In their home, he’d found hundreds of DVDs, mostly mafia and gang movies. Jean and Juste definitely had aspired to build a large criminal network. They had murdered at least three women. They had forced women to have sex with them and their friends. They’d robbed and beaten the elderly. They sold drugs. There really wasn’t much the brothers wouldn’t do—so why didn’t he think they were capable of carrying out the bone harvester’s murders?

“He’s ice,” Remy said aloud. “Total ice. He doesn’t ever flinch. There’s no hesitation.” He stared at the board. “You’re one scary man. Who are you? You don’ even break a sweat when you’re carvin’ them up.”

“Remy?” Angelina came up behind him.

He could smell the cup of coffee she had in her hand for him. He turned toward her with a faint smile. She was in her late forties, married to another cop and had three children. He often considered her his secret weapon. She could find anything on anyone given time. She worked a computer with lightning speed and nothing ever stood between her and information.

“I found the insurance policy. It was taken out with Forbes and Regency. It’s a big payoff if Bijou dies. Thirty million dollars, Remy.” She sounded worried. “Definitely the kind of money someone kills for.”

“You’re an angel, Angelina,” he said. “That gives me everything I need to break Durang. He’ll give up Butterfield.”

Angelina turned away from him, hesitated, and then turned back. “Remy, I’ve worked with you a long time. You have good instincts. If you aren’t satisfied, don’t listen to anyone else’s conclusions.” She looked up at the murder board, at the photographs of Juste and Jean Rousseau. “If your gut says it isn’t them, then I’m putting my money on you. You’ll find out who really did this one way or another.”

“Thanks, Angelina. I appreciate the vote of confidence. Leave the report on my desk. I think I have just enough time to run over to the gallery and talk with Lefevre before I have to meet Bijou. She’s comin’ here. Would you mind stayin’ and waiting for her? I’ll only be a few minutes.”

“Do you think he may have seen something that night?” Angelina asked. “He doesn’t seem interested in anything but his art—which by the way is beautiful but so far above my pay grade I can only wish.”

“He’s actually quite observant. He pays close attention to details. Both Carson and the Rousseau brothers were poking around his studio the night Carson was murdered. It’s a long shot that he saw something that could shed light on the murderer, but you never know. At this point, I’ll take anything, long shot or not,” Remy said. He pressed his fingertips to his temples, trying to clear the pounding headache.