Foul Play in Vouvray Page 11

  “Tell me, why were you at the hospital?” Fabrice asked.

  “You’re not the only one who danced with Simone, remember? I’m sure you saw the photo in the magazine. It was enough to have me held at police headquarters. Simone pulled a vanishing act on me that night, the same way she did with you. She’s magic, that’s for sure.”

  The two men exchanged a smile.

  “All right,” Virgile said after a moment. “I think it’s time to join the others.”

  Virgile and Fabrice headed over to Benjamin, Liza, and Hugo. The director and her team got into their van, and the winemaker and his assistant climbed into the Mercedes.

  “I saw you talking with Fabrice,” Benjamin said. “Did you get anything?”

  “Yeah, boss, I did. He’s an ordinary guy like me. One dance, and he’s swept off his feet.”

  “Well, I just picked up a piece of information, Virgile. Liza told me she spotted a man coming on to Simone in a dimly lit corner of the château the night of David’s party. He was all over Simone, and she wasn’t having it. She shoved him—hard. When he turned around, all red-faced, Liza recognized him. She’d seen him talking with the two of us and Gayraud earlier.”

  “How does she know Gayraud?”

  “He’s one of the biggest movie producers in France, son. He’s been photographed hundreds of times.”

  “Then there’s only one other person it could have been.”

  “Right. Lee Friedman. Rumor has it David bedded Lee’s wife awhile ago.”

  “So maybe he was trying to even the score?”

  “Could be. Imagine the humiliation of Simone’s rejection, especially if he’d seen her coming on to you and then Fabrice. It’s possible he resorted to drugging Simone to have his way with her.”

  Virgile shook his head. “I don’t want to think about it, boss. I like Lee. He’s cynical, yes. But really, he’s just a sad sack. I can’t picture him as a rapist.”

  “It’s hard for me to see him that way too. Still, I can’t dismiss Lee as a suspect. I managed to pocket a bit of evidence the other night. It’ll either clear him or convict him.”

  21

  Benjamin and Virgile gave the next three days to Liza, who was tying up the project. What she seemed most interested in having them do was traipse through the vineyards while discussing their calling. She would intersperse the tasting sessions with these moments.

  “I feel like I’m running a marathon,” Virgile said, mopping his forehead as they left yet another estate on an unusually warm afternoon.

  Benjamin nodded. He was growing weary too.

  The documentary’s sequence seemed already planned out, but Liza wouldn’t divulge it. “I have an inkling,” she would joke when Benjamin or Virgile questioned why she was taking one shot or another.

  The two wine experts discussed whatever came to mind, according to their mood and the particular stroll through the vines, as was their routine at other estates when they weren’t being filmed. One of their favorite topics: the astonishing range of Loire appellations. Benjamin listed in rapid succession the most important of the terroirs, from the schistose terrain of Anjou to the sandy soil of Sologne. He pointed out their distinctive qualities, the vegetation, the richness of micro-expressions, the under-recognized vineyards, and much more. For his part, Virgile asked falsely naïve questions so that Benjamin could educate the viewers.

  “Excellent, gentlemen!” Liza shouted at the end of each segment.

  Their last scheduled visit was at the estate owned by Philippe Foreau, a third-generation winemaker. With twelve hectares divided into twenty parcels, Le Close Naudin had established itself among the Vouvray wines prized beyond the borders of France. Liza, fearing she might have too much footage, didn’t want to dawdle here. But Benjamin had no intention of skipping over this passionate yet low-profile winemaker and depriving himself of his outstanding offerings, especially the prized 2015 vintages, which Philippe had declared perhaps the finest of his lifetime.

  “As you remember, Virgile, the summer in this region was dry and warm,” Benjamin said as Philippe led them to a long wooden table where they would be tasting. “I understand the vineyards needed only four treatments, and you picked the grapes at their prime. Is that correct, Philippe?”

  Philippe nodded and poured a sec for Benjamin and Virgile. The winemaker noted its bold personality and strong mineral backbone.

  “I look forward to drinking this in six years,” Benjamin said. “As good as it is now, it’ll only get better.”

