absorbed in his work. Remy doubted, if Carson had actually been in the room with him, that the artist would have even noticed him taking photographs. Carson had zoomed in on the sketches just as he had the surgical instruments earlier in the parking lot. Remy’s eyes had been drawn over and over, but Arnaud had discarded the sketches in frustration, compelled to capture the exact look he had seen in Remy’s eyes and clearly failing.
The next set of photographs was of two men in the shadows who seemed to be watching Arnaud through his studio windows. They were back in the alley and Carson must have caught them by accident. The second photo showed the two men appearing to argue.
Remy realized Arnaud looked as wealthy as he was. He sat alone in a well-lit room where anyone hard up for money and willing to rob him would see. He probably appeared to be the perfect victim, a man who was so focused on his work he wouldn’t notice intruders until it was too late.
“He didn’t get their faces,” Remy complained. “But they look as if they could be Jean and Juste Rousseau. What do you think?” He handed the camera back to his brother and turned to look at the body one more time.
The forensic team had arrived, and the photographer was busy getting shots of Carson from every angle. The sunlight came in through the cypress trees and spilled over them. Remy crouched low, angling from one side to the next to better see the body. It was right there. Right in front of him. Frustration had him rumbling low, under his breath.
“Make certain you get some good shots of the altar for comparison,” he snapped.
The photographer scowled at him, but refrained from speaking. He knew his job and was irritated that Remy might not think he did.
Remy wasn’t even looking at him, instead he was staring at the body. He stood up slowly, light dawning, the pieces falling into place. He knew exactly what was different.
“Gage.” He waited until his brother turned to face him. “It’s wrong. This is all wrong.”
“What is?” Gage moved closer, frowning, trying to see whatever it was his brother saw.
LeBrun, the ME, stopped what he was doing. Even the photographer paused. Remy was good at his job and usually spotted discrepancies before anyone else. He had an eye for murder and an uncanny knack of solving them.
“He doesn’t do this.”
“This is exactly what he does,” Gage argued, frowning at Remy.
Remy shook his head. “No, Gage.” He indicated the torn chest with a sweep of his hand. “This is wrong. He has a pattern, and he’s broken that pattern.”
“I don’ understand.”
“The bones. He already took those bones with the first victim. He should be takin’ bones from the legs, but he didn’t. He follows a pattern, and he never takes the same bones,” Remy said.
LeBrun nodded his head. “That held true four years ago. But maybe he doesn’t always do that.”
Remy shook his head. “I studied every murder he’s committed that I could find over the years. He always kills four victims and he takes the bones in a specific order. He’s never deviated.”
“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