The Vintage Caper

decided not to do it. I persuaded the girl to let me take her to a clinic run by a friend of mine, and then I went to see the father. His name’s Andreis. He’s a good man. We still have lunch a couple of times a year. I don’t say we’re close, but I have some credit there.”
    This was a side of her louche cousin that Sophie had never seen. “Chapeau , Philippe,” she said. “Good for you. What happened to the girl?”
    “It ended well. She married a doctor she met at the clinic, and I’m godfather to their little girl.” Philippe stared at his empty glass with surprise, as though major evaporation had taken place while he wasn’t looking.
    Sam poured him some more wine. “Do you think he’d lend us one of his forensic guys for an hour or so?”
    “I can ask. But he’ll want to know the background, and I’ll have to tell him.”
    Sam shrugged. “That’s fine. We’re not really going to be doing anything illegal. Tell him it’s just a standard check, a routine procedure carried out by a conscientious and discreet insurance company that doesn’t want to cause unnecessary annoyance or embarrassment. That’s why we don’t think it’s worth bothering Reboul. Do you think he’ll buy that? You can promise him that there’ll be no theft, no breaking and entering.” Sam paused to reconsider. “Well, no breaking and entering as long as we can get Vial out of the way for a couple of hours. That’s next on the list. Any ideas?” He raised his glass to Sophie and Philippe. “Here’s to inspiration.”
    They parted company for the evening. Sophie wanted to check in with her office before having room service and an early night. Philippe thought he’d see if Inspector Andreis was at home. Sam, with somewhat mixed emotions, was going to call L.A. again and report on progress to Elena Morales. Their last conversation had ended on a distinctly low note. It was time, Sam felt, for some fences to be mended.
    When he got through to Elena, he received a monosyllabic, frigid greeting. Now he knew what it felt like being a telemarketer on a bad day. He took a deep breath.
    “Elena, I want you to hear me out. First of all, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about Sophie Costes. She’s been a real help, and she’s had a couple of great ideas.” He might have been talking to Siberia, but at least she hadn’t hung up. “Now, what you won’t find on her C.V. is that she’s planning to get married in the fall. He’s called Arnaud—a nice, middle-aged guy from Bordeaux with an elderly mother and two Labradors named Lafite and Latour. Oh, and a château, apparently, but not a very big one.”
    “Is this what you called to tell me?”
    Sam detected a hint of climate change coming down the line. “Partly, yes. I mean, I wanted to put the record straight. I didn’t want you to think I was, well, you know …”
    Elena let him dangle for a moment or two before replying. “OK, Sam. You’ve made your point.” She sounded almost friendly. “So, how’s it going down there?”
    “Promising. I’ll know for sure in a couple of days.” Sam took Elena through what had happened since the first meeting with Reboul: the day with Vial, the discoveries in the cellar, the call to Lieutenant Bookman, and Philippe’s efforts to help in resolving the question of the fingerprints. “In other words,” said Sam as he came to the end of his report, “progress, but nothing definite. Nothing yet for Roth to get excited about.”
    At the mention of her client’s name, Elena said something short and sharp in Spanish. It didn’t sound complimentary.
    “I’m sure you’re right,” said Sam. “You know, you should get away from him, take a few days off. Spoil yourself. They say Paris is pretty nice in the spring.”
    “Let me know about the prints. Oh, and Sam?” Her voice softened. “Thanks for the call.”
    She hung up. Diplomatic relations had been reestablished.

Eighteen

    Chez Félix, a spacious, well-kept bar on an unremarkable side street, is a brisk two-minute walk from Marseille police headquarters on the Rue de l’Evêché. Thanks to this convenient location, and the added attraction that the bar’s owner is a retired gendarme, Chez Félix has long been a favorite of police officers seeking liquid consolation after a hard day trading punches with the underworld. A popular feature of the bar is the section at the back, which has been divided into three small booths. Here, delicate matters can be