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her eyes. The victim’s hair was hidden under some kind of white silk turban with lots of charms and feathers sewn on it. Small bones had been thrust through slits cut into her earlobes. Dried blood had run down her neck and now looked black and crusty.
    There was a multitude of candles surrounding her, all white and all covered with thick drippings, burned all the way down to the floor. Some of them, the ones encased in tall glass containers were decorated with pictures of Jesus Christ and the Virgin Mary. One was still burning. More religious pictures, small plastic icons as found in Catholic churches, feathers, and bones made a shrine that encircled the chair. Several human skulls were affixed with white candles. And the smell of death permeated the air, cloaking everybody and everything with the sickening odor of putrefying flesh. Bluebottle flies had found her and buzzed and landed and crawled all over the exposed face.
    â€œHoly God,” Zee muttered softly, crossing himself and stepping back away from the victim. “That’s a voodoo altar. See the cornmeal spread around down there on the floor. That design traced in it? That’s called a Veve. They draw that stuff before the ceremony begins. Don’t step in it. Don’t touch it. Damn, I don’t like this kinda shit.”
    Claire pulled her gaze away from the altar and stared at Zee. “How do you know this stuff, Zee?”
    â€œHey, I was born out here, remember. And Mama Lulu is into voodoo. She can tell us what all this means. And it all means something bad, I guarantee it.”
    â€œWho’s Mama Lulu?”
    â€œMy grandmama. She lives up this very bayou a little ways, and she’s got a voodoo shop over on Bourbon Street in the Quarter. This’s serious stuff, Claire. Don’t let anybody touch anything, or God knows what might happen.”
    â€œTold you this was super creepy,” one of the officers said. Claire remembered that his name was Clarence Dionne. She didn’t know him very well yet. He was young, slender, with big brown eyes and dark hair longer than the sheriff really liked his patrol officers to wear. He was from the parish, born and bred, and knew nearly everybody who lived in Lafourche. She did know that much about him, and that was probably going to come in handy in the investigation.
    Yeah, it was super creepy, all right. More than creepy — bizarre and horrible , Claire thought. She turned to Officer Dionne. “Do you recognize the victim?”
    â€œCan’t tell, ma’am. Not with her face painted up like some kinda zombie like that. She looks young, though. I might be able to identify her after Nancy gets her cleaned up.”
    â€œYou didn’t touch anything, did you, Dionne?”
    â€œNo, ma’am. I know better’n that. Nobody touches voodoo altars ’cause they might get cursed.”
    â€œWho found the body?”
    â€œDon’t know. Desk got in an anonymous call to check out this house for a possible homicide. Gave pretty good directions, too. Used a burn phone so there was no trace.”
    â€œAre those the exact words the caller used? Told you to check for a possible homicide?”
    â€œYes, ma’am. That’s what dispatch told me.”
    â€œThat sounds like somebody in law enforcement. Did they get the voice on tape?”
    â€œOperators at 911’s got it, if you wanna listen to it, but they said it was muffled and hard to understand.”
    â€œThank you, Officer. You observe anything suspicious at the scene when you first got out here?”
    â€œNo. No tire tracks except for one that led down to the boat. Looked like an SUV of some kind.”
    â€œThat’s probably my Range Rover. We’ll get casts made, though.”
    â€œYou got a Range Rover?” Dionne said. He gave an appreciative whistle, impressed, to be sure.
    â€œIt belongs to a friend of mine.” That would be Black, of course. He just