“When was the last time you saw Monsieur Chavanon?”
“Why are you asking these questions? Has something happened? Something else, I mean.”
“His workshop was burglarized. I found your business card there with an appointment marked on it and wondered how that meeting went, and if you had something to contribute to our investigation based on your conversation.”
“Appointment?” Giberti set his fork down with exaggerated care. “What has Christine told you about us, about me?”
“That you dated. She also mentioned your relationship with her father.”
“She wouldn’t have said I had a relationship with Monsieur Chavanon. He was clear that he didn’t want to know me better.” Giberti toyed with his silverware. “You’re sure the appointment was with me?”
“The time was marked on your card. Why did Monsieur Chavanon object to your dating his daughter?”
A laugh escaped Giberti. “No man wants his daughter to date, not really. At least in my experience.”
Agnes wondered if it was because fathers recognized the danger Giberti represented. Men might dream of being playboys, but they wanted their daughters to marry stolid, respectable bureaucrats. Giberti looked like a lifetime of despair dressed in a fine suit.
“When did you stop seeing Christine?”
“Three months ago this weekend.”
Agnes blinked. “Are you always so precise with dates?”
“I am in a precise business, Inspector.”
“And yet you don’t remember the appointment?”
“I can’t remember something that didn’t happen.”
Agnes stood, placing a ten-franc note on the table for her water. She was a half dozen steps away when Giberti called to her.
“Inspector, how is Christine? It’s hard to lose a parent and I should have called her.”
“You still can.” Agnes turned deliberately. “They’ve dusted the workshop for fingerprints. It may take a few days, but we’ll identify them all. And I may be back in touch.”
Outside the restaurant, she could see Giberti through the glass façade. He was on his telephone and it didn’t look like a business call.
* * *
“Step farther out,” Antoine Mercier said, beckoning toward the rail. The air high above the showroom floor was warm and stale, and the view through the open weave of the metal floor made Agnes uneasy. Mercier understood the power of place.
“Do they serve coffee and chocolates up here?” she asked, aiming for a light tone and failing. She took a final hesitant step to reach the rail.
“I thought you would appreciate the view.” Mercier leaned forward, waving one arm expansively. “The big picture for the police.”
“I’m more interested in details right now.” Agnes gripped the rail. She’d never been afraid of heights, but then she’d never stood on an open walkway before. She felt the pull, the sickening sense of tipping. All she could think of was the Pont Bessières and George. She longed for solid earth.
“Why didn’t you tell me that you were at the Institute the day before Guy Chavanon died?” She fixed her gaze on Mercier, trying to forget where they were.
“If I had been present when he died, I would have told you. The day before?” Mercier shrugged. “I hadn’t seen Guy in months, not since our chance encounter in Genève.”
“Which restaurant did you see him in?”
“How should I remember? I dine out frequently.”
“You had such a clear memory of the meeting.”
“Why does the restaurant name matter?”
“It is an open question, and I don’t like those. Guy Chavanon didn’t go to Genève often. It is unlikely he was there without a purpose. I haven’t found out why, and if I knew which restaurant, they might locate his reservation—if there was one—and we might learn who he dined with. Unless you remember.”
“Perhaps he was alone?”
“His family say that he didn’t like to eat in restaurants by himself and that he wouldn’t have.”
“Well, I don’t remember. I’m sorry, Inspector, unlike Guy, I eat out both by myself and in company frequently. It is impossible to remember each instance. I only remember seeing Guy because it was so unusual, and as you know, I felt that he was particularly buoyant. That’s what I remember.”
“And that it was several months ago.”
“Yes, well, that, too.” Mercier kept his eyes fixed on the ground far beneath them.
Agnes followed his gaze, concentrating. Most of the people were a blur of anonymous black, tan, and dark blue clothing. Studying the patterns, she thought about the Roach. She imagined this was the kind of view he would have appreciated. He could stand here, high in the air, secure in the knowledge that while the tiny figures went about their business—buying, selling, entertaining, amusing—he was silently draining their bank accounts.
She turned to Mercier. “You’re not only the face, you are the eyes and ears of the Swiss watch industry.”
“You flatter me.”
“No, that’s the assessment of my colleagues in Financial Crimes.”
“You are now investigating me?” Mercier said sharply. “I have made it a personal mission to eliminate the sale and import of fakes to this country, and your colleagues have been my allies. The damage done to our national brand by counterfeit goods is inestimable—”
During their brief phone conversation Agnes had been warned by Aubry: once Mercier started on this topic, he wouldn’t stop until his audience died from boredom.
“Beyond that,” she interrupted. “You hear things, you know what is coming in the next years. People confide in you.”
“You are mistaken. You’ve not listened to me. Secrecy underpins what is done here. Each company keeps their own counsel. I manage trends and assist with legislation. I am a liaison. I am a voice.”
“I think you are more than that. Every industry needs their consigliere. Someone who keeps the secrets and advises.”
“Now, you are flattering me, Inspector.” Mercier appeared to relax. “I can assure you that I don’t play that role. The federation is composed of many companies, each operating independently, much like our cantons and the federal government. We work together for mutual benefit and protection.”
