20

“The sound of the waters lapping in the Loire will add some ambiance, I think.” Liza Stechelmann scanned the river and the gently rising banks lined with trees, which were flaunting their leaves in full springtime splendor. She looked back at Benjamin and Virgile, waiting for confirmation.

“Yes, I agree,” Virgile said. “I’ve always loved the sound of water. I belonged to the Bergerac rowing club when I was a kid.”

“Is that so?”

“It’s true,” Benjamin said. “He was one of its most promising members.”

The production team had borrowed a boat, and they were steadying it so the winemaker and his assistant could get in. Liza had equipped the two oenologists with clip-on microphones. Fabrice would stretch out on the bank and follow them with his camera. “I’m miking you, but I probably won’t use anything you say,” Liza said. “These are just atmospheric images to mark breaks in the action. Feel free to say whatever.”

Virgile turned to Benjamin. “I wonder if it’s okay to swim here. I wouldn’t mind jumping in after the filming.”

“I wouldn’t know, son. The Loire’s been called the last wild river in Western Europe. It’s a haven for rare and threatened wildlife. But it can also have high levels of algae and bacteria. I wouldn’t swim in it.”

“You really think it’s that big a concern?”

“I wouldn’t take a chance. Some of the river’s more popular swimming spots were closed last year.”

“But that was in the summer, boss.”

“Correct. So you decide for yourself.”

Benjamin leaned over side of the boat and stared at the water. It was bringing back memories of his childhood: August, when his family vacationed in the Médoc, and the sun would darken freckles faded by overcast winters in London. Back then, the Médoc’s famous wine estates—Margaux, Latour, Petrus, and Mouton-Rothschild, to name a few—didn’t interest him the way they would later. When his father, Paul William, drove them to the ocean, Benjamin couldn’t wait for the familiar curves in the road announcing the promise of a swim.

Paul William shunned the water himself, but he allowed his children to frolic in the waves. While Benjamin’s mother read magazines and sunbathed, without undressing too much, Paul William would watch his children with the austere dignity of an officer in the Royal Navy—taking care to keep his deerskin Lobbs dry. Much earlier, he had advised Benjamin and his siblings to watch out for eddies and shifting sand banks, as the currents were often treacherous.

Liza interrupted his reverie. “Would you please make a U-turn, but not too quickly,” she yelled from the river bank. Apparently, she wanted to get the bridge in the background.

“I’d like to see you do this!” Virgile called out. “You’re making me row against the current!”

“Put in the effort, please,” the director yelled back, cupping her hands around her mouth like a megaphone.

“My hands are already blistered. I’m out of practice.”

“Come, come, Virgile. Don’t be a sissy!”

Liza’s words stung. Virgile heaved and executed the maneuver without a word.

Benjamin, meanwhile, had closed his eyes and was letting the gentle waters lull him. His young gondolier was seething and chastising himself for going along with this little boat trip, and the winemaker wasn’t about to get in the middle of it.

§ § §

Still muttering, Virgile climbed out of the boat and let Benjamin huddle with Liza. They walked over to a cluster of trees and didn’t seem to notice that he wasn’t following. Instead, Virgile stayed where he was and watched as Fabrice dusted the dirt and grass off his jeans and polo shirt and changed lenses. Then, as if sensing that he was being studied, he looked up from his camera and locked eyes with Virgile.

Virgile didn’t want to wait any longer. He climbed the river bank and joined Fabrice.

“I think we’re almost done with the filming phase of the documentary,” he said, attempting a casual conversation as he stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the cameraman. “Will you be glad to get back to Paris?”

“No, not really,” Fabrice said. “The countryside’s nice, and the pay’s okay. As long as I can get my workouts in, I’m good.”

“So, is it hard to stay in shape while you’re traveling?”

Fabrice looked over at him. “I learned a long time ago that the secret’s bringing your own equipment. I’ve got a suspension trainer, a speed rope, resistance bands, an ab wheel… I even have a medicine ball you fill with water when you use it and drain when you’re done. And I eat right. I pack a lot of my own food.”

Virgile put his hands in his pockets and fell silent for a moment. Then: “Just wondering—do you ever compete in bodybuilding contests?”

Fabrice’s expression turned curious. “It’s not my thing. I care about staying fit, but I’m not someone’s eye candy. And so many bodybuilders in those competitions take enhancers. I don’t. Why are you asking?”

Virgile had a gut feeling. The guy was telling the truth. He took a deep breath and plunged in. “I’ve got to ask, Fabrice. I was at the hospital the day after Simone was admitted. The nurse told me you visited her too.”

Fabrice looked shocked. “How did she know it was me? I didn’t give her my name.”

“You didn’t have to give her your name. You’re someone who stands out in a crowd.”

Fabrice sighed and hung his head. “Yeah, I was at the hospital. I had to see her. After we finished filming at the party, David said we could stay. I packed my gear and just starting mingling. Then she came up and asked me to dance. Virgile, it was a dance I’ll remember the rest of my life. A gorgeous girl like her, looking at me that way, like I was the only man in the world. I was walking on air. Then, before I knew it, she vanished. The next morning, they told me she’d been found unconscious in the cellar. I couldn’t believe it.” The cameraman kicked the dirt. “So that’s why I was at the hospital. I really hope, by some miracle, that she recovers. I’ve been praying for her.”

Virgile understood. “I know, Fabrice. I hope she recovers too.” He patted the cameraman’s shoulder.

“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.”