The SUV is where Remy said it would be, parked in the emergency lot with the keys under the front mat. I climb in, start the engine, and pull out into early morning traffic.
The drive to St. Tammany Parish takes less than an hour. Enough time for the pounding in my skull to fade from excruciating to just brutal.
Someone paid Julien hundreds of thousands to run surveillance on Simone. High-end gear, sophisticated operation, timing coordinated with her business schedule. Then executed him the moment he became a liability.
If it's Armand like we suspect, this just became attempted murder and conspiracy on top of the stalking charges.
The rural property appears through the trees as I turn onto the access road. NOPD vehicles line the driveway, crime scene tape marking the perimeter. I pull up behind Remy's SUV, kill the engine, and head for the house.
Andy Broussard's coordinating with the crime scene techs near the entrance. He looks up when I approach, waves me over.
"Luc. Good to see you conscious." He gestures toward the house. "Body's still in position. Coroner's waiting on your walkthrough before they move him."
"Appreciate you holding the scene." I duck under the tape. "What've we got?"
"Single GSW to the back of the head. Execution-style, same as I briefed Remy earlier." He walks me through the entry. "No signs of struggle, no defensive wounds. Position indicates he was kneeling when the shooter put him down."
The interior shows signs of the breach—broken door, overturned furniture, blood on the floor where he dropped me. The memory comes back in pieces, hazy from whatever drug he used. But I remember enough. The injection. The way my muscles stopped responding. Julien's voice saying something about proving a point.
Andy leads me to the back room. Julien's body is slumped against the far wall, exactly as described.
"Clean hit," I say, studying the blood spatter pattern. "Professional work."
"That's what I'm thinking." Andy crouches beside the body. "Nine millimeter, based on the wound channel and recovered round. Ballistics will confirm, but I'd bet money on it."
"No gunshot residue on his hands?"
"Clean. He didn't fire a weapon before he died." Andy stands, brushes off his hands. "Your brother filled me in on what happened at Dominion last night. Julien knew exactly where to plant his equipment to avoid detection." He pauses. "Smart setup Margot's got there—found it right away.
Something in the way he says it catches my attention. Not just detective doing his homework. More like someone who understands the operational logic behind privacy protocols in BDSM clubs.
I file it away but don't comment. "Your brother said Julien grabbed you from LaCroix Petroleum headquarters. He brought you here, and drugged and restrained you. Then someone showed up and put a bullet in his head while you were unconscious."
"That's the timeline."
"Which means the shooter either followed Julien here or was already waiting." Andy pulls out his notebook. "Initial thermal showed three signatures before breach. Two mobile, one stationary. By the time your team entered, only two remained—you and Julien's body. The third signature was gone."
"Fast exit. Knew exactly when to leave." I turn away from the body. "Any luck tracing the shell corporation payments?"
"Cyber team's making progress. The Delaware LLC layers are a pain in the ass, but they're close to piercing through to the actual source." He makes a note. "We pulled Julien's phone records, email, financial transactions overnight. If he was communicating with whoever paid him, we'll find it."
"Keep me posted on the forensics." I head for the door. "Coordinate with Remy—we'll share everything relevant to building the case."
"Already doing that." Andy gestures toward the exit. "I'll let the coroner know he can move the body. I'll send you ballistics and autopsy results when they come through."
I head back outside. Pull out my phone and dial Remy.
"How's the scene?" he asks.
"Clean execution. Professional work." I lean against the SUV, let the sun hit my face. "Andy's running point. He's solid."
"Twenty years in homicide. He knows what he's doing." His tone shifts. "How's your head?"
"Functional."
"That's not what I asked."
"It's what you're getting." I straighten, focus on what matters. "Where are we on the shell corporation trace?"
