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was young and green, apparently just out of the academy. He seemed like a serious guy, never smiled, rarely spoke, just listened and learned. Eric Sanders she’d met once and never wanted to meet again. He was a real loud and obnoxious motormouth type. He was tall, with rusty hair in a flat top and wire-rimmed glasses—smarter than smart, especially with computers, but subzero with the social skills.
    â€œOkay, Nancy, let’s finish up and try to get her fingerprints.”
    Nancy had already filmed the video, and she handed the camera to Mancini and told him to continue filming. After she took a couple more photographs of the altar from different angles, she knelt and lifted up the sleeves of the velvet gown and found the woman’s hands. They were bound together tightly with black duct tape, the fingers entwined in a prayerful position. Something had been placed in them, making it look almost as if she held a bouquet of flowers. They watched Nancy snap several pictures of the hands and then pull the fingers off the object.
    â€œOh, my God, Claire, it’s a voodoo doll.” She stared down at it and then up at Claire, an awful expression overtaking her face. “And I think it’s supposed to be you.”
    Everybody looked at Claire, and then down at the doll in Nancy’s gloved hands. Something about the horrified looks on their faces bothered Claire. Go figure. But this was a superstitious group, all born and bred in the bayous, each and every one, and mostly from French Cajun families, to boot. Voodoo dolls upset them en masse. “You’re kidding. Let me see it.”
    Nancy handed the thing over. Frowning, Claire took it, held it flat in her open palm, and examined it closely. It was her all right. No doubt about it. Hard to miss, in fact, since the killer had affixed a close-up shot of her face over the doll’s head, one that appeared to have been cut from a newspaper article. It was held in place with two long straight pins, one stuck in each ear. More disturbing, each of her eyes had a big black X marked on it, just like the victim’s. And her mouth had black vertical lines that represented stitches. Blond strands of human hair were attached to the doll with what looked like glue, and the killer had colored in her eyes with a light blue marker. Jeez. How sick can you get? And not a little disconcerting, to be sure.
    The handmade doll wore dark clothes, and they looked a lot like the black pants and black department polo shirt that Claire wore to work every day. POLICE was printed on the back of the shirt in white letters, and there was a tiny silver badge made out of aluminum foil on the doll’s chest, held in place by another pin. There were also pins in each temple, in the heart, in the abdomen, and between the legs. Claire stared it and felt a shudder undulating up from the base of her spine. She forced it down but with not a little difficulty. Okay, she was now officially creeped out to the max, no doubt about it.

Chapter Three
    Claire stared down at the voodoo doll in her hands for a moment, and then attempted a stab at humor. “Well, now, I think you might be right, Nancy. This guy knows me from somewhere. Don’t think he likes me much, either.”
    Nobody said a word, certainly didn’t laugh, in fact, they were acting as if they were already at her memorial service. Not confidence building, to say the least. Finally, Zee said, “So leavin’ the body out here where you happened to be sleeping was not a coincidence.”
    Nancy jumped up. “You need to get off this case, Claire. Right now. You’ve been through enough of this kind of crap. This guy is baiting you or warning you off, or both. The sheriff needs to take you off and let the rest of us handle it.”
    â€œI don’t warn off all that easily. And I don’t believe in voodoo.”
    Zee said, “Don’t take this lightly, Claire. Voodoo, either. Looks like