I have to go to that autopsy, Max thought.
Her feet hurt and she stepped out of the shoes she’d worn to the funeral, and carried them in her hand. They sat on the riverbank.
“I much prefer nature’s laboratory,” Olivier said, removing his jacket and putting it on the grass. They watched a boat pass. “Antoine loved the river, and he knew every curve and dip,” Olivier continued in a quiet voice. “I’ll never know, but I don’t think he would have wandered down here in his robe. He was waiting for Mimi to bring him dinner. He was accustomed to eating quite late, as she left the big house only after everything was in order. And he surely wouldn’t have stepped into the river wearing his robe.” He looked out over the wide river, drinking in the beauty.
Olivier’s more an aesthete than a criminologist, Max thought. She wondered what it would be like to have Olivier and Hank in the same room, for as much as Hank was pegged as a tough sonofabitch, he was also a philosopher. It was up to her to get Olivier back on track.
“I hate to distract you from your ruminations, but do you have the results of Léa’s autopsy report?”
“Her cause of death was an extradural hemorrhage from a skull fracture in the back of her head with associated intracranial damage. Her cheekbone on the right side was fractured as well and the bleeding from that obstructed the breathing passages.”
“And the baby?”
“Ted Clay was the father.”
“It’s the first time I’ve known the victim of a murder…”
“The same is true for me.”
“Seeing her on the ground, and the smell…isn’t it amazing that even after a few minutes you pick up the smell of death?”
“You know, Max, I haven’t conducted many murder investigations. My specialty is corporate and political wrongdoing.”
That put a different slant on the investigation. “And I deal mostly with the slimiest segment of society. People murder each other for the lamest reasons.”
“I’m surprised your father would allow you in that world.”
She laughed. “Allow? He insisted. I think the Irish in us likes to defy Fate. My mother hated the idea of me chasing criminals. It was because of her that I went through university. Shall we have a look around the house?”
“But Girard…”
“We don’t need him. I’m a genius at nosing around.”
He laughed. They ambled up the slope, and the gendarme waved from his station on the path. The blue vase was still there. Looking impertinent. Olivier walked over to it. “Do you still find it a significant piece of the puzzle?”
Ted had offered more of the story when she went to sit with him. She told Olivier how Antoine had been afraid of UFO’s coming for him when he had been a boy and his mother had devised a plan to rid him of the fear. She told him that the vase was magic. Each time the Martians came, the blue vase would suck them in and hold them until she could toss them out in the morning. She created a game with her son; if they had come he would turn the vase upside down so that they couldn’t get out, and she would go to work by taking the vase to the window and shaking them out and then setting it back on the shelf. Antoine had kept the vase as a memento of her.
“So we’re back in the fairy tale?”
“It seems so. A more sinister one. Where there is no happy ending.”
She found his laser gaze disconcerting, feeling as though he could see into her. How can I make him understand me, she thought. “I know I sometimes talk in a cold, formal manner, Olivier, but were I to succumb to even one of my feelings right now, I would have to fly home, as I could not continue in the investigation. When you and I were standing apart and looking at Antoine’s body, I felt a vast space open up, as though after sharing this we could never look at each other without that moment being there. It was the same when we came upon Léa’s body.”
“Those moments have to be transcended,” Olivier said. “Forgive me for bringing this up, but your parents had to go through a similar process after standing over their son who had died. It was the most tragic moment of their lives…”
“It almost destroyed them. And I don’t know where I am regarding his death. I keep thinking I’ll go to a therapist to work through it. Much more frightening than racing to murders.”
“We have to remember why we’re in our respective professions. It’s incumbent upon you and me to solve Léa’s murder, and learn what happened to Antoine.”
“That doesn’t sound like a man ready to recuse himself. I agree with everything you’ve said. And please don’t think I’m weird…but is there any way I can attend Antoine’s autopsy?”
“The body was taken to a hospital in a western suburb of Paris. Why do you want to do this?”
“Because it speeds things up. It’s rare for a drowning to be declared a homicide even if that’s the case, because it’s so difficult to prove it. I’ve been through two of these, where we did prove it, but only because my dad and I were there to find clues.”
Hank had gone with her to her first and she’d sat on the floor the entire time while he had talked to the doctor as though nothing were unusual. But he had proven to her that if the medical examiner wasn’t comfortable working with the police, problems would arise.
Olivier sighed. “Monsieur Henri Legrand is the examiner. I will speak with him, but Max, I think we’re crossing boundaries that maybe shouldn’t be crossed.”
“He may surprise you and welcome the help.”
“He is French, and the French don’t welcome help.” His admittance of that struck her as funny. She could see he was torn.
“You know it’s hard to drown someone. There would have to be pretty significant physical disparity between the victim and the attacker. The victim would fight back.”
“Not if he was intoxicated.”
“We’re here for a cursory look around. We didn’t bring gloves.”
“There are plastic gloves in the kitchen. I noticed them two days ago.” They entered the kitchen and Max took them from the counter. “Look at everything carefully, with all your senses,” she said, “and know that everything has relevance.”
