Headhunter

There had never been to DeClercq's knowledge an Indian cult like Zebra. The basis, however, — was there. Recently British Columbia had been the focus of an awakening Indian movement.

Was it not fact. DeClercq now thought,that during the civil rights movement in the United States, most black leaders consciously sought out the roots of their people's past? Did some like the Black Panthers and Black Muslims not seek out the most violent traditions? And did the women's liberation movement not react the same? In this city, had the Wimmin's Fire Brigade not torched pornographic outlets? And what about the Indian? Did he not also look to the roots of his past? And would some not eventually seek the more violent traditions?Was that not the psychology of the frustrated everywhere?

DeClercq looked back at the corkboard wall, at the photo of Joanna Portman nailed to the Burial Pole.

All right,he thought to himself. Freefloat for a while.

You've got a mortuary pole. Of what significance?

It was the practice of many Northwest tribes to erect a mortuary pole near the burial place of the dead.

Give me another tradition.

Among the Kwakiutl, it was the rule to have people unrelated to the dead cut the hair of the mourners.

Is that why the head is missing? A symbolic cut of the hair?

No. it doesn't fit the ritual. She's dead, not a mourner.

Then give me a ritual which does fit in.

I can't. I think we're off base. This totem pole connection is just coincidence. There is no Indian ritual making use of a severed he…

Unless…

Unless it's not the head as a head that the killer is after. Then it fits Hamatsa and the Cannibal Cult.

DeClercq looked back at the picture.

Then several seconds later he picked up the phone.

9:36 a.m.

The telephone was answered on its tenth ring.

'Allo.'

'Good morning. Did I get you out of bed?'

'Non, je suis tout juste de la douche. Attends un moment.'

DeClercq waited. In his mind he pictured his wife naked, her auburn hair and lithe body dripping water all over the floor. In the background he could hear classical music, a concerto for flute and harp. Genevieve always played Mozart in the morning.

'Okay,'she said, retrieving the phone.'Je suis decente.'

'The reason I called you, Genny, I've got a rather wild theory I'd like your opinion on.'

'Shoot. I'm listening.'

Once he had finished, there was silence from the other end of the phone. Then after a few moments' thought his wife slowly said: 'Has there ever been an Indian Death Cult before?'

'Not that I know of.'

'So your theory's based on Zebra?'

'Yes, that case and some others.'

'Run the Zebra theory by me again.'

'Okay, in April of 1975 there was evidence given at the trial of four Black Muslims in San Francisco that they were members of a group called the 'Death Angels.' The purpose of this cult was to start a race war by the random killing of whites. According to the chief witness for the prosecution, he had been approached in San Quentin prison by two men who asked him to teach them martial arts so they could murder Caucasians. According to a theory outlined by Mayor Alioto before the trial began, the Death Angels' organization had titles and offices to which advancement was awarded on the basis of criminal acts performed. The pattern of killing was by random street shooting or by hacking the victims to death with a machete, cleaver or knife. Decapitation and other forms of mutilation brought special credit to the killers from the organization. In the first Zebra killing, a woman was beheaded.'

'Where's the term 'Zebra' from?' Genevieve asked.

'The police radio band used in the case.'

'And you think Zodiac was a similar form of cult?'

'Yes, but he was never caught. He or they, that is.'

'Isn't it 'they' if you're talking about a cult?'

'Not by my definition. A single killer may think that he's part of a group — even if the rest of the cult exists only in his head. Zodiac used to send messages to the police bearing an astrological sign and stating that when he died he'd be reborn in Paradise with all the people he had killed as his slaves.'

'Sounds like 'Reverend' Jim Jones and his Guyana cult.'

'Exactly. So what do you think?'

Again there was some silence, then Genevieve said: 'I agree that the totem pole must have some form of meaning. I also agree that there could very easily be a radical fringe group within the Red Power movement. The fact the heads are missing is certainly bizarre. But don't you think that cannibalism is stretching it a bit?'

'Perhaps. But then there's a precedent in the Hamatsa. It all depends on just how weird this cult or killer is.'

'Don't we have a book on that?'

'Yes, it's in the spare room bookcase. On the lower shelf.'

'The title?'

'A History of the Potlatch.'

'Hold on. I'll go and get it.'

DeClercq heard Genevieve put down the phone, and her footsteps creak a floorboard. For several minutes he sat in his office with his eyes closed imagining the scene at his home. His wife would be dressed in one of four floor-length bathrobes. She'd have it belted at the waist and as she walked the slit front would reveal glimpses of her legs.

Over the years, Robert DeClercq had certainly enjoyed the show. For in her own way Genevieve was as much an actress as Kate had been.

Then the thought of Kate brought back the scene of that leaf-strewn, windswept graveyard. His eyes snapped open and he shook off a sudden chill.

During the early years of his second marriage DeClercq was always touched by guilt when he remembered his first family. Not an hour seemed to pass without a thought of Kate or Jane. Particularly Janie sitting on his knee. When the Superintendent remembered Kate, often as not his mind would return to that night in New York when he met her. The month had been November, just before Thanksgiving.

DeClercq had been in New York for an extradition hearing. An NYPD homicide cop, on learning that the Canadian Corporal enjoyed a night of theater, had offered to get him a scalped ticket for a revival play on Broadway. DeClercq had readily accepted.

The production was one of Rosmersholme,by Henrik Ibsen. Kate had played the lead.

Even today DeClercq could clearly recall the thrill, the tension, the erotic shiver that her acting had fired within him. She seemed to physically hold the stage and rivet his attention. Never before in all his life had he been stunned by such a feeling. It was strange and intangible. Just watching her seemed to fill his existence with meaning. He felt like a fool, sitting anonymously in that crowd and tumbling head over heels in love with this woman. What a wild, insane sensation.

Don't hold yourself too tight, was the thought that ran through his head.