Rizzoli & Isles 8-Book Set

a far-too-small doll’s head. The heads were so diminutive, in fact, that they could easily be mistaken for mere rubber souvenirs, were it not for the clearly human texture of the brows and lashes.
    “I have no idea why these were behind that wall,” Simon murmured. “Or how they got there.”
    “This building is full of mysteries, Dr. Isles,” said Debbie Duke. “Whenever we update the wiring or fix the plumbing, our contractors find some new surprise. A bricked-up space or a passage that serves absolutely no purpose.” She looked across the table at Dr. Robinson. “You remember that fiasco with the lighting last month, don’t you? The electrician had to break down half the third-floor wall just to figure out where the wires tracked. Nicholas? Nicholas?”
    The curator was staring so intently at the
tsantsas
that only when he heard his name called again did he glance up. “Yes, this building’s something of a puzzle,” he said. And he added, softly: “It makes me wonder what else we haven’t found behind these walls.”
    “So these things are real?” asked Jane. “They’re actually shrunken human heads?”
    “They’re definitely real,” said Nicholas. “The problem is…”
    “What?”
    “Josephine and I scanned all the inventory records we could locate. According to the accession ledgers, this museum does indeed have
tsantsas
in the collection. They were added in 1898, when they were brought back from the upper Amazon basin by Dr. Stanley Crispin.” He looked at Simon. “Your grandfather, I believe.”
    Simon nodded. “I’d heard we had them in our collection. I never knew what became of them.”
    “According to the curator who worked here in the 1890s, the items are described as follows.” Robinson flipped to the page in the ledger. “‘Ceremonial Jivaro trophy heads, both in excellent condition.’ ”
    Registering the significance of that description, Maura glanced up at him. “Did you say
both
?”
    Robinson nodded. “According to these records, there are only two in the collection.”
    “Could a third have been added later, but never recorded?”
    “Certainly. That’s one of the issues we’ve been struggling with, our incomplete records. That’s why I began the inventory, so I could finally get a handle on what we have.”
    Maura frowned at the three shrunken heads. “So now the question is, which one is the new addition? And how recent is it?”
    “I’m betting on her being the new one.” Jane pointed to the
tsantsa
with the bobbed hair. “I swear I saw a haircut just like that on my barista this morning.”
    “First of all,” said Robinson, “it’s almost impossible to tell, just by appearance, if a
tsantsa
is male or female. Shrinking the head distorts the features and makes the sexes look alike. Second, the hair of some traditional
tsantsas
may be cut short like that one. They’re unusual, but the haircut doesn’t really tell us anything.”
    “So how do you tell a traditional shrunken head from a modern copy?” asked Maura.
    “You will permit me to handle them?” Robinson asked.
    “Yes, of course.”
    He crossed to the cabinet to get gloves and pulled them on as deliberately as a doctor about to perform delicate surgery. This man would be meticulous no matter what his profession, Maura thought. She could not remember any medical school classmate more exacting than Nicholas Robinson.
    “First,” he said, “I should explain what constitutes a genuine Jivaro
tsantsa.
It was one of my particular interests, so I know a bit about them. The Jivaro people live along the border between Ecuador and Peru, and they regularly raid each other’s tribes. Warriors will take anyone’s head—men, women, children.”
    “Why take the heads?” asked Jane.
    “It has to do with their concept of the soul. They believe that people can have up to three different types of souls. There’s an ordinary soul, which is what everyone possesses at birth. Then there’s an ancient vision soul, and it’s something you have to earn through ceremonial efforts. It gives you special powers. If someone earns an ancient vision soul, and then he’s murdered, he transforms into the third kind—an avenging soul, who will pursue his killer. The only way to stop an avenging soul from exacting retribution is to cut off the head and turn it into a
tsantsa.
”
    “How do you make a
tsantsa
?” Jane looked down at the three doll-sized heads. “I just don’t see how you can shrink a