Chapter Forty
April 11
Olivier said good-night to the officer who brought him home. He was ready to sit down and have a scotch. He made his way to the porch and saw through the glass in the back door Max coming to greet him. Noticing the stricken look on her face as he entered, he was about to ask what was wrong when Paula Goodwin stepped out from behind the door, pointing a gun at Max. “Welcome home, Judge,” she said to Olivier.
He assessed the situation in a flash. His hunch about Yannick had been correct. It was apparent that the foreman had been drinking, which made him unpredictable. Corinne was acting as translator, and was in way over her head. Paula needed him, but she didn’t need Max, which was dangerous. Zohra was nowhere in sight.
“Where is my femme de ménage?” Olivier asked, looking from Paula to Yannick.
“She’s resting,” Paula said. A quick glance at Max told him that the truth was grim.
“What do you want, Madame Goodwin?” he asked.
“I need to get to Spain, where I have someone meeting me. You will accompany Yannick and his wife and me in his truck in case we run into problems.”
“Is your passport in order?”
“I’m traveling as your girlfriend. Up until now I’ve been Jennifer Casey, but after we enter Spain I will take Corinne Boudreau’s ID with me. We’ll leave her at the border.”
It all became instantly clear. Bill Casey had helped her to escape by flying her to Bordeaux and giving her his wife’s passport. Casey’s arrogance, the need to be right, had put his and Max’s life in danger. He looked at Paula, “I won’t be much good to you once we’re in Spain.”
“You’ll be a hostage, then. It’s time to get moving.”
“What about Max?”
“We’re leaving her behind.” She motioned to Yannick, who moved toward Max.
Olivier began speaking in rapid-fire French to Yannick, saying that if he killed the detective he would spend his life in jail. “So far you haven’t killed anybody,” he said. “I know that.” Paula screamed at him to shut up, but Olivier continued, “Help us and you’ll get off easy…”
The report of the Glock was earsplitting, and only a second later did he realize that the bullet had grazed his arm. Corinne yelped, and Paula turned the gun on her. “Go get antibiotic ointment,” Paula said. “It’s nothing.” She pointed the gun at Olivier again. “Consider that a warning. The next time your brains will be on the floor. Sit down.”
His arm felt like someone had touched his skin with a hot poker, though he could see the wound was minor. He shifted position and was made aware of the tiny box in his pocket containing the ring for Max. He had always pooh-poohed the power of talismans, and teased Max about carrying her brother’s knife on her for good luck, yet he felt strangely comforted by the ring. He wished he could convey some of this to Max. He felt her attention on him and raised his eyes to meet hers. In a flash he knew that she had understood his thoughts. Corinne returned with the ointment and fabric, which she began to wrap around his arm.
“We’ll all go out together,” Paula said.
Olivier was surprised at how easily the decision came to him. He would rush Paula the minute they were on the porch, and if he died, so be it. If something happened to Paula or him, Yannick would not kill Max. The foreman pushed Max out the door, and onto the porch and down the steps. Corinne followed, then Olivier, and Paula brought up the rear, gun in hand. Olivier took a deep breath, and was just about to whirl to confront Paula, when he heard a gun report. Paula swore. Before she could issue a command, Corinne rushed into the yard, calling her husband’s name. A bloodcurdling scream pierced the air, and Paula shot into the dark.
Max had disappeared. Paula yelled out, “Max, you have two seconds to appear or I will shoot the judge!” She dug the gun into his back, and Olivier uttered a prayer he had learned as a child. He heard Paula make a gagging sound then a thud as she dropped her gun. He jumped back. Abdel had come from behind and jabbed his left hand across her throat, cutting off her oxygen. Dropping his left hand into the crook of his right elbow, he squeezed her neck in his forearms, until Paula went limp, and fell to the ground. Two beats of shock followed, as Abdel panted hard, and Olivier stared at the lifeless form. Max ran up to the porch, and leaned down to check Paula’s pulse. She looked up at Olivier and Abdel. “Her windpipe’s busted,” Max said.
