It seemed a little surreal that just hours earlier he’d been angry with the man for taunting Bijou and then daring to lay his hands on her and now, not only was he dead, but he’d died so close to where the leopards had been running. Was it really a coincidence?
“This is ugly,” Gage said. “Really ugly. Cooper was alive for a while.”
“The altar is, as usual, immaculate, but the blood spatter and pools go everywhere else.” Blood ran in ribbons and streams, all over the ground, soaking into the vegetation and coloring all the grasses a dark red. The ground looked macabre, a hellish nightmare of a stained leaves and dark, twisted branches.
Remy crouched down and studied the ground. Something was off. He’d been at four similar crime scenes years earlier and Pete Morgan’s murder in the swamp just days earlier. They’d all been identical other than the strange seven-knot string found in the bowl of Pete’s blood. Each crime scene had been immaculate, not a single footprint, no hair or fiber to be found. There were no prints on anything, not the rocks making up the frame of the altar or anywhere else. But . . .
Remy stiffened. “Gage.” He glanced up at his brother, waited until Gage made his way over and very subtly, covering the gesture, pointed to the smudged, partial print hidden among the leaves.
Gage closed his eyes briefly. “Leopard,” he mouthed.
Remy nodded and indicated with his chin the few hairs stuck in the blood on a cypress trunk. “One of ours, and I think I know who,” he whispered softly. “Damn him for this. It’s goin’ to cause a huge mess. Every hunter from here to hell and back is goin’ to be in the swamp with guns.”
“And every missin’ animal and strange death will be blamed on the Rougarou. We’ll be getting’ calls every night from nervous drunks and people alone to go check out their homes for them,” Gage added. “Who?”
“Last night, Robert Lanoux challenged me for Bijou. My leopard drove his off and I made certain he’d feel his lesson for the next week or two, but it didn’t deter him at all. Later, he showed up at the Inn and left a challenge for Drake for leadership of the lair.”
“Is he out of his mind?” Gage asked, disbelief in his voice. “Robert can’t take Drake. He’s never been great in battle. In fact, I thought Drake had discussed Robert goin’ to Borneo to learn a few skills.”
“He refused to go,” Remy said. “Drake didn’t push it, because there was no proof he was doin’ anything that could put the lair in harm’s way.”
“Could he be our killer?” Gage asked. “He was pretty tight with Cooper. They drank a lot together, and Dion suspected they might be runnin’ drugs or doing something else illegal because Robert has a lot of money, but wasn’t workin’. He questioned Robert about the money and Robert refused to talk to him about it. Dion was pretty worried about what he might have gotten himself into.”
“No way is Robert capable of doin’ this,” Remy disagreed. “He’d puke his guts out. He’s still a kid, a stupid one, wantin’ to take the easy way out, but he’s no murderer. Not like this. Whoever is doin’ this is as cold as ice. Robert is a hothead. He would no more plan ahead and have his equipment ready and a way to keep from leavin’ evidence behind, like this killer. I don’ believe for one minute that Robert did this, but I wouldn’t mind arresting his sorry butt and throwin’ him in jail for a good long time.”
“Leopards don’ do well caged,” Gage said uneasily.
“Just what that little bastard could use, a good lesson in what could happen if he continues his ways.” Remy sighed and looked once more to the ground and the proof that said a leopard had been on the scene. “It does worry me that we can’t catch the scent. The killer should be sweatin’.”
“The odor of fear is coverin’ everything else,” Gage pointed out.
“That’s part of it,” Remy admitted reluctantly, “but it shouldn’t completely mask the killer’s scent from a leopard. If he isn’t leopard, and I see no sign that he is . . .”
“Until now. We can’t be certain this wasn’t Robert,” Gage said. “If you’re wrong, then we’ve got another killer in our lair. Our leopards are definitely dangerous, and when one goes wrong, it can be very bad.”
“Iris Mercier was able to mask her scent when she made kills,” Remy said. “Every leopard in the lair became aware of it after she was killed. None of these kills feel like leopard, not even this one, but Charisse was still workin’ on the product that consumed all scents. She did tell me she was far more careful since her mother had used her work to get away with killin’, but it’s possible someone managed to get ahold of her experiments.”
Gage studied Remy’s face. “Your gut is sayin’ this isn’t leopard.”
“I don’ believe it is, but Robert’s managed to muddy the water. I’ve got to call Drake and tell him to get back here now. We’ll need him when forensics identifies this as leopard fur.”
“Obviously planted by the killer,” Gage suggested. “Who would ever find a leopard runnin’ around here?”
“Drake will have to order everyone not to shift for a while. We can’t take any chances with the locals thinkin’ the Rougarou is haunting the swamp. The last time two people shot their neighbors, convinced they were shifters,” Remy said.
Remy stood up slowly, looking around. “There was obviously a party of some sort right over there.” He skirted the crime scene and made his way to the flat spot where beer cans were strewn everywhere. There was an empty tequila bottle as well as a Jack Daniels bottle.
“He must have come here with his friends.”
Remy and Gage exchanged a long look.
“Jean and Juste Rousseau,” Gage said.
“And also Robert Lanoux,” Remy said. “He was here partyin’ with the Rousseau brothers and their other friends. At least three others, probably the same ones who sat together at the club.”
“Funny how the Rousseau brothers keep turnin’ up,” Gage said. “I’m likin’ this group for the break-ins.”
“And they definitely were partyin’ with Alan Potier. He was the third victim four years ago. The brothers were with him when they were partyin’ behind the school. Potier was a local boy found in the tree just past the football field there, that giant oak tree. He and the Rousseau brothers had been drinkin’ under the bleachers that night. They claimed they passed out and when they woke up, Potier was gone. They walked home from the school and never saw Potier alive again.”