  Next, Benjamin and Virgile tasted a moelleux, which had a dense, almost bitter, aroma and notes of pear, pitted fruits, and honey.

  “On the palate, the fruit is warm and leans toward quince and plum,” Benjamin said. “But there’s a spicy undercurrent, too. The finish is surprisingly dry.”

  Benjamin was set to taste more of the superb 2015 vintages, but Liza cut him short. “We’ve got what we need, she said, motioning to Fabrice and Hugo to pack up. I’m driving to Paris this evening to start going over the footage. You’ll have to make time in your schedule for us to meet in Bordeaux. I plan to film you in your office and your laboratory, working with your technicians, and also at your home.”

  This was one edict too many for Benjamin, who wasn’t going to the trouble of hiding his annoyance. “Oh, no, not Grangebelle,” he said. “No filming of Saint-Julien-Beychevelle. It’s private domain.”

  “We’ve been working together for a while now, Benjamin. You know I’m discreet.”

  “No, I said. My home and family are off limits.”

  Liza sighed. “All right, I won’t insist. We’ll start the documentary with just you in your office and lab, although I suppose we can get some shots in Bordeaux to add flavor.”

  “You shoot the beginning of the film at the end?” Virgile asked.

  “That’s often the case. The editing is the most important part. I’ve collected an enormous amount of footage, and the editing will take a long time. I’d like to have your approval on some of the scenes, Benjamin.”

  “I appreciate the gesture.”

  “It’s professional courtesy, and besides, I prefer to avoid disagreements with you.” For the first time since meeting him, Liza gave Benjamin an amused look, and he swore she winked at him. Benjamin couldn’t help feeling exposed as a curmudgeon but admired nevertheless. He returned the conspiratorial smile and loosened up a bit before pulling out his notebook and pen. “When may I have a look at the first rushes?”

  “I’ll be working on the footage all week and through the weekend. If you could come to Paris next Monday, that would be perfect.”

  “Why not? We’re not far from the capital. How long will it take to see everything?”

  “You’ll be viewing only what I’m keeping. I’d say we can get through it in one morning.”

  “So much the better. We’ll drive back to Bordeaux at the end of the day.”

  Before telling them they could return to Château de Pray, Liza made one last request. She wanted a backlit shot of Benjamin and Virgile at the edge of the river, near the Amboise bridge. Liza and Fabrice stood a hundred meters away, filming the two silhouettes against the shimmering water, now rosy in the light of the setting sun. It was a melancholy moment for Benjamin. Despite the way Liza’s expectations had chafed at him, he had formed a bond with the director and her assistants.

  He was reflecting on how he would remember this time, when an abrupt noise startled him. “Did you hear that, Virgile?” he whispered.

  “Yes, boss!”

  “Don’t turn around, son.”

  “Why?”

  “I heard that sound the other day.”

  “When was that?”

  “As I was leaving David’s estate.”

  They pricked their ears. Click… Click… The same clipped metallic sound.

  “I swear somebody’s cocking a gun, Virgile.” Benjamin’s neck was prickling.

  Virgile looked over and grinned. “It’s obvious you’
ve never been a hunter.”

  “What is it, then?”

  “As Liza would say, I have an inkling.”

  With that, Virgile took off toward an overgrown area downstream. He reached the spot and dived into the foliage. Benjamin watched as the weeds and bushes shook. Above the sound of cracking branches, he heard a man yell and then cry out in pain. Holding his bloody nose, the stranger sprang from the shrubs and dashed away. Virgile emerged seconds later, wearing a triumphant grin. He waved a camera like a trophy, its zoom lens covered with mud.

  “I clocked him, that stupid paparazzi,” Virgile said. “I bet he’s been following us for days. You can thank me, boss. I saved you from being on the cover of Voici!. I can picture the headline: “The famous winemaker’s young lover.’ Mrs. Cooker would have had a hard time explaining that.”

  Benjamin chuckled as his assistant checked his shirt for stray twigs and grass. “I think this is one time Elisabeth would have quoted Oscar Wilde herself.”

  “Oh? What quote is that, boss?”

