He moved with all of the grace of a dancing master, on feet which might be considered smallish for a man, but on him they were simply patrician. At least that is what Lady Murasaki had been wont to tell him. And he had believed her. He just could not be as she wished him to be.
He had not thought of a woman in the way he had once thought of her, not until Agent Starling had entered his life - and his head. Although he would not have admitted to the latter, but he knew the truth. There was a place for her in his Memory Palace now, a place that was pure Clarice. Which meant that he could bring her to mind at any time - visual, audio or olfactory, the scent of her knock off perfume, or her cheap hand lotion, lingering there for him to recall. Like the smell of her which clung to her steering wheel, when he inhaled it.
It was easy enough for him to enter her domicile. Too easy for the residence of an FBI agent. Make that former FBI agent. At least officially. He knew that she would never be anything less, not in her heart.
He found her asleep in her recliner, and for a moment his breath caught in his throat at the sight of her, and a small smile played about his thin lips. He made himself familiar with her home, with its myriad scents, felt the items in her room and took their scent, removed anything which he did not wish her to have, and set the phone in place which he did wish her to have. And just before he made his departure, he leaned down and kissed her cheek most tenderly.
It was a short time later that her cell phone began to ring.