In the next frame Vincent, shirtless, was in his bedroom, sipping from the glass. He had obviously taken a shower because his hair was wet, and the towel was on the bed. Paula entered the room, a jade horse in her hand, which Vincent paid no attention to. She was wearing a raincoat, and gloves. Vincent said he would only be ten minutes. “Where’s the cash?” she asked.
“In my closet.”
He opened the closet door and pulled out the suitcase, and opened it. “Great,” Paula said. He walked around to the other side of the bed to find his shoes. He said, stumbling slightly. “My head is fuzzy. I feel disoriented.”
“Are you sick?” Paula asked.
“Nervous,” he said. “I hope we make it to Australia.”
“We will.”
He looked at her. “You look amazing in that trench coat,” he said. “You’re an amazing woman.” He stumbled and fell onto the mattress. He tried to get up. Paula said, “Let me help you.”
He laughed. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, slipping off the bed onto his knees. Paula, Max thought, had given him a big dose of the GPA. Paula smiled grimly, and walked over and stood behind him. She lifted her arm and struck him on the head with the jade horse, and he collapsed onto his stomach.
“Yannick!” Paula called. The foreman wandered in, his eyes wide. Paula demonstrated lifting the body. Vincent moaned. “The salle de bain,” Paula said. The last frame was of the two struggling to lift Vincent into the tub with the water running. The screen went blank.
Olivier got up and walked to the front of the room. “What about the other suspects?” someone asked from the audience.
Olivier explained that Larry Wexler delivered poisoned cheese to Madame Jordan and probably watched her become ill, but that it was Vincent who had put the poison into the cheese, and Yannick who had collected the aconite in the field. Madame Goodwin was the leader throughout. The authorities slowly filed out, Douvier leading the pack.
Bill Casey remained in his seat. “I’m in a nightmare,” he said. “I can’t believe I was delivering a woman intent on murdering. What happened to her?”
Max and Olivier joined him. “Greed,” Max said.
“And you?” Olivier asked. “What happened to you, Monsieur Casey?”
“I trusted this woman,” Bill said.
Max said, “It’s not about a woman. Or women. It’s about your arrogance and pride. When you return to the states you will be arrested, and your story will be on the news. I will see to it.”
Casey said, “Spare the lecture, Max. It’s over. I’m the one who has lost two friends.”
“You forget that Ellen was my mother’s closest friend,” Max said.
Casey got up to leave. “Do what you have to do, Max. I’m not the type to hold grudges, but if you put me in a corner I will fight. I’ll come up with a different spin. I’ll go on talk shows and explain about Paula’s history of growing up with an abusive father after her mother died when she was two. How she was abandoned by her husband, who went off with another woman. Over time the American public will develop sympathy for the woman who had to claw her way to the top of her profession.”
Max grew silent. Her father had told her in the beginning of her career that there was no hard justice for people like Bill Casey. Her mother would remind him that there was karmic justice. Hank hadn’t bought any of that.
Casey looked at Olivier, “I brought the fourth magnum with me to deliver to you personally,” he said. “My chauffeur has it downstairs.”
“That’s very gracious of you,” Olivier said. “I accept.”
Max gave him a hard look, which he ignored. He and Casey shook hands and Casey left the courtroom.
“How can you accept his wine?” Max asked.
“Captain O’Shaughnessy had a little talk with him. The deal was that he had to either turn it over to me for testing or the Fraud Squad would pick it up. Your dad and the captain are not done with him, by the way. Aiding and abetting is a crime. At a minimum, he will spend many hours in court testifying.”
“I have this desperate need to make him pay,” she said.
“Now you see why I spend my few extra hours going after people who stand little chance of being made culpable.” He closed the door to the courtroom after they exited. “Abdel is waiting in my office.”
They joined him. Abdel said after they entered, “You’re quite the detective, Monsieur.” Olivier smiled.
“We want to hear how you found the videos,” Max said.
“Later,” he said. She turned to Abdel, “Where did you learn the Jiu-Jitsu move?”
“From you.”
“The video in Central Park?”
He nodded. “I think I need more lessons.”
“And Zohra?” Olivier asked.
“She will be out of the hospital in two days.”
“We’ll stop by,” Olivier said. “Take the day off, Abdel, and we’ll do the same.”
Max jumped up and gave Abdel a big hug. “Jiu-Jitsu and hugging. See what you’ve taught me,” he said.
“Not a bad combo,” she said, laughing. “I’ll see you before I leave France.”
He waved and was gone. Olivier looked at Max. “I’m making dinner this evening, and will try to make sure there aren’t any interruptions. I’ll build a fire and open a special bottle.”
“The one from Bill Casey?”
“It’s a gamble. One is authentic and the other fake. I must choose between the one Bill Casey just delivered, or the one retrieved from Cazaneuve’s apartment.”
“I’ll bet on the one Casey brought with him. Dinner in Paris at a modest restaurant?”
“Done.”
“That means it’s all up to you.You could cheat. What the hell do I know about how it’s supposed to taste?”
“Trust me, you will know if it’s authentic. The taste will be subtle at first, but after a moment it will explode. The experience then becomes ethereal, some might even say…” He couldn’t find the word in English. “Jouissif,” he said.
“Are you saying orgasmic?”
“Exact.”
“Are we still talking about wine?”
Olivier’s laughter reverberated around the interior of her skull.
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Bordeaux: The Bitter Finish Page 31