He had to alert the police. Without answering Max about the necklace, which he had not noticed, he dialed the young man he had mentored, and one of the few he trusted, Abdel Zeroual, and was relieved to hear his voice. “I’m at the Marceau home in Sourières,” Olivier said. “You know where it is. There is a death. Inform the commissaire.”
“Okay.”
Abdel’s family referred to the young police officer as an “Olivier rescue.” He was the grandson of Zohra, the woman that Olivier’s mother had hired to be the jeune fille for her two sons. Zohra had fled Algeria during the French-Algerian War in the 1950s, leaving her husband and an abusive relationship behind. She had a friend in the Champagne region and moved there with her son and grandson. Her son had died tragically in a car accident, and she had raised her grandson, Abdel. When Abdel had gotten into trouble as a young man, Olivier had persuaded the authorities to give him another chance. He had enrolled in the National Police and now, at thirty-two, was a detective, and in Olivier’s mind, a great role model for his friends. He would be coming from Epernay and should be there within fifteen minutes.
Olivier tried to recall the name of the police chief in the village, but could not. Jacques would know. He glanced over and saw that Max was bent slightly, looking down at the ground, spiraling out from Léa’s body with the flashlight in hand, no doubt searching for evidence. Obviously unfazed by his sarcastic outburst. Her short silk robe rose up the back of her legs as she bent over, but they had both gone far beyond the realm of flirtation and seduction, having instantly transformed into crime solvers.
Olivier next called the chief prosecutor in Epernay, Claude Reynard, and when he answered explained what had happened. Reynard said that he would call the gendarmerie and would see him soon. The gendarmes were under the umbrella of the Ministry of Defense, but the National Police were connected to the Ministry of the Interior. In Paris the police would step in, but in a rural area like this the gendarmes were called first. It would be up to Reynard to formally open the investigation, which was called the instruction, when suspects and witnesses would be targeted. The danger was that Reynard would want to shape the investigation before he had to hand it over to an examining magistrate he chose within twenty-four hours, which could be extended to forty-eight.
Because Olivier was friendly with the Marceau family, he had the challenge of convincing Reynard that there was no conflict of interest, and to do that he would need to stretch the truth a bit. He walked over to the bench where Ted and Max sat. “The police are on their way, Monsieur Clay, and will want to interrogate you immediately, so please go to the salon and wait.” Ted looked shocked.
Max stood up. “I’m going to change and find Chloé. Ted, why don’t you come with me to the house?”
“I’d prefer that the guests not be told what has happened yet, but family is okay,” Olivier said.
Max nodded and started walking up the gradient with Ted, then turned back to Olivier. “I’ve investigated a lot of murder cases. I want to help.”
“I think the family needs you more than the police.”
He saw car lights flash across the lawn and knew it was Abdel. He watched the two detectives pass each other, and wished he had been a little less hostile to Max, who was only trying to help. He thought her friendship with Ted Clay would demand a lot of her over the next few days. Just then, Marc and a friend appeared from around the side of the tent, laughing and unaware of the scene they had stumbled upon. Unaware was the operative word, for when Olivier approached Marc to steer him away from the scene, he appeared to be stoned, or drunk.
“What’s going on?” Marc asked.
“There’s been an accident. We are taking Léa to the hospital,” Olivier said. He motioned to Abdel, who jogged over and took Marc by the arm, explaining that everyone was to meet in the salon. Marc jerked his arm away, and said, “I’m a member of the family. I’d like to know what happened.”
Your membership in this family is a few hours old, Olivier wanted to say, and won’t be affirmed until you’ve proven yourself. Instead he addressed him as monsieur, and used the formal version of you, vous instead of tu, which Marc and his friends would know was a subtle reprimand, unless they were too drunk to care, which Olivier thought was the case. “Your wife needs you now. You should find her and take her to the salon.” Marc looked befuddled, then, sensing the seriousness of Olivier’s manner, reluctantly turned away and moved back toward the house.
As Olivier glanced up toward the parking lot, a Renault Clio arrived, delivering several gendarmes, including their superior, Captain Pascal Canon. Olivier saw a short, compact man who had a soldier’s bearing walk in front of the headlights, barking orders to the young men around him. With him was Chief Prosecutor Claude Reynard, who, seeing Olivier, moved briskly to shake hands. “Where is Monsieur Marceau?” he asked.
“Someone has just gone to inform him.”
The officials moved en masse down the slope to the body, and when they arrived at the murder scene, halted as though someone had issued a command, and stood in silence.
“Get the lights. The tape! You know what to do!” Canon called out. The area was quickly transformed into an official crime scene, with workers swarming around, taking photographs, collecting potential evidence, and setting up the lights. Canon joined them, but Olivier stood back, observing. Abdel, looking impressive in the French summer uniform of short-sleeved white shirt, dark pants, and a hat with a visor, came up to him. “This must be hard for you, monsieur,” he said in a low voice. “I know you were friends.”
