Olivier sat silently, and Max knew that Hank didn’t have a clue about the identity of Lucy’s father.
They finished their drinks, and walked to the hotel. “This city reeks of money,” Hank said. “I wonder what they’re hiding behind the high stone walls in front of their houses.”
Olivier said, “Burgundians like their privacy. The city is built within ramparts. Don’t forget Beaune was first ruled by a Gallic tribe, and built as a fortress by the Romans. The Dukes of Burgundy were here until 1477.”
Hank said, “That’s when they lost the Battle of Nancy to King Louis XI, after which it became a French province.”
“Exactement,” Olivier said, obviously surprised by his knowledge. “And you are right. Many secrets are harbored here. What you might not know is these cobblestoned streets conceal a labyrinth of subterranean caves holding millions of bottles.”
They had arrived at the hotel when Hank said, “I think you two are better off than I am talking with this guy George. He gets edgy around me. I’ll say hello, then I’m going to butt out. I’ll see you outside.”
George was on his cell phone when they arrived. He swung the hotel room door open and beckoned them in, then stood on the balcony talking loudly to someone about an investment. He was swigging from a liter water bottle and pacing. An active volcano, thought Olivier. Hank began to nose around, picking up an empty bottle of champagne, looking at it, putting it back down, then glancing down at a notepad. Olivier cleared his throat loudly when he noticed that George had hung up and was moving toward Hank.
Hank turned around and gave an insouciant grin. “How’re you doing, George?”
Olivier said, “Shall we sit down for a few minutes?”
George looked non-plussed. “So read me my rights.” He laughed, but not getting a response, he muttered, “You don’t get it. Never mind.”
“A murder suspect cannot leave the country. Both you and your niece are suspects in the murder of Yves Laroche. We can have your name cleared within the next few days, I’m certain, but an officer will be interviewing you in the meantime.”
George stared hard at Olivier in disbelief. “Come on and confess. Not one witness saw me there. You know why?” He was yelling now. “I wasn’t there!”
Hank headed out the door as Olivier continued. “We have witness confirmation of a certain Steve Gates who was there at the end of the evening. Someone saw a stranger get off the elevator…”
George laughed. “My attorney got off the elevator, ran and pushed a man off the balcony and left. That’s what you’re saying?”
Max could see that Olivier was unsure how to be with this man, who was garrulous one minute, and snide the next. “George…” she said.
He stopped. “What?”
“You’re a suspect. Answer the questions.”
He fixed his gaze on her. “Who are you again?”
“I’m a detective with the NYPD. I want to know about your moving into your stepsister’s apartment before her body was cold, and I…we…the French magistrate and I…want to know what you’re doing here.”
He seemed to grow contrite. “I came for Lucy. She is in my charge, and I have the papers to prove it.”
“And don’t deny it. She is your source of income.”
“I happen to be a psychiatrist.”
“Who is losing his hospital and being sued. If you lose, you lose guardianship, but you know that, right? Anyhow, I’m not impressed with your credentials. And just so you know, the French are rarely impressed by anything.”
“What do you want?”
“I’ll tell you what we want. We want you to release Lucy from your guardianship, as her mother wished.”
“No!”
Olivier spoke quietly. “Then I can keep you in France for a long time. You can think about it.”
“I’ll report you.”
“Please do,” Olivier said. “Now. I know you paid the P.I., Yves Laroche, ten thousand euros to find Lucy’s biological father. Do you know his identity?”
Silence. “No. Not yet. Somebody else says he thinks he knows the identity.”
“Who?”
“This has nothing to do with Laroche’s death, and I won’t answer.” George poured himself a drink of Scotch and downed it, then marched out the door.
Olivier and Max walked out, and once in the parking lot looked around for Hank. “I don’t know what to do,” Olivier said, and then they saw him, bobbing up and down among the cars. Then, “What the hell…?”
As though they were watching a film being made, they saw George make a beeline for his car, cell phone in hand. Hank was lying in wait. Didn’t George know? He continued on, then stopped at his car, gesticulating.
Olivier started to laugh. “My God, he’s insane!”
“Who, George or my dad?”
Olivier looked at her as though the answer were obvious. “Your dad.”
“That’s not nice…”
Olivier answered his mobile. He listened and said, “I’ll be right there.” Turning to Max, he said, “Lucy’s disappeared.”
“Kidnapped?”
Hank opened the back door and jumped in. “I overheard George talking to Jean-Claude. You must forbid Jean-Claude from revealing the name of Lucy’s biological father.”
Max wondered if Anne had told him, or if he was just leading George Wyeth on. We can’t deal with that right now,” Olivier said. “Lucy is gone.”
“She died?”
“Hardly.”
Chapter Twenty
As they boarded the elevator to Lucy’s hospital room, Olivier did a quick rundown of possibilities. Lucy was an escape artist, according to her uncle. She could have been feigning the coma, and waiting for the right moment. Someone could have kidnapped her, in which case her life was in danger.
