“And you don’t have a gun,” she continued. “You don’t even have a phone to call nine-one-one. I’m not sure your little kit there is going to be enough if something bad goes down. Just so you know, I will be calling the local police if we get into an issue.”

If Blackwood was listening, he did not answer, starting up the curling driveway to the double doors. Odessa moved to the doorbell but Blackwood stopped her. She noticed he had a small chapbook in his hand.

“What?” she said.

Using the tiny print as a guide, he recited a few lines in Latin, quietly. An incantation. He tucked the book back inside his jacket.

“That was…?”

“A spell of protection. Before we cross this threshold.”

Normally she would have laughed. But everything she had seen and heard had disabused her of the luxury of skepticism, at least for the moment.

“I’m going to ring the doorbell,” she said, an act of incantation itself.

The bell rang inside, a series of musical notes, faintly echoing. Odessa did not expect it to be answered.

She saw movement inside, obscured by the opaque door glass. The anticipation of a confrontation spiked the adrenaline in her system, hitting her like a shiver. The door opened.

It was a man in his mid-thirties. Hispanic, maybe Cuban. Barefoot in bulky sweatpants and a half-zipped linen hoodie.

He blinked, looking from face to face. “Who are you?” he said.

Odessa saw no one behind him. His hands were empty. “Is Juanita here?”

The man squinted as though confused. The sun had a disorienting effect on him. “What do you want?”

“We are looking for Juanita. Would you get her for us please?”

He said, “She didn’t send you?”

Odessa opened her credentials, showing him her FBI badge. “Juanita,” she said.

The man read the large blue letters but was unfazed. “She gone. Not here.”

He started to close the door. Odessa got her foot against it before he could shut them out. Something about his face.

“I know you,” she said.

He shook his head.

Odessa found the printout of the arrest report in her handbag. She unfolded it and showed it to him. “You’re the other grave robber.” Checking the article. “Yoan Martine.”

Martine did not deny it. Nor did he try to run. He looked at Odessa and said, “I don’t get it.”

“We’re coming in,” she said.

Martine did not resist. She pushed the door open and entered ahead of Blackwood. Martine stepped backward as though their entering was no big deal.

The house was dirty. Furniture and rugs had been shoved to the sides. Trash piled up. Odessa could see through back windows to a pool full of black-green water. Some pool furniture floated in it.

Two large animal cages were set against the wall to the left, empty but for heavy-duty rope toys. Odessa said, “Where are the dogs?”