funeral Home." Two troopers climb from the car.
CAMPBELL
parks too, then kills the engine. He turns to her, removing
his sunglasses, gestures to the case file.
CAMPBELL
(softly)
You think about him long enough, you get
a feel for him... Then, if you're lucky,
out of all the stuff you know, one little
part of it tugs at you, tries to get your
attention... You let me know when that
happens, Starling. Live right behind your
eyes, today. Don't try to impose any pat-
terns on this guy. Just stay open and let
him show you...
One of the troopers, impassive in his sunglasses and hat, peers
in through Campbell's window. Campbell nods to him, then turns
back to Clarice.
CAMPBELL (contd.)
School's out, Starling.
CUT TO:
EXT. SIDEWALK OF THE FUNERAL HOME - POTTER, WEST VA. - DAY
SOUND of organ music, as Clarice, carrying her fingerprint
kit, mounts some steps to the sidewalk. She stops, seeing -
COUNTRY PEOPLE
in their somber best, filing into the mortuary for a service.
The music - "Shall We Gather At The River?" - is issuing from
the open double doors. Several of the mourners glance over at
her curiously.
ANGLE ON CLARICE -
staring back at the mourners, hearing the music, as a sense
memory is triggered in her...
IN FLASHBACK - LOW ANGLE, MOVING -
as we approach, down the aisle of a country chapel, an open
wooden coffin. Sad country faces turn, looking at us from the
flanking pews. The b.g. organ hymn is "Shall We Gather...?"
THE SAD, 10 YEAR-OLD CLARICE -
in her best dress, is reluctantly approaching the casket. Her
hands are held by the plump hands of unseen matrons.
CHILD'S POV -
on the looming coffin... closer and closer... until finally
she can see, lying inside it... her dead father, arms folded,
his marshal's badge still pinned to his lapel.
CAMPBELL (V.O.)
Starling...?
NEW ANGLE (PRESENT DAY) -
as the grownup Clarice turns towards the impatient Campbell.
Like her, he carries a large case.
CAMPBELL (contd.)
We're around back.
CUT TO:
INT. FUNERAL HOME - BACK CORRIDOR - DAY
A young deputy, several state troopers, and a SHERIFF are all
waiting, as Campbell and Clarice enter. The dim, cluttered cor-
ridor doubles as storage space - there's a treadle sewing machine,
a soft-drink machine, a tricycle. The MUSIC is closer. Campbell
shakes hands with the sheriff.
CAMPBELL
Sheriff Perkins? Ray Campbell, FBI...
This is Officer Starling. We appre-
ciate your phoning us.
SHERIFF
(grim, unsociable)
I didn't call you. That was somebody
from the state attorney's office...
'For you do a thing else, I'm gon' find
out if this girl's local. It could
just be somethin' that outside elements
has dumped on us.
He casts a sidelong, unhappy glance at Clarice.
CAMPBELL
Wellsir, that's where we can help. If -
SHERIFF
I don't even know you, Mister... Now
we'll extend you ever courtesy, just
soon as we can, but for right now -
CAMPBELL
Sheriff, this, ah - this type of sex crime
has some aspects I'd rather discuss just
between the two of us. Know what I mean?
He indicates Clarice with his eyes. The sheriff hesitates,
nods, then lets Campbell guide him into a small office, clo-
sing the door behind them. Muffled WORDS from there.
CLARICE -
burning at this slight, is left alone with the troopers, who
peek at her with shy curiosity. She pulls her blazer a bit
tighter, self-conscious about her bulging shoulder holster.
ANGLE ON THE OFFICE DOOR -
as, after a few more moments, the sheriff and Campbell emerge.
The sheriff, still not very happy, addresses his deputy.
SHERIFF
Oscar, run fetch Dr. Akin from the
chapel. And tell Lamar to come on when
he's done playin' that music.
CUT TO:
INT. EMBALMING ROOM - DAY
Campbell, in one corner of the room, has set up a Litton Po-
licefax fingerprint transmitter. SOUND of many men's low
voices, in b.g. He is on the phone, and has to speak loudly.
CAMPBELL
I need a six-way linkup! Chicago,
Detroit, Cleveland, St. Louis, At-
lanta, and Dallas... What?... Can
you hear me...?
He looks around, frustrated by the noisy circus atmosphere.
CLARICE
is pulling on a pair of surgical gloves. She raises her
voice, turning up her natural accent by several notches.
CLARICE
Gentlemen. You officers and gentlemen!
Listen here a minute, please. There's
things I need to do for her...
WIDER ANGLE -
as we see that the small room is very crowded with deputies
and troopers. They gradually fall silent, looking at her.
