The Masonic temple was hidden in the basement of a deserted apartment complex.

It was evident to me that these Devil worshipers were the passive kind, and did not have the elements or knowledge to execute dissections of the sort performed on the sheep. That brought me back to the explanation chief LeChetite wanted me to have and felt more comfortable with: plain, mindless vandalism. He had the responsibility to keep things the way they were in Bourg-Madame.

I can't blame him, as after a couple of days in the ville, I could already appreciate and envy the simplistic and unquestioned lives that people lived there. Gus Galattout asked me as personal favor not to take pictures of the temple until LeChetite's men had had all of the anti-christian profanities removed. I pleased him, thinking that a few snap-shots of that tasteless scenery would not add or detract from my investigation.

Suddenly, I was where I had started, and as an investigator, I've learned that when a famished mind doesn't find evidence, it creates it. I didn't want that to happen to me. And I guess I would have left the whole business to die right there, if it weren't for a phone call that I received in the lodge that same night.

A local young reporter named Sebastien Clairemont, who was helping me with the investigation, put me in contact with Marcel Pitouf, a WWII veteran who lived in a nursing home and claimed to know what really had happened to Fede, Jean Paul Granau's dog.

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