“Hmm,” Ludovic responded. “More like our ancient ancestors’ witchcraft, I’d say. You know, rites calling upon primal forces; nowadays those could range all the way from extraterrestrial visitors to demons from hell.”
Engrasi reacted. “And you think that kind of cult could be operating in this region?”
Inspector Renaud glared at her apprentice and quickly intervened. “We have no proof any such cult exists.”
“We haven’t disproved it either,” Ludovic continued airily. “This whole region, on both sides of the Pyrenees, has been a hotbed of magic for centuries. The Zugarramurdi witch trials, cult practices throughout history, the Inquisition . . .”
“And what do you propose to do about it?” said Engrasi. “The Guardia Civil hasn’t lifted a finger!”
“We’ll talk to them, of course,” Renaud replied. “We will make a point of asking them to keep a close eye on the child, though we doubt the criminals will come back here.”
Ignacio shook his head, violently disagreeing. These two officious visitors had no idea of what he’d seen shrouded by the cowl over that she-wolf’s head.
Engrasi saw his concern. She asked, perhaps in an effort to lower the tension, “Why are you so certain they won’t come back? Did they fail before and not return?”
“They had never failed before.”
51
KREWE
Hinterlands outside New Orleans
Afternoon, Tuesday, August 30, 2005
The fierce sunshine rendered the air heavy and humid and threw dazzling reflections across the streets drowned in rippling, muddy water. Dupree had been pale and drenched in perspiration, and the inevitable strain of leaving the hospital via the second-floor window just made his condition worse. They lowered him into a sitting position in the stern, the most stable section, so as to spare him as much as possible from the boat’s shocks and jolts. Bull, at his side, steered their craft. Dupree accepted a couple of painkillers from Johnson, downed them with a sip of water, and closed his eyes.
Johnson and Amaia were on one side, and Charbou was in front of them. Médora lay in the prow, wrapped in a sheet from head to foot. Her foul smell wafted through the air as the Zodiac got underway, but at least they could keep their distance.
Johnson checked on their motionless passenger. “Maybe we should loosen the sheet around her face. It’s really hot out here.”
“No way!” Charbou said firmly. “It’s better like this.”
Bull’s reply was wary, even unfriendly. “Better for who?”
“For me, damn it!” Charbou snapped. “Better for all of us. I swear to God, if I have to look at that thing again, my head’s going to explode!”
Nobody challenged him.
Amaia was too full of her own contradictory thoughts to comment. She was still assimilating the news from Florida of Tucker’s precipitate action and Nelson’s arrest. And the fact that Dupree had convinced them all to head out into the swamp. Bull was on his side; Johnson had shown his loyalty—he’d have followed Dupree without question to the very depths of hell. What really astonished her was that even after arguing against the proposal, both she and Charbou had signed on.
Johnson had gotten assistance from the navy. The dispatcher promised to arrange for an SUV with a hitch and trailer for the Zodiac. Once they’d left the Mississippi and entered the less turbulent canal waters en route to the base, Dupree opened his eyes and looked up. He peered at the members of his crew, one by one, and he grinned. “Hell of a krewe I’ve got here.”
“Goes without saying, cap’n!” Bill Charbou replied.
Bull turned to Amaia, knowing she wouldn’t have gotten the joke. “The krewe is the company that builds and rides on a float in the Mardi Gras parade. The captain’s the crazy man in charge.”
Amaia stared at Dupree. He gave her a wink; he wasn’t forgetting for a moment that he owed her, big time. “What is it you want to know?”
Johnson interrupted. “I think you should rest. It’s not a good idea to be exerting yourself.”
Dupree waved negligently. “I’m fine,” he said, even though his pallor and his sweat-bathed face belied that assertion.
Amaia thought about it. She tilted her head to one side and gave him a calculating look. “I want to know lots of things. For starters, what’s Bazagrá?” She watched for a reaction. “I think that’s what Médora said in the house before . . . well, before your heart attack.”
Dupree closed his eyes and nodded. This was clearly difficult for him, but she refused to be put off. She waited patiently, her eyes on Dupree. At last, he answered. “Some think it’s nonsense, a meaningless expression like ‘abracadabra.’”
“And the others?”
“That it’s a curse. An invocation of the devil. Bazagrá, Bazagré, Bazagreá—from Beelzebub, Ba’al Zebub, or Baal, the ancient god of the Canaanites and Philistines.”
Amaia continued in a prosecutorial tone, “What are those marks on your chest? They are just like the ones on Jacob’s grandfather.”
“They’re from the man who abducted my sister and cousin that night during Betsy. I grabbed his leg and wouldn’t let go. Nana has the same scars.”
“All right,” she accepted that odd account. “But there’s one thing I need you to explain, because it’s vital for me to understand. I see how an investigation might be shelved without finding out who murdered a drug trafficker. What I can’t get my head around is the fact that the FBI stopped investigating the murder of one of its own.”
Dupree straightened up a bit, supporting himself on his right forearm. His features contracted in a grimace of intense pain. He gasped. “It has less to do with the murder than with the way Carlino died.”
“I considered that,” she admitted. “And I concluded he might have been doing something illegal. Maybe, just maybe, shutting down the investigation was a way to draw a curtain over something scandalous.”
Bull couldn’t contain himself. “Nothing could be further from the truth! Agent Carlino died in the line of duty. And in a way, so did Jerome Lirette. He died carrying out his duty to his family.”
Dupree raised a hand to hold Bull back. “When I joined the investigation, I immediately saw how the account from Lirette and his mother matched my memories of when they took my sister, my cousin, and the other girls. Jerome was getting frantic because the police insisted on treating Médora’s abduction as a drug-related kidnapping. But knowing what we were confronting and where to look wasn’t enough. Then we found Médora’s brooch in that shantytown in the swamp.” Dupree took a moment to catch his breath.
Bull took over. “They say the swamp has eyes, and they’re not referring only to the animals out there. Lots of Cajuns live there in settlements, in houseboats, or aboard their own boats. But nobody knew anything. We could hardly believe it. The folks in the swamp have a kind of sixth sense; they’re always letting the sheriff’s department know about outsiders. And they also report things that can’t be explained.”
Charbou was intrigued. “How’s that?”