Carson wasn’t local. He wouldn’t just be fishing or hunting nutria for his family. He had no reason to be in the swamp. Even if he’d tried to work his way around to the back of the Inn, he’d go in by the lake. This particular spot was a place not far from Bodrie’s camp. Had Carson been going there when the killer ambushed him?

Drake and Remy’s brothers had known better than to mess up a crime scene and they’d stayed away from the body. Mahieu had stayed behind to guard it and keep any alligators away while Drake and Lojos returned to the Inn to get Remy and Gage. Nothing had been touched, but still, something was off-kilter, just a little wrong.

He paced around the outer edges of the crime scene, looking at it from all angles. The blood spatter was worse than usual, which meant Carson was alive a very long time, but some of the other victims had also lasted longer than one would expect under the circumstances. The altar was perfect as usual, without one drop of blood other than the pint in the bowl and the heart sitting behind it. The dead man’s left hand was oiled and had a candle tied to it. The rocks were arranged in the familiar rectangle with meticulous care.

He stood a distance away, frowning, surveying the scene. Gage joined him. Forensics hadn’t arrived yet and the swamp seemed peaceful enough, but as always, living by its own laws. The continual drone was steady, insects buzzing around the body and feasting on what was left.

“The Rousseau brothers could have done this, Gage. They were in the swamp for certain, and not far from here.”

“Yep. They could have.” Gage watched his brother’s face. Every expression. Every nuance. The sharp intelligence in his eyes.

“Carson, though? That doesn’t make sense. He wouldn’t have been in the swamp at night alone, not dressed in his fancy gallery-showing clothes. He had to have been brought here. He’s not a target of opportunity for them.”

“And they have a lot of others to choose from, people they were really angry with,” Gage agreed. He waited for more. Remy puzzled things out, a master at it, and learning from him would only make him better at his own job.

Remy kept looking at the body. The altar was perfect. The discarded plastic suit was in the exact position it should have been, but there was something off and he just couldn’t put his finger on it.

“If the Rousseau brothers did this, and I wish they had, it makes no sense at all to choose Carson.” Remy carefully moved closer to the body, wanting to examine the neck to the see if the killer had done the same thing to Carson as he had to Cooper.