They began to move around, looking at books, at the newspapers that had accumulated. “I’ll go check his bedroom,” Olivier said.
“I’ll continue here with papers, bank books, stuff like that.” She went to the desk where a variety of papers, mainly bills, were piled up. She lifted them one by one and put them to the side. A sheaf of papers was propped up, and she picked it up and read the top page. It was dated June 23, yesterday.
“Olivier!” He emerged from the bedroom, eyebrows raised. “This document is hand-written. I think it has to do with Antoine selling his shares in de Saint-Pern to Hans Keller.”
He took the paper she handed him and read it. “Antoine did what he said he was going to do at the dinner that night, which was to sell to Keller. It’s sad, but not a big surprise. Everything in the bedroom is a mess, but nothing stands out. I don’t see how this sale proves anything.”
“What if he was forced to write that and sign it?”
“If it was Keller, he would have arrived after Ted Clay left.”
“But there’s no way to prove that he came here at all. Unless he admits it. And why would he tell us he came and killed Antoine?” She knew her voice was starting to sound strident from pure frustration.
“Max…”
She knew with all her being that Antoine had managed to turn the blue vase upside down before he died. But she couldn’t go to others, not even the family, and declare this. “Do you believe that the blue vase might be a key, Olivier?”
Please, please, walk out on that limb with me, she thought.
The western sunlight shone into the room, and Max focused her attention on the burnished wood that she imagined Mimi kept polished. The wait was
killing her. Her eyes went back to Olivier’s and stayed there.
“I believe you, though not fervently.”
“I don’t need your fervor.”
Chapter Twenty-two
The bartender Michel waved when Max and Olivier entered Le Bar at six. Several men were sitting on stools. Max and Olivier had left Antoine’s and gone to his car and retrieved all of the wedding photographs taken by the professional photographer. Olivier ordered a vin blanc for each of them and indicated a round table in the rear that had a light over it so they could examine each proof. Abdel would later catalog every picture, but for now he wanted to see if anything jumped out. Max had already taken a handful of the pictures and was studying them. Now that they were away from Antoine’s, he realized that the only reason he was considering that Antoine had been murdered was because of Max’s influence.
Max was glancing through the photos as though they were a deck of cards. “Here’s an interesting one.”
He took the photo Max handed him and moved it into the light. Bernard and Caroline were standing with Baptiste Dupuis and his wife, looking quite cozy. He was already planning to interview them.
“Oh, wow. Hans Keller and Yves’ girlfriend, Delphine. Here’s another one. Good god!” Olivier took them and put them under the light. He had noticed Delphine at the wedding. She was a petite woman with an hourglass figure and a sultry smile. In the photo she looked quite enamored of Hans. In the next one Hans had his hand on her attractive derriere. And in the one following they were kissing.
“Nothing discreet about those pictures,” Max proclaimed. “I can’t help but think about the ice bucket and bottle of champagne. What if Keller put a bottle of champagne in a bucket and prepared to take the champagne and Delphine to a more private place, like the stone bench…”
Olivier realized that trying to follow her thoughts was like being on the tail of a kite. But he was also starting to see how she formed her theories—some of which were very good. After a few more moments of flipping through pictures, she finally looked over at him. “I know I have to be at the Marceaus for dinner at nine, but we didn’t have lunch. I’m starving.”
Olivier was too. He motioned Michel over and ordered the house pâté. Max returned to the photographs. He moved closer to her to see what she was looking at. “Here are photographs of the wedding ceremony in the church. Beautiful. And here are the newlyweds in the antique car going back to the reception. These are photographs of the afternoon reception for two hundred. There’s Léa, smiling at Ted. Here she is with Chloé in a big embrace. In this one she’s talking with Geneviève, but they both look unhappy. Angry, even. Wonder what’s going on there.”
“Put that one aside,” Olivier said. “The ones of Hans Keller too.”
“Chloé is the radiant bride at first, I notice, but look at this one of her in the tent with Delphine, both looking a little drunk. She looks sad. Where is Marc? Where is Yves?”
“Sniffing cocaine, I guess.”
“Oh, here they are. Marc has changed into jeans and is barefoot. That’s what we were all planning to do.” Max sipped her wine. “Antoine is only in two photos so far.”
She giggled. “Oh god. You and I got caught.” She handed him the photograph of the two of them looking out over the reception crowd when they first arrived, her in the gorgeous hat, a half smile on her face, and him looking at her, appearing as smitten as a teenager.
“I’m sure I was admiring your hat.”
“It looks to me like you want to kiss me.”
“I did want to kiss you, and I did.”
And I actually want to kiss you now.
“Look who’s coming in.” Olivier followed her gaze and saw Geneviève entering with Hans. They went to a table on the other side of the room without glancing around, and sat down. Hans asked for a beer and Geneviève ordered champagne. She looked out of place, wearing an outfit that might work at the Hemingway Bar at the Ritz. Others started to trickle in. Olivier’s cell phone rang and he excused himself to Max, who nodded in understanding. In a moment Marc entered and went immediately to his mother’s table and ordered a beer. Olivier was on the phone with Abdel who told him that the bottle indeed carried a number of fingerprints, and he proceeded to enumerate them: Hans Keller, Jacques Marceau, Antoine, and even the kids who got drunk off the champagne. “Chief Petit guessed who they were.”