CLARICE (contd., O.S.)
Y'all brought her this far, and I know
her folks would thank you if they could.
Now please - go on out and let me take
care of her... Go on, now.
The men look at one another, a little bashfully, then begin to
to file out, whispering among themselves. As they go, a bright
green body bag is REVEALED, tightly zipped, lying on a porce-
lain embalming table. It is almost the only modern object in
this Victorian room, with its glass-paned cabinets and faded
wallpaper, decorated with cabbage roses.
FAVORING CAMPBELL -
as he looks at Clarice with a new degree of respect. Men brush
by him, till finally only two are left: DR. AKIN, a family g.p.,
and LAMAR, a lean, whiskey-reddened mortician. SOUND of the door
closing. Lamar dabs around his nostrils with Vicks VapoRub.
CAMPBELL
(on phone)
We're starting. Tell everybody to stand
by for fingerprint transmission.
CLARICE -
at a side counter, has turned back to her open fingerprint kit.
She is lifting out a camera when she hears the ZIPPER of the body
bag being slowly opened, behind her... One gloved hand flies to
her mouth as she reacts, involuntarily, to the sudden smell. She
blinks at her reflection in the cabinet glass, then steels her-
self to turn, look at the corpse.
CLARICE
(pause; softly)
Bill...
She steadies herself by raising her camera, takes a FLASH photo.
LOW ANGLE - LOOKING UP, FROM BENEATH TABLE -
as Dr. Akin gently lifts aside one of the dead girl's arms. A
piece of fishing line, with multiple hooks, is still snagged
around it, dangling. Campbell leans in for a closer look.
DR. AKIN
Wrongful death... She'll have to go to
the state pathologist at Claxton when
you're done.
(Campbell nods)
I better - get on back for the rest of
that service. Lamar'll help you.
(shaken)
Lord almighty...
He leaves, and Clarice leans INTO SHOT, taking another photo.
CAMPBELL
What do you see, Starling?
CLARICE
Well, she's not local. Her ears are
pierced three times each, and she's
wearing green glitter nail polish.
Looks like town to me...
CLOSE ANGLE
on the calf of one of the girl's legs, as Clarice trails the
inside of her bare wrist along the skin.
CLARICE (contd., O.S.)
She waxed her legs, I think... A big
girl, just like the others - but she
was careful about her appearance...
UPWARD ANGLE AGAIN -
as Lamar joins them for a closer look.
CLARICE (contd.)
Two of the fingernails are broken off,
and there's - dirt or grit under the
others. She tried to claw her way through
something... I'll scrape out samples
after I've printed her.
She takes another FLASH, then quickly reloads film.
LAMAR
Them fishhooks are set too close to-
gether. No wonder the Franklin boys
was scared to say they found her.
CLARICE
Think they were runnin' a trotline?
Campbell and Lamar both look at her curiously.
CLARICE (contd.)
(to Campbell)
It's a Fish and Game violation. Like
poaching. There's a big fine.
LAMAR
Right... Are you from around here?
CLARICE
They do it lots of places.
CAMPBELL
Get photos of her teeth. Then we'll fax
her fingerprints to Washington, try to
trace her through Missing Persons.
SIDE ANGLE - CLOSE
on the dead girl's face. Staring blue eyes, short reddish hair.
Clarice sets the Polaroid, with its special attachments, against
the face, while Lamar gently retracts the lips. Each time the
camera FLASHES, there's a bright glow inside the cheeks.
NEW ANGLE - CHEST HIGH
as Clarice examines a developing print.
CLARICE
She's got something in her throat.
She hands the print to Campbell; he and Lamar look at it, as
she searches in her kit.
LAMAR
When a body comes out of the water,
alots of times there's like, leaves
and things in the mouth.
Clarice holds up a pair of forceps. She glances at Campbell,
who nods. She bends over, partially OUT OF SHOT, and after a
few moments reappears, holding up a small, brown cylindrical
object. She turns this in the air, as they all stare.
CAMPBELL
What is it - some kind of seed pod?
LAMAR
Nawsir, that's a bug cocoon. But how
come that to get way down in there?
'Less somebody shoved it in...
Clarice and Campbell exchange a glance.
CAMPBELL
She'll be easier to print if we turn her
over. Lamar, will you give me a hand?
LAMAR
Yessir, I will.
CLARICE
takes a jar from her kit, carefully drops the cocoon inside.
SOUND of the men's heavy efforts as they turn over the body,
O.S. She seals the jar, staring into it at the cocoon.
CAMPBELL (O.S.)
