24

Benjamin brushed his teeth and smoothed his hair as he went over the multiple angles in Simone’s drugging and death. He and Virgile had returned to their rooms after finishing their Cognacs. The winemaker had planned to check in with Jacqueline, his secretary in Bordeaux. He was too preoccupied, however, to tend to business. He finished freshening up and ordered tea. When his cell phone rang, he was tempted to let it go to voicemail. But then he saw who it was.

“Mr. Cooker, I had that capsule analyzed,” Dr. Molinier said. “It’s a selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor that the National Agency for the Safety of Medicines and Health Products approved last year.”

“It’s not GHB?”

“No, Mr. Cooker. I’m aware that some doctors are prescribing GHB again, but the SSRIs are much more common and, in my opinion, more effective. There’s something else you may want to know.”

“Tell me, please.”

“As it turns out, they did perform an autopsy, and it was done right away, because the medical staff was suspicious. Heroin was found in Simone’s bloodstream, Mr. Cooker. They think someone injected it directly into her IV line.”

Benjamin gasped. “Heroin? It was heroin that finally did her in?”

“It appears to be the case. Simone was murdered at the hospital, just as she was recovering.”

His hand shaking, Benjamin ended the call. Although he was relieved that Lee Friedman was no longer implicated, he was in shock. Benjamin sat down on his bed.

A moment later, Virgile knocked and came in. “Hungry, boss? I could use some lunch. My stomach’s a bit unsettled after your news and the drink so early in the day. Maybe we could finally go to the Grand Vatel. I hear the Vatel salad with foie gras, gizzards, dried duck breast…” He stopped. “What’s wrong, boss? Not more bad news, I hope.”

Benjamin looked up at his assistant. “Virgile, I just spoke with Dr. Molinier. Someone injected Simone’s IV line with heroin. That’s why she went into respiratory arrest.”

Virgile’s chin dropped. Speechless, he plopped down on the bed next to Benjamin.

After a few minutes, the winemaker got up and walked toward the door. “I need to clear my head.”

Virgile followed. “Where are we going?”

Without answering, Benjamin marched downstairs and outside. He got into the car and waited for his assistant to join him. As he drove out of the parking lot and onto the highway, he took deep breaths to calm himself. He began to relax as he accelerated.

Finally, he glanced at Virgile. “Have you seen Château du Clos Lucé, where Leonardo da Vinci spent the final three years of his life?”

“No, can’t say that I have, although I’ve heard about it.”

“Leonardo took up residence there at the invitation of King François I. To get to France, he crossed the Alps on a mule, carrying three of his masterpieces, The Virgin and Child With Saint Anne, Saint John the Baptist, and the Mona Lisa,” which he was still perfecting. He wasn’t a young man, Virgile. He was sixty-four.”

“The king must have offered quite an incentive to make him do that,” Virgile said.

“Leonardo was always in need of benefactors, and François promised a stipend and a home. While he lived at the Clos Lucé, Leonardo worked on several projects for the king, who was a great admirer. In fact, the king called Leonardo ‘father.’ He used a tunnel from his palace, the Château Royal d’Amboise, to visit the master. But our time is limited today, and it’s the gardens that I want to see.”

They made the short drive to Amboise, parked, and went straight to the grounds, which showcased life-sized inventions inspired by Leonardo’s sketches. It was a balmy day, and the landscape was lush.

“This is called Leonardo’s open-air museum, son. It’s where you can envision the self-taught innovator, engineer, and architect, who observed nature and used it as his inspiration. Here, among the cypresses, pines, and blossoming plants, you can see the world through his eyes. Even the water comes to life. Look up, Virgile. Suspended in the trees above us are forty translucent canvasses. The models, meanwhile, are all hands-on and made with materials that would have been available during his life.”

Three children scampered past the winemaker and his assistant. Giggling, they climbed aboard an assault chariot. They scrambled off and moved on to the multi-barreled gun, another invention they could work themselves. On the lake, teenagers propelled the Leonardo boat.

“Over there, Virgile, you can see the twenty-meter-high double-deck bridge. It was his way of improving urban traffic and hygiene. The lower level was for commercