Leopard's Prey
Page 121
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 couldn’t re-create that look I wanted. It was there the other night, and then it was gone.”
“Yes. I remember.” Bijou poured enthusiasm into her voice. She still clutched the cell phone, the line open between her and Saria. She stepped closer. She was about halfway to the table. “He was jealous of you. He looked like a hunter.”
Arnaud’s head jerked up. “That’s it. That’s it exactly, Bijou. You always get it. A large jungle cat about to leap on his prey.” He frowned. “You can’t stay. I have work to do.”
“I know you do.” She used her most soothing voice, edging closer still. “Why isn’t Remy moving? He looks like he’s asleep, but his eyes are open.”
Arnaud shrugged. “Just a little ketamine. He can’t move. He has to stay still, but I need his eyes to get that penetrating look.”
“He’s alive?”
“Of course.” He waved her away. “I really need to work, Bijou.”
“I just have to ask about the bones.”
“The bones?” he echoed, already distracted. He moved closer to the table, to the instruments spread out before him. His hand was inches away from a cutting tool.
“Yes. You took bones and some of them were lost in the SUV when Bob Carson pushed it into the bayou. What was so important about the bones? I know you needed to replace them.”
Her heart beat so hard she was terrified Arnaud could hear. She was up against the table now, right next to Remy’s head. His eyes shifted toward her. Those beautiful green eyes, filled with intelligence and awareness.
She reached for her leopard, bringing her close to the surface just in case. Breathing deep to keep from shifting, she laid one hand on Remy’s chest, right over his heart. Protective. She was in position now and felt a little calmer.
“I use them for my work.” He sounded impatient. Dismissive. She’d heard that tone many times and had dutifully taken her cue, slipping out of his studio and leaving him to get on with his creations.
“In what way?” Where were the police? She’d told Angelina to call everyone. She expected even the bomb squad to show up. How much time had passed? She knew Arnaud better than anyone. When it came to his work, he wouldn’t be distracted for too long.
Bijou planned out every move in her mind. Exactly what she would do if Arnaud picked up a cutting tool. Remy tried to tell her with his eyes to get out, but she would never leave him. She smiled at Arnaud and insisted he answer. “I need to know, Arnaud.”
He sighed. “I dry the bones, grind them up into a fine powder and use them as part of the sculptures for texture. The bones bring my work to life.”
Bijou could see that he wanted her gone. She was losing him to his art. “What about the altar? What’s important about the altar?”
“I saw one in Haiti but it wasn’t perfect. It was beautiful, but not perfect. I wanted to perfect it, so I read about them and signed my work. It was my signature. How could you not recognize my signature? Now go. I have work to do.” He waved her away and then, as always, seemed to forget she existed.
He reached for a wicked-looking, razor-sharp implement, and Bijou leapt over the table, using the spring action of her leopard. She hit Arnaud full in the chest, knocking him backward and down to the floor, landing on top of him, one hand pinning down the hand holding the knife.
“Bijou.” Arnaud looked up at her, surprised. He didn’t struggle. Didn’t attempt to get away. He was enormously strong, but he didn’t even tense up. “Your eyes are like a cat’s, like his. They glow and change color. But you’ve got that look. The look of the hunter.”
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 couldn’t re-create that look I wanted. It was there the other night, and then it was gone.”
“Yes. I remember.” Bijou poured enthusiasm into her voice. She still clutched the cell phone, the line open between her and Saria. She stepped closer. She was about halfway to the table. “He was jealous of you. He looked like a hunter.”
Arnaud’s head jerked up. “That’s it. That’s it exactly, Bijou. You always get it. A large jungle cat about to leap on his prey.” He frowned. “You can’t stay. I have work to do.”
“I know you do.” She used her most soothing voice, edging closer still. “Why isn’t Remy moving? He looks like he’s asleep, but his eyes are open.”
Arnaud shrugged. “Just a little ketamine. He can’t move. He has to stay still, but I need his eyes to get that penetrating look.”
“He’s alive?”
“Of course.” He waved her away. “I really need to work, Bijou.”
“I just have to ask about the bones.”
“The bones?” he echoed, already distracted. He moved closer to the table, to the instruments spread out before him. His hand was inches away from a cutting tool.
“Yes. You took bones and some of them were lost in the SUV when Bob Carson pushed it into the bayou. What was so important about the bones? I know you needed to replace them.”
Her heart beat so hard she was terrified Arnaud could hear. She was up against the table now, right next to Remy’s head. His eyes shifted toward her. Those beautiful green eyes, filled with intelligence and awareness.
She reached for her leopard, bringing her close to the surface just in case. Breathing deep to keep from shifting, she laid one hand on Remy’s chest, right over his heart. Protective. She was in position now and felt a little calmer.
“I use them for my work.” He sounded impatient. Dismissive. She’d heard that tone many times and had dutifully taken her cue, slipping out of his studio and leaving him to get on with his creations.
“In what way?” Where were the police? She’d told Angelina to call everyone. She expected even the bomb squad to show up. How much time had passed? She knew Arnaud better than anyone. When it came to his work, he wouldn’t be distracted for too long.
Bijou planned out every move in her mind. Exactly what she would do if Arnaud picked up a cutting tool. Remy tried to tell her with his eyes to get out, but she would never leave him. She smiled at Arnaud and insisted he answer. “I need to know, Arnaud.”
He sighed. “I dry the bones, grind them up into a fine powder and use them as part of the sculptures for texture. The bones bring my work to life.”
Bijou could see that he wanted her gone. She was losing him to his art. “What about the altar? What’s important about the altar?”
“I saw one in Haiti but it wasn’t perfect. It was beautiful, but not perfect. I wanted to perfect it, so I read about them and signed my work. It was my signature. How could you not recognize my signature? Now go. I have work to do.” He waved her away and then, as always, seemed to forget she existed.
He reached for a wicked-looking, razor-sharp implement, and Bijou leapt over the table, using the spring action of her leopard. She hit Arnaud full in the chest, knocking him backward and down to the floor, landing on top of him, one hand pinning down the hand holding the knife.
“Bijou.” Arnaud looked up at her, surprised. He didn’t struggle. Didn’t attempt to get away. He was enormously strong, but he didn’t even tense up. “Your eyes are like a cat’s, like his. They glow and change color. But you’ve got that look. The look of the hunter.”
