treated with a rather odd and aloof kindness. She spent her early childhood as an outsider, someone without a true identity, but the mystery and supposition surrounding her heritage gave her foundation and definition.
During those isolated years of early childhood, she read everything she could on root doctoring. By the time Elise was Audrey's age, she was learning simple spells and herbal remedies while studying under a hag who was looking for someone she could 'pass the mantle' to.
But those days were long over.
She'd spent her entire professional career trying to put her past behind her in order to build credibility among her peers. But in Savannah, a place that seemed impervious to the outside world, you were your past.
Shrugging off Gould's silent question and ignoring Avery's taunt, Elise headed upstairs.
The office she and Gould shared was located On the third floor of Savannah Police Department Headquarters, with a window overlooking Colonial Park Cemetery. The city was proud of the historic police building, but even the addition constructed years ago wasn't enough to keep the PD from bursting at the seams.
Elise was afraid that once they were alone Gould would grill her about Mason's and Avery's comments. Anybody else would have been full of questions.
Instead, he planted himself in front of his computer, sandwich wrapper rustling, while Elise got on the phone and tried to contact Truman Harrison's cowork-ers in the Savannah Street Maintenance Department.
Behind her, she heard the rapid clicking of keys. 'Not a homicide case,' Gould muttered. 'Don't know why Hoffman gave it to us.'
Elise ended her conversation with the maintenance department secretary. 'As soon as we find the restaurant where Truman Harrison ate, we can turn this over to the Department of Public Health. If his wife decides to sue the hospital, it will be a lawyer's game. Six years later, when it finally goes to court,' she said, without trying to hide the annoyance she felt when it came to the legal system, 'we'll be expected to recall every minute detail as if it happened yesterday.'
'What I don't get is why it didn't kill Harrison.'
'Maybe he ingested it before. Maybe he's built up a tolerance to it. Some poisons are like that.'
'Here it is,' Gould announced, fingers pausing on the keyboard, eyes focused on the screen, the hint of excitement in his voice getting Elise's attention.
' 'TTX is one of nature's strangest molecules and one of the deadliest poisons on earth,' ' he read. ' 'Gram for gram, it is ten thousand times more lethal than cyanide. A few short minutes after exposure, it paralyzes its victims, leaving the brain fully aware of what is happening.' '
He fell silent while continuing to read to himself. A few minutes later he let out a loud, derisive snort. 'Guess Lacey wasn't so far off after all. It says here that tetrodotoxin is one of the ingredients used to make zombies.'
Elise thought about that for a moment. 'Makes sense.'
He swiveled around to face her, hands braced behind his head. 'I suppose you're going to tell me you believe in zombies.'
'Zombies exist.'
He dropped his hands, physically portraying his frustration. 'Are you insane? Is everybody in this town insane?'
'You've seen too many B movies. Have you heard of The Serpent and the Rainbow by Wade Davis?'
'I think I caught a few minutes of it on Showtime before switching channels.'
'That could have skewed your perspective. In the book, Davis postulates that zombies are very real, but never actually die. He suggests they are dosed with a powder that can be absorbed through the skin, leaving the victim in a state that mimics death. After the burial, the voodoo priest returns in the middle of the night and digs up the corpse, which isn't really a corpse but a somewhat lobotomized, oxygen-deprived individual, whom he then sells as slave labor in some town far from the victim's home.'
'Who says it's hard to get good help nowadays?' Gould turned back to bis computer and finished off his sandwich while continuing to search. 'Here's an interesting tidbit,' he said. 'Some people think the mysterious deaths surrounding the curse of King Tut were due to a poison similar to TTX. They suggest the poison was sprinkled in places where grave robbers could come in contact with it. If they had a cut finger or hand, it would enter the bloodstream.'
'Transdermal delivery,' Elise said. 'Just like Wade Davis' zombies.'
'Apparently.'
She swung toward him. 'Did you know that mandrake was used in the time of Christ as an anesthetic, but also to simulate death?'
He nodded. 'I've heard that.'
'Some historians even say it was hidden in the vinegar given to Jesus.'
'Hence, the resurrection?'
'It's a theory. Not a popular one, but a theory.'
'But then, who cares about being popular?'
An interesting comment, considering the source. 'It's human nature to want to be liked,' Elise told him. 'To seek the approval of our peers.'
'That kind of mind-set is a weakness, especially for a detective, who should be focusing on the truth.'
There was no middle ground with him. If he was looking for an argument, she refused to participate.
He unscrewed the cap from a bottle of water and took a swallow. 'This little history lesson has been very enlightening, but I don't think it has anything to do with us or Truman Harrison.'
'Let's hope not.'
He sized her up. 'That didn't sound convincing or heartfelt.'
He was right, Elise realized with a gnawing deep in her stomach, afraid that the case wouldn't be resolved as easily as she'd hoped. Just hours in, it already seemed to be plunging her into the murky waters she'd spent the last thirteen years trying to leave behind.
Chapter 6
He was beginning to smell like the poisoned rats that died inside the walls. That's how I knew he was dead.
I've always hated that smell.
I love death, but hate the smell of it. How can that be? And how terribly unfair. To be so drawn to something, yet so repulsed by it at the same time.
He'd been a good boy. Sweet and unresponsive, just the way I liked them.
Soft skin.
Soft hair.
But now he smelled like a dead fucking rat.
Walking backward, I grasped the corners of the blanket and dragged the wrapped body down the grassy incline. It was hard to get a good grip because the leather gloves kept slipping. I had to repeatedly reposition my fingers and hands.
Darkness had fallen over Savannah hours ago, and everyone was safe in bed. Even the crickets were asleep.
I paused and straightened to pull in a deep breath, my face turned away from the stench.
Night air.
A heavy, mysterious mixture of salt marsh, vegetation, and rich earth.
I bent and resumed my task.
The narrow, worn path led directly to the boat dock. The terrain became steeper, making my job easier. At one point, Jordan almost got away from me.
The johnboat with its metal hull was moored under the dock, half of it visible from where I stood. It was the easiest thing to shove the body over the edge.
It dropped into the boat with a heavy thud. I untied the thick rope and joined the dead man, taking a position
