“The night is young,” Walt replied. He maneuvered the car around a city bus. “I assume you’ll want to stop by the hospital so we’ll head there first.”
They both seemed lost in their own thoughts when Olivier said, “I have a ring for Max.”
“Here a ring says a lot, if you know what I mean.”
“She doesn’t wear rings, I notice,” Olivier said.
“She’ll wear yours.” He glanced over at Olivier, “Max reminds me of my wife who was a detective for twenty years. She didn’t make it.”
“I’m sorry.”
Walt sighed. “What can you do?”
Olivier didn’t know.
Chapter Thirty-five
April 9
When Max was released from the hospital two hours after her arrival, she insisted on going back to her apartment. Olivier had stopped by the emergency room and offered to take care of her if they released her. He sat reading a book with Woof at his feet, sipping a glass of scotch, when she and her parents arrived at the apartment. He stood and walked over to Max. “You’re okay?” he asked, kissing her on each cheek, and leading her to the sofa. “Do you want a glass of something?”
Woof jumped up and barked excitedly until Max calmed him down. “She’s on pain pills,” Juliette said.
“I didn’t swallow them,” Max said, leaning down to pet her dog, who was jumping around in excitement. “I’ll have a sip of scotch.” She and Olivier exchanged un-selfconscious smiles. Juliette bustled around, and Hank, looking uneasy, accepted the glass of scotch Olivier offered him. Juliette declined. “Don’t forget your promise to me,” she said to Max.
Hank announced that he would stay out of the search for Paula Goodwin. “I don’t need to kill somebody on the eve of my retirement.”
“I will,” Olivier said. It was hard for Max not to laugh at the out-of-character remark.
Juliette said, “They killed my best friend, and were trying to kill my daughter. I wish I knew this Jiu-Jitsu.”
Hank grinned. “You French are sounding awfully violent.” Growing more serious, he said, “I figured Max was going to run into one of the hard-hitters in this group. I just didn’t figure it would be today. Who would have thought a woman like Paula, at the top of her game, would be involved?”
That’s what people will say about Vincent Barthes, Olivier thought. He knew the general belief in France was that the elite were incapable of committing crimes. He wanted to remind them to look back at the history of the kings and queens of France to see real crime at work.
“All I could think in that box was that my partner of half a day was dead. And I hadn’t been friendly.”
“He thinks he’s failed, and should be fired for losing you. I’m afraid from now on he’ll be your shadow.”
“We’ll work it out.”
“What about the collection that started all this mess?” Hank asked. “How do you know Bill Casey isn’t part of this ring of counterfeiters?”
Max said, “It sounds weird but he wouldn’t stoop to that, and besides, he doesn’t have to. He’s not an avaricious guy. His problem is that he has a soft spot for Paula, and thinks we’ve made her into a scapegoat. He takes care of the underdog.”
“He was good to Ellen, too,” Juliette said.
Hank said, “A lot of this is about his ego. All the bottles taken care of?”
Max spoke up. “Ellen and Bill and friends killed one magnum. The one stolen from the hotel safe in Bordeaux is still unaccounted for. Olivier has the one that Paula switched on Bill, which is surely counterfeit. And Bill has one left.”
“She was willing to pay $30,000 to fool him?”
Max nodded. “And she offered Olivier $25,000 to buy back the fake bottle that she knew he had taken.”
“She covers all the bases. So all you’re missing is Paula Goodwin,” Hank said.
“Australian officials are on high alert,” Olivier said.
Walt buzzed from downstairs and Olivier grabbed his jacket. “Now you see why I love my job,” Max said.
“I may change careers,” Olivier said, and was off.
After the door closed, Hank said, “He doesn’t have the chutzpah to be in this line of work.”
“You’re saying that after he went undercover and caught Paula switching bottles, then stole the bottle and noticed the key chain, plus…”
“You’re stuck on the guy, huh?”
“Yep.”
“Your ma and I were married within a month after meeting each other. This thing with Olivier has been dragging on almost a year.”