The young man’s sympathy was almost more than Olivier could take. “Thank you, Abdel.” They glanced up to see Thomas Girard, Commissaire of the Police Nationale, appear at the top of the slope, pausing before moving toward the lights. Olivier remembered him from school days in Epernay when Girard was the star of the soccer team. He towered over Canon as he went up and shook hands. Abdel had moved in to assist the gendarmes.
The medical examiner arrived, and after a perfunctory greeting to the group at large, went straight to the body and began his inspection. After what seemed like a long time to Olivier, who had moved closer to observe, the examiner looked up at Reynard and Olivier. “I think she was hit from behind first. When she turned to face her assailant, he went into a rage and that’s when he delivered the blow to the face.”
“Do you think it was personal?” Olivier asked.
“It often is when there is so much damage to the face. I’ll be able to tell if she was hit first in the back of the head, or in the front.” Exactly as Max had stated.
Reynard said, “This will be a front-page story. Léa de Saint-Pern murdered. Ce n’est-pas possible!”
“I hope you’ll consider appointing me juge d’instruction.”
“You seem the obvious choice, Olivier, but that’s not a promise. Be aware that there could be potential conflict between Canon and Girard.”
“I know Thomas Girard and detective Abdel Zeroual would come aboard as my assistant.”
“I’m still concerned. We’ll talk later.”
A burly man in street clothes approached and introduced himself as the local police chief. “I live in the village and heard the baying of the siren a few minutes ago and got up to see what was going on.” He surveyed the goings-on with a steady gaze. “Who is it?” Olivier told him. “This is a tragedy. I know Monsieur and Madame Marceau and their daughter went to school with my son. What do you want me to do?”
“You’ve lived here a long time?”
“I brought my family here from Pau a decade ago.”
“Will you ask around among the neighbors? See if anything interesting turns up.”
“Absolument. The closest neighbor, of course, is Antoine Marceau, who lives in a little cabin on the river.”
“I know who he is. I walked down the path there yesterday and didn’t se
e anything.”
“You wouldn’t have. You have to exit out of the porte cochère, and to the right a narrow hidden driveway leads right to it.”
“Could you get there from here without going onto the street?”
“Sure can. There’s a footpath veering off from the path you took. You wouldn’t notice it if you weren’t aware of it.”
Thomas Girard walked up and shook hands with Petit and Olivier. Petit reminded him that they had met once at a parade organized by the mayor. Girard asked him to make a list of names of neighbors within a five-kilometer radius, and Petit nodded. Turning to Olivier, Girard said, “You’re a juge d’instruction now, Monsieur Chaumont?”
Olivier nodded, “I’m surprised you remember me.”
“There weren’t that many of us at the school. You’ve exposed some of our most corrupt politicians. I don’t imagine you’re very popular in some realms.”
“No, I suppose not.”
Petit said he had to go, and that he would be asking around, but wanted to make sure he wasn’t stepping on anybody’s toes. Olivier thought there were an awful lot of toes to step on. They thanked him and he strolled off.
Girard got right to the point. “Any ideas off the top of your head about suspects?”
Olivier shook his head. “It’s going to be tough, with all the wedding guests floating around. It also occurred to me that you should be checking all the boats that have passed by over the past couple of days.”
“Good idea. You got the case?”
“Reynard hasn’t appointed me yet, but I’m expecting him to. Tread lightly around Canon.”
“I can work with him. It’s Reynard that’s the problem. I think it’ll be determined that this is a big enough case that the ministers will want the police in on it. I’ll have Zeroual make a list.” Girard hesitated, “You were at the wedding?”
“My parents were invited to the wedding. Jacques Marceau is an acquaintance, of course.”
“You knew Madame de Saint-Pern?”
“Same as you. From school. I’ve been in Paris a long time, and have seen very little of her over the years. I hope you don’t mind that I called Detective Zeroual first.”
“Not at all. He’s a good man. I’m just sorry that he’s transferring to Bordeaux. Although I know it’s a good opportunity for him.” Olivier didn’t have to state the obvious, that his goal was to help Abdel rise to the position in Bordeaux that Girard occupied here.
“Who found Madame de Saint-Pern?”
“Her fiancé. A man named Ted Clay. American.”
“I’ll start with him.”
Olivier wanted to get to Jacques and Marie-Christine before the chief prosecutor did. He walked toward the terrace and stopped. All the upstairs shutters were closed except for Jacques’ room.
Odd.
Chapter Seven
Even as the rational side of her brain was excusing Olivier’s polite rejection of her offer to assist, Max felt frustrated. The French criminal system was inquisitional rather than accusatory like it was in the States, which said to her that the various officials would talk themselves to death before the action started.
Ted sat in the chair in her room. “Did you hear Olivier tell me that I’ll be questioned first?”
“That’s normal. You discovered Léa’s body.” Max stepped out from behind the screen wearing jeans, white shirt, and cowboy boots. She picked up her journal and started making notes.
