"I have to be here to make sure no evidence is tampered with," she said. "We've had a few very determined reporters lately."
"But I'm not a reporter."
She shrugged. "You're not an official person, Anita. New rules from on high that no nonofficial person is to be allowed to look at murder evidence without someone to watch over them."
"I appreciate it being you, Marian."
She smiled. "I was here anyway. I figured you'd resent my looking over your shoulder less than anyone else."
She was right. What did they think I was going to do, steal a body? If I wanted to, I could empty the damn place and get every corpse to play follow the leader.
Perhaps that was why I needed watching. Perhaps.
"I don't mean to be rude," John said, "but could we get on with this?"
I glanced up at his handsome face. The skin was tight around the mouth and eyes as if it had thinned. Guilt speared me in the side. "Sure, John, we're being thoughtless."
"Your forgiveness, Mr. Burke," Marian said. She handed us both little plastic gloves. She and I slipped into them like pros, but John wasn't used to putting on examining gloves. There is a trick to it--practice. By the time I finished helping him on with his gloves, he was grinning. His whole face changed when he smiled. Brilliant and handsome and not the least villainous.
Dr. Saville popped the seal on the first bag. It was clothing.
"No," John said, "I don't know his clothing. It may be his, and I wouldn't know. Peter and I had . . . hadn't seen each other in two years." The guilt in those last words made me wince.
"Fine, we'll go on to the smaller items," Marian said, and smiled as she said it. Nice and cheery, practicing her bedside manner. She so seldom got to practice.
She opened a much smaller bag and spilled the contents gently on the shiny silver surface. A comb, a dime, two pennies, a movie ticket stub, and a voodoo charm. A gris-gris.
It was woven of black and red thread with human teeth worked into the beading. More bones dangled all the way around it. "Are those human finger bones?" I asked.
"Yes," John said, his voice very still. He looked strange as he stood there, as if some new horror were dawning behind his eyes.
It was an evil piece of work, but I didn't understand the strength of his reaction to it.
I leaned over it, poking it with one finger. There was some dried skin woven in the center of it all. And it wasn't just black thread, it was black hair.
"Human hair, teeth, bones, skin," I said softly.
"Yes," John repeated.
"You're more into voodoo than I am," I said. "What does it mean?"
"Someone died to make this charm."
"Are you sure?"
He glared down at me with withering contempt. "Don't you think if it could be anything else I wouldn't say it? Do you think I enjoy learning my brother took part in human sacrifice?"
"Did Peter have to be there? He couldn't have just bought it afterwards?"
"NO!" It was almost a yell. He turned away from us, pacing to the wall. His breathing was loud and ragged.
I gave him a few moments to collect himself, then asked what had to be asked. "What does the gris-gris do?"
He turned a calm enough face to us, but the strain showed around his eyes. "It enables a less powerful necromancer to raise older dead, to borrow the power of some much greater necromancer."
"How borrow?"
He shrugged. "That charm holds some of the power of the most powerful among us. Peter paid dearly for it; so he could raise more and older dead. Peter, God, how could you?"
"How powerful would you need to be to share your power like this?"
"Very powerful," he said.
"Is there any way to trace it back to the person who made it?"
"You don't understand, Anita. That thing is a piece of someone's power. It is one substance to what soul they have left. It must have been a great need or great greed to do it. Peter could never have afforded it. Never."
"Can it be traced back?"
"Yes, just get it in the room with the person who truly owns it. The thing will crawl back to him. It's a piece of his soul gone missing."
"Would that be proof in court?"
"If you could make the jury understand it, yes, I guess so." He stepped towards me. "You know who did this?"
"Maybe. "
"Who, tell me who?"
"I'll do better than that. I'll arrange for you to come on a search of their house."
A grim smile touched his lips. "I'm beginning to like you a great deal, Anita Blake."
"Compliments later."
"What's this mean?" Marian asked. She had turned the charm completely over. There, shining among the hair and bone, was a small charm, like from a charm bracelet. It was in the shape of a musical symbol--a treble clef.
What had Evans said when he touched the grave fragments; they slit her throat, she had a charm bracelet with a musical note on it and little hearts. I stared at the charm and felt the world shift. Everything fell together in one motion. Dominga Salvador hadn't raised the killer zombie. She had helped Peter Burke raise it. But I had to be sure. We only had a few hours until we'd be back at Dominga's door trying to prove a case.
"Are there any women that came in around the same time as Peter Burke?"
"I'm sure there are," Marian said with a smile.
"Women with their throats slit," I said.
She stared at me for a heartbeat. "I'll check the computer."
"Can we take the charm with us?"
"Why?"
"Because if I'm right, she had a charm bracelet with a bow and arrow and little hearts on it, and this came from the bracelet." I held the gold charm up to the light. It sparkled merrily as if it didn't know its owner was dead.