“That should do it, Sean.”

“One question, Loot: My dad used to be a contractor before he got into Amway, I worked summers for him. Nothing fancy, just remodels, room additions. But whenever the residents weren’t living on the premises, Dad fenced the job tight, it was my job to check at the end of each day. But that place? Anyone could walk right in, it was like asking for trouble. Not that there’s anything left to steal, but still.”

“I agree, kid. Any theories about why?”

“It’s almost like whoever owned it had lost interest in the place,” said Binchy. “But then, why not just sell it, make some money? Maybe they’re rich enough not to care about a few million, but I just don’t see the point of letting it sit there. Anyway, I’m sure I’m not telling you anything new, let me go check out those two thieves.”

When he was gone, Milo said, “Like we never thought of it. Still, obvious doesn’t mean irrelevant.”

I said, “Maybe there’s a body buried there and it has something to do with Sranil’s culture.”

“As in?”

“Letting nature take its course, something akin to Zen.”

“They’re Muslims, Alex.”

“There could be something like that in Islam.”

“Letting a body rot to the point where it can’t be I.D.’d? The lot’s worth eight figures. Even for a billionaire, that ain’t Lehman stock.”

“The sultan’s a religious man,” I said. “Articles of faith can go a long way.”

He faced his computer, pounded keys.

Five hits later, we were both reading an essay by a Yale scholar of “emergent and divergent cultural forces” named Keir MacElway, citing the sultanate as an example of

a postmodern society where relatively enlightened Islamic mores and laws, including a liberal and flexible interpretation of sharia, have supplanted a centuries-old, nature-based tribal animist religion. However, vestiges of prior beliefs and rituals remain, sometimes melding with the modern Muslim approach. Among these are sun and water rites, the worship of specified trees and shrubs, and fishing calendars based on astrologic configurations preserved as nostalgic folktales but revered, nonetheless. In some cases, such as sutma, contracted from the animist sutta anka enma—literally washing away mortal sin—ancient customs persist in Sranilese society.

The origins of sutma remain unclear. McGuire and Marrow (1964) hypothesize that a passive approach to the treatment of “deserved death” arose as a reaction to cannibalism, specifically as a means of preventing the consumption of enemy flesh following battles, because illness had been observed following cannibalistic victory feasts.

Ribbenthal (1969) attempts to link sutma to Buddhist influence, though evidence of any extensive interface between Sranilese animism and Buddhism remains evasive. Wildebrand (1978) attributes the belief to a generalized idealization of nature and presents as proof the ascendency of Salisthra, the guardian spirit of the forest, to the top of the animist pantheon.