Hans stood up, “I haven’t played my hand yet, but now I’m going to. Your Minister of Justice is a friend of mine. He has invested heavily in my father’s company, and he and I are working on another investment in France. My father and I’ve spent many years trying to clear my grandfather’s name. All of a sudden my name is bandied about your papers as though I were a criminal. On top of that I’ve got two hundred thousand euros missing and I will get it back!”
He stormed out.
The bartender walked over and asked to have a word, and Olivier indicated that he should sit. He looked around. “I’ve been really upset about Antoine. He was a friend. The night he drowned, business was slow and I was closing up and saw a large woman in a dress go by the window. It was a full moon and I went to the window to watch. She took great strides, like an athlete. I stepped out the door and asked if I could help, and she stuck up her hand as if to say ‘go away!’”
“What was unusual?” Olivier asked.
“I know everybody, but there was nothing recognizable about her. I thought I should mention it to you.”
“I’ll make note of it. Thank you.” The bartender went back to his station.
Max asked, “Where does that leave us?”
“Hitting another wall.” Olivier sighed, “You’re going to be late for dinner.”
“The pâté was perfect.” They said goodnight to the bartender and began walking toward the inn where Olivier had left his car.
The suggestion was out before he could reel in his thoughts. “You could come home with me for dinner.”
She stood quietly for a moment before responding. “Sure.”
So certain was he that she would decline that the easy acceptance caused a wave of nervousness to pass over him. He knew it was unwise to mix the professional and the personal, and there was no question now that they were in their respective, professional roles solving a crime. Maybe two. But there were things about her that continued to cause him to do things he knew were not wise.
She got into the passenger seat before he could open the door, and had her seatbelt buckled before he had made it around to the driver’s side of the car. He thought about how both times they had been close to making love they were interrupted by murder. She had a point about dead bodies being a turn-off to romance. He didn’t know what was wrong with him. He didn’t want to be alone, but now that she had said yes, he did want to be alone. He needed to collect his thoughts, to plan for tomorrow. He had invited her for dinner. And dinner it would be. C’est tout.
“May I call Chloé on your cellphone?”
“Bien. She’ll probably be upset that you aren’t coming back for dinner.”
“I think she’ll encourage me to go with you. This way there won’t be a chance of me slipping and telling the family that I’m going to the autopsy tomorrow.”
Was that a given? He hadn’t heard back from the medical examiner, and now he thought the good doctor would recommend therapy for a magistrate wishing to attend an autopsy. The image of Antoine’s cut and bruised face popped into his mind and he couldn’t seem to rid himself of it. “I’m waiting to hear, but the idea seems strange now.”
“It is strange.”
Chloé answered the phone and Max said she’d be at Olivier’s for dinner. Then she told Chloé about Marc joining Geneviève and Hans in the bar, and Marc’s mother leaving in a huff. She sounded aghast: “You can’t let that happen. She’ll be the one running de Saint-Pern.” She listened, then said, “Okay, I’ll see you later. Yep. Love you!” Max handed the phone back to him and asked, “What’s for dinner?”
“Fish. I think.”
She was more relaxed than he’d seen her. It was as though once she decided to solve the murder everything in her world fell into place. Whereas for him right now, he didn’t know when he’d felt so fragmented.
“Have you ever played a game with yourself by trying guess who the murderer is?” she asked. “Like when you’re reading a mystery, except it’s real?”
“No.”
“I do. I make it as far-fetched as I possibly can.”
“So who would you guess murdered Léa?”
“And don’t forget Antoine. We both know he was murdered. I would say Hans Keller. I would like to say Geneviève, but I think she’s too much of a weakling. I’d like to be able to connect the dots between those two. There could be something there.”
Olivier pulled into his parents’ driveway and stopped. “I have to make a few calls before preparing dinner.”
“Do whatever you need to do.”
He dropped the packet of photographs as they entered the house and swore. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I have a lot on my mind. The interviews are tomorrow. There are too many suspects in this investigation.”
“You’re not nervous about the autopsy, are you? I can walk you through it. That’s what my father did for me.”
“You can’t be too nervous about something you know nothing about.”
“That’s when I’m most nervous. When I know what’s going on, I’m relaxed.”
Does she know what’s going on now? Olivier thought. Because I don’t. And she’s right, it’s far more nerve-wracking to not know what’s going on.
“How about some champagne?” he asked.
“Sure. Thanks.” He opened the refrigerator door and removed the bottle of champagne, and thought about the murder weapon they had hauled out of the woods. And the names of those who had handled the bottle flitted through his mind. That report would be released tomorrow and he knew a lot of owners and growers would be less than happy about it. Marie-Christine was right. Champagne bottles were symbols for car racing and polo games and celebrations, not murder weapons.
He took down the flute glasses and almost knocked Max over in his effort. “Sorry, I…”
“The horror of it all has just hit you, hasn’t it?”
She was standing close. Her fragrance was a blend of jasmine and he couldn’t determine the rest at the moment as he felt he was under a spell. Whatever it was, it was not a run-of-the-mill perfume, and later he would ask her where on earth she had discovered the fragrance that was really, he decided, the essence of her.