  “‘I never take notice of what common people say.’”

  22

  David Navarre was curled on the floor like a fetus. Crouched beside him, Dr. Molinier was trying to console the actor with tissues, a glass of water, even whiskey.

  “David, you must be strong,” Molinier said softly as he stroked the sobbing man’s hair. He had come to the estate to deliver the news: Simone had died at six fifty-three that morning. Her body was lying in the basement of the Institut médico-légal, in locker No. 7, waiting for someone to claim it.

  The sight didn’t surprise Benjamin. David, the likable yet self-absorbed actor, hadn’t gathered the courage to go to his lover’s bedside. For most of her absence, he had chosen to stay at the estate and drink himself senseless. Now that Simone was gone, he was writhing on the floor, cursing himself.

  “She was getting better! How could she leave me this way?” Tears streamed down David’s face. “I should have been there! And I should have stopped that bastard director. I let her down when I should have been by her side through everything.”

  Benjamin walked over to the two men and put his hand on the doctor’s shoulder. The touch startled Molinier.

  “Oh, Mr. Cooker, thank you for coming so quickly.”

  “What happened?” Benjamin asked. “I thought Simone was coming out of her coma.”

  “She was. But then she went into respiratory arrest. They did everything, but they couldn’t revive her.”

  What a tragedy. Benjamin thought. He felt a wave of compassion for David. He had failed Simone. Still, he had loved her.

  “He’s drunk,” the doctor said. “Would you help me get him on the couch?”

  Benjamin and Molinier tried twice to pick up the actor, but hoisting eighty-two kilos of limp despair was nearly impossible.

  David howled and curled up on the floor again. “I should have confronted that SOB Armond. Simone was right for wanting to sue the weasel. We would have sucked every euro out of him!” Then, a moment later: “She’s a bitch for leaving me! I don’t deserve it!”

  “I just gave him an injection. It should take effect pretty soon,” Molinier said.

  Benjamin crouched alongside Molinier, who was stroking the actor’s hair again.

  “Sleep, David, sleep.”

  A few minutes later, he was babbling. The winemaker and the doctor waited a moment longer.

  “There, he’s asleep,” Molinier murmured, rising to his feet.

  “Will there be an autopsy?” Benjamin asked.

  “At present, I can’t tell you. She was teetering between life and death for some time, and in cases such as this one, a reversal isn’t uncommon. I’ll know more after I speak with her attending.”

  Benjamin nodded. “If there’s an autopsy, please forward the results.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” the doctor answered, tucking a pillow under David’s head “We did get the results of the rape kit. Simone wasn’t sexually assaulted. Maybe when David’s calmer, he’ll take comfort in that.”

  “But now homicide appears to be the more likely intent, although we can’t rule out a thwarted rape. David won’t take any comfort in that.”

  “You have a point.”

  The two men watched silently as David’s chest rose and fell with each breath. He was snoring.

  Benjamin turned back to Molinier. “I have another request. Could you have this analyzed and tell me what it is?” He handed over Lee’s capsule.

  Molinier examined it. “I can’t tell by looking at it. May I ask why you want it analyzed?”

  “Let’s just say I’m curious.”

  The doctor slipped the capsule into the right pocket of his jacket. Molinier looked back at David and shook his head. “I had no choice but to come and tell him about Simone. I tried to break it to him gently, but he had already drunk a bottle of whiskey.”

  “There’s no reason for you to blame yourself, doctor. Moments like this are extremely difficult, especially after your hopes have been raised.”

  “At least I could tell him she died quietly, Mr. Cooker. There was no need to use a defibrillator. It’s often a lifesaving piece of equipment, but it’s violent. Simone just stopped breathing and slipped away.” Molinier pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed his eyes.

  “Here one moment, gone the next,” Benjamin thought as he watched the doctor fold his handkerchief and put it back in his pocket. “Not unlike the way she lived.”

  23

  Benjamin took his time driving back to Château de Pray. He wasn’t looking forward to breaking the news to Virgile. Oddly, he was thinking of Margaux, too. She had so much ahead of her, but life could be precarious. Nothing was a given. God forbid that anything should happen to her.

