Bordeaux: The Bitter Finish

by Janet Hubbard

  “Going my way?”

  Max whirled around and threw her arms around Hank’s neck. “Whoa,” he said, obviously pleased. Her mother ran up to her, and bestowed kisses on her cheeks, as Max engulfed her in a hug. “Chérie, ça va?” she gasped.

  “Bien.”

  “Let’s go,” Hank said. “We have to go to American Airlines’ cargo building. The funeral director is meeting us there.”

  “That’s how they refer to a human body? Cargo?” Juliette asked in a disapproving voice, and Hank nodded. He parked and they headed to the terminal. The day was sunny and warm. Max walked alongside her dad, full of dread. They entered a vast building similar to a passenger terminal. A wide-shouldered man with a booming voice walked up to Hank and introduced himself, explaining that his employee was driving the hearse to the loading area. They followed him around the corner.

  The casket was inside a container, or air tray, and covered in an exterior layer of canvas. Stamped at one end was the word ‘head,’ and Ellen’s name written in large, green letters beneath it. Also stamped on the casket was HR-HANDLE WITH CARE. Max wished she had a placard with those words engraved on it to carry in front of her. This was her worst moment since discovering Ellen’s body. Juliette reached for her hand, and they stood in silence as the hermetically sealed container was rolled into the hearse. The funeral director said he’d see them later, and was off.

  On the drive into Manhattan they decided to drop Max off at her apartment in the East Village, then she would go to dinner at her parents’ apartment. “You don’t mind that I cleaned your apartment?” Juliette asked when Hank pulled up in front.

  “I hope you wore a mask,” Max said, and Juliette laughed.

  “I want to hear the whole story when you can talk,” Juliette said. “I’ve been asked to deliver the eulogy, you know.”

  “Really?” Somehow Max couldn’t envision her mother speaking in front of a large audience. “That’s brave.”

  “It’s necessary.” Max had always loved her mother, but now that she had been in the place where Juliette had grown up and met her mother’s mother and sister, a new dimension had been added. Max thought that for the first time in her life she felt more French than American.

  Hank put her suitcase down beside her. “Want me to carry it up?”

  “Nah. I’m fine.”

  “Before you ask, Walt and I agreed there was conflict of interest and stayed out of the review process.”

  “Joe called and thought they were coming down hard on him.”

  “Your partner status is over.”

  “You’re sure you stayed out of it?” Max asked.

  Ignoring her retort, Hank said, “I was happy to hear you were put in charge of the counterfeiting operation you and Olivier…”

  “Olivier.”

  “…are so riled up about. If it exists. And, by the way, you have to take a course in anger management.”

  “Was that your recommendation?”

  “I didn’t oppose the idea.”

  “I’m sure. Your retirement date is set in stone?”

  He chuckled. “You got a couple of months left with me. See you tonight.”

  Max stopped by her neighbor Irene’s to get Woof. The retired police dog, a German shepherd, went crazy when he saw her, and she rushed outside with him for a four-mile run, then took him with her to her parents’ apartment. They talked over dinner about the events in France, and Max went into much more detail about Ellen’s death. Juliette said, “It might help, Max, to realize that this was Ellen’s destin. And maybe it’s yours to find out who murdered her.”

  “That’s the plan,” Max said, tired of the destiny talk. She felt more guilt around Ellen’s death talking to her mother than she had in France, and thought it had to do with every moment in France being filled with the search for the murderer. The adrenaline rush had dissipated, and now she was left with cold reality. Ellen returned home in a casket. She couldn’t say that she knew Ellen, but there was a personal connection through Juliette, which made it tougher. Could I have saved her? Max wondered for the hundredth time.

  ***

  April 8

  Max jumped up and put coffee on, then ran with Woof around the block. In an hour she was back checking emails. Olivier’s flight wouldn’t arrive until six in the evening. Bill Casey’s driver was picking him up and taking him to Bill’s New Jersey home for the professional tasting. Olivier, who would be presenting himself as French wine collector Pierre Guyot, was modest about his tasting talent, but Max thought he would know without a doubt if the second magnum of ’45 Mouton was authentic or not. She had told Olivier that she wanted to confiscate the lot of four magnums, which she had the authority to do, and not waste time on Bill Casey’s little party, but he had been more than mildly curious about the American collector, and the tasters who would be attending. She agreed to the event.

  She picked up her ringing phone and agreed to meet with Walt at lunchtime at the precinct station. “I asked Joe to come,” Walt said. “He’s checking his schedule.”

  Max knew what that meant. Joe wanted to talk to her before he sat in a meeting. “I get the idea Hank thinks our international counterfeit operation is a crock,” she said.

  “What do you expect of a beer guy?”

  Max laughed. She was back on her home turf, and officially a detective again, which felt like an injection of power. She called Bill Casey, who told her to come to his New York apartment mid-morning as he was waiting for a delivery. Within half an hour she was rushing for the subway. He lived in a four-story apartment building on East 79th and Fifth. The elevator opened to his apartment. They appraised each other as she stepped off the elevator.What she noticed was intelligent, blue eyes behind round glasses, a shaved head, and a sardonic smile.