Olivier and Abdel exchanged glances. “She’s dead?” Abdel whispered.
“You can see how easy it is to use too much force with Jiu-Jitsu,” Max said. “Zohra’s in the shed, Abdel. We’ll deal with this.”
“But…”
“Go!” Olivier ordered.
Abdel ran off, and Olivier called for ambulances. He and Max walked briskly to where Corinne sobbed over her husband. “He won’t wake up,” she said.
Olivier knelt down to examine him, and saw that the bullet had gone through his heart. “I’m sorry,” he said. His words were genuine. He was deeply sorry that Ellen, Vincent, Yannick, and the police officer were dead. He didn’t feel the same regret about Paula. It had been a trade-off: Abdel eliminated Paula and Yannick in order to save Max, Olivier, and his grandmother. Olivier knew that Max and Abdel had worried that he might sink into depression again, but as horrible as the losses were, he had never felt stronger.
Abdel carried Zohra inside and gently lowered her to the sofa. Zohra’s eyes fluttered open. Olivier sat next to her, holding her hand. Max sat quietly in a chair. “What happened when you and Yannick went outside?” Olivier asked Max.
“Yannick and I had just walked down the two steps to the lawn,” she said, “when Abdel stepped into the light and pushed me hard. Yannick turned his gun on him and Abdel shot him at close range. He had to. He told me to hide behind a car, and he took off around the house and entered the front door in order to come up behind Paula. Brilliant maneuver.
“Monsieur, I shot someone at close range and killed a woman with my bare hands,” Abdel said. “I’ve never harmed anyone.” Olivier saw that he was shaking, and knew the flashbacks that would occur before he could accept how necessary the violence was. All Olivier could do now was to reassure him. “You saved three lives, there is no question about that.”
Blaring sirens filled the air. In moments Zohra was on her way to the hospital. Olivier and Max walked outside, where ambulance attendants were trying to revive Yannick, to no avail. Olivier turned to Max, “Help Abdel. I need to do something.”
He went to Corinne who stood alone near the porch, watching. Olivier said in an apologetic voice that he needed to get some details from her.
“I told Yannick to stay away from that woman from the start,” she said. “I want it clear right now that he didn’t kill anybody.”
“I hope you’re right, but we have no proof. I know some justices who would be happy for the story to end with him as a serial murderer. He was carrying the .22 that killed the police officer.” He invited her into the house, and she agreed. Once inside, he went to the refrigerator and removed a beer and handed it to her and she thanked him. He poured a shot of scotch into a glass and sat with her.
“Yannick told me that Madame Goodwin killed Monsieur Barthes and the police officer,” Corinne said. “He swore on his mother’s photograph.”
“The only way we’ll ever know is if we can put our hands on the most recent videos that have gone missing from Monsieur Barthes’ house. The ones in the bedroom and the salle de bain. Did he mention the videos?”
“Madame Goodwin gave him a thousand euros to destroy them.”
“And?” Olivier waited, barely breathing, for she held the key to the entire investigation.
Her eyes narrowed. “What if I told you he burned them?”
“I wouldn’t believe you.”
She sniffled, and sipped her beer. “Why not?”
“Because you want to see them in order to pro
ve to yourself that Yannick didn’t commit murder. You’re not sure, are you?” She began to cry.
“What if I say I believe you?” Olivier said. “I’m so sure that he’s innocent that I’ll offer you another thousand for them.” Her head jerked up, and he knew that the offer had made her much less ambivalent.
“What about me?”
“Explain.”
“What will happen to me?”
“If you tell me where the videos are, I’ll keep you out of it. As it is now, you are an accomplice to a kidnapping, which will put you in jail.”
She sat slumped in the chair. “I gave them to the pub owner where Yannick and I hang out. I told him to hold onto them until I got back and paid him a hundred euros.”
“The money will be in your hands by tomorrow, and you will know the truth. One of my officers will drive you home.”
