Leopard's Prey

the room, looking at the desks and computers, marveling at how the men and women working there solved murders and various other crimes. Her path took her nearly straight to the murder board. She tried not to look, but it was impossible not to stare at the horrendous pictures of a man brutally murdered.
    “You shouldn’t look at that,” Angelina said. “It will give you nightmares.”
    “It’s like the train wreck you can’t stop watching, isn’t it?” Bijou asked as she took the coffee. Her gaze went back to the board. “It’s almost mesmerizing. Who could do such things to another human being?”
    “Sadly, Bijou, working here, I’ve learned human beings can be very cruel to one another. I stopped being shocked many years ago—until this killer came along.”
    Bijou studied the altar. It was so bizarre. “Is that really a bowl of blood and a human hand? His heart? This looks like something from a horror movie, not real life . . .” She trailed off, peering closer.
    Her breath rushed out of her lungs. Her hands went numb. The coffee mug crashed to the floor. “Angelina,” she said without turning around. “Where did you say Remy went?”
    “To the gallery. Are you all right?”
    “No. No, I’m not all right. Call everyone. Call them right now and send them to the gallery.” She ripped her phone from her purse and took off running, hitting the only other number she had on speed dial besides Remy.
    Saria answered almost immediately. Bijou burst out of the station house. “Remy’s in trouble, Saria. Send Gage and everyone else to the gallery just down from his station. He’s there now.”
    She yelled into the phone as she tried to run down the street toward the gallery. Her high heels slowed her down so she kicked them off and ran in her stockings.
    “What do you mean?”
    “The stone. In the altar. It was Arnaud’s. Remy went there to talk to him. I may be crazy but that stone is unmistakable.” She was breathing too hard to continue talking so she just ran, her heart in her throat.
    Her leopard had been trying to warn her something was wrong, but she hadn’t yet gotten used to trusting her other side. There was no doubt in her mind Remy was in trouble. Everything in her screamed that he needed her. Every hair in her body stood up. Goose bumps ran up and down her arms.
    “Gage says wait for help,” Saria screamed into the phone.
    She’d forgotten to end the call. She wasn’t waiting. Was Gage crazy? Maybe he didn’t believe her, but it all fell into place for her. All the clues that had been right in front of her.
    Arnaud was completely disconnected from people. He didn’t view them as human beings. Even his sculpture was about life-forms, not human beings. He was enormously strong from all the climbing he did over the years. He traveled all over the world and he went to most of her concerts. He had tremendous skill with cutting tools.
    Remy wondered why the harvester had taken the same set of bones. Clearly he’d lost the first set. They must have been in the SUV that had gone into the bayou. Arnaud was merely replacing what he’d lost. He’d actually said to her that there was nothing in the vehicle that couldn’t be replaced. He’d said he was behind on his timetable. And his sculpture . . . Oh, God, why hadn’t she noticed? Why hadn’t it registered? All those faces. His victims giving back.
    “Please, please, please,” she chanted. “Don’ let me be too late.”
    She wrenched the door to the gallery open and ran inside without hesitation. Skidding to a halt, she could see the light coming from under the door to the back room. Heart pounding, she walked barefoot through the gallery to the door. Her mouth was dry. Her leopard was raging. Her heart felt wild and out of control.
    Bijou took a deep breath and opened the door. Arnaud was standing over Remy’s body, staring down at his face with a look very close to love. Remy was lying motionless on the long table. Beside him was a spread-open leather pouch. The light shining down into Remy’s face also illuminated the array of cutting tools Arnaud had spread out beside the detective.
    “Arnaud?” she called out to the artist.
    He looked up at her and smiled. “He’s perfect, Bijou. So perfect.”
    “Yes, he is.” She stepped closer, desperate to see if Remy was still alive. “We’re supposed to go to dinner tonight. He’s late.”
    “We’re working,” Arnaud told her. “I tried sketching his eyes, but I