A police officer escorted them to Lucy’s room. The bed covers were pulled back, revealing two pillows that had been stuck under the comforter, vaguely resembling the shape of a body. Amateurs, Olivier thought. He went to the open window and looked out. The room was on the back side of the building and overlooked a small park. A couple of pedestrians were walking briskly along the sidewalk. The room was on the second floor, called the first floor in France. She wouldn’t have jumped, he thought, unless she had been under attack.
Two more gendarmes arrived, with the director of the hospital behind them, who introduced himself curtly. Hank sat calmly in the chair by the bed, the one usually filled by Anne or Isabelle, or some other woman, completely lost in thought, his fingers creating a steeple. A skinny meditating Buddha, Olivier thought. He called Abdel, and told him to come quickly. The room was filling up.
Another gendarme entered, this one the capitaine. Olivier told him the prosecutor was on his way, and that the staff needed to be questioned. “Monsieur,” the captain said, “the patient may have left of her own volition. Did anyone check to see if she signed herself out?”
“Of course,” Olivier said. He turned to Max. “I have to call George and tell him what has happened.”
A slight disturbance outside the door and all eyes went in that direction. Olivier watched Max go to her grandmother, who looked indignant. The last person he wanted to see. She peered around the gendarme, and said to the young man, “This is no way to treat an old woman.” He knew Isabelle would never refer to herself in that way unless circumstances were dire. A voice behind her grew louder, “Olivier, it’s us.”
Olivier, ever polite, went to the door and told the gendarmes that no one had to guard the room at the moment, that the guard had been put there to keep the patient from leaving, not for keeping others from entering. The gendarme looked baffled. Was the magistrate being sarcastic?
Anne entered. “Alors,” she said, her lips pursed. “This is what everyone feared, n’est-ce pas?”
Everyone turned to the do
or when they heard a loud voice exclaiming in English. “This is outrageous. She could be dangerous, either to herself or to others. I told you that. I want someone to explain to me what is going on.” George’s entrance was dramatic. A much shorter man walked beside him, and was introduced as Steve Gates. George said to Olivier, “This was going on under our noses.” He turned to the women, “What are you doing here?”
They couldn’t hide their indignation at being spoken to in that way. Isabelle collected herself first, and spoke slowly in English. “I hate to disturb you, Monsieur, but this is not about you. We came by to see Lucy to deliver some of her things that were left at Anne’s house. And to say good-bye.”
“What things?” George asked, his eyes narrowing.
Anne spoke up. “Some papers, and a few articles of clothing. She lived with me during my vendange.”
“Whatever that is. I will take them.”
Olivier was surprised to see Anne hand them over. “I’m glad to be rid of her, to tell the truth,” Anne said. “She told me stories that had me worrying too much. Things like her mother being murdered and no way to prove it. And everyone knew she was looking for her father, the poor darling, and what father wants to be found at this stage of the game I’d like to ask?” All this said in a strong French accent. “If he is alive, of course. It was always rumored that your stepsister slept with an old man. She told one villager he couldn’t get it up.”
Olivier shifted his gaze from Anne to Hank who looked slightly amused, to Isabelle, who was nodding as though she were listening to a song, then to Max, who was obviously flummoxed. He regained his authority. “Everyone leave, please.” Turning to George, he said, “We have already issued an alarm for your niece, Monsieur Wyeth. She can’t have gone far.”
“I’m going to my hotel. Call me with any updates.” He stalked out.
Isabelle and Anne said they had to get going. “What were the papers you gave him?” Olivier asked.
Anne said, “Scribblings in Lucy’s journal. A photograph of her mother. A sweatshirt. Nothing of consequence.”
“You sure had a change of tune about the girl,” Hank said to them.
“George is a boor,” said Anne. “We didn’t want him accusing us.”
“Had nothing visibly changed when you were here with Lucy earlier today?” Olivier asked.
They shook their heads vigorously.
“Did anyone come in?”
“The handsome Brit came in, but for no longer than five minutes. Tim. He declared his love for her, held her hand. He said there was nothing to worry about as far as her being a suspect of anything.”
Isabelle spoke up. “The nurses came in after Tim left and said it was time for us to say good-bye. They expected the ambulance transport to Paris within the next hour. We went to the hairdresser’s and decided to stop by once more to drop off Lucy’s few things and heard from the nurses that Lucy had disappeared.”
Olivier said, “Because of your attachment to her, officers will be searching your homes and all around the premises. If she is conscious, it seems likely that she would head to your house, Anne.”
“We hope that’s the case,” Isabelle said. She turned to her granddaughter. “Max, will you drive us home? We’re worn out.”
Officers entered and announced they had rounded up the hospital staff. Everyone filed out, and Olivier found himself alone in the room. He felt he had never been so relieved to see someone as when Abdel walked in.
Chapter Twenty-one
Abdel had been busy in Lyon. He had a list of everyone who had been at Yves’ apartment on the night of his death, which Olivier quickly scanned. “I see your cousin’s name is on here.”
“There’s an explanation.”
“We’ll deal with this later. We have to find Lucy Kendrick. You spoke to the guard who was supposed to be stationed at the door?”