“Olivier doesn’t rush anything, and that’s fine with me.” Max sipped her scotch. “Let’s go back to Paula Goodwin. I was fooled by the suit and friendliness.”
“She’s a sociopath,” Hank said. “Brutally cold inside, but on the surface they can make themselves charming to get what they want. What a crime is to us is expediency to them. Ellen had to die because she was about to expose Paula. People like her who have social status are acquitted more than any others because of their charm and smarts. It drives me crazy.” He drained his glass of scotch.
Juliette began arranging books on the shelf. Max recalled her promise to herself to have the “talk” with her parents. Her mother made it easy when she said, “I don’t want to leave you here alone.”
“Olivier could be out all night,” Hank said.
Max watched her mother for a moment, then took a deep breath, knowing that she was keeping herself busy in order not to face the trauma of her daughter being injured.
“Maman,” she said.
“Oui, chérie?”
“I’ve had some time to think. While I have you both here, I have a couple of questions. If I don’t ask now, I never will.”
Hank leaned against the doorjamb. “Fire away,” he said.
“Did you two have to get married?” They looked at each other, and back at Max.
“We would have married anyhow,” Juliette said softly.
Hank said, “I disagree. She would have gone back to France and lived happily ever after in some castle…”
“Not true, Hank,” Juliette said. “I was in love. I still am.” He stared at his feet.
“Dad,” she said, “I was stuck in that coffin long enough to think about us. How much you mean to me, and how grateful I am to you.”
“You’re going to get sappy on me?”
“I am. And Maman…the day Frédéric was hit by the car…” Juliette’s eyes instantly welled with tears, and Max knew why she had avoided for years bringing the topic up. “Do you think the accident wouldn’t have happened if I’d been with him?”
“Max,” Hank said, a hint of warning in his voice, “it happened a long time ago. This is hard on your mother…”
“Think how hard it’s been on me!” Max said. “It was my fault!”
Juliette sat still for a few moments before she spoke. “For a long time, chérie, I wanted to believe there was some reason for the accident, that we could have prevented it, that I should have gone for him, that you should have been with him and not doing what all eighteen-year-olds do, which is to be with their friends…I even believed at one time that our son had to pay with his life for the people his father had killed in the line of duty.”
“Juliette.” Hank looked shocked.
“But it was none of those things,” Juliette said. “It was fate. Or destiny. Or whatever you want to call it. We don’t have to know everything.” Her voice trembled, “I know I can’t go through losing another child, though.”
Max moved into her mother’s arms, crying. When they looked up, Hank had disappeared. “He worries about you, too, Max. I think he wishes he hadn’t pushed you to follow in his footsteps.”
“But I did and I’m glad. I love my job. Maybe eventually I’ll be following in yours and spending more time i
n France. Mamie has invited me to Burgundy in the summer.”
“Vraiment? You would see where I grew up. Is my mother the only one luring you back to Burgundy?” Her eyes twinkled.
“It seems that Olivier has family there, too.”
“Hank will be retired. Maman wants me to come.”
“She told me. I hope you’ll go.”
“Really? Hank has been telling me that you are ready to be on your own, that we need to release you. I don’t understand this. The French never do all this releasing. We don’t have the term ‘empty nest.’ For the rest of their lives the children come for dinner on Sunday and bring their children.”
“Good thing we’re French then, huh?” Max said.
Juliette walked into the kitchen to prepare a few “neebles,” but paused to add, “I’ll make a deal. When you stop leaping into dangerous situations, we will stop being helicopter parents.”
“How can I stop when I don’t know they’re dangerous?” She hesitated, “I wonder what Frédéric would be doing were he alive?”
“I thought he would go into music.”
“Really?”
“All this talk about him becoming a detective. He wasn’t interested at all. He was quite gifted with the guitar.”
“I wish he were still with us.”
“He is,” Juliette said simply. Max closed her eyes, feeling that some great load had been lifted.
