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takes anything for granted. Val knew it, the other homicide detectives
knew it, and even the civilian clerks would have known it. The very moment you
think you have an investigation down pat, it will turn around and bite you in
the ass. This time it was Dave Wells doing the biting.
    Duval’s piercing reaction to Val’s appearance at the
hospital the afternoon before had set in motion a train of events. He was
unceremoniously bundled out of her room by a couple of interns, who then sent
for the pediatric resident. Val had hung around for an hour watching a series
of white-coated specialists come and go, hoping that one of them would
eventually permit him access to Duval. Wells was having none of it. Now knowing
the seriousness of the charge, and with his client having regained her voice,
he insisted on being given reasonable time to consult with her. Duval needed to
be treated with understanding and consideration, Wells argued, if a further
bout of speech loss was to be prevented, and he had a squad of doctors ready to
back him.
    Duval must have talked all night.
    Captain Larson had called Val into his office early
the following morning to break the news. He didn’t try to sugarcoat it.
    “Wells has broached a deal with the DA’s office. His
client will plead no contest to a charge of voluntary manslaughter if we drop
the charge of assault against you.”
    Val stared at him bug-eyed, not believing what he was
hearing. Duval was prepared to admit the unlawful killing of her mother, but
that it had not been murder. She would end up serving a year, maybe two, in a
juvenile detention center. The assault charge on a police officer would have
carried a minimum four years.
    “That’s ridiculous. The DA’s office will never buy
it.”
    “I have a feeling they will. They’re not convinced
that a grand jury would indict the child on a murder charge — not once they
listen to the story Wells has come up with.”
    “Let’s hear it.”
    Larson pushed back in his chair. “According to a statement
that the girl dictated, her mother had been initiating her as a manbo. She was
confined without food for nine days and instructed in the rituals that a voodoo
priestess uses to call upon the spirits. Voodoo initiation is seen as a
rebirth. The neophyte dies —metaphorically
— to be reborn as a permanent host for the lwa spirits. Duval’s hand was to be
immersed into boiling water during the concluding ceremony. It’s known as a
boule-zen. Apparently, the more severe the ordeal, the stronger the bond between
the lwa and its host. The greater the manbo’s asson, or power.”
    Val had heard enough. “This is bullshit. Duval wasn’t
confined. We have a security tape of her stealing the axe three days before the
killing.”
    Larson shrugged. He was sympathetic, but saw the PD’s
job as the apprehension of the law-breakers. What happened to them after that
was on somebody else’s conscience. “We have no way of knowing how strict the
confinement was supposed to be.”
    ‘To claim voluntary manslaughter, there has to be
adequate provocation. The doctor who examined Duval found no evidence of abuse.
She was malnourished, but so was the mother. There was no pot of boiling water
at the scene. The victim had no defense wounds on her arms. It was
premeditated, cold-blooded murder.”
    The captain pulled a wry face. “I’m not saying it
wasn’t, but can you imagine a jury’s response to Wells’s version of events?
He’s a genius at tugging on heartstrings. And he’ll have abeautiful young girl at his side in the courtroom, while we're
stuck with policemen and forensic experts. He’ll tell them how the girl’s
father and brother died, about their perilous refugee flight from Haiti, the
struggle for survival here, living from day to day, knowing that at any time
they could be repatriated. The confusion created in the child’s mind as what
she sees in America collides with her own culture. He’ll have the judge and
jury in