“Yes. The guard explained that the two grandmothers had gone out before lunch. He heard on his scanner that a car had been broken into in the parking lot, and ran to see if he could help. When he arrived, the young woman who sometimes came to sit with Lucy, Estelle, was standing outside her car. She claimed that her laptop was missing from her car, which she was sure she had left there. Another gendarme arrived at the parking lot, and said he would handle it. The guard returned to his post in the chair outside Lucy’s door.”
“He didn’t check in on her?”
“Non, Monsieur. He explained that he had not realized until the nurse came by to check an hour later, that Lucy was gone, and he called his boss immediately.”
Olivier went back to Lucy’s room, where Hank sat as still as stone. Olivier surveyed the room, then rested his eyes on Hank, who said, “I don’t think she was in a coma.”
“You mean the entire time?”
He nodded. “Which means she heard everything,” Olivier said. “If she’s alive, my hunch is she’s in the area.
“We call that hiding in plain sight. But if she didn’t escape on her own, it wouldn’t surprise me if someone wants her dead. There you have a real problem.”
“Like who?”
“Anne may not be too far off about Roland. I personally can’t stand him. His parents have no control over him. Even his mother’s crocodile tears don’t faze him.”
“If somebody wanted Lucy dead,” Olivier said, “It would be easier to kill her in the hospital. A pillow over her face or a drug inserted into her vein would not have made anyone suspicious, if you get my gist.”
“I do,” Hank said. “On the other hand, let’s just say she was removed while still in a coma. That means lifting her, putting her on a gurney or stretcher, and somehow getting her into a vehicle. We’re talking dead weight in broad daylight.”
“That would be a good way of getting her out, even if she was strong as a boxer.” Hank laughed, and Olivier looked over, startled. “I hope that’s the case,” Hank added.
Olivier wasn’t so sure. “Abdel will interview the ambulance drivers. Having a doctor or a nurse pushing a gurney wouldn’t draw much attention.”
“Neither would an ambulance.”
Abdel knocked and entered. “We’re not making much progress,” he said. “No one noticed anything that unusual. One nurse said she noticed an ambulance driver she hadn’t seen before. Dark-skinned. She thought a Muslim. Translate, jihadist.”
Olivier winced inwardly. “Did you ask around to see if he could be identified?”
“I’m about to do that.”
Olivier said that he would wrap up the staff interrogation, and after, they would meet to go over Abdel’s notes from Yves’ party. Abdel nodded and left, but not without delivering a parting shot, “Those two women, Max’s grandmother and the other one, were mentioned twice by staff as hovering and interruptive. One of them questioned everything the nurse tried to do. I put it all in the report.”
“Yes, we know,” said Olivier. He knew he should have kept them at bay, but how?
Once in the parking lot Hank said to Olivier, “Your assistant has a chip on his shoulder?” When Olivier looked puzzled, he mentioned the reference to jihadist.
“We’re all feeling a bit sensitive these days. I agree there is prejudice, but here it is more about class than color. His cousin Ali was at Yves’ party solely because Lucy invited him. I have the impression that she doesn’t comprehend class differences.”
“Americans don’t give a rat’s ass about class, but we’re more racist, if you get my meaning.”
“Interesting.”
“If I were to make a guess about the one element that brings the party-goers together,” Hank said, “it would be secrets. The Brit seems pretty clean.”
“We all have one or two stowed away, don’t we? But I agree. Yves Laroche knew how to extract them, and then sell the information for cash.”
***
Max sat havi
ng a cup of tea with her grandmother and Anne. Abdel had called and was to come by for her in half an hour, and they would meet up with Olivier to discuss his report about Yves Laroche.
“Tonight is our monthly Femmes et Vins meeting,” Isabelle said.
“I thought you were tired,” said Max, glancing up from the laptop on the table in front of her.
“A cup of tea gives new perspective.”
“What is the plan for finding Lucy?” asked Anne.
“I don’t know.” Max wished they would leave her to her funk.
“You sound discouraged.”
“I’m worried sick that she’s dead. I don’t know if I can handle it. But if she’s off running around, I’m ready to throw her to the wolves. Turn her in.”
“That’s what motherhood is like.”
“You two were supposed to call Olivier when you left the room. She was unattended long enough to escape.”
Their silence made Max look up. Anne said, “There was a gendarme, remember? And we thought Estelle was going right in. Her car alarm went off and there was quite a to-do about that.”
“And who do you consider the wolves?” Juliette asked from her chair in the corner, where she sat knitting.
Max shrugged. “I was referring to the uncle.”
“The wolf in fairy tales is usually disguised,” Juliette said.
A knock on the door brought Abdel into the room. The women fussed over him and he accepted a cup of tea. Anne said, “Was the staff cooperative?”
“No one saw anything,” Abdel said. “Which makes me suspicious. There are always one or two things that stand out.”
“You think they know what happened to her?”
“Lucy has been in the news enough…as the poor waif, the orphan, the unfairly accused, the victim…that she now has the public on her side. It’s one of those situations where the fugitive…and Lucy is a fugitive now…becomes the hero in peoples’ eyes. It’s all projection.”
Burgundy Page 13