“Merci, Monsieur.”
“Oh, one more question. The wine tasting book. Who paid Yannick to steal it?”
“Monsieur Laussac paid him to steal it, but then Yannick offered it to Pascal Boulin for a sum.”
“How much?”
“Five-hundred euros.”
“And?”
“Pascal said no. It should be in Monsieur Laussac’s library.” Olivier couldn’t believe how the knowledge that Pascal had said no boosted his faith in humankind. “I trust that the offer you made a few days ago is still good,” she said.
“It is, but you will be much happier, Madame, if you accept a simple life.”
An officer entered and he asked him to drive Corinne home. He followed them out and saw Max sitting alone in a lawn chair. He joined her, taking her hand as he sat. “What was going on in there?” she asked.
“I have work to do in town.”
“Do you want me to come?”
“No. It’s something I need to do alone. I have all night. There is dinner if you’re hungry.”
“I think I’ll call my parents.”
“You’re okay, Max?”
“I am.”
“Do me a favor.”
“Sure.”
“Tell your father that I understand what he was telling me about patience.”
“You’re going to let me in on this conversation?”
“I will once the case is officially closed.”
She looked concerned. “Are you okay, Olivier? I know how in Champagne…”
“I’ve never been better.” He squeezed her hand.
Chapter Forty-one
April 12
Philippe Douvier joined Max, Abdel, and Olivier in Olivier’s office. He refused a chair, but stood before them, close to the door, as though he was due somewhere else. They were to meet with other justices in fifteen minutes for a preliminary review. Max diverted her attention from her uncle to Olivier. He hadn’t returned until five a.m, and now sat at his desk, looking serene. She wondered if he had gone back to the bistro that stayed open until four, sipping scotch. Nothing had been mentioned about the case over their morning coffee.
“There are more questions than there are answers in this case,” Douvier said. He glanced at his watch. “You won’t be surprised to know that I’ve opened a separate investigation into the brutal death of Paula Goodwin and close-range shooting of Yannick Martin. There’s no proof of her being a murderer from the reports that I have, nor do I see any wrongdoing in her being flown to France by a friend. As for insisting that Monsieur Casey…”
A light knock on the door interrupted him. He opened the door and when Bill Casey entered, Douvier shook his hand, introducing himself. “Monsieur Casey, I apologize for making you come from Paris,” he said, obsequious as ever.
Max, shocked, looked at Olivier, who raised an eyebrow in response. “Thank you for coming,” Olivier said, politely. “It was I who insisted that you be here for the wrap-up of this case.”
“I’ve only learned this morning of the carnage that went down last night,” Bill said. “My god, killing a woman.”
“Not just any woman,” Olivier said. “Which will be made clear shortly. She entered France on your jet, using your wife’s passport, when there was an all-out alert for her.”
Bill looked confused. “There was nothing on the news about the alert,” he said. It’s true, Max thought, that he had no way of knowing that a mad chase was on for Paula, as the NYPD had kept that information secret in order to lure her in. “I had a meeting in Paris and Paula knew about it,” Bill continued. “She told me she had to get her hands on a special wine, and I said sure.”
Max wondered which rare wine she had bribed him with to get him to say yes. “And the passport?”
“She must have stolen it. We met at my apartment and she may have seen my wife’s passport on the hall table.”
“You didn’t know Paula had it?”
“No, she got off in Bordeaux, and I continued on to Paris. I was unaware of anything that happened at customs.”
Olivier glanced at his watch. “We need to address Monsieur Barthes’ and the policeman’s deaths before we meet with judiciary members.”
Douvier’s eyes grew wary. “Without absolute proof, we’re going to keep the cause of Monsieur Barthes’ death accidental drowning. At least for now.” Max thought she could see the direction he was headed in, where politics would supersede truth. “The policeman’s death could have racial implications.”
Max started to object, but Olivier motioned her to remain quiet. Douvier turned his gaze to Abdel. “There might be some questions from the minister of the interior about your shooting a man at close range and choking a woman to death.”