“Let’s not exaggerate. Many of the companies operate under larger parent names. How much of the industry does Swatch control?”
“That’s different. They may share internally, they certainly manage their brands in a tandem of development.” Mercier stopped short. “What is this interest in me, and in who confides in me?”
“I think Guy Chavanon recently—in the past months or weeks—shared or let slip an idea that he was working on. You are right about secrecy, and by all accounts he was a cautious man. That’s why I don’t think he would have talked to just anyone. He might have trusted you. Needed your advice.” Agnes glanced down and felt that heady sense of tipping again. She drew a short breath. “Perrault et Chavanon is smaller now than in Chavanon’s youth. After his daughter left he wouldn’t have had a natural confidant within the company.”
“His wife is—”
“Not a confidant who loves the industry and who could advise him on a special idea, particularly one that is innovative or revolutionary.”
“This has gone into the realm of the absurd. I’ve told you that I haven’t spoken with Guy in months, and on that occasion it was in a public restaurant for the duration of an aperitif. Hardly the time or place for the serious—clandestine—conversation you are suggesting.”
“Yet you don’t remember where you saw him or exactly when?”
“We have reached a stalemate, Inspector, where my memory is concerned.”
“But not where your knowledge is concerned. You warned me about Copernicus because he was a revolutionary. Are you afraid of leaps forward in the watch industry? That is what you meant, isn’t it?”
“Slow and steady is my mantra. That’s what brought us back from near devastation.”
/> “I understand that and applaud your work, but would you prevent a revolutionary idea? Shut it down?”
“You’re putting words in my mouth.”
“So if Guy Chavanon had a revolutionary idea—”
“Enough. Inspector Lüthi, I have known Guy for decades, an entire lifetime really, and do not like saying these things so soon after his death. He was a dreamer. An excitable dreamer. He was innovative, yes, with the innovations that we all develop to keep the industry alive and competitive. He had skills and a brain and a depth and breadth of knowledge and made good watches. That is all.”
“Sounds to me like it is possible he used all of those attributes to create something entirely new.” Agnes remembered something Christine had said. “I don’t expect a significant invention to pop out every year, but there can be one at the end of a lifetime of trying.”
“You have insinuated that he confided in me, and now you criticize me because I do not believe in him. I was a friend of Guy’s and resent being cornered into speaking ill of him, but he was not likely to develop anything of the magnitude of which you speak. He didn’t have the staying power. He never did.” Mercier glanced at his watch. “Now, if you will forgive me, I have other appointments. This is a busy week.”
They shook hands at the bottom of the stair, and Mercier walked away, leaving Agnes to wonder why he had lied. His assistant had been clear that Mercier’s calendar was open for another hour. And she wondered why he had been so interested in the movements of Gianfranco Giberti, whose bright blue jacket made him visible from the walkway.
Twenty-one
Narendra Patel wore a simple dark linen Nehru jacket, a sharp contrast to the brilliant fabric of the several dozen people circulating in his booth. The crowd lent the space a partylike atmosphere.
“Inspector!” Patel greeted Agnes warmly, shaking her hand as if greeting an old friend.
“A celebration?”
“Not at all, simply an invitation to gather for our many clients and good customers. It is an auspicious day when my uncle honors us with his presence to show his believing in this branch of the house.”
Agnes looked around with interest. She’d not before been inside a booth in the Stones & Pearls pavilion. Plexiglas boxes were filled with loose stones. Each box was large enough to hold a pair of men’s shoes and was tilted forward to display the gems by type and size: diamonds, emeralds, rubies, sapphires, and other stones she couldn’t name. Along the walls, cabinets were filled with jewelry: antique and modern necklaces, bracelets, and earrings interspersed with tribal objet d’art. All of the pieces were set with precious stones. Many looked too heavy to wear. Some of the loose stones were as large as a bird’s egg.
A flick of Patel’s hand stirred a young assistant into action. He pulled jewels from the cases and laid them in front of Agnes. She admired the heavy earrings and thick bracelets and listened to a brief lecture on tribal boxes, daggers, and belts before thanking the young man and assuring him that he had done everything possible to entice her, but she wasn’t prepared to make a purchase. Clearly dismayed, he had closed the cabinets when a handsome elderly man wearing a heavy silk Nehru jacket and kurta-pajama approached Narendra with a question.
“Yes, Uncle,” Narendra responded deferentially. He introduced Agnes, then stepped away, leaving her with the billionaire head of one of India’s most diverse and influential companies. Despite being small, the elder Patel had the gift of making everyone he spoke with feel that he or she was the only reason Patel was in the room.
“My nephew,” Guru said, gesturing toward Narendra, “has proven himself this week.”
Agnes glanced around the bustling booth. “Appears so. It’s quite the gathering.”
“Narendra is coming into his own with this company. He did very well for me in pharma, but I see him flourish here. Even the tiny setbacks he moves forward with. This is very important, as no business is a steady ride. It is the fortitude to navigate the disappointments that have made the Patel Group what it is today.”