Starling - what do you make of these?
She turns to look.
HER POV -
High on the corpse's back, over the shoulders, two neat, tri-
angular patches of skin are missing.
NEW ANGLE - TWO SHOT -
as Clarice looks at Campbell.
CLARICE
I don't know. I didn't see those on
any of the other girls...
CAMPBELL
They weren't there. Get close-ups.
Clarice raises her camera, leans in for another FLASH.
CUT TO:
EXT. BACK STEPS OF THE FUNERAL HOME - DAY
Clarice sits outside, with her head on her knees, drained. She
looks up wanly as Lamar appears, offers her a can of Coke.
CLARICE
Thanks, I'm not thirsty.
LAMAR
No, hold it under your chin, there,
and on your temples. Cold'll make
you feel better. It does me.
She smiles, touched, and takes the can. When Lamar sees Campbell
coming outside, he tactfully departs. Campbell sits beside her;
there's a brief silence. She soothes herself with the can.
CAMPBELL
When I told that sheriff we shouldn't
talk in front of a woman, that really
burned you, didn't it?
(She is silent)
That was just smoke, Starling, I had to
get rid of him. You did well in there.
CLARICE
It matters, Mr. Campbell... Other cops
know who you are. They look at you to
see how to act... It matters.
CAMPBELL
(beat)
Point taken.
She looks at him a moment, then offers the can. He opens it.
CAMPBELL (contd.)
When we get back, I want you to run
that bug by the Smithsonian, see if
they can identify it. Maybe it's got
some limited range, or it only breeds
at certain times of year... You found
it, Starling, you deserve the credit.
CLARICE
I'm wondering if he's done that before -
placed a cocoon, or an insect. It would
be easy to miss in an autopsy, espec-
ially with a floater... Can we check
back on that?
CAMPBELL
(shakes his head)
The other girls are in the ground. Ex-
humations are upsetting for the families.
I'll do it if I have to, but -
CLARICE
Then have the lab check Raspail's head.
(He looks at her)
Dr. Quinn's patient - have them probe
his soft-palette tissues... They'll
find another cocoon.
CAMPBELL
You seem pretty sure of that.
CLARICE
Raspail was killed by the same man who's
killing these girls. And Quinn knows him.
Maybe even treated him... You think so,
too, don't you? Or you'd never have sent
me to that asylum.
He looks at her for a moment, then sips again.
CAMPBELL
Before we caught him, Quinn had a big
psychiatric practice in Baltimore. But
he travelled all over the country -
teaching, consulting... Christ, even
testifying in murder trials. Who knows
how many potential psychos he turned
loose, just for the fun of it...?
DISSOLVE TO:
INT. MR. GUMB'S CELLAR - DAY (DIM LIGHT)
A shadowy male figure looks down at us, leaning over the edge
of a deep hole. He holds a little white poodle in his arms,
stroking it. This is MR. GUMB, aka "Buffalo Bill."
MR. GUMB
(softly)
Rub the cream on your skin. Rub it
in gooood...
CATHERINE MARTIN
looks up at him. She is standing on the cement bottom of the pit,
or oubliette, about 15 feet below floor level. The pit is bare,
except for a futon and a plastic toilet bucket, from which a thin
string rises up to the basement. She's soaking wet, in an orange
jumpsuit, and holds a squeeze bottle of skin lotion. She struggles
to sound calm.
CATHERINE
Mister... my family will pay cash. What-
ever ransom you're askin' for, they -
REVERSE ANGLE - UP TOWARDS MR. GUMB
MR. GUMB
Rub it in! Or you'll get the hose again.
The little dog squirms in his arms, BARKING excitedly.
MR. GUMB (contd.)
Yes, it will, Precious, won't it? It
will get the hose!
SIDE ANGLE - AT PIT BOTTOM -
as Catherine kneels, turning slightly away from him.
CATHERINE
(under her breath)
Oh God... oh God...
She unzips her jumpsuit, part-way, then squeezes some of the
lotion onto a palm. She reaches inside her suit, rubs it on.
CATHERINE (contd.)
Mister, if you let me go, I won't press
charges, I promise. You've only has me
here a couple days, and -
MR. GUMB (O.S.)
No. Just one day...
CATHERINE
Is that all...? See - see, my mom is
a real important woman... Well, I guess
you already know that. She'll pay you,
no questions asked. Whatever cause you
represent - Iran, Palestine - she'll
see that -
A sudden blinding glare of light silences her. She looks up,
shielding her eyes.
HER POV -
a floodlamp is descending, attached to a small basket.