“Alright. What do you know about the criminal justice system here?”
“All that’s necessary to know is that Reynard is in charge in the beginning, then he appoints the examining magistrate, who takes over from there.
“So these magistrates don’t run around the way detectives do in the states?”
“Hardly. Don’t get me wrong, though. He’s brilliant.”
“Catch me up to speed on your personal life. I have a feeling I’m your only advocate. From Chloé I know there are…entanglements. And they will be analyzed. Why were you with Geneviève and not with Léa at two in the morning?” Too late Max realized that an accusation was embedded in the question.
“Marc asked me to walk his mother home. Léa made no bones about being pissed off, but told me to go ahead and she’d meet me at the stone bench. I was torn, but they were waiting for me to decide, so I said okay.”
“Was Léa aware that you’d had an affair with Geneviève?”
“No. But that’s ancient history.”
“It doesn’t matter. Every possible link will be uncovered.” Ted gave her a dispassionate look. This was the time when suspects, confused and in shock, confessed to something they didn’t do.
“I want you to have a lawyer when the police question you. Do you know one?”
“I think a lawyer would be worthless. It’s only very recently that a suspect is even allowed a lawyer during the initial questioning. If I came in with a lawyer, the authorities would think me guilty.”
Max wanted to scream.
“I’m worried about what Geneviève will say.”
“Why?” His eyes blinked a couple of times and she knew it wasn’t good. “What happened with Geneviève? Were you later meeting Léa than you said you would be?”
“There’s something you don’t know, Max. Léa is…was…pregnant.” Max, stunned, wondered why the subject was coming up now. “I told Geneviève in the car driving out to Champagne, and she was unreasonably upset about Léa and the baby. It surprised me.”
“Why?”
“I’m not sure. I hadn’t seen her in ages when she called eight months ago and said that Marc was job-hunting, and would I introduce him to Léa. Léa ended up hiring Marc and was initially enthusiastic about him, but then found him a nuisance because he was flirting with her. But then he met Chloé and they fell in love.
“What happened at the inn?”
“Geneviève tried to seduce me.”
“You said no and left?”
“Sort of.”
Max could picture Ted trying to appease her, over-explaining, and excusing himself. She had an urge to tell him he deserved whatever crap was coming his way for being weak.
“Let me guess. You stayed and listened to her whine about her loneliness and her sad life.”
Ted sat wide-eyed, impressed with her accurate assessment of Geneviève. Poor hapless Ted, she thought, recalling the same behavior when they had been friends in New York.
She wished she had time to give him a lesson in how to conduct himself in front of his inquisitors. She had to get to the family first, though. “The only advice I’m going to give you is to think before you speak.”
He nodded, and they went out into the hall. She stopped. “Ted, how did you know to come to my room to find me?”
He gave a brief smile. “I saw you and Olivier going out of the tent, and I had a hunch, shall we say?”
“Oh.” How many others had observed them leaving the tent together, she wondered.
They parted ways, and Max knocked lightly at Jacques’ door.
“Entrez.”
“Jacques?” she said, entering. The room was dark except for a shaft of moonlight falling across the floor.
“Oui?”
A dim lamp clicked on. He was sitting in a leather club chair, wearing his dress shirt and wedding pants. He reached for his glasses and put them on, then looked at her expectantly. She took a deep breath, and said, “Léa has been found murdered on the lawn. I’m so sorry.”
The room felt like a tomb. Without a trace of emotion, he said, “Merci. I will go and tell my family. The police are here?”
“Yes. They want everyone to gather in the salon. Did you hear anything between one-thirty and two-thirty?”
“I don’t know the time, but I heard an argument and recogni
zed Léa’s voice. She shouted something. I thought her American fiancé was catching hell. I’ve seen her fly off the handle at people.”
“I noticed your shutters were open.”
“You think I had a ringside seat? I didn’t see anything.”
“Okay. May I use your office to call my dad?”
“Sure.”
She went into the office that formed an oasis of warm paneling, rich carpeting, and soft lights. She picked up the phone and dialed Hank at home. When he answered, she thought she might cry, but collected herself. “Chloé’s Aunt Léa was murdered a couple of hours ago. Bludgeoned.”
“Nasty. Who did it?”
Hank’s belief was that the first instinct was usually the right one. “No idea.”
“Murder weapon?”
“Nothing yet.”
“You want us to go through Interpol to see if they’ll let you work on the case?”
“I’ll let you know. There’re already lots of fingers in the pie.”
“Don’t make a big deal out of being on the team. Work quietly, the way we do here. Talk to people. Keep your eyes open.”
She told him everything Ted had told her.
“That Geneviève is a woman scorned. Keep your eye on her.” He paused, “Any chance Ted could have done it?”
“Doubtful.”
“I’m glad you didn’t say no.”
“I want to solve this case more than I’ve wanted anything in a long time, Hank.”
Champagne: The Farewell Page 6