  And what about this new person whose photo she’d posted on Instagram? He talked with Margaux regularly, but she hadn’t mentioned him. Usually, they discussed his work or her work. Benjamin shook his head. He had gotten lazy. He and Margaux loved each other. Of this he was sure. But he wanted a deeper relationship, one in which she felt free to tell him anything, within reason, of course. He’d call her later that evening.

  He found Virgile in his room and invited him to the little salon for a drink. “I know it’s early, but I could use one.”

  “Sure, boss,” Virgile said, studying his face. “You look down in the dumps. What happened?”

  “I’ll tell you when we get there, son.”

  The winemaker and his assistant walked down the stairs and seated themselves. Benjamin ordered their drinks and turned to Virgile. He didn’t mince his words.

  “I just came from David’s estate. Simone is gone.”

  Virgile slumped in his chair. Benjamin waited for him to get his bearings.

  “I’d allowed myself to think she could recover,” Virgile said finally. “I knew it was a long shot, but still… What happened?”

  “She stopped breathing. They couldn’t revive her.”

  “When did she die?”

  “This morning, very early.”

  Virgile wiped his face. “David must be devastated.”

  “You could say that. He was drunk, and then Dr. Molinier administered some sedation. He’ll be numb for a while.”

  A server brought their drinks, Château de Prada once again. Benjamin took a whiff. The sweet burn of the aftertaste felt good.

  “So, what do you think?” Virgile asked.

  “I think we have some suspects, but all the pieces haven’t fallen into place. The authorities haven’t decided on an autopsy. If they go ahead, I want the results. We do have the findings of the rape-kit exam, and according to them, Simone wasn’t sexually assaulted. That would appear to eliminate Fabrice. I know you believed his story.”

  “I admit I’m relieved, boss. I like the guy. But I have to ask: what about David? I know he loved Simone, but he doesn’t seem to be that balanced a guy.”

  Benjamin took another sip of his Cognac and slowly put his gla
ss down.

  “Yes, despite his charm and casual demeanor, he can be suspicious, insecure, and mercurial. Simone was young and beautiful, while he’s beginning to show his age. Her flirtations had to get under his skin.”

  “In addition, he’s an actor,” Virgile said. “He could easily put on a big show of innocence and grief.”

  “That’s true.” Benjamin fell silent for a moment. “But I have a gut feeling about David, something like the feeling you have about Fabrice. I don’t think he did it. I’ve known David for some time. He can lose his temper, but he’s not capable of premeditated murder.”

  “And that would leave… Who, boss?”

  “David muttered something when I was at the estate, something about legal action against Max Armond, who was directing the film Simone and David were in.”

  “I’ve heard rumors about that guy. Apparently, he can make life hell for young actresses. Was Simone about to sue him for sexual harassment?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s possible, and we did see him the night of the party. I’m sure a man with his connections has access to GHB. What’s more, he had opportunity. But there’s someone else, Virgile.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Lee Friedman, remember? David had sex with his wife, and then, when Lee tried to get back at him by coming on to Simone, she rejected him.”

  “I’m sure that felt like a kick in the gut.”

  Benjamin shifted in his chair. “Clearly, Lee’s not doing well. He’s taking an anti-depressant. He said it’s a new one.”

  “I hope it works. But what does his medication have to do with the murder?”

  “Do you recall our conversation about GHB with Dr. Molinier? He mentioned that it was the first pharmacological anti-depressant. Other medications have replaced it, but it’s finding favor again in some psychiatric circles.”

  “And?”

  “And I happened to get my hands on one of Lee’s capsules. I intend to find out if his ‘new’ anti-depressant is GHB.”

  24

  Benjamin brushed his teeth and smoothed his hair as he went over the multiple angles in Simone’s drugging and death. He and Virgile had returned to their rooms after finishing their Cognacs. The winemaker had planned to check in with Jacqueline, his secretary in Bordeaux. He was too preoccupied, however, to tend to business. He finished freshening up and ordered tea. When his cell phone rang, he was tempted to let it go to voicemail. But then he saw who it was.