MR. GUMB
Put the bottle in the basket. No
funny business, or you'll be sorry...
NEW ANGLE - CATHERINE -
as the basket stops, and she steadies it. But as she slips the
bottle in, she sees something, O.S., just at the fringe of the
light. She hesitates, looks closer... then begins to scream,
hysterically, again and again. Her outflung hand hits the lamp,
and in its swaying glare, we see - high on the concrete walls,
all around her -
BLOODY FINGER TRACKS -
dried now, brownish - left by many pairs of frenzied hands...
CUT TO:
INT. CLARICE'S DORM ROOM - FBI ACADEMY - DAWN
Clarice is at her desk, exercising her right hand with the grip
flexer, while simultaneously studying a thick law book. Ardelia
sticks her head in the door, excited.
ARDELIA
You better come see this.
CUT TO:
INT. RECREATION ROOM - FBI ACADEMY - DAWN
CLOSE ON a TV screen, filled with a photo of Catherine Martin.
TV ANCHOR (V.O.)
...was listed at first simply as a
missing person, but is now believed to
have been kidnapped by the serial killer
known only as "Buffalo Bill."
The photo disappears, replaced by the TV ANCHOR himself.
TV ANCHOR (contd.)
Memphis Police sources indicate that
the missing girl's blouse has been iden-
tified, sliced up the back, in what has
become a kind of grim calling card.
Young Catherine Martin, as we've said,
is the only daughter of U.S. Senator
Ruth Martin -
CLARICE
looks at Ardelia, surprised. Other trainees are drifting into
the rec room, some whispering among themselves. Clarice stares
back at the TV intently.
TV ANCHOR (contd., O.S.)
- the Republican junior senator from
Tennessee. And while her kidnapping is
not at this point considered to be
politically motivated, nevertheless it
has stirred the government -
BACK ON THE TV ANCHOR -
TV ANCHOR (contd.)
- to its highest levels, the president
himself being said to be, and I quote,
"intensely concerned." Just moments ago,
Senator Martin made this dramatic per-
sonal plea...
SENATOR MARTIN (TV FOOTAGE) -
fills the screen, in a halo of lens flare, as she speaks to a
jostling crowd of reporters on the front steps of her George-
town home. A tall woman, late 40's, with a strong, taut face.
SEN. MARTIN
I'm speaking now to the person who is
holding my daughter. Her name is Cath-
erine... You have the power to let
Catherine go, unharmed. She's very
gentle and kind - talk to her and you'll
see. Her name is Catherine...
CLARICE
is moved by what she sees. Other trainees are all around her.
CLARICE
(whispers)
Boy, is that smart...
ARDELIA
Why does she keep repeating the name?
CLARICE
Somebody's coaching her... They're
trying to make him see Catherine as
a person - not just an object.
ON THE TV AGAIN -
SEN. MARTIN
You have a chance to show the whole
world that you can be merciful, as well
as strong. Please - I beg you - release
my Catherine...
NEW FOOTAGE -
as we see (NIGHT, TELEPHOTO) - a taped-off section of Catherine's
parking lot. Technicians, with instruments, are kneeling by the
crushed grocery bag.
2ND TV ANCHOR (V.O.)
Meanwhile. in Memphis, the investigation
continued throughout the night, as state
and local authorities were joined at the
kidnap scene by agents of the FBI...
MOVING ANGLE (STILL TV FOOTAGE)
as Ray Campbell is seen striding towards the front door of
Catherine's apartment, followed by Burroughs and other agents.
One of them moves quickly towards the CAMERA, waving it back.
REC ROOM ANGLE - FAVORING ARDELIA
as the other trainees send up a brief, ironic cheer. But Ardel-
ia turns sympathetically towards the troubled Clarice.
ARDELIA
I don't know whether to say "I'm sorry,"
or "Congratulations." But girl? - you
just went prime time.
CUT TO:
EXT. SMITHSONIAN - MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY - DAY
The massive Victorian building looms over Constitution Avenue.
Clarice quickly mounts the steps, carrying a small plastic box.
CAMPBELL (V.O.)
I don't think he knew that she's a
Senator's child. She's a big girl,
Starling, like all the rest. We're
going on the theory she was randomly
targeted by size...
CUT TO:
INT. MUSEUM CORRIDOR - DAY
Clarice, now accompanied by a museum guard, walks through an
eerie landscape of dinosaur bones - crouching skeletons with
blank eye sockets, gaping fangs.
CAMPBELL (contd., V.O.)
By now, Bill's had her for 36 hours.
That leaves us just 36 more, before he
kills her... But maybe, just maybe,
Starling, we caught a real break this
time - thanks to you.