  He invited her in, cautioning her not to trip on the corner of the Oriental rug that needed to be fixed. The walls of the apartment were covered with art, most of it abstract. It seemed logical to Max that a man who collected wine would collect art as well.

  “My wife is in Italy looking at paintings,” he said. “She’s as insatiable about art as I am about wine.” A maid appeared and he asked her to bring coffee. “Unless you prefer tea.”

  “Coffee, please,” Max said.

  She was trying to buy enough time to decide whether or not to confide in Casey that she was a detective, again wondering how much Ellen had told him. He beat her to it. “In case you’re wondering, I know who you are. Ellen told me that you were going as assistant-cum-bodyguard, and she was going to have an evening with le juge Chaumont.”

  “I wonder how many other people she told that to,” Max said. “It seems that everybody I talked to in the wine world knew about the magnums you bought and that Ellen had declared one of them fake.”

  “I didn’t see any reason to keep quiet about it,” he said, sounding a little on the defensive. “I have a group of pros coming to my house to taste a second magnum in the lot this evening, as you know.”

  “Isn’t this an expensive method of testing?”

  He gave her a knowing smile. “If I don’t do something, they’ll be confiscated, right?”

  “If Olivier hadn’t agreed to come, they would have been.”

  “I figured.”

  “You still haven’t found any record of who at Blakely’s sold it to you?”

  “Not yet, but my secretary is on it.”

  Max scribbled in her notebook for a minute. “Chaumont is coming to New York as a collector and not as a judge, or examining magistrate. These aliases enable us to mingle a bit more freely. The problem is if that information is leaked, our lives could be in danger.”

  “Give me the benefit of the doubt, Max. Believe it or not, I do have integrity, and no one wants the real culprit, if there is one, brought in more than I do.”

  Just in case, she decided to iss
ue a threat. “I understand. You do know that OGA, obstructing a governmental administration, is considered a crime.”

  He hesitated a second to see if she was kidding and when he saw that she wasn’t, said, “The commissioner is a personal friend. I didn’t want to bring that card out, but I don’t have much choice.”

  “Then you must know that Olivier and I are working to uncover a counterfeit ring?”

  “Was it the magnum of ’45 Mouton-Rothschild that Ellen took from here that started the ball rolling?”

  Max hoped to avoid being the one to announce the fate of that bottle. “It started six months ago when an unusual number of rare wines were taken from some of the top châteaux. It’s not uncommon for someone to break in and take a few cases, but the numbers made Olivier suspicious.”

  “It’s uncanny in a way that this is coming on top of Rudy Kuriawan’s arrest last month. Collectors are on edge. It’s strange, but buyers wanted to believe him. They still do.”

  “Why? He made at least a million dollars off them.”

  “Do you know how stupid some of these people feel? You’d be surprised how many investors I know who’d rather suffer financial loss than be exposed for swooning over fraudulent wines. Besides, he was charming, and they liked him.”

  “Did you buy from him?”

  “Not a lot. I bought some of his Burgundy wine through Blakely’s Auction House.”

  “And that didn’t make you mad?”

  “They were screwed, too. They’ve sold a phenomenal amount of wine with their appeal to young investors. I applaud them.”

  “Paula Goodwin’s the auctioneer?”

  “And about to be CEO. She’s the name there.”

  “Some people were dubious all along about the authenticity of some of those wines,” Max said, “but they didn’t think they’d be believed. Or they were overruled by the general consensus.”

  “That’s true. A couple of my friends stayed away from that scene.”

  “Is it okay to assume that Paula’s crown is slipping a little?”

  “She’s at the top of her game, and making more money than anybody else. As long as that remains true, I don’t think so.”

  “Ellen didn’t receive any support, I take it, when she voiced her intention of exposing someone who she thought might be counterfeiting?” Max asked.

  “A lot of people thought she was being a little over the top. Her first plan was to take it to the Mouton-Rothschild Château and have them examine it. I wish she had stuck to it.”

  Max read from her notebook. “She had read about a physicist named Philippe Hubert who, by using low-frequency gamma rays to detect the presence of a radioactive isotope cesium 137, claimed to be able to test a wine without opening the bottle.”

  Bill suddenly grew annoyed. “Wine is like sex,” he said. “Can be just as good, and just as short-lived. We must hold onto the romance. If we don’t, we’ll end up with test-tube wine the same way we have test-tube babies.” Max thought Olivier and Bill would get along. “The true test is taste, and that’s why I’m having these people gather.”

  “What if the opinion isn’t unanimous?”

  He laughed. “Then I throw up my hands.”

  “Is it common knowledge that Ellen took a bodyguard to France?” Max asked.

  “No. Everyone I talked to thought she had an assistant.”

  “I don’t understand why she didn’t tell anyone the name of the person she suspected.”

  “I’m not sure. I thought it had something to do with Pascal Boulin. She loved the guy.”

  Max disagreed, but it was based on feeling rather than fact, though Pascal was sitting in prison at this very moment.

  “I assume the magnum I sent to France with Ellen will be returned, and that it’s been treated well?”

  “I have bad news. It was stolen from the hotel safe.”

