“A copycat?” Gage ventured.

LeBrun huffed out his breath. “His technique can’t be copied, and this is the same man who carved up the others. I would never mistake his work.”

Remy nodded. “So there’s definitely a reason for the change. That’s twice he’s deviated from his usual ritual. Cooper was personal, and now he changed his bone pattern. He’s too methodical and ice-cold to have panicked and done something different. Taking the same bones from victim three as he did from victim one was as deliberate as keeping Cooper alive as long as possible.”

“There’s no sign of panic that I can see,” LeBrun said. “This man could be a brain surgeon, operate in the middle of a war zone and never break a sweat.”

Remy turned his head to look at LeBrun. “He’s strong as hell, Doc. I’m beginnin’ to think he’s one of Jean and Juste’s demons.”

“Don’ say that out loud,” Gage advised. “Half my people believe in the Rougarou and the other half believe in voodoo. We’re a superstitious lot, Remy, and this case is just adding to the growing legends around here.”

Remy turned to the medical examiner. “I’d like to rule out the Rousseau brothers if possible. The tracks indicate only one man came here with Carson, but let’s be certain. We’ll be picking up Butterfield and Durang as soon as the warrants come through. If we’re really lucky the surgical instruments will be in one of their vehicles. I’d like to see them explain that away.”

He indicated the body. “Doc, if there’s anything different about the bone harvestin’, any reason that you can see from comparing Carson’s bones to Pete’s bones that might give us a reason why he took the same ones, call me right away.”

“Will do,” LeBrun agreed. “But, Remy, Pete was as healthy as a horse. His bones were dense and strong, and as far as I can tell, so are this man’s.”

Remy sighed. “Gage, I’m heading into town. I’ll want those pictures developed as quickly as possible.”

“We’re on it,” Gage said.

“I know the answer is here. I just can’t grab hold of it,” Remy said with a sigh.

“Durang is looking good,” Gage said. “He’s got a long history of particularly brutal violence. He’s certainly capable.”

Remy shrugged. “I wish I believed that, Gage. I want it to be Durang, I really do, but my gut is tellin’ me I’m missin’ something. Durang was in prison when a few of the murders took place, and we couldn’t find any evidence of a passport for him. He’s a two-time felon, so chances are slim he went overseas.”

“Butterfield then,” Gage said.

“Maybe. But I don’t think he’s capable of this. He’d pay someone to do it, but he’d never get his hands dirty. My guess is, he wanted Durang to kill Bijou for insurance money and Durang wanted his own insurance. He probably insisted Butterfield get the tools and other things he needed so he would be implicated if he got caught. Durang might not be terribly smart, but he’s cunning. He isn’t going to take the fall for Butterfield.”

“I hope you’re wrong too,” Gage said.

Remy could tell by Gage’s tone that he thought Remy was probably right in his conclusions—he usually was. Remy took a last look at the carcass that had once been Bob Carson. He didn’t want to ever come across another body like Carson’s. This had to be the last one. He had to figure it out. A part of him hoped Arnaud could shed some light on things—maybe he’d seen the Rousseau brothers take Carson prisoner, but somehow he knew it wasn’t the brothers. Jean and Juste were violent, and they even were murderers, but they hadn’t killed Morgan, Cooper or Carson—he was certain of it.

He drove through the narrow roads leading back to New Orleans, his brain trying to work out the puzzle. He had the pieces. Why didn’t they fit? By now he should have figured it out and if he didn’t, more people were going to die. He pulled the car over to the side of the road, and sat there for a long time.

He needed to see Bijou. Just for a moment. Maybe it was silly, but she was warm and alive and a bright light in a world of madness. He’d never realized just how dark his world was until he’d found her. He’d been driven to right the wrongs, maybe stemming from that one moment when he’d failed a child and he’d vowed it would never happen again. Funny how his world revolved around Bijou.

He pulled out his cell phone and texted her, asking where she was. Her answer surprised him. She and Saria had gone to Bodrie’s estate. She was intelligent enough to mention that Dash had accompanied them, so not to worry.

His grip tightened on the steering wheel, and he sat for a moment, forcing his temper under control. Just because the Rousseau brothers were out of the picture didn’t mean that she was out of danger—not until he had Rob Butterfield and Jason Durang locked up. He picked up his radio and inquired on their whereabouts. To his consternation, neither man had been at their hotel when the police had gone looking and neither car had been spotted yet.

He immediately got back on the road, driving fast, using his siren occasionally to move cars in front of him out of the way. Bodrie’s estate was on the other side of the city of New Orleans. He sent Dash a message to be on the alert. He resisted the urge to send officers to the mansion to guard her. He didn’t want to overreact, but he did drive faster than was probably wise.