“Cheerful stuff.”
“Sheriff Crowe thought that was a copy of a Goya.”
“She's right. It's
He tapped a photo of the raft scene.
“This one's by Theodore Gericault. Know him?”
I shook my head.
“It's called
“What's the story?”
“We're checking.”
“Who's the bear?”
“Same answer. We ran the name but came up with zip. Can't be that many Baxbakualanuxsiwaes out there.”
He removed a thumbtack with his nail and handed me a list.
“Familiar with anyone on the playbill?”
“The names from the tunnel walls?”
“Yeah. Special Agent Rayner's working them.”
Three folding tables lined the back of the room. One held a computer, the others cardboard boxes, each marked with date and provenance:
A young man in shirtsleeves and tie worked at the computer. I'd seen him at the Arthur house, but we hadn't met. McMahon gestured from the agent to me.
“Roger Rayner, Tempe Brennan.”
Rayner looked up and smiled, then went back to his monitor.
“We've nailed a few of the more obvious players. The Greek and Roman gods, for example.”
I noted comments following some names. Cronus. Dionysus. The Daughters of Mineus. The Daughters of Pelias. Polyphemus.
“And the pope and the Aztec emperor popped right up. But who the hell is Dasakumaracarita? Or Abd al-Latif? Or Hamatsa?” He pronounced the names syllable by syllable. “At least I can say ‘Sawney Beane’ or ‘John Gregg.’”
He ran a hand through his hair and it did its rooster thing.
“I figured an anthropologist might recognize some obscure goddess or something.”
I was staring at one name, my nerve cells tingling. Hamatsa.
Moctezuma. The Aztecs.
Saturn devouring his children.
“Is there somewhere we can talk in private?” My voice sounded high and shaky.
McMahon gave me an odd look, then led me into an adjacent cubicle.
I took a moment to collect my thoughts.
“What I'm about to say is going to sound ludicrous, but I'd like you to hear me out.”
He leaned back and laced his fingers across his paunch.
“Among the Kwakiutl of the Pacific Northwest, the Hamatsa were a society of tribal elite. Young men who hoped to become Hamatsa went through a lengthy period of isolation.”
“Like fraternity pledges.”
“Yes. During their time in the forest the initiates would periodically appear on the outskirts of the village, demented and screaming, charge in, bite flesh from the arms and chests of those unfortunate enough to be present, then disappear back into the woods.”
McMahon's eyes were on his hands.
“Shortly before the end of his exile, each initiate was brought a mummy that had been soaked in salt water, cleaned, and split open. The initiate was expected to smoke-cure the corpse for the final ritual.”
I swallowed.
“During that ritual the aspirant and senior members of the brotherhood devoured portions of the corpse.”
McMahon did not look at me.
“Are you familiar with the Aztecs?”
“Yes.”
“They appeased their gods through the ritual eating of human beings.”
“Cannibalism?”
