Cemetery Dance

With maddening care, the woman opened the lid and removed the leather — wrapped contents, laying them out with excessive precision.

"Unwrap them, please," D'Agosta said.

Each item was untied and unwrapped as if a museum object. A set of knives was revealed, each stranger, more exotic, and more unsettling than the last. Their blades were elaborately curved, serrated, and notched, the bone and wooden handles inlaid with odd curlicues and designs. The last item to be unwrapped wasn't a knife but a thick piece of wire bent and curled into a most fantastical design, with a bone handle at one end and a hook at the other, the hook's outer edge honed to a razor — like sharpness. It was precisely like the one Pendergast had snagged.

"Sacrifice knives withvévé, " said Bertin, taking a step back.

D'Agosta turned on him with irritation. "Vay — vay?"

Bertin covered his mouth, coughed. "The handles," he said in a weak voice, "have vévé on them, the designs of the Loa."

"And what the hell's a 'loa'?"

"A demon, or spirit. Each knife represents one of them. The circular designs represent the i

"In other words, voodoo shit," said D'Agosta.

The little man plucked out a handkerchief, dabbed at his temples with a shaking hand. "Not Vôdou. Obeah."

Bertin's French pronunciation of voodoo was a fresh irritation for D'Agosta. "What's the difference?"

"Obeah is the real thing."

"The real thing," D'Agosta repeated. He glanced at Hayward. Her face was closed.

Pendergast removed a leather kit from his suit coat, opened it, and began removing things — a small rack, test tubes, tweezers, a pin, several eyedropper bottles of reagents — placing each item on the table in turn.

"What's this?" Hayward asked, sharply.

"Tests," was the clipped answer.

"You can't set up a lab in here," she said. "And you heard the lady — you need pre — approvals."

A white hand slipped into the black suit coat, reappeared with a piece of paper. Hayward took it and read it, her face darkening.

"This is highly irregular—" the mummified woman began. Before she could finish, a second paper appeared and was held up before her. She took it, read it, did not offer to return it.

"Very well," she said. "What object would you like to begin with?"

Pendergast pointed to the wire hook, bent into elaborate curlicues. "I shall need to handle it."

The woman glanced at the sheet of paper again, then nodded.

Pendergast fitted a loupe to his eye, picked the hook up in gloved hands, turned it over, examining it closely, then laid it down. Using the pin with excessive care, he removed some flakes of material encrusted near the handle and put them in a test tube. He took a swab, moistened it in a bottle, swiped it along part of the hook, then sealed the swab in another test tube. He repeated this process with several of the knives, handles, and blades, each swab going into its own tiny test tube. Then, using an eyedropper, he added reagents to each tube. Only the first tube turned color.

He straightened up. "How unusual." Just as swiftly as the equipment had appeared, it disappeared back into the leather kit, which was folded, zipped up, and tucked back in the suit.

Pendergast smoothed and patted down his suit, and folded his hands in front. Everyone was staring at him. "Yes?" he asked i

"Mr. Pendergast," said Hayward, "if it isn't too much trouble, would you mind sharing with us the fruits of your labors?"

"I'm afraid I've struck out rather badly."

"What a pity," said Hayward.

"You're familiar with Wade Davis, the Canadian ethnobotanist, and his 1988 book, Passage of Darkness: The Ethnobiology of the Haitian Zombie?"

Hayward continued glaring at him, saying nothing, her arms crossed.

"A most interesting study," said Pendergast, "I recommend it highly."

"I'll be sure to order it from Amazon," said Hayward.

"Davis's investigation showed, in essence, that a living person can be zombified by the application of two special chemicals, usually via a wound. The first,coup de poudre, has tetrodotoxin as its primary ingredient — the same toxin found in the Japanese delicacy fugu. The second involves a datura — like dissociative. A particular combination of these substances, applied in doses approaching the LD–50, can keep a person in a state of near — death for days, yet mobile, with minimal brain function and no independent will. In short, according to theory, with certain chemical compounds you can create an actual zombii."

"And you found these chemical compounds?" asked Hayward, in a clipped voice.

"That's the surprise. I did not — neither here, nor in independent tests I conducted while at the Ville. I must confess myself surprised — and disappointed."

She turned away brusquely. "Bring out the next batch of evidence. We've wasted enough time on this as it is."

"I did find, however," added Pendergast, "that human blood is present on that hook."

There was a silence.

D'Agosta grunted, turned to the evidence mummy. "I want a DNA test on that hook, run it through the databases, test for presence of human tissue as well. In fact, I want all these instruments tested for both human and animal blood. Make sure the handles are fingerprinted — I want a record of who handled them." He turned to Pendergast. "Got any idea what that crazy hook is for?"

"I confess I am baffled. Monsieur Bertin?"

Bertin had been looking increasingly agitated. Now he gestured for Pendergast to step to one side. " Mon frere,I ca

"I feel fine."

Hayward looked from the two of them to D'Agosta. She shook her head.

"We must leave," Bertin said. "We must return home. I need the syrup — sipping syrup. 'Lean'—I know you have some! Nothing else will calm me."

"Du calme, du calme, maître. Very soon." Then, turning back to the group, Pendergast said in a louder voice: "Now if you'd please examine this hook, monsieur?"

After a moment Bertin stepped forward most unwillingly, bent warily over the item, sniffed. He was sweating copiously now and his face was sallow. His breathing sounded like the wheezing of old bagpipes in the small room. "How very strange. I've never seen anything like this before."

Another sniff.

"And the miniature coffin we retrieved from Fearing's crypt. Is it the work of the same sect?"

Bertin took a cautious step closer to the little coffin. Its lid was in place now: made of cream — colored paper, hand — decorated with skulls and long bones in black ink. It had been elaborately folded, origami — fashion, to fit snugly over the papier — mâché coffin.

"The vévé drawn on that paper lid," said Pendergast. "With what Loa is that identified?"

Bertin shook his head. "This vévé is quite unknown to me. I would guess this is private, secret, known only to a single Obeah sect. Whatever it is, it is very strange. I've never seen anything like it." He stretched out his hand — pulled it back when the ancient woman clucked her desiccated tongue — then stretched it out again and picked up the lid.