(beat)
We found another bug, in Raspail's head.
CUT TO:
INT. MUSEUM OFFICE - DAY
CLOSE ON an live, enormous, rhinoceros beetle, as it weaves
its clumsy way among the men on a chessboard, before finally
stepping off the edge, onto a lettuce leaf.
RODEN (V.O.)
Time, Pilch! My move.
PILCHER (V.O.)
No fair! You lured him with produce.
WIDER ANGLE
shows two entomologists, both 30ish, hunched over the board.
RODEN is a pudgy redhead; PILCHER is lean, quite handsome.
RODEN
Tough noogies! It's still my turn.
CLARICE (O.S.)
If the beetle moves one of your men,
does that count?
They look up, delighted to see Clarice in the doorway. Both men
are hopelessly smitten by her.
RODEN
Of course it counts. How do you play?
PILCHER
(grins)
Officer Starling. Welcome back.
CUT TO:
INT. ENTOMOLOGY CORRIDOR - DAY
MOVING ANGLE as Clarice and the two men go briskly down a
hall lined with mounted insects, in all shapes and sizes.
Roden peers at Clarice's new cocoon, in its box.
RODEN
Where the hell did this one come
from? It's practically mush.
CLARICE
You really don't want to know.
PILCHER
Your West Virginia specimen gave us
quite a bit of trouble, but I finally
managed to narrow his species through
chaetaxy - studying the skin.
RODEN
I'm the one who found his perforating
proboscis! Are you wearing a gun, right
now?
(Clarice nods)
Ooh, cool! Can I see it? Can I?
PILCHER
Just ignore him. He's not a Ph.D.
CUT TO:
INT. LABORATORY - DAY
VERY CLOSE (MAGNIFICATION) on the sliced cocoon, as Roden uses
tweezers and a dental probe to ease out the sodden chrysalis.
RODEN (O.S.)
The whole trick is to remove the
chrysalis without destroying it...
The wings are just like wet tissue
paper...
THE TWO MEN
are hunched over a formica table, peering through square magni-
fiers into stainless trays. Clarice watches curiously. Of their
two specimens, Pilcher's moth is in much better condition - a big
brown creature, its wings outspread on towel paper.
PILCHER
(without looking up)
What do you do when you're not detec-
ting, Officer Starling?
CLARICE
I try to be a student, Dr. Pilcher.
PILCHER
Ever get out for cheeseburgers and beer?
The amusing house wine...?
CLARICE
(smiles)
Not lately. But maybe someday.
He looks up at her, shyly. A little moment passes between them,
before Roden straightens, exultant.
RODEN
Positive match!
CLARICE
You're sure?
RODEN
(points with his dental probe)
West Virginia... Baltimore. Officer
Starling, meet Mister Acherontia styx.
He moves aside for Clarice to get a closer look at Pilcher's
specimen. She leans forward, intently.
HER POV (MAGNIFICATION) -
The wide, furry, brown back of the moth. And there, right between
the wing bases - wonderful and terrible to see - is nature's
perfect reproduction of a ghostly human skull.
RODEN (O.S.)
Better known to his friends as the
Death's-head Moth...
PILCHER (O.S.)
The Latin name comes from two rivers
in Hell. Your man - he drops these girls
into rivers, every time. Didn't I read
that?
FAVORING CLARICE
as she looks up at him, awed, excited, almost trembling.
CLARICE
And there's no way - no natural way -
these could've wound up in the bodies?
PILCHER
(shakes his head)
They live in Malaysia. In this country,
they'd have to be specially raised,
from imported eggs.
CLARICE
(pause, then softly)
Dr. Quinn...
As the two men stare at her, puzzled, we hear a SOUND UPCUT -
the wail of police SIRENS - and...
CUT TO:
EXT. U.S. ROUTE 95 - DAY (AERIAL SHOT)
An awesome armada of police vehicles swings through an inter-
section, while normal traffic is held back by highway patrol
cruisers. The lead cars turn off, hit the entrance ramp to the
freeway - SIRENS going, tires SQUEALING, red flashers...
CLOSER ANGLE
on a speeding surveillance van, with long antennas and a small
satellite dish, near the head of the motorcade.
CAMPBELL (V.O.)
Maybe we can trace how he buys the
bugs, starting with U.S. Customs...
CUT TO:
INT. THE SURVEILLANCE VAN - DAY (DRIVING)
The van is crammed with an impressive array of hi-tech equip-
ment, all CLICKING and HUMMING. Burroughs is talking quietly
on a scrambler phone, while another agent works a computer.