She had a look of great compassion on her face, as though she understood everything he was experiencing. He reached out and touched her face, and kissed her, and suddenly he wanted all of her. He took her hand and led her up the stairs to the bedroom. He couldn’t wait to have his skin touching hers, to feel her soft lips against his. She slowly unbuttoned his shirt and he unzipped her dress, which fell off so easily, and there was no modesty as they stood there undressed.
Murder and all the horrible things that were threatening to overtake him disappeared. He reached for her and took her in his arms, and they fell onto the bed. He felt so alive as he kissed her over and over and moved up and down her body until their rhythms matched and their eyes interlocked and he felt he could see through to her core and he liked what he saw. He called her name, and her strong arms and thighs wrapped around him tightly, and for a long time he couldn’t bear the thought of pulling away from her. They grew quiet together and their breathing became normal. After a few moments, she whispered in his ear, “Your heart beating against my heart. I like it.”
They lay there for what felt like a long time. “I’ll get the champagne,” she said after a while, as she got up and padded across the floor in her bare feet, humming a tune. In a few minutes she was back, with the two glasses and the bottle of champagne on a tray. She had found one of his mother’s aprons and that was all she was wearing. “Monsieur Chaumont, I am your waitress for the night.”
He laughed as she set the tray down and poured two glasses half full, handing one to him. The crystal dinged beautifully as they touched glasses. Looking into each other’s eyes, they sipped in silence. He got up eventually and off
ered Max one of his robes, and she followed him into the kitchen while he sautéed potatoes, then put the fish in the oven to bake. The phone calls he had needed to make were all but forgotten as they chatted easily over dinner—avoiding all talk of murders and investigations.
After dinner was over it seemed only natural that she would stay the night, neither wanting the evening to end. Later, as they were drifting off to sleep, a long leg thrown over his, he asked, “How have you managed to put all the death around us out of your mind? You seemed so unaffected tonight.”
“Are you kidding? I was acting. We’ve been reacting so much to each other’s emotions and I knew that something needed to be done to break the tension. It worked out pretty well, don’t you think?”
He laughed, and turned to wrap his arms around her, noticing how well their bodies fit together.
“Bonne nuit,” she whispered before drifting off to sleep. He was surprised at how much he liked the sound of that as he drifted off himself.
Chapter Twenty-three
Olivier wasn’t in bed when Max opened her eyes. She bolted up, slipped into the black dress, and hurried from the room to find him. He wasn’t in the house, but sitting in the garden. “Oh, there you are,” he said, getting up to kiss her. “Sit. I’ll get you coffee.”
She looked out over the expanse of vineyards that rose up behind the house. Mornings here were exquisite. She could see the bees gathering nectar from the large array of flowers that surrounded her. Olivier returned and after handing her a coffee, explained that they’d need to leave in an hour and that she was welcome to shower here. He sat in a chair across from her, and smiled. “I have a call in to Philippe Douvier. Keller might not have been lying when he said that they are in business together. At the same time Douvier is my superior, and I need to tread lightly, especially now.”
Max thought now was the time to tell him about her relationship to Douvier, but when Olivier’s phone rang and he picked up, she took the opportunity to go upstairs for a shower. She knew she needed to be circumspect about her feelings for Olivier, but in the shower she let herself hum a couple of tunes.
Olivier was waiting when she entered the kitchen. “Douvier cautioned me to be absolutely certain before I go after Keller. Turns out his company brings a lot of money into France. He asked questions about Marc Durand, also, and said that he knew him and thought he had great potential.”
“Did he mention Geneviève?”
“Not once.”
“And the land deal didn’t come up?”
“It would only come up if I mentioned it. It can wait. Are you ready to go?”
Max picked up her handbag and headed for the door.
Before starting the car, Olivier leaned over and kissed her. “I think last night we transcended all the darkness.”
Max found it disconcerting to feel happy when there was so much sadness around, and yet, she thought, if things get awful I have these moments as a reminder. They drove along with the windows down. Olivier turned up the radio when Coltrane started playing, and reached for her hand.
When they arrived at the Marceau property, she hopped out of the car and ran up to her room to change. Chloé came from her room across the hall. “Do you have a minute?”
“For you, yes.”
“Marc and I had a huge fight last night. He left.”
“Keep talking while I dress.” Max pulled her jeans off the chair, then changed her mind and opted for the black skinny pants, digging them out of her suitcase. “The tension has been awful for everyone. What happened?”
“Hans Keller is now accusing Marc of taking the large sum of money that Hans brought in that he at first said was a down payment for Léa’s company, but later told Marc about the land deal. His mother is supposed to be a part of that, but she’s convinced that she’s being pushed out.”
“What did you argue about?”
“I told Marc that I think Hans is using him. That was all it took to make him furious.”
“I agree with you. Marc needs to stay far away from this money. Olivier isn’t sure that there is a cache of money, though Hans does seem genuinely anxious.”
