Killer Critique by Alexander Campion Page B

just graduated from the best business school in France and had all the answers. I was polluting the historical image of the château to make vulgar money. But he was going to preserve the nobility of the vignoble’ s tradition and the glory of the family while making even more money. For the family it was a highly attractive proposition. But in spite of that they still stuck by me.” Voisin paused.
    â€œAnd then that stupid girl had to get into the act with her idiotic suit. I could have talked her out of it, but Damien jumped in and paid her off behind my back. It was all the ammunition he needed. He got his way with the family.”
    There were a couple of long beats of silence.
    â€œYou know, I’ve always thought that Damien put her up to it. He engineered the whole thing. It’s exactly the sort of thing he’d do.”
    This time the pause was longer.
    â€œYoung man,” Voisin continued, “you wanted to know why I spend so much time in Paris. I’ll tell you why. When I go to my own vignoble, I can’t get past anyone’s secretary. No one will give me the time of day. Damien runs the business like a tyrant and keeps me locked out. But, of course, every time the new Chevalier de la Motte—his Chevalier de la Motte—wins an award, Damien insists I go to receive it. He can’t find enough salt to rub in my wounds.”
    He sighed a deep sigh of the long-suffering, so profound that bats could be heard flapping their wings in his lungs.
    â€œSo I amuse myself as I best I can under the circumstances,” he said with world weariness to David, as if only a man could understand the true depths of suffering.
    There was another long pause, which Capucine finally broke.
    â€œLet’s get back to last night at the restaurant,” she said. “It seems an odd place for you to want to go.”
    â€œExactly. Like way too down-market a place to take a movie star,” David said.
    Capucine was amazed that he actually seemed to have formed an affection for Voisin.
    â€œAh, my friend, you underestimate my little Sybille. She recognized the restaurant’s potential,” he answered with the hint of a wink. “It was her idea.”
    â€œAnd you really didn’t see anything?” David asked.
    â€œYou know, it’s funny you should ask,” he said, as if it was the first time the question had been aired. “As my so-called meal was progressing, I had the impression that there was a very faint green spectral aura floating through the room. At the time I was sure it was my guardian angel. Then I shut my eyes. I’m sure you can imagine why. And when I opened them, the aura was gone. That girl really has a spectacular talent.”
    Capucine was so delighted with this piece of news that she was completely oblivious to Isabelle’s low growl.

CHAPTER 14
    I t was nearly one in the afternoon by the time Capucine battered the Twingo into an impossibly tight space on the rue de Ménilmontant, a few doors down from her brigade. She realized she was ravenous.
    â€œDo you think we can still squeeze into Benoît’s? I’m starving,” Capucine asked Isabelle, sitting next to her in the front seat.
    â€œA little casse-croûte would be wonderful. All that vintage hot air has given me an appetite, too.”
    David opened his mouth to say something but thought better of it.
    All three of them knew that a casse-croûte —a quick snack—was out of the question at Benoît’s, the local restaurant of choice for the brigade personnel. It was a full meal, eaten and savored at leisure, or nothing. Benoît’s was one of the last handful of genuine working-class bistros, which now existed only in the outlying arrondissements, like the Twentieth. The fare was only simple classics, but they were prepared with love and pride.
    Inside, the detectives extracted their napkins, changed once a week, from a long rack of