“Not Monsieur Clay?”
After he hung up, Max said, “Marc just came in. But not Chloé. I should probably head back to the house soon.” He repeated the results of the prints found on the bottle, and she was pensive for a moment. “Do you plan to ask Keller if he handled the murder weapon?”
“Of course. The murderer was probably smart enough to wear gloves, though. I’ll be back.” Olivier sauntered toward the bar and ordered another vin blanc, then turned to Geneviève and Hans. “A stressful day.”
Hans was pouting. “Try being under house arrest to know what stressful is.”
“I’m afraid you’ll be here a bit longer. Your fingerprints were found on the murder weapon, a full bottle of champagne.” Geneviève gave a small gasp. Hans’ face pinked up. “You’ll need to come in for interrogation. My assistant will be in touch.” Olivier picked up his wine and went back to the table where Max had continued to pore over photographs.
“From the body language I observed, you’re not the most popular man in the room.”
“I’ll give Hans ten minutes to wander over here.”
“I have set aside quite a few photographs for you to look at.” She handed them to him. “Nothing more jumps out at me.”
An argument coming from Hans’ corner distracted them, and Geneviève marched out. Hans stood and hesitated, then walked over to their table. “I need to talk to you,” he said to Olivier, barely acknowledging Max. Olivier motioned for him to sit down.
The pâté arrived and Hans insisted that they eat. Olivier put a portion on Max’s plate and then on his. “My father has hired a private investigator to find the missing Euros. The next thing is the bottle. I put my hands on several champagne bottles that night, pouring for myself and for others. I had no motive for killing Léa de Saint-Pern, and I have a perfect alibi.”
“As for the motive, we talked about this. Léa had decided not to sell to a German whose grandfather betrayed the French, remember?”
Hans clenched his hands into fists, but was smart enough to know how vulnerable he was. “So I knew I had to swallow my medicine and go on.”
“But I think you were more determined than that. I found the paper where Antoine Marceau agreed to sell you his family shares of de Saint-Pern for two hundred thousand euros. A pittance, I might add. But what’s fascinating is that it matches the two hundred-thousand you’re claiming was stolen.”
Hans pounded the table. “This is insane! I never made a deal with him. He signed nothing in front of me!”
“What about the woman, Delphine? Tell me about your assignation with her. Maybe you put a bottle of champagne on ice for a private rendezvous?”
“No! I was in the kitchen with the maid and there were others there. Jacques Marceau, came in for a bucket of ice and champagne for his daughter and her friends. And Marc asked me to hand him a bottle as he was going out to meet with his buddies who had acquired some cocaine. They invited me but I thought they were being ridiculous.”
Max said calmly, “You were more interested in seducing Delphine.”
“You have no right by French law to question me, mademoiselle.”
Olivier saw Max’s eyes turn to thin slits of steel. “Then I’m asking. You were more interested in seducing Delphine?”
“She was furious with her boyfriend. So, yes.”
Olivier stepped back in, “And did you see anything on your way to the inn or back?”
“I only went one way. I saw Léa standi
ng in the garden and I approached her for the final time about selling her company. She said she wouldn’t sell to me because of my grandfather’s reputation. I called her whore and bitch and I don’t know what else, and I’m not sorry. She’ll get hers one day, I thought, as I walked up to the terrace where Delphine was waiting.”
Olivier thought of the last words that entered Léa’s consciousness and how her last moments, with Hans and with her killer, were fraught with men despising her. She had grabbed at a rose, which became locked in her hand at the moment of death. It was a symbol for love and purity, but even more, the rose was associated with Mary Magdalene and the Divine Feminine.
He looked around at the expectant faces and tried to think where he was when he became distracted. “With a bucket of ice and a bottle of champagne?”he asked.
“You’re being redundant, Monsieur Chaumont. I already told you that I handed the bucket of ice and champagne to Marc who was taking it to his adolescent friends.”
“The young woman, Delphine, returned to the house alone? You didn’t walk her back?”
“She didn’t want her boyfriend to see us together.”
Delphine, the quiet one who hadn’t made a blip on the radar screen. “I’ll verify all of this. Thank you for the information. You seem to spend a lot of time with Marc and Geneviève Durand. Do they get along well?”
“They argue incessantly and I’m sick of them. Marc won’t know which side of the fence to sit on until the wills are read. Chloé might inherit, then Marc could take over. He hasn’t said that outright, but I can read him. And Geneviève?” The name came out as a sneer. “She manipulated Marc’s introduction to Chloé Marceau, and she pushed Ted before that to get Marc into de Saint-Pern for an internship. She will stop at nothing, that woman, and she used to have the power behind her. Now she’s freaking out because none of her old lover Douvier’s acquaintances will have anything to do with her. No one has invited her for a cup of coffee she told me, since he dropped her.”
Champagne: The Farewell Page 19