  He jumped up, furious. “This is ridiculous! Why didn’t you guys claim it right away?”

  “We were all at the hospital and when we returned it was gone.”

  “Come on. Clues?”

  “Nothing at the moment.”

  “Then what do you think? As the daughter of the famous detective, Hank Maguire, you must have an opinion.”

  She had to be careful. “Anything I say now would be speculation and it’s against department rules to surmise.”

  “Well-spoken, detective. I don’t have to follow your rules. Who needed cash fast? Someone who knew the bottle was there and going out that evening? Someone like Pascal, who had asked Ellen for a loan.”

  “He’s being checked out.”

  “You know what? I’m going to call my friends in special places, Max. It’s nothing personal. I have nothing else to tell you.” She didn’t blame him. “If you had gotten in touch with me while you were in France, I would have sent you to Vincent Barthes. I’ve been to dinners with him. He would know all the latest gossip.”

  “He’s in some trouble that I’m not allowed to talk about right now.”

  “I’ll find out. Probably to do with that business he started on his own to prove himself to his father. We all knew that would be a bust. It’s too bad.”

  Max realized she needed to head to the station. “I hope something gets resolved at the tasting,” she said.

  Bill studied her. “We’re playing roulette with my wine.” His eyes narrowed. “So tell me, are you a gambler?”

  She smiled. “Sometimes.”

  “If you were a counterfeiter would you mix up a lot like this, or make them all fake?”

  “We thought of that. My pal Abdel, a policeman in Bordeaux, thought that once greed took over, the counterfeiters couldn’t stand to put in an authentic one.”

  “He has a point. But what about you?”

  “I’d mix them up. Keep everybody off-balance.”

  “So would I. I’m curious to know if you’re into wine.”

  “Not on a detective’s salary.”

  “So you’ve never consumed a rare vintage wine?” She shook her head.

  “I must rectify that,” he said. “That is, if you get the stolen bottle back.” His eyes twinkled. She was glad to see the attitude change.

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “I’ll be honest with you. I’m not at all convinced that there is a counterfeit operation, and even less convinced that’s it’s connected to Ellen’s death. What does your dad think of all this?”

  “You know him, too?”

  “Only his reputation.”

  “He’s not a part of the investigation. Look, I have to go. Paula Goodwin. Will you introduce me?”

  “Of course.” He walked her to the elevator.

  “Would you say she and Ellen were friends?” Max asked.

  “Friendly rivals, I would say. There’s quite a lot of competition in the wine business, and both of them were striving to be at the top.”

  “But their roles were completely different.”

  “Ellen had entered the world of consulting, and that’s where they overlapped.”

  Max realized that she was operating in a tiny, rarefied world of people who were at the top of the power chain, and who then had to hold onto all they had gained. Bill spoke slowly, searching for his words. “Paula is great as long as everything is going her way. She doesn’t like to have her opinion trumped, nor does she like anyone on her turf. She can be a pitbull.”

  Max thought many women were labeled that way when they were extremely successful, which made her wary. “She isn’t the person Ellen wanted to talk to in France, is she?”

  “You mean about counterfeiting? Good god, no! What led you to even think that? She wasn’t even there.”

  “I try to think outside the box.”

  “You’re so far out now that I feel it’s my job to rein you in.”

 
“What’s her background?

  “Horrible childhood, I hear. Whose isn’t? Paula got herself into the best schools and went into business. She married the CEO of an electronics company and has two sons, but is in the middle of a rancorous divorce now. One child is at Yale, and the other is in boarding school. She got into wine late, but became obsessed, like the rest of us.”

  “I know her job is prestigious, but does she make much money?”

  “Not in real terms.” Max would bet she earned ten times what she did. “Look, Paula is a good friend. I’ve lost one friend and I’m going to support the second through everything.”

  Max decided to switch back to Ellen. “Did Ellen advise you to buy the ’45 magnums?”

  Bill thought for a moment. “Actually, she was opposed. She never trusted auction houses. It was the first time Paula sold me wine, and I still think it had to do with that.”

  “So Paula Goodwin sold you the magnums.” He hadn’t wanted to reveal that information, Max knew, which was why he had said his secretary was looking. Judging from his expression, he knew he had slipped.

  “So?”

  “Do you think that’s why Ellen chose the Mouton for her birthday out of your collection and declared it a fake? To prove that you made a mistake in buying from Paula?”

  “It did cross my mind. Ellen could be a little vindictive.”

  Max knew that was true.

  “She and your mother were great friends, I understand.You’ve got some interesting genes.”

  “I don’t recommend them. They make me schizzy.”

  He smiled and walked her out to his private elevator, and pushed the down button.

  “What about a boyfriend?” Max asked.

  “Pardon?”

  “Paula Goodwin.”

  “I don’t go there. Rumor has it she has an on-again, off-again relationship with a distributor. No law against that.”

  “We have some marked cases that have shown up at Richards Importers. Know them?”

  “Anson imports the best. A real straight arrow. Talk to him.” She boarded the elevator. “I like your spunk,” he said. “I want to offer a $250,000 reward to the person who brings Ellen Jordan’s killer in.”