Leopard's Prey (45 page)

“Jason Durang is in this house?” Saria asked. “We were in the safe room, and unless the intercom is on, you can’t hear anything. The room is sealed. Bijou guessed Bodrie kept her mother’s things in here.” She frowned again. “Who is Jason Durang, and what’s he doin’ in the house bashin’ Dash over the head?”

“Shouldn’t you be arrestin’ him for trespassin’?” Bijou asked Remy, a mixture of challenge and defiance in her voice.

Remy caught her arm and pulled her to him, needing to touch her more than he wanted to admit. The relief at finding her safe overshadowed his anger at her for not being more careful – by just a little bit – he told himself.

“I wouldn’t mind arrestin’ you,” he hissed at her. “You’re goin’ to give me gray hair if you keep this up. You knew Durang was still out there.”

“Actually, I didn’t think about it,” Bijou said. “I’m sorry, Remy, I shouldn’t have put Saria in danger, but I just got excited about findin’ out about my mother.”

“It was my suggestion,” Saria admitted. “I thought the threat was over and it seemed a good time to find her mother’s things. Who is Jason Durang and what does he want with Bijou?”

Remy detested that Bijou’s soft little apology struck at his heart and that when she looked at him with her blue eyes his anger melted away. “Jason Durang does her manager’s dirty work. In this instance, I believe they planned on killin’ Bijou for the insurance money. They planned on makin’ it look like the bone harvester killed her.”

Saria gasped. “Are you certain?”

“We found Bob Carson’s camera, and he caught Butterfield and Durang transferrin’ plastic sheets and surgical tools into Durang’s vehicle. There’s an all-points out for them both, and what a shocker, Durang is right here, followin’ Bijou.” He knew he was being a bastard, trying to scare both women, but he never wanted to relive the last few minutes again.

“Wait a minute.” Bijou went very still. “What do you mean, you found Bob’s camera? Remy, Bob is never apart from his camera.”

Now he did feel like a real bastard. All the while he was listening for Durang to begin his descent down the stairs. The man was doing a room by room search, probably thinking the two women were hiding from him.

In spite of being angry with her, Remy put his arm around Bijou. “Bob Carson was last night’s victim. He was murdered by the bone harvester in the swamp.”

Bijou stared up at his face, shock in her eyes. “Carson is dead?”

Remy nodded. He ran a finger down the side of her face in a little caress, even though there was still a part of him that wanted to shake her for not playing it safe.

“And you think Jason Durang killed him? For Rob? Why would Rob want Carson dead? Half the time I think Rob informed Bob Carson where I’d be lately just so he could keep me in the tabloids.”

“I think Durang meant to copy the harvester’s murders in order to cover your murder. I intend to make Durang think I believe he did the other killings, but I’d be shocked if he did them,” Remy admitted, telling her the truth.

Both women reacted with shocked gasps. They looked at each other and then at him.

“Remy, do you really believe my manager wanted to kill me?” Bijou asked in a low voice.

For the first time he wished he could lie to her and make it all better. She looked… broken. He couldn’t blame her. She was in Bodrie’s house, and it seemed that everyone she had ever known associated with the man was corrupt.

“I’m sorry, Blue. Yes. I do. I think he gambles and loses and he didn’t want the money train to stop. When it did, he became desperate. The bone harvester comin’ back to New Orleans at the same time you did provided him with an opportunity.” He glanced at his watch. “Backup should be here. I told them to come in without sirens. This time when I say stay put, please do it, Bijou. Dash, you stay with them and don’ think about anything else but protectin’ them. If you forget what you’re doing a second time, I’m goin’ to beat the bloody hell out of you and you have my word on that.”

“I won’t, Remy,” Dash assured.

“Get back inside that room and don’t come out until I tell you we’re all clear,” Remy ordered. He didn’t let go of Bijou even as he gave the orders. She looked stricken, pressing her lips together. He glanced down at her hands. She was holding a photograph up against her heart. He held out his hand. “Show me, Blue. Is that your mother?”

She nodded and turned the picture over. The woman looked just like her. She had to have been close to the same age as Bijou was now. He ran his finger gently over the photograph. “She’s beautiful, Bijou, and you look just like her. I’ll be back in a few minutes and I’ll help you take all this back to the Inn.” Because he couldn’t help himself, he leaned into her and brushed a kiss across her mouth. “It’s almost over,
chere
. Hang in there with me.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she assured. When he turned away, she caught his arm. “Maybe you should take Dash with you.”