“Hopefully no big disappointment this week.” Agnes caught herself. “I meant business-wise. I was very sorry to learn of the death of Monsieur Patel’s friend.”
Guru made a tiny gesture with his hand. “I had only memory of Monsieur Chavanon from time he was at university and visited my family. His death was a great blow for Narendra. Very great. He has dealt with it admirably, keeping his focus with us.”
“This is my first time at Baselworld. Do you always attend?”
“I am very old now and rarely travel. The younger members of my family handle the various international duties. Narendra asked me to come this year, and for him, I agreed. He is the son of my most favored younger brother.”
“Are you planning to grow the watch and jewelry division of the Patel Group?”
“My nephew is the new generation. He will set the path.”
“Did he and Guy Chavanon ever consider going into business together?”
Guru Patel flipped his fingers into the air in a gesture of dismissal. “They were old school friends, but I do not think that Chavanon could have been a business partner for our group.”
“Why not?”
Out of the corner of her eye Agnes saw Antoine Mercier enter the hall. He worked his way past several booths until he reached the Patel Group. He stopped to greet a customer, and Narendra cut through the crowd to speak with him. Agnes watched the exchange of flattery, wondering if Mercier was looking for her.
“We operate at a scale very different from that of Guy Chavanon’s company,” Guru Patel said. “We are not artisans who run willy-nilly after ideas and then change our minds when the sun sets. We are an industry. It is a special blend of talent and creativity that results in entrepreneurship. That is what Narendra will need in a partner for expansion.”
Mercier moved on to the next booth, and Narendra cut through the crowd to rejoin them. He looked flush with the success of the gathering. Guru Patel made his excuses and left to speak with others.
“You are certain you would not care for a small pair of earrings?” Narendra said to Agnes when they were alone. “I can show you something for everyday.” He opened a case and removed a flat velvet tray of emerald earrings.
“Unfortunately, I’m not here for any stones, or watches for that matter.”
“They are very flattering to the skin,” he said, and selected a pair that Agnes could imagine wearing if she were here to shop, and if she were prepared to splurge.
“I have other interests today.”
Patel stopped fiddling with the jewelry. “You are speaking of Guy’s death? Of the obsession of Christine? It was a shock of the most troubling kind. But not a true shocking. Guy knew the dangers of his condition.” Patel searched his pockets for a handkerchief to dab his eyes. “I cannot think of it even now. You saw me with Marie at the school. I tried to stay strong in front of her, but it is not possible to suppress the loss of a lifelong friend. Only a moment ago, when Monsieur Mercier mentioned Guy, I had difficulty controlling my emotions.”
“You administered the shot that day.”
Patel dropped his handkerchief and stooped to pick it up. “I hope that the police are not placing any blame on me. Yes, I administered the shot, against all my hatred of needles, and it is my thinking that it should have worked.”
“It seems that Monsieur Chavanon needed more than the usual dosage. The”—she nearly said coroner—“doctor on the case isn’t sure anything would have saved him due to the speed and severity of the reaction.” Narendra absorbed her every word. “I’m interested in what happened before Monsieur Chavanon took ill.”
Patel motioned to his young assistant and spoke to him in rapid Hindi. The man pressed his palms together and bowed slightly. “My cousin can take over for a few minutes.” Patel led Agnes out of the crowded showroom.
They walked down the center of the pavilion, picking their way through the crowd of customers until they reached the Hall of Elements café w
here Agnes had first met Christine. They sat at the bar and ordered espressos. Agnes decided that the food vendors also did quite well during the show.
“Was that your first visit to the Institute?” Agnes asked.
Patel relaxed slightly. “Yes, and if the circumstances had been different, I would have been very pleased to see the property. Such a fine facility. Leo is very fortunate boy.”
“You come to Switzerland often?”
“Recently, yes. Before, I have been working for my uncle first in manufacturing of electrical components.”
“Gemstones are a far cry from electronics.”
“My uncle has interests in all business. He sees connections and opportunities everywhere. That is how my uncle teaches us to see life.”
Agnes stirred sugar into her espresso, thinking she might not actually drink it. “You must be very proud to work for him.”
“My uncle is an innovator, a business genius. It is with his industry that we advance. He carries not only our family, but the future of development in India. We owe him everything.”
“Have you always known you would work for him?”
“It was not mandated. Uncle is very generous in that way, but I have worked for him since I was a boy. It was he who sent me to school at the EPFL.”
“You shared that with Guy, the importance of a family business.”
“It is more than business. We take this very seriously where I come from. It is everything. My uncle is not only my boss. He is someone I would sacrifice my life for.”
“That’s a bit more than we’d say here.”
Patel leaned forward, his face intent. “Friendship is very important—what Guy and I shared—but family is everything in India.”
“Did you and Monsieur Chavanon ever consider doing business together?”
Patel didn’t answer for a moment. “Is this what Marie said to you?”
“No, but I’ve been told that the watch industry is poised to explode into China and your country. A partnership between you and Monsieur Chavanon seems logical given your history and friendship and your expansion into gemstones and the connection to watches.”
A Well-Timed Murder Page 15