Olivier’s voice was firm. “Abdel, please prepare my presentation.” He waited as Abdel left the room, and turned back to Douvier. “Max Maguire and I were witnesses,” he said. “Commissaire Zeroual saved our lives. The session today, however, is about Vincent Barthes. I have proof that he was murdered, and will now lead the way to the courtroom where you and Monsieur Casey can see for yourselves. As a footnote to all this, my housemaid’s life teeters on the edge as a result of the invasion of my house.”
“What happened to her?”
“She was bullied.”
Bill Casey said, “I still don’t know why I’m here. I sure didn’t kill anybody.”
“Monsieur Casey, I wanted you to have a full understanding of the carnage as you call it, and what led to it,” Olivier said. “You didn’t pull the trigger, it’s true, but you shall not go blameless.”
Abdel stood by the computer as they entered the courtroom. The dozen ministers and justices, including the local procureur, sat talking among themselves, waiting for the routine wrap-up before they went off for lunch. Douvier went before the group, explaining that there had been a new development that he had not been informed about until a few moments ago. He emphasized that it had been a complicated case, and veered off topic to wonder if perhaps the case was in the end about a deep rivalry between two American women that had little to do with France.
Max wanted to scream.
“Two Americans have been arrested,” Douvier continued, and there now seems to be some evidence that one of them, the auctioneer Paula Goodwin, was involved in the death of Vincent Barthes.” No one stirred as they allowed the information to sink in. Douvier turned the proceedings over to Olivier, who clarified that in fact the case had nothing to do with rivalry between two women. He explained in great detail how it had unfolded. Everyone sat mesmerized. He talked about Barthes’ video system that had obviously become an obsession, and how it had led to the proof that they were about to witness.
Olivier then instructed Abdel to run through some of the office scenes at Vincent’s business. There were frames of Vincent in his office speaking to a group of reporters about his wine, and workers moving bottles down a conveyor belt. Next, they were in the cellar of Vincent’s father’s company and the
video flashed images of hundreds of old vintage wine bottles lined up against a wall. In a moment, the video tour took them into Vincent’s townhouse. The front of the building was displayed, and various people were videoed entering and leaving the house. There on screen were the women arriving with Vincent, most of them appearing to be drunk. Some of them were beautiful. Some were underage. The viewers shifted in their seats. Olivier, moving up the side aisle in the darkened room, slipped into the chair beside her, and took Max’s hand.
On screen, Vincent bustled around in the kitchen, removing a roast chicken from the oven. Someone knocked on the kitchen door, and Vincent walked across the room and opened it. Paula stepped in. He seemed shocked to see her. She told him she had come back for him, just as she said. He smiled as she explained that Yannick was out back with his truck. Max could see that Vincent felt vivified by her presence. Yannick entered and opened the fridge and took out a bottle of beer.
“Vincent,” Paula said, “you need to get ready. I’m a fugitive right now because of that bitch detective who can’t be stopped.”
“Max? Is she okay?” Vincent asked.
“She’s on a cruise.”
Max felt the hair on her arms go up.
“And Larry?”
She smiled at him. “He’s confessed. He’ll get life.”
“That’s horrible,” Vincent said, taking a bottle of white wine out of the refrigerator. “You forced him into it.”
“Everyone has free choice,” Paula said. “Go upstairs. I’ll bring a glass up to you.” After he left the room, Paula turned to Yannick. “Kill him,” she said, handing him the .22.” She pretended to pull the trigger.
He shook his head and said, “No. You.”
Paula turned the gun on him, and he laughed. Corinne was right, Max thought, Yannick would not kill. Looking annoyed, Paula opened the bottle of wine and took a bag of powder from her pocket and dropped it into the drink. Max wondered if she’d ever draw a full breath again. Paula went upstairs and Yannick followed. The screen went blank for a few seconds. Abdel fidgeted with the computer.
Bordeaux: The Bitter Finish Page 30