CAMPBELL (contd., O.S.)
Maybe we can locate some of Raspail's
old lovers. Maybe, someday...
CLARICE AND CAMPBELL
sit in swivel seats at the rear, by a big window. Clarice can't
resits an occasional peak at the trailing motorcade, awed and a
bit thrilled to be the center of so much attention.
CAMPBELL (contd.)
But for Catherine Martin, it all comes
down to you and Quinn. You're the one
he talks to.
CLARICE
He's already offered to help... What
would happen if we just showed our cards
- asked him for Bill?
CAMPBELL
He offered to help, Starling, not to
snitch. That wouldn't give him enough
chance to show off. Remember, Quinn
looks mainly for fun. Never forget fun.
CLARICE
But if he knew we have so little time -
CAMPBELL
If we act too anxious, he'll make us wait.
He'll let the Senator keep hoping, day
after day, until Catherine finally washes
up. That'd be the most fun of all.
CLARICE
I think he means it, this time. I think
he'll deal.
CAMPBELL
What would it take?
CLARICE
Transfer to a new prison. With a view of
trees, he said, or even water... Can we
swing that?
CAMPBELL
(shakes his head)
State to federal jurisdiction... We can
do it - eventually - but we'll never get
all the clearances in time. Can you con-
vince him a deal's already in place?
CLARICE
You'll back me up with some paperwork?
(He nods)
Then I'll try. But wouldn't this have
more weight coming from the Senator
herself?
CAMPBELL
(hesitates)
She doesn't know what we're up to. And
we can't afford to let her find out.
Clarice looks at him, surprised.
CAMPBELL (contd.)
She's the mother, Starling. She can't
possibly comprehend what Quinn is. She'd
make the mistake of pleading with him.
Begging him... He'd feast on her pain
till the last second of that girl's life...
CUT TO:
INT. BALTIMORE STATE HOSP. FOR THE CRIMINALLY INSANE - DAY
Prentiss approaches, walking briskly down a corridor in the
administration wing. He looks quite agitated.
CAMPBELL (contd., V.O.)
We can't trust Herbert Prentiss, either.
He's greedy and ambitious. If he knew
about Quinn's link to Bill, he's go
straight to the newspapers...
Prentiss falls into step beside Clarice, who has her briefcase.
He points his gold pen at her accusingly.
PRENTISS
What you're doing, Miss Starling, is
coming into my hospital to conduct an
interview, and refusing to share infor-
mation with me. For the third time!
CLARICE
Dr. Prentiss, I told you - this is just
routine follow-up on the Raspail case.
PRENTISS
He's my patient! I have rights!
(grabs her arm, stopping her)
I'm not just some turnkey, Miss Starling.
I shouldn't even be here this afternoon.
I had a ticket to Holiday on Ice.
She stares at him, with pity and distaste, till he lets go.
CLARICE
I'm acting on instruction, Dr. Prentiss.
(handing him a card)
This is the U.S. Attorney's number. Now
please - either discuss this with him, or
let me do my job.
She walks away, leaving him speechless with frustration and
hostility. He clicks his pen, watching her go.
CUT TO:
INT. DR. QUINN'S CELL AND CORRIDOR - DAY
Dr. Quinn sits at his table, languidly sketching with charcoal
on butcher paper. He uses his own hand and forearm as a model.
His other drawings, books, and bedding have been restored.
DR. QUINN
Wouldn't you say, Clarice, that for a
United States Senator, you're an odd
choice of messenger?
Clarice, sitting again at the desk-chair, is taking papers from
her briefcase.
CLARICE
I was your choice, Dr. Quinn. You chose
to speak to me. Would you prefer someone
else now? Or perhaps you don't think you
can help us.
DR. QUINN
That is both impudent and untrue... Tell
me, how did you feel when you viewed our
Billy's latest effort?
(beat; he smiles)
Or should I say, his "next-to-latest"?
CLARICE
By the book, he's a sadist.
DR. QUINN
Life's too slippery for books, Clarice.
Typhoid and swans came from the same God.
(beat)
Tell me, Miss West Virginia - was she a
large girl?
CLARICE
Yes.
DR. QUINN
Big through the hips. Roomy.
CLARICE
They all were.
DR. QUINN
Mmm. And what else...?
CLARICE
She had an insect deliberately inserted
in her throat. That hasn't been made
public yet. We don't know what is means.
DR. QUINN
Was it a butterfly?
CLARICE
(pause; staring at him)
A moth... How did you predict that?
DR. QUINN
I'm waiting for your offer, Clarice.
Enchant me.