He loved Dash, his younger, very sensitive brother. Dash was hell on wheels in a fight, but he was made for finer things. Remy wasn’t about to risk him, not when he was injured.

Durang had a lot to lose and he knew he had the plastic sheets and surgical instruments in his car. Remy would use that against him, convince Durang he was going to be charged as the harvester in order to make him confess to the lesser crime of planning to murder Bijou. Remy wanted Rob Butterfield as well and he would do everything in his power to make certain Durang gave Bijou’s manager up. Remy wasn’t going to let the man get away with conspiracy to commit murder.

“I’ve got backup. This shouldn’t take long.” He winked at her and strode away.

He could hear Durang now, hurrying down the hall, back toward the staircase. Remy chose his spot. Durang would have to go past him to get off the last stair. Bodrie’s penchant for naked statues came in handy for concealment. He wasn’t about to allow Durang to spot him until it was too late. There wasn’t going to be a shootout. Remy couldn’t risk losing Butterfield and Durang had to flip on Butterfield.

Jason Durang came down the stairs stealthily. He was certain Bijou was somewhere in the house. He just had to find her and he could take care of anyone getting in his way. Remy let him walk one step past him and he stepped out and shoved the muzzle of his gun hard behind Durang’s ear.

“You’re under arrest. Toss the gun aside and listen very carefully to your rights.”

19

“I’m sorry, Remy,” LeBrun said. “I have nothin’ new for you. I can’t see any discernible difference in Pete Morgan’s bone and Bob Carson’s. I can tell you there were traces of ketamine in Bob Carson’s system. I found a small needle mark in his neck where he’d been injected.”

Remy frowned. “We found ketamine in the Rousseau brother’s stash of drugs for sale, and Carson had ketamine in his hotel room. This case just keeps getting murkier and murkier.”

“Well, I’m sure you’re aware some idiots use ketamine as a recreational drug. Carson might have bought the drug from the Rousseau brothers,” LeBrun said.

“I thought of that. Robert said that Bob Carson was a longtime customer of the Rousseau brothers and he liked a variety of drugs, including ketamine. But he wouldn’t have injected it into his neck.”

“That would be dangerous,” LeBrun agreed. “Injecting ketamine would be extremely dangerous. It’s fast acting. The person would be under before he could remove the needle from his arm.”

“So someone else probably used the drug to render Carson unconscious so they could get him out to the swamp. Was there ketamine in Morgan’s or Cooper’s body?”

LeBrun scowled. “If there had been, even slight trace amounts, I would have included it in the report.”

Remy had known that. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t callin’ your professionalism into question. I’m just back to square one. I’m squeezing Durang. I want him to give up Butterfield, but the surgical instruments weren’t the ones used to carve bones out of our victims. Even the type of plastic sheeting doesn’t match. So where does that leave us?”

“Back to the Rousseau brothers?”

“Maybe, but if I’m wrong, if I accept that because it’s easy…”

LeBrun shook his head, hitting the top of Remy’s desk with a flat palm. “Not because it’s easy, because it fits. Everythin’ points straight back to Jean and Juste Rousseau. The victims, the swamp, the drugs. You’re too close to this, Remy. You think there must be more because it seems too wrapped up and tied in a bow for you. Sometimes, it really does happen like that.”

Remy wanted the case to be solved. Everyone else thought it was solved – but it didn’t feel right to him. “You said yourself, Doc, you didn’t think there were two of them.”

“No, I said one definitely carved the bones and, in my opinion, made the altar. In fact,” LeBrun added, “you were very firm that the harvester and the man who made the altar were one and the same, yet the killin’ itself didn’t fit.”

Remy couldn’t deny he’d considered many times that there were two men doing the killings. “There was only one set of footprints goin’ from the road to the swamp, carryin’ Carson’s body,” he reminded. “Carson was tall and slender, but he weighed a significant amount. If there were two of them, why didn’t they both carry him into the swamp where they were goin’ to kill him?”

“I don’t know, Remy, but I’m tired and I’m going to believe the Rousseau brothers did it and we’ll get them eventually. They can’t live in the swamp forever. As for me, I haven’t seen my family forever and I’m goin’ home. I suggest you do the same.”

