It took a moment for Cree to decide what to say. " I 'm not sure. We've got a really traumatized witness. So far, I'm thinking this is probably psychological. But we were just at the house, and I did, you know… pick up that… there might be something…"
"You're sounding very faint, Cree. I can hardly hear you."
Cree made an effort to speak into the receiver: "I think this might be a case where the witness has other issues, maybe even a brain disorder. We were just at the house… I haven't looked at her tapes yet."
"You don't sound too good. You taking care of yourself?"
"I'm okay."
Joyce made a skeptical sound. "So is New Orleans as terrific as they say? Hint, hint – don't you need me to come help with research?"
"Not yet. We'll see, maybe I'll have a better handle on this by tomorrow."
"All right. In the meantime, I've got that list of research resources you asked me to compile. New Orleans is very into its history and architecture, so there's quite a bit – historical societies up the proverbial ying-yang, universities, museums – "
"Great. Well, e-mail it to me. Also, Joyce, there's a murder case I'd like to know more about. Took place two years ago – a New Orleans TV news anchor, Templeton Chase. Can you do a search on that and prepare me a brief?"
"Love to," Joyce said. And she meant it: Joyce loved the forensic dimensions of their cases and was very expert at digging. Cree didn't look forward to Joyce's reaction when she found out the murder was unsolved but figured her love of investigation would bring her around in the end.
"Look for something in your mail tonight," Joyce said. "Let's see
… in other news, Ed called, he's excited about the situation there. I gave him your hotel number, so you'll probably hear from him. Your sister called, ditto. Oh, yes, and that Mrs. Wilson left a message while I was away from the desk. What're we going to do about that, Cree? I mean, I know this is a weird field anyway, but – a dog?" She signed off with a wet-sounding kiss.
There was a lot to do before meeting Lila and Jack at four. Cree made a mental list. Several times since touring the house with Lila, Cree had caught herself gripping her own wrists and anxiously kneading them, a gesture of Lila's she'd unconsciously appropriated. Yeah, you needed to identify with the client, but you couldn't do any good for a person who was going to pieces if you went to pieces along with her. So, first on the list, very definitely: Get shit together.
That meant taking a shower and spending half an hour naked on a towel on the floor. Deirdre was the one who had suggested she try yoga as a countermeasure for the dangerous confusions of her work, and it had proved a real help. Cree's routine began with pranayama, breathing exercises that focused her mind on the simple act of drawing air deep into her body and exhaling completely. Now she was able to shed some of the whirlwind thoughts and emotions, and after a few minutes a glow of energy began to burn in her stomach, just below her belly button. Once the breathing rhythm and the tummy-ckfera glow were well established, she segued into neck rolls and other basic stretches, and then moved through a series of asanas, holding each position until the warmth spread up into her chest, her neck and scalp, out her limbs and into every muscle and nerve. She finished by sitting in lotus position, hands held on her lap in the dhyana mudra, mind just hovering. A vast silk banner rippling gently in boundless space, buoyed in the subtlest uprising breeze, she thought. Then she let go of that, too. Found a timeless time of no words, no images at all.
And after a while she was back. By the time she unhooked her ankles from her thighs, her skin had goosebumped from the hotel room air-conditioning, and she felt pretty sure she could handle the rest of the day. She got up and put on some comfortable clothes.
She cleared the desk of tourist literature to make room for the polygraph register and tape recorder. Then she turned on her laptop and plugged in the portable roll-paper fax machine Edgar had adapted. When the computer had booted up, she opened a program that imported data from the register's tape and exported it as digital data the fax printer would convert to graphic images. The little machine began its stuttering mumble and started spooling out paper. A quick glance at the first foot or so told Cree that everything was working as it should: five jagged lines superimposed on an index grid measuring intensity levels against the passage of time.
They'd been in the house for just over half an hour, so it would be a long scroll; Cree figured it would require about fifteen minutes to print. As the paper folded loosely back and forth on the floor, Cree rewound the audiotape and reviewed the notes on her pad. She drew an approximate floor plan of the whole building from memory, then traced the route the three of them had taken through the rooms, blocking out the places where Lila had seen the shoes, the smoke snake, the wolf, the pig-headed man. It was a good enough schematic to make some sense out of Lila's data, but as soon as possible it would be essential to locate accurate architectural plans for the house.
When the scroll finished printing, Cree ripped the paper free, creased the rounded bends, and set the haphazard zigzag stack on the right side of the desk. She unfolded the first three feet. Along the bottom of the paper, the time was printed out in five-second intervals, showing that she had pushed the start button at 11:04:32.
At first the scroll seemed to verify Cree's earlier expectations of general, increasing agitation across all indicators, with the lines breaking into earthquakelike jagged spikes when Lila told of the really harrowing stuff, or when they'd entered the rooms where she'd had those experiences. But she quickly got a surprise: Lila had experienced some kind of crisis of subconscious unease barely three minutes into their tour of the house.
11:07:20. Cree turned on the audio recorder and listened to the first few minutes, matching the recorder's digital clock readout with the times on the polygraph scroll. From the speaker came the rustling of Cree's clothes as she adjusted the fanny pack, the echoey sound of their footsteps in the front hall. Lila: "I'm not sure where to start." Cree reassuring her. More noise of movements. Then Jack's voice, explaining about the chandeliers.
Lila's first period of acute agitation occurred as they stood in the front parlor. The episode lasted only a couple of seconds, and then Lila's signs had stabilized again as she reminisced about her childhood.
What had caused it? Cree puzzled over it briefly, then listened to that section of the tape again. No great inspiration came to her, but still she felt a growing buzz of excitement: These anomalous readings were often the most revealing. The problem was to figure out what caused them. Sometimes, yes, the witness's signs responded to what someone was saying, but the stimulus could as easily be the part of the house they were in, or something in the room that their eyes happened to fall upon. Or even the subliminal perception of some other presence.
Cree jotted a note on the scroll, underlining the moment for future reference, and then jumped as the phone rang. She paused the audio playback and answered.
"This is Cree."
"Ms. Black," a man's voice began, "I'm Paul Fitzpatrick, the psychiatrist who's working with Lila Warren – perhaps she mentioned me? Do you have a moment?"
"Of course." Somehow, Cree wasn't at all surprised. She knew what was coming.
"I'll get right to the point. Jack Warren just called me, very upset. He tells me you are some kind of spiritualist or medium who – "
"No. I'm a psychologist who does parapsychological research."
"Fine. In any case, he says that Lila is having a crisis and that you're going to meet with them later today?"
"That's correct."
"The Warrens requested that I be there. Frankly, Jack thinks your involvement is damaging to Lila. And I'm inclined to agree with him."Despite the potentially hostile content of what he was saying, Dr. Fitzpatrick kept an even, moderate, professional tone. He had a nice voice, Cree decided, warmed with only a hint of a Southern accent.