Chapter Thirty-six
April 9
Olivier watched, fascinated, as Walt set up a command post at the 20th Precinct station on West 82nd Street. All airports under Port Authority supervision were covered, and train and bus stations had been put on watch, too. It was the vastness of their operation that floored Olivier. The Port Authority police had been called in and Interpol was on alert. Carlos had come in to report on their search for Paula, and said that her eight-room Fifth Avenue apartment was under tight security. Hank had sent a detective to Yale University to make sure her son wouldn’t disappear. Her younger son in boarding school was also being watched.
Paula would have a hard time leaving the country, Walt said, though he was concerned that she had too much of a head start. Olivier learned that Wexler’s offices and warehouses were flooded with police combing through everything looking for counterfeiting equipment. They had found labels to be affixed to old bottles, and the boxes of bottles sent from the restaurant,Vin, which Wexler was filling with lesser wines and selling for a fortune. Olivier predicted that much of the lesser wine was sent from Barthes’ business, along with hundreds of old bottles. It was a perfect set-up. As far as Olivier could tell, nothing was left undone in the pursuit of Goodwin. Walt checked in twice with Hank, and was told that Max was resting.
“What’s going on in France?” Walt asked Olivier.
“Vincent Barthes is under surveillance,” he said. “I want to interrogate Wexler about anyone in France who is involved.”
Walt said, “He’s all yours after we’re done. Your buddy Douvier called an hour ago. I don’t think the guy ever sleeps. He needs to talk to you.”
“Okay to use your phone?” Olivier wondered why Douvier hadn’t called him directly.
Walt handed over his cell phone.
Douvier picked up immediately. “Captain O’Shaughnessy?”
“C’est Chaumont,” Olivier corrected.
“Ah. Bon. How is New York? I was there last year and had a remarkable time of it.”
This is a social call? Olivier wondered. “We’re making progress. I’m leaving late tomorrow night, and can fly into Paris if you want to confer the following afternoon.”
“Abdel is keeping me informed.”
“Yes, I know.”
“He’s an upstanding young officer, proof that these guys can make something of themselves.” Olivier knew that “these guys” meant Arabs. How, Olivier wondered, can our social problems be altered when our leaders talk this way? Douvier, it was easy to see, was making a smart political move by using Abdel. By placing his sudden support of immigration in the forefront, Douvier might stand a chance of being appointed minister again, or at the very least, leave on an impressive note.
“By the way,” Douvier said, “I’ve talked to the procureur and we want to remove the twenty-four-hour guard from Vincent’s. We could arrest him, you know.”
“Philippe, if this woman makes it to France I have a feeling she’ll go right to Vincent.” He explained in as simple terms as possible about the night before.
“You have no idea which direction she went in?”
“We’ve lost her.”
“Like you lost the magnum of wine. What next? We’ve already had two arrests, Olivier, with a lot of publicity, and both suspects have been released.” Now that he had gotten his point across, he said, “I’ll keep a policeman on until you get back, but then…Olivier, êtes-vous là?”
Hearing activity in the other room, Olivier touched END and handed the phone back to Walt. How could he possibly explain in a few sentences the scene at the precinct, Max’s experience with the counterfeiters, the arrest of Larry Wexler, and the disappearance of Paula Goodwin? He had to call Abdel as soon as it was daylight in France, and try to put a stop to Douvier’s interference in the New York investigation. For now, though, he was upstairs in the 20th Precinct station with Walt beckoning to him. He wore no jacket, offering a full display of his gun.
Walt had removed his jacket, offering a full display of his gun. Hank came in and paced around the room while Carlos sat in front of one of the large, gray desks that seemed to fill the room, typing notes into a computer.
Olivier had been surprised to see a cell in the officers’ room when he entered, and was told it was a temporary holding cell. Wexler sat inside the cell, his head in his hands.
Walt spoke to the group, “Here’s what went down after those two shits left Max in the container.” After explaining what happened in New Jersey, he added, “I’m sure that Goodwin thought when Max’s body was hauled off the container in France in eight to ten days that no one could ever prove she was involved. Carlos, let’s unlock the cell door and invite our guest to join the conversation.”