“Maybe you’re right.” Remy had no intentions of going home. He rubbed at the tension in the back of his neck. He knew the Rousseaus were dead, but his gut hadn’t stopped churning and that was a very bad sign.

“Just give it a day or two, Remy,” LeBrun encouraged. “Step back and think about other things. You’ve been goin’ at this night and day for a couple of weeks and you’ve had to contend with other things as well. Go see your girl and don’ think about murder.”

Remy gave him a little salute and watched him leave. It was late. Most everyone had gone home already. He’d promised Bijou he’d meet her for dinner. He glanced at his watch. He still had a little time left to try to work things out. He wandered over to the murder board and studied the pictures of each suspect. Jean and Juste Rousseau were at the top of the list.

“If only it was that easy,” he murmured aloud. “You two were building your own little kingdom. You liked gangster movies and thought you’d be the lords of New Orleans.”

In their home, he’d found hundreds of DVDs, mostly mafia and gang movies. Jean and Juste definitely had aspired to build a large criminal network. They had murdered at least three women. They had forced women to have sex with them and their friends. They’d robbed and beaten the elderly. They sold drugs. There really wasn’t much the brothers wouldn’t do – so why didn’t he think they were capable of carrying out the bone harvester’s murders?

“He’s ice,” Remy said aloud. “Total ice. He doesn’t ever flinch. There’s no hesitation.” He stared at the board. “You’re one scary man. Who are you? You don’ even break a sweat when you’re carvin’ them up.”

“Remy?” Angelina came up behind him.

He could smell the cup of coffee she had in her hand for him. He turned toward her with a faint smile. She was in her late forties, married to another cop and had three children. He often considered her his secret weapon. She could find anything on anyone given time. She worked a computer with lightning speed and nothing ever stood between her and information.

“I found the insurance policy. It was taken out with Forbes and Regency. It’s a big payoff if Bijou dies. Thirty million dollars, Remy.” She sounded worried. “Definitely the kind of money someone kills for.”

“You’re an angel, Angelina,” he said. “That gives me everything I need to break Durang. He’ll give up Butterfield.”

Angelina turned away from him, hesitated, and then turned back. “Remy, I’ve worked with you a long time. You have good instincts. If you aren’t satisfied, don’t listen to anyone else’s conclusions.” She looked up at the murder board, at the photographs of Juste and Jean Rousseau. “If your gut says it isn’t them, then I’m putting my money on you. You’ll find out who really did this one way or another.”

“Thanks, Angelina. I appreciate the vote of confidence. Leave the report on my desk. I think I have just enough time to run over to the gallery and talk with Lefevre before I have to meet Bijou. She’s comin’ here. Would you mind stayin’ and waiting for her? I’ll only be a few minutes.”

“Do you think he may have seen something that night?” Angelina asked. “He doesn’t seem interested in anything but his art – which by the way is beautiful but so far above my pay grade I can only wish.”

“He’s actually quite observant. He pays close attention to details. Both Carson and the Rousseau brothers were poking around his studio the night Carson was murdered. It’s a long shot that he saw something that could shed light on the murderer, but you never know. At this point, I’ll take anything, long shot or not,” Remy said. He pressed his fingertips to his temples, trying to clear the pounding headache.

He couldn’t imagine that the famed – and very obsessive – sculptor had seen anything of use, not after seeing the frantic sketches of Remy’s facial features he’d been up all night drawing, but maybe he’d get lucky. Sometimes it was only luck solving a case.

“Sure, I don’ mind waiting for Bijou Breaux,” Angelina agreed. “I have every record she ever made. I know every song by heart. I never talk to her because I don’t want to seem like one of her pushy, crazed fans, but every time I see her, I secretly scream.”

He swung around, amused by Angelina, the consummate professional’s confession. His eyebrow shot up and he found himself smiling. “Really? You? Scream? I don’ believe you.”

“In my head, Remy.” She held up her hand when he looked smug, tossing her head like a schoolgirl. “But at her concerts I screamed with the best of them. Once I couldn’t talk for two days afterward.”

Remy burst out laughing. “You’re priceless, Angelina. When she comes in, talk to her. She’s actually quite shy. You’d never know it when she sings, but she really is. I’ll just be a few minutes, I promise.”