the flakes made it seem, to Jack, as if he were standing inside one of
those novelty paperweights that would produce a neatly contained
snowstorm anytime you shook it.
Rebecca said, “We better get back to headquarters.”
He took the photograph of Lavelle out of the envelope that Carramazza
had given him, tucked it inside his coat.
“What’re you doing?” Rebecca asked.
He handed her the envelope. “I’ll be at headquarters in an hour.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Two o’clock at the latest.”
“Where are you going?”
“There’s something I want to look into.”
“Jack, we’ve got to set up the task force, prepare
” a “You get it started.”
“There’s too much work for one-”
“I’ll be there by two, two-fifteen at the latest.”
“Damnit, Jack-”
“You can handle it on your own for a while.”
“You’re going up to Harlem, aren’t you?”
“Listen, Rebecca-”
“Up to that damned voodoo shop.”
He didn’t say anything.
She said, “I knew it. You’re running up there to see Carver Hampton
again. That charlatan. That fraud.”
“He’s not a fraud. He believes in what he does. I said I’d get back to
him today.”
“This is crazy.”
“Is it? Lavelle does exist. We have a photo now.”
“So he exists? That doesn’t mean voodoo works!”
“I know that.”
“If you go up there, how am I supposed to get to the office? ”
“You can take the car. I’ll get a uniform to drive me.”
“Jack, damnit.”
“I have a hunch, Rebecca.”
“Hell.”
“I have a hunch that . . . somehow . . . the voodoo
subculture-maybe not any real supernatural stuff-but at least the
subculture itself is inextricably entwined with this. I have a strong
hunch that’s the way to approach the case.”
“Christ.”
“A smart cop plays his hunches.”
“And if you don’t get back when you promise, if I’m stuck all afternoon,
handling everything myself, and then if I have to go in and face Gresham
with-”
“I’ll be back by two-fifteen, two-thirty at the latest.”
“I’m not going to forgive you for this, Jack.”
He met her eyes, hesitated, then said, “Maybe I could postpone seeing
Carver Hampton until tomorrow
“If what?”
“If I knew you’d take just half an hour, just fifteen minutes, to sit
down with me and talk about everything that happened between us last
night. Where are we going from here?”
Her eyes slid away from his. “We don’t have time for that now.”
“Rebecca-”
“There’s a lot of work to do, Jack!”
He nodded. “You’re right. You’ve got to get started on the task force
details, and I’ve got to see Carver Hampton.”
He walked away from her, toward the uniforms who were standing by the
patrol cars.
She said, “No later than two o’clock!”
“I’ll make it as fast as I can,” he said.
The wind suddenly picked up again. It howled.
The new snow had brightened and softened the street.
The neighborhood was still seedy, grimy, litter-strewn, and mean, but it
didn’t look half as bad as it had yesterday, without snow.
Carver Hampton’s shop was near the corner. It was flanked by a liquor
store with iron bars permanently fixed over the display windows and by a
shabby furniture store also huddled behind bars. Hampton’s place was
the only business on the block that looked prosperous, and there were no
bars over its windows, either.
The sign above the door contained only a single word: Rada. Yesterday,
Jack had asked Hampton what the shop’s name signified, and he had
learned that there were three great rites or spiritual divisions
governing voodoo. Two of those were composed of evil gods and were
called Congo and Petrol The pantheon of benevolent gods was called the
Rada. Since Hampton dealt only in substances, implements, and
ceremonial clothing necessary for the practice of white (good) magic,
that one word above the door was all he needed to attract exactly the
clientele he was looking for-those people of the Caribbean and their
descendants who, having been transplanted to New York City, had brought
their religion with them.
Jack opened the door, a bell announcing his entrance, and he went
inside, closing out the bitter December wind.