The camera didn't bother him in the least. “I've been on TV before,” he told her when she'd called. “I was interviewed for Sixty Minutes once.” His subject was comparative religion and he'd written a treatise on the subject of cults. When Rune had told him she was doing a documentary on the recent bombings he'd said, “I'd be happy to talk to you. I've been told my work is definitive.” Making it sound like she should be happy to speak to him.

Miller was in his sixties, hair white and wispy, and he always kept his body three-quarters to the camera, though his eyes locked right onto the lens and wouldn't let go — until his voice grew softer and softer and he looked out the window to contemplate some elusive thought. He wore an ancient brown suit flecked with the dandruff of cigarette ash. His teeth were as yellow as little ivory Buddhas and so were his index finger and thumb, where he held his cigarette, even though he didn't inhale it while the camera was running.

Rune found the monologue had wandered into Haiti and she was learning a number of things about voodoo and West African Dahomean religion.

“Do you know about zombies?”

“Sure, I've seen the movies,” Rune said. “Somebody goes to an island in the Caribbean and gets bit by this walking-dead gross thing, yuck, with worms crawling around, then he comes back and bites all his friends and —”

“I'm talking about real zombies.”

“Real zombies.” Her finger released the trigger of the camera.

“There is a such a thing, you know. In Haitian culture, the walking dead are more than just a myth. It's been found that houngans or mambos — the priests and priestesses — would appear to induce death by administering cardiopulmonary depressants. The victims seemed to die. In fact, they were in suspended animation.”

(“Rune,” Larry'd told her, “the interviewer is always in control. Remember that.”) She said, “Let's get back to the Sword of Jesus.”

“Sure, sure, sure. The people that're responsible for these pornography bombings.”

Rune said, “What do you know about them?”

“Nary a thing, miss.”

“You don't?” Her eyes strayed to the bookshelves. What was this “definitive” stuff.

“No. Never heard of them.”

“But you said you knew most of the cults.”

“And I do. But that doesn't necessarily mean they don't exist. There are thousands of cult religions in this country. The Sword of Jesus could be one that has a hundred members who read from the Bible and talk fire and brimstone — of course, all the while writing off their tithes on their income taxes.”

He got an ash into the round ceramic ashtray on his desk before it fell to the floor.

“Say they did exist. You have any thoughts on them?”

“Well, I guess...” The volume went way down. Eyes out the window again.

“Professor?”

“Sorry. It's surprising.”

“What is?”

“The killings. The violence.”

“Why's that?”