“It’s not locked,” Carlos said.
Larry Wexler walked out, a defiant look on his face. “Look,” he said before anyone had addressed him, “I want my lawyer here.”
“I’m Captain Walt O’Shaughnessy,” Walt said. “We’re booking you now, that’s all. You were read the Miranda Act.” He turned to a young detective, “Turn on the recorder.”
“Your cop last night tortured me.”
“Is that a formal complaint? If so, we’ll deal with it later.”
“What am I being arrested for?”
“You mean you don’t know which crime? How about counterfeiting? Illegal importation of wine? Assault? Murder?”
Olivier could see that Wexler was panicked. “What murder?”
“What about the attempted murder of NYPD detective, Max Maguire, to start?”
Wexler’s voice was firm. “It was self-defense.”
Walt leaned over him, not taking his eyes off him. “You knocked out Detective Max Maguire and left her to die in a sea-tainer. We have the facts from your victim.” Sweat dripped off Wexler’s face. Olivier knew from meeting him in Bordeaux that his hands were clammy. “Which reminds me,” Walt said. “Where’s Paula?”
“I don’t know,” Wexler said. “Australia, maybe.”
“What happened?”
The room was silent except for a fax machine starting up.
“We have enough proof already to lock you up for a long time,” Walt said. “Detective Maguire has told us everything. It’ll go a lot easier for you if you tell us where she went.”
“Okay, I’ll cooperate.”
“Do you need water?” When he nodded, Carlos went to the water cooler and filled a cup with w
ater and handed it to Wexler. “My question is simple,” Walt said. “Did you kill Ellen Jordan?”
“No.”
“Who did, then?”
He paused. “Vincent Barthes.”
“How?
Wexler said, “He has a lab and knows how to make poison. He put it into a blue cheese, and took it to her…”
Vincent’s alibi isn’t foolproof, Olivier thought. He had taken the room at the hotel to talk business with clients, which meant he had access to the upstairs at the hotel.
“That’s interesting,” said Olivier. “I thought it might have been Vincent, but it was your key chain that was found on Madame’s floor. It has your DNA on it.”
Wexler’s face grew alarmed, and he thought a couple of seconds before he said, “Vincent had a set, too. Paula had them made for us at Cartier.”
“But only one set has your fingerprints.”
Wexler’s jaw tightened, and he took out a handkerchief and wiped his brow. Olivier was sure now. Wexler had paid Ellen Jordan a visit, after Paula called and asked Ellen to meet with him. He brought in the cheese and the sauterne.
Walt said, “We know Ellen Jordan was aware that Paula Goodwin sold the ’45 Mouton-Rothschild wine to Bill Casey. Jordan suspected her of counterfeiting and had decided to have a talk with her before going to the police. We know from her phone records that she was to meet with Paula Goodwin at the en primeur, but Paula canceled. You went instead.”
“I didn’t know Ellen Jordan.”
“But Paula knew her quite well. You were her emissary.”
“Ellen Jordan was also acquainted with Vincent Barthes.”
“She knew his father. She wouldn’t have opened her door to Vincent. “What did you do after you left Madame Jordan’s room?”
“I didn’t say I was there.”
“I said it.” Walt asked for a cup of coffee for the prisoner and the officer brought it to him. “You know Paula Goodwin’s going to throw you to the dogs. While you’re rotting in prison, she will be out in the world, making tons of money, living the good life.”
Wexler’s head dipped, and his body slumped. He explained how he and Paula Goodwin had started sleeping together two years ago. “We figured we could make a fortune selling counterfeit wine to investors who didn’t know what they were talking about. When we attended a wine event in Bordeaux six months later and met Vincent Barthes—who, by the way, Paula also had a fling with— Paula told Vincent about a scheme for earning millions through the use of his facilities. He signed on finally because his business was failing.”
Bordeaux: The Bitter Finish Page 27