The car labeled "Tennessee State Police" turned down the gravel road, crunching and shooting out a few of what small pieces of gravel were left. The drive was overgrown, and badly in need of being relaid.

"You sure this here is the place, Skeeter?" Roy Calhoun asked.

"Yeah, I am. Seen the fire sign back there. It was mostly in the weeds, but I seen it. Damn, I hate doin' this shit. No matter how many wrecks we gotta watch the jaws-of-life pull apart, no matter how many times I gotta see that Medi-Vac chopper land and take off, I just can't ever get used to the human tragedy of doing this job. Ever." Skeeter Tankersly ran his hand under the rim of his trooper's hat, feeling rather like Smokey The Bear after a forest fire. He was sweating with the prospect of doing this, even though it was moderately cool outside.

The two Tennessee State Troopers had been sent to notify the widow of one Officer Boyle of her husband's death in the line of duty by the hands of the infamous killer, Dr. Hannibal Lecter, and they were not looking forward to it. Likely the woman would be overcome with grief, as would any other relatives present, and they would have to perhaps recommend some form of service to her, or take her down to identify and claim the body at the county morgue. Such tasks often fell to them, and neither had thought when they made the force that they would be as affected by that aspect of the job as they were. It was the driving motivation for hopes of retirement.

The yard came into view as the squad car neared the house. The weeds in the yard yielded little hope of a picturesque lawn having ever existed. Skeeter noticed that several windows had boards blocking them, and that the screen door on the front porch was an unneeded obstruction, it having long lost its accompanying screen.

The car squeaked slightly as it came to a halt. Skeeter eased his door open, cautious, and winced slightly when the dog began to bark. Looking over by the trees, he was relieved to see it chained. His relief left him when he caught the scent of the feces wafting out of the yard.

"You really are sure, huh," Roy commented, rather than asked. He stood out of the car, looking around in disgust. "Jesus."

"Never thought to see one of our own live in such squalor. Well, they say it takes all kinds. Can't speak ill of the dead; bad luck. And we got enough of that already." Skeeter stepped up and pushed the futile door out of the way, knocking on the one past it. Roy came up and waited beside him.

The policemen had begun to think that no one was home when the door eased open and the woman's head poked out. "Well. 'Tennessee's Finest'. I help you boys with somethin'?" The dark circles under her eyes made her sneer even more vicious.

Roy lost some of his sympathy just then. If the woman was going to act like a fishwife, he surely wasn't going to offer his shoulder for her to cry on. He was glad nonetheless that he had not removed his mirror-lensed sunglasses yet, as Skeeter had. He decided to jump right in, lest she close the door in their faces. Better to have the upper hand and get the situation secured.

"Ma'am, we're sorry to bother you, but may we come in? We need to talk for a bit with you; we have some news of your husband. I'm Trooper Calhoun, and this here's Trooper Tankersly," he added, holding out his hand in a last attempt at civility, he was becoming sure of it.

"I don't think so, troopers. Whatever you have to say to me can be said right here. I don't want no visitors in my house." Skeeter had no question in his mind as to why. The place looked well on its way to a condemnation notice.

The dog continued to bark, and Roy paused, wondering if she would make any move to quiet the animal. It was wearing on his patience, and made talking difficult.

"Cat got your tongue, trooper? You gonna stand there are day hemmin' and hawin' like Deputy Dawg, or you gonna spit it out? I ain't got all day, I do work, you know. Unlike some people who just eat donuts all day."

Roy's patience was at its end. "We're here to inform you, ma'am, that your husband was killed in the line of duty last night. We're told an officer was sent to let you know, but no one was home. Your phone line's disconnected too," he pointed out with a hint of expecting an explanation in his voice.

"I was workin' up at the truck stop all night, so I wasn't here." She didn't take the bait about the status of her phone.

Skeeter was wary of the lack of shock or remorse in her voice. Usually it preceded hysterics in his experience. "Had you heard anything of what happened in Memphis last night?" He hardly saw how she could not.

"Oh, I heard the truckers sayin' somethin' about some big to-do up there, but I don't pay hardly anythin' they say no mind. I just make small talk, nod my head and make sure I pick up my tips. Plus, I had to help in the kitchen last night too. I wasn't out on the floor as much as usual."

"Were you aware of the dangerous prisoner that was being held in the courthouse there? Your husband was one of the people assigned to guard him."

"Who, that was the doctor, wasn't it? The psychiatrist who ate his patients? There was a blip on the tube about that yesterday before General Hospital came on. They run that as a rerun after the primetime news," she noted, as if they might be interested in watching.

Skeeter was finding her interest in the soap opera over her husband's demise quite a bit unsettling. This could get to be a dangerous scene if she should decide to snap suddenly. He didn't want have it said that he brought news that precipitated someone committing suicide. He would give a bit more fact, and then ease around to bringing the next step into focus. It must be done gently, he reminded himself.

"Yes'm, he was the same. Dr. Hannibal Lecter. Your husband -"

"Did he eat him? Take pieces of him and cut them off? The 'Tattler' said that's what he does. I used to read it once in a while, back in the days when I used to be able to sit in a beauty shop and get my hair done once in a while. That was back when my husband actually saw some reason to spend some money on his wife and family. I used to catch up with the scandals as I sat there with my head under the dryer." Her tone was bitter and resentful now.

Roy cut in. "Yes ma'am, the same. We're not really sure about the status of your husband right now." Cut to the chase with no pity now, exactly the way he was feeling. He wanted to get the hell out of this dung heap. "The coroner hadn't yet completed his report on the status of your husband's remains; we need for you to come down to the morgue, confirm the identity of the body for the paperwork, and claim the body. They'll need instructions as to where it should go from there."

"I didn't think you boys came down here to take me to lunch. That's a treat I haven't been allowed in a long time."

