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with yellow crime-scene tape. Val
slid the blade of a penknife around the edges and pushed open the door. They
were met by a swarm of large shiny flies and a stomach-turning stench, so thick
it seemed to cling to their skin.
    Bickford didn’t turn a hair. He hobbled in and,
without having to be instructed, started to examine the room. His attention was
immediately drawn to the drums. He extricated an arm from its crutch and
started to beat slowly on the largest of the three.
    “Rada drums ,” he
announced eventually. “The drums of choice for initiation ceremonies. They
honor the good spirits from Dahomey in West Africa.”
    Not what Val wanted to hear. “What do you make of
these?” he said, tapping the wall below the three veve sketches.
    Bickford moved over and examined them closely. “The
heart-shaped one represents Ezili, goddess of love — often portrayed by a
Virgin Mary figure. The middle one is the veve for rebirth.”
    “Would you expect it to be part of an initiation
ceremony?”
    “Absolutely.”
    “And Ezili?”
    He took another look at the heart-shaped veve before
saying, “Not that I’ve heard about  the Ayizan veve is normally reserved for that ritual — but it’s impossible to
rule it out.”
    “What about the third veve?”
    “Not one that I’m acquainted with. I’d say it’s
derived from Masonic imagery. If you have no objection to my taking a picture
of it, I might be able to run down some reference to it?”
    “Go right ahead.”
    Bickford slipped a pocket camera from his shorts and
quickly snapped a couple of shots.
    They went outside to the yard.
    Bickford poked at the compacted earth with the rubber
ferrule of one of his crutches. “If there had been a poteau-mitan in the
center, I would have said this area had been designated a sacred place,
delineated by the four cardinal points.”
    “What’s a poteau-whatever?”
    “A circular pillar that links heaven and earth. Most
of the ceremonial dances take place around it.”
    “Could an oil drum substitute?” Val pointed out the
crushed remnants under the tree.
    “Yeah, don’t see why not. Let’s have a closer look.”
He grinned broadly as he said “I take it that’s the tree you fell out of.”
    Painted in faded red-oxide and barely visible on the
concertinaed drum were two snakes that Bickford stated were the lwa Dambala and
Ayida Wedo.
    “Let me get this clear,” Val said. “Duval senior had
the yard rigged as some sort of temple, and an initiation ceremony could have
been conducted here.”
    “It’s common enough practice. Voodoo has been driven
underground so many times, its followers are well used to making do with
whatever’s to hand. What way was the girl dressed when you found her?”
    “She was near naked, though we found a white dress and
scarf hidden in the tree.”
    Bickford seemed almost apologetic. “Voodoo initiates
are dressed in white. Catholic imagery again.”
    “So the girl could be telling the truth?”
    ‘‘I guess so.”
    “Wouldn’t there be a need for witnesses to the
initiation ceremony?”
    “Certainly the early stages, not necessarily for the
boule-zen. Without the distractions of others, an initiate could be expected to
be more receptive to the lwa, and any manbo worth her salt wouldn’t want her
secrets exposed for all to see.”
    Val tried one last shot. “We have conclusive proof
that the girl wasn’t confined for all the time she claims.”
    Bickford shook his head. “I wouldn’t read much into
that. Voodoo has survived countless attempts at eradication by constantly
evolving, in contrast to the Christian or Islamic faiths which have changed
very little over the years. The principal reason being that voodoo has no dogma
to restrict it. The confinement might have been more symbolic than literal.”
    On the drive back to First District, Bickford pumped
Val for information about life in the PD. He was in the midst of preparing a
paper on subcultures found in law-enforcement