“You’re off again?”
“I’m tagging along with Olivier, as usual.”
“My parents are planning a quiet graveside service tomorrow for Uncle Antoine. Maman has accepted the accidental drowning pronouncement, but papa hasn’t. He said that Antoine knew that river better than anybody, every hole and every danger.” She started to cry. “Marc and his mother fought again.”
Max recalled Marc leaving the bar after having words with Geneviève the night before when she was there.“About what?”
“When Marc told his mother that we might spend a year in New York, she had a fit. She screamed that he has a right to de Saint-Pern. She’s crazy.I don’t want my parents to know any of this.”
“You and Marc need to be away from all parents. But Chloé, it’s more than that, isn’t it?”
“Okay, our wedding night was awful. He was drunk, and then Léa was found murdered. He doesn’t know why they don’t let us leave for our honeymoon, and I don’t either.”
“God, I’m so sorry you’re having to deal with all of this.” Max wrapped her arms around her friend. “Olivier is waiting for me right now, but I’ll be back this afternoon. You’re each in the middle of your respective family dramas. Try to hang in there.”
“But Marc has to come back for Antoine’s funeral.”
“Don’t push him. Wait and see if he comes back on his own.”
“Alright. I’ll walk out with you.” She brightened, “You stayed the night with Olivier?”
Max nodded, surprised to feel herself blushing.
“I’m a better matchmaker for others, I think.”
***
Max and Olivier walked rapidly down a long hall in the Department of Forensic Medicine and Pathology at the Hôpital Raymond Poincaré in Garches. Olivier said, “To my surprise, Doctor Legrand seems pleased that we’re interested enough to attend the autopsy. I hope this is worth the time we’re taking.”
“Me, too.”
A young woman approached and said that Dr. Legrand was waiting for them. “He’s already begun the autopsy and asked me to take you in as soon as you arrived.”
A man Max thought to be in his fifties emerged from a room and shook hands with them both. He was short and muscular, wearing his hair pulled back in a ponytail. “This is a highly unusual request,” he said to Olivier, “so unusual that it made me curious. Tell me the story behind this poor fellow.”
They followed him into another room, where he asked Max and Olivier to put gowns over their clothes and gave them masks. Olivier filled Legrand in on the investigation.
“I got right to work after you called,” Legrand said. “Detective Maguire made some salient points about the difficulty of ruling a drowning a homicide.”
Max interpreted Olivier’s flummoxed glance to mean he was thinking again that here was another Frenchman behaving uncharacteristically around her.
“I can say with conviction that the victim entered the water alive. He had the fine, white froth in his airways, exuding from his mouth and nostrils, which is a clear indicator.” Looking at Olivier, he said, “It’s a mixture of water, air, and mucus. And when I wiped it away, and pressed on his chest, it reappeared, another sure sign. This foam can appear after poisoning by morphine, cocaine, or barbituates and from epilepsy or heart failure, but the foam is finer in the case of a drowning.”
Max had been listening so intently she was surprised to realize that they had arrived in a room that felt like being in the middle of a huge stainless steel refrigerator. The smell of human death, urine, feces, and blood was vaguely familiar. Legrand pulled the sheet back, completely exposing Antoine’s eviscerated body. Max noticed that Olivier clos
ed his eyes for a second, then put his hand on a shelf to steady himself. She knew he was willing himself to stay focused.
“I did a diatom test,” Legrand said, “which are bacillariophyceae, or a class of algae. Their presence in liver, brain, and bone marrow indicates that the victim was alive in the water because diatoms couldn’t invade these locations unless the circulation was still functioning. I consider it strong corroborative evidence of death by drowning. Also, you will notice the clenched hand. It appears that his last action was to grab at something in his frantic efforts to save himself. That action is preserved as the muscles of the hand go into what we call cadaveric spasm. There appears to be some sort of material in his clenched fist. We will, of course, analyze the material.”
Stone cold silence.
Max was sickened by the thought of Antoine grasping anything within reach, but so had Léa. Only now did she remember the rose clutched in Léa’s hand. Had she grabbed it from the killer?
She didn’t know how long the threesome had been standing there when Olivier broke the silence.“How long do you think he was in the water?”
“The wrinkling of the finger-pads indicates roughly six hours.”
“And alcohol content? Cocaine?” Olivier asked.
“I’ll let you know. I have another hour of work to do, and then will send everything to the lab. I’ll put a ‘rush’ on it. My guess is that he was incapacitated by alcohol and maybe drugs. His liver also indicates that he was a heavy drinker.”
Maybe Antoine was already at the river when his “guest” arrived, Max thought. He was expecting Mimi, but she would have known to find him there. Had he gone to look at the moon, wearing his robe, and someone had pushed him? She recalled the long-handled garden hoe protruding from the ground near the garden.
“Docteur?”
He turned and looked at her. “May I ask you to examine his chest and back carefully?”
“There were strange bruised indentations on his chest…here, you can look.” Max did so. “But I didn’t make note of injuries to his back.”
Champagne: The Farewell Page 20