Clarice looks down at her papers, taking a moment to collect
her thoughts. She looks up at him again, evenly.
CLARICE
If you help us find Buffalo Bill in time
to save Catherine Martin, the Senator
promises you a transfer to the V.A. hos-
pital at Oneida Park, New York, with a view
of the woods nearby. Maximum security still
applies, but you'd have reasonable access
to books.
He is silent. She rises, moves closer, carrying papers.
CLARICE (contd.)
Best of all, though - one week a year you'd
get to leave the hospital and go here.
(points to a map)
Plum Island. Every afternoon of that week
you can walk on the beach or swim in the
ocean for up to one hour. Under SWAT team
surveillance, of course...
His face remains neutral. She puts the papers in his food tray.
CLARICE (contd.)
Copy of the Buffalo Bill case file, copy of
Senator Martin's terms. Her offer is final
and non-negotiable. If Catherine dies -
(She slides his tray through)
You get nothing.
A measured beat, before he rises smoothly, crosses, and looks
down at the papers, without touching them.
DR. QUINN
"Plum Island Animal Disease Research
Center." Sounds charming.
CLARICE
That's just part of the island. It has
a very nice beach. Terns nest there.
DR. QUINN
Terns... If I help you, Clarice, it will
be "turns" with us, too. Quid pro quo. I
tell you things, you tell me things. Not
about this case, though - about yourself.
Yes or no?
(She is silent)
Yes or no, Clarice. Catherine is waiting.
Tick-tock, tick-tock...
She looks at him. A beat. They are standing uncomfortably close.
CLARICE
Go, Doctor.
DR. QUINN
What's your worst memory of childhood?
(She hesitates)
Quicker than that. I'm not interested
in your worst invention.
CLARICE
The death of my father.
DR. QUINN
Tell me. Don't lie, or I'll know.
Clarice cannot bear the feverish excitement in his eyes. She
looks past him, hesitating again.
CLARICE
He was a town marshal... one night he
surprised two burglars, coming out the
back of a drugstore... They shot him.
DR. QUINN
Killed outright?
CLARICE
No. He was strong, he lasted almost a
month. My mother - dies when I was very
young, so my father had become - the whole
world to me... After he left me, I had
nobody. I was ten years old.
DR. QUINN
You're very frank, Clarice. I think - it
would be quite something to know you in
private life.
CLARICE
Quid pro quo, Doctor.
DR. QUINN
The significance of the moth is change.
Caterpillar into cocoon into beauty...
Billy wants to change, too, Clarice.
But there's the problem of his size, you
see. Even if he were a woman, he'd have
to be a big one...
CLARICE
(puzzled)
Dr. Quinn, there's no correlation in the
literature between transsexualism and
violence. Transsexuals are very passive.
DR. QUINN
Clever girl. You're so close to the
way you're going to catch him - do you
realize that?
CLARICE
No. Tell me why.
DR. QUINN
After your father's death, you were or-
phaned. What happened next?
(Clarice drops her gaze)
I don't imagine the answer's on those
second-rate shoes, Clarice.
CLARICE
I went to live with my mother's cousin
and her husband in Montana. They had
a ranch.
DR. QUINN
A cattle ranch?
CLARICE
Horses - and sheep...
DR. QUINN
How long did you live there?
CLARICE
Two months.
DR. QUINN
Why so briefly?
CLARICE
I - ran away...
DR. QUINN
Why, Clarice? Did the rancher fuck you?
CLARICE
(angrily)
No.
DR. QUINN
Did he try to?
CLARICE
No...! Quid pro quo, Doctor.
DR. QUINN
Billy's not a real transsexual, but he
thinks he is. He tries to be. He's tried
to be a lot of things, I except.
CLARICE
You said - I was very close to the way
we'd catch him.
DR. QUINN
There are three major centers for trans-
sexual surgery: Johns Hopkins, the Uni-
versity of Minnesota, and Columbus Medi-
cal center. I wouldn't be surprised if
Billy has applied for sex reassignment at
one or all of them, and been rejected.
CLARICE
On what basis would they reject him?
DR. QUINN
The personality inventories would trip
him up. Rorschach, Wechsler, House-Tree-
Person... He wouldn't test like a real
transsexual.
CLARICE
How would he test?
Suddenly Dr. Quinn snarls, loudly, stretching. Clarice take a
sharp step backwards before he smiles, turning his movement
into an elaborate yawn. He gathers the papers from his tray.
DR. QUINN
That's enough, I think. Happy hunting.
Oh, and Clarice - next time you will
tell me why you ran away. Shall I
summarize?