Roy was becoming unnerved by her lack of emotion now. Skeeter was shifting uncomfortably, hating that Roy had been so forthright with the woman, but knowing that it had to be said just the same. Roy decided to speak again.

"Ma'am, we're very sorry for your loss; please try to understand. Now, if you'd like, we can drive you down there -"

"No, Trooper, I don't think you understand at all. That won't be necessary." The two officers looked at each other, not understanding.

"Did my husband ever attempt to use force with Hannibal Lecter? Did he try to beat him?"

The troopers were perplexed. What did that have to do with anything?

"We don't rightly know, ma'am; I expect not. But we can't really say for sure, the prisoner escaped last night after he killed your husband, and hasn't been seen since. We have no idea what the status of him really is."

"It wouldn't surprise me a bit if he had. He had a way with his fists. See this?" The woman opened her mouth, pointing out the fact that several of her teeth were missing. "He saw fit to make me lose these after I found out last year that he had drawn all of his vacation pay and taken off for Vegas for a week with one of his 'ladies'. He didn't see any reason why I should be mad that we had no food in the house. His answer to that was to lock our little girl in the closet and scream at me, asking if I liked it now, telling me that if she didn't move around so much, she wouldn't need to 'pig out', as he called it. Never mind the fact that she was only six years old then. He had a way with his vile mouth, too.

"But don't worry, that wasn't unusual for him. He decided long ago that he hated being 'tied down in one place'; he beat me senseless and guarded my every move, when he wasn't out fucking like an alley cat. He'd want me to look pretty for him, then he would accuse me of trying to see people on the side when I did look good."

Skeeter grew concerned now. "Is the little girl all right?"

The woman made an ugly expression. "She's fine, as fine as she can be after having been hit by her father numerous times and then locked in a closet while he tore into me. She hates him now."

"Why didn't you try to get help?" Roy interjected, having heard far too many stories of women who filed complaints on 'domestics', only to go running back to their husbands the next day for more of the same.

Mrs. Boyle narrowed her eyes at the two troopers. "You boys really didn't know my husband, did you?"

"No ma'am." Skeeter hadn't, and he knew that Roy hadn't either. They had been partners now for several years on numerous investigations, and close friends too.

"He had all the locals wrapped tight around his finger, even after he left the force and decided to take the job at Brushy Mountain State Prison. He wasn't on call there, you see, and it allowed him more of his so-called 'freedom'. The 'old boys' network'." She scoffed sarcastically. "Even when I called for help, they took their sweet time in responding. He would make sure everything was just hunky-dory when they came, IF they arrived. They were great at passin' the buck too."

"Why didn't you just leave? You know, go to one of them shelter places?" Roy was perturbed at her constant derogatory remarks about his profession. He usually did the best he knew how.

"Ha! Sure, just go there and leave my kid. Or uproot her completely, screw up her life more than it was. I did try that once. I was outside the shelter, having a cigarette, and he grabbed me there in the dark, drove me back home. Threatened to disappear with my kid if I didn't 'learn my place'. She was still at my friend's house, but I believed him. He always followed through on what he threatened to do. The only good part about his womanizing was that he had less time to be around here and torment us. Well, I suppose I won't have to worry about that anymore. Perhaps I can make some real friends again without him chasing them out of my life." She moved as if to close the door.

"Wait!" Skeeter stuck his foot out, before she could try to close it. "Aren't you going to go down to identify and claim the body?"

"Hell no. You seem to know who he is."

"Now just a damn minute!" Roy was enraged. "Your husband was killed in the line of duty! Barring your problems, he was serving the people of the State of Tennessee when he was murdered in cold blood by a remorseless sicko! You owe him that much!"

"I don't owe that sick son of a bitch anything. I shouldn't even call him that; I like dogs, and they're too good for the likes of him. My late husband was the only one I see as being 'sick'. Seems to me the good doctor, that man you call a 'sicko', was doing me a big favor. I think I owe him; he can feel free to call on me for coffee anytime. Now if you'll excuse me."

Skeeter threw his hand out, blocking the door from being shut. "Wait! What about the body?"

Mrs. Boyle looked at him coldly. "Feel free to do whatever you like with it. Donate it to science; if someone comes here wanting me to sign it away for that, I will. Bury it in a potter's field, I don't give a shit. If that's inconvenient, take it out to the hills and throw it to the coyotes. They won't mind if the good doctor had a little snack off it, though why anybody would want any part of his ugly ass is beyond me. He sure let himself go after he had me all secured to him in marriage."

"What the fuck!" Roy was beyond any semblance of professional conduct now. He had never been witness to such outrage, even in all his years of service. "What the hell are you saying!"

"I'm saying I'm much obliged to Hannibal Lecter. I wish him no evil; he can live on, as far as I'm concerned. I don't give a damn if you flatfeet ever catch him; he's done me a big favor. If he ever comes to trial, I must be sure I'm there to say a few words on his behalf.

"I'm going to call the state today and see about when I can start drawing my husband's pension money. And what benefits I can still have. He was so cheap with us that we didn't have any while he was alive; he wouldn't pay the extra premiums. He's worth more to me now. At least now I'll see some of his money. Maybe I can fix my house up. Now if you would do me a big favor and git off my land." And with that, she grabbed the door and made as if to slam it. Skeeter withdrew his foot reflexively, and it was well for him when the door banged shut in the trooper's faces.

From that time on, neither trooper ever accepted the assignment for such calls again. When the next call came in announcing that the Medi-vac chopper was landing at the site of a major traffic accident on the interstate, Skeeter's car sped out of the headquarters in response. Roy went to escort the jaws-of-life to the scene.

They had no desire to know what Officer Pembry's wife had to say, and neither ever discussed Dr. Hannibal Lecter again.