'So?'
'Police don't fall for people like us, silly child.'
Flora continued to stare in the direction David Gould had gone. 'He could love me,' she said softly. 'Jesus fell in love with a prostitute.'
'Jesus this, and Jesus that,' Strata Luna chided. 'Everybody's always talkin' about Jesus. A strong woman don't need no man other than for opening jars and having sex.'
'Haven't you ever been in love?'
'I'm not even sure what love is, hon. Man-woman love, anyway.'
'What about Enrique?'
The older woman laughed her deep, rich laugh. 'Enrique is a sweet, gorgeous child, but he ain't my equal, honey.'
Strata Luna picked up a brush from the dresser, the slight movement causing her black gown to rustle. She pulled the brush through Flora's hair. Flora sighed and closed her eyes.
'There was this one man…,' Strata Luna began with a secret smile in her voice. 'But I was too much woman for him.' She clicked her tongue and shook her head. 'Too much woman.'
'Someone I know?' Flora felt herself relaxing.
'Before your time.'
The room was cool, but Flora could feel the muggy heat of Savannah radiating through the window glass near her face as the rhythmic movement of the brush continued to soothe her.
'If you're serious about this man,' Strata Luna said, 'I can help.'
'I'm serious.'
'Then we'll gather ingredients for a spell. How'd that be?' Strata Luna put down the brush and raked her nails along Flora's scalp. 'A love-me-or-die spell.'
Chapter 14
'What'11 it be next?' Gould asked as the light turned green and Elise eased the unmarked police car through the intersection. 'A flight to Roswell, New Mexico, to check out the aliens?'
Elise was getting tired of having to constantly defend and explain local culture to her partner. 'You have to be more open-minded if you're going to live around here.'
'I just think we could focus in a more… practical direction.' Gould fiddled with the radio, getting nothing but static. 'Damn,' he said, shutting it off. 'Why do we always end up with the car with no tunes? And today of all days?'
'Because somebody else always beats us to the only car with a decent radio. And anyway, I don't think the police department considers music a priority.'
Before heading out of town, she stopped at Parker's Market, a combination gas station and deli, where they picked up sandwiches.
'I'll drive,' Gould offered as they returned to the car.
'That's okay,' Elise said. 'I know the road.'
He shrugged. 'Suit yourself.'
'So what's the deal with this village we're going to?' Gould asked once they were on their way. 'Want my pickle?'
She shook her head. 'Chips?'
He accepted the offer.
'There's a rumor about a young man living there who's said to have shown up at his home eight months after his burial,' she told him.
'Ah. A rumor. I love rumors,' he said in a voice that went along with the rolling of eyes.
'Never discredit rumors.'
'Not around here, right?'
Was he being a smart-ass? With Gould, it was often impossible to tell.
'The village we're visiting considers itself a sovereign state,' she explained. 'It's self-supporting. They have a king. They even have a Web site. And lucky for us, they welcome tourists.'
They finished eating.
Gould balled up the wrappers and stuck everything into a brown paper bag. When the conversation lulled, he tried the radio again, apparently hoping for better reception now that they were out of the city. It was worse. He sighed, shut it off, and leaned back in the seat to enjoy the view.
After several turns and dead ends, they finally came to a sign that read: you are now leaving the u.s. and
ENTERING THE YORUBA KINGDOM, BUILT BY THE PRIESTS OF THE ORISKA VOODOO CULT.
Gould stared at the sign. 'This is just weird as hell,' he said with a combination of hushed awe and annoyance.
They passed a shack that marked the entrance to the village. Barefoot, dark-skinned children ran across dirt- packed streets. Old men sat in chairs under the shade of corrugated steel porch roofs, watching the day go by.
People were friendly, and it didn't take Elise and Gould long to get directions to the shanty they were interested in. Like all of the others, it looked unable to withstand a stiff breeze.
The sound of the car announced their arrival, and a man and a woman came out to greet them.
'For six days, he was in a cold morgue,' the black islander told them from under the brim of his tattered, sweat-stained straw hat. 'Then we buried him. Eight months later, he comes shuffling home. Like that-'
He pointed to a young man of about seventeen sitting outside his parents' house. His feet were bare and dust-covered, his hair was matted, and his shoulder bones protruded sharply under the thin fabric of his T- shirt.
'He can't even feed or wash hisself,' the mother said, not with sorrow but acceptance. 'And our friends-they don't come round here no more. Because of Angel. Say he's cursed. Say he's evil.'
'Do you mind if we talk to him?' Gould asked.
'Won't do no good. Can't talk. I don't think he even knows who we are. He just came back here from habit… See how he holds his head like that? All bent?'
'Zombie posture,' Elise said.
The mother nodded. 'Can't lift it no further. Not even to eat. But he's a good boy. If I tell him to go in the house, he goes in the house. If I tell him to go to bed, he goes to bed. He's a good boy. Nobody would ever have reason to hurt him.'
'Any idea who could have done this to him? And why?' Elise asked.
A look of fear passed between the man and wife. She and Gould were outsiders, and Angel's parents were afraid of angering whoever had done such a terrible thing to their son. If they had an idea, they weren't eager to divulge it.
The detectives attempted a brief conversation with the emaciated young man, but nothing they said brought about any kind of response. He was a shell with nothing inside.
'They seem especially adamant about their son being a good boy,' Gould said to Elise while the parents stood out of earshot.
'Are you thinking that perhaps he hadn't been such a good boy before?'
'Exactly.'
'Vodun society has its own methods of dealing with criminals,' Elise said. 'Turning someone into a mindless puppet is an effective way to harness them.'
'No jails. No expense to anyone but the family.'
'What could he have done that was bad enough to deserve such a life sentence?'
Gould reached inside his jacket. 'Maybe we can find out.'
He approached the couple again. 'Does your son happen to have one of these anywhere on his body?' he asked, presenting the parents with the body art photo.