CLARICE
(shaken)
Yes, Doctor. Please.
CUT TO:
INT. MR. GUMB'S CELLAR - DAY
VERY CLOSE ON a cocoon, split along its back, as a living
Death's-head Moth wriggles torturously free. Trembling and
damp, the new creature clings to a sprig of nightshade.
DR. QUINN (V.O.)
You should try to obtain a list of
males rejected from all three gender
reassignment centers...
PULLING BACK -
we see a big wire cage, holding several of the moths. They
crawl over the humus floor or feed at honeycombs, wings pump-
ing lazily. In the distant b.g., the incongruous SOUND of
show music.
DR. QUINN (contd., V.O.)
Check first the ones rejected for
lying about criminal records...
CONTINUOUS MOVING ANGLE -
at about knee level, as we leave the cage, and begin to TRAVEL
through this eerie, dimly-lit warren of a cellar. As we go -
occasionally TURNING corners, or skirting the dark openings of
unexplored passages - various objects loom briefly INTO VIEW,
overhead - a stainless-steel work table... a big sink... jars
of chemicals... neat racks of gleaming knives...
DR. QUINN (contd., V.O.)
Among those who tried to conceal their
past, look for severe childhood distur-
bances, associated with violence...
Possibly you'll find a childhood incar-
ceration... Then go to their personality
tests...
We pass a row of female mannequins, some nude, some wearing
colorful leather jackets, designer knockoffs, in various stages
of completion... then a huge maroon armoire, in Chinese lacquer;
its double doors are slightly ajar... The jaunty b.g. MUSIC is
growing even louder: Fats Waller singing "Bye Bye Baby." And
now we hear something else, too - the rapid CLICKING of a sewing
machine...
DR. QUINN (contd., V.O.)
Study their drawings, especially. Billy's
house drawings will show no happy future...
No baby carriage, out in the yard. No
pets, no toys, no flowers, no sun...
We TURN another corner, and there is Mr. Gumb himself. As we
APPROACH, his wide back is to us; he's hunched over an old-
fashioned sewing machine, humming cheerfully, and working a
piece of material that we mercifully cannot see. A female wig
rests near him on a head form. He wears a hairnet and a beau-
tiful kimono, and pumps the treadle with his bare feet.
DR. QUINN (contd., V.O.)
His females will be more crudely sketched
than him males - but he'll compensate by
adding exaggerated adornments... jewelry,
big breasts... And his tree drawings -
oh, his trees will be frightful...
Next to Mr. Gumb is an antique phonograph - source of the
MUSIC. His little dog, Precious, perches by his plump ankles.
As we PASS Mr. Gumb, Precious scurries away from him, panting
happily, and we FOLLOW the little dog down another corridor,
the music starting to fade behind us...
DR. QUINN (contd., V.O.)
Billy hates his own identity, he always
has - and he thinks that makes him a
transsexual. But his pathology is a
thousand times more savage... He wants to
be reborn, Clarice. He will be reborn...
At the end of this final corridor, the cellar widens into a
low-ceilinged chamber, with two additional doorways, and in
the center of this is the gaping circle of the oubliette.
Precious sniffs her way over to the edge - excited, tail wag-
ging - than BARKS happily as we hear a hoarse, ghostly moan
from below.
CATHERINE (O.S.)
Pleeeeeeeease.....!
DISSOLVE TO:
INT. DR. QUINN'S CORRIDOR - DAY
MOVING ANGLE - CLOSE - on Dr. Quinn's slippered feet, which
rest on the shelf of a rolling hand truck. RISING along his
tilted form, we see that his ankles are linked by steel re-
straints... his legs, waist, upper torso, and arms are bound
by heavy canvas webbing... beneath the webbing is a strait-
jacket... and over his face is a hockey mask.
PRENTISS (V.O.)
Bad news, Gideon...
WIDER ANGLE
shows that Dr. Quinn, on the handtruck, is being pushed down
his corridor by Barney, and back into his open cell.
PRENTISS (contd., V.O.)
Gourmet magazine has rejected your
recipe for braised kidneys...
CUT TO:
INT. DR. QUINN'S CELL - DAY
Prentiss lounges on Dr. Quinn's cot, casually reading his large
stack of private correspondence, and making notations with his
gold pen on a little pad. Another orderly mops the floor.
PRENTISS (contd.)
Perhaps you should have been less specific
about what kind.
(to Barney)
Stand him by the toilet. Then leave us.
Barney props the hand truck into position, then both orderlies
go. Prentiss finishes another letter, sighs happily.
PRENTISS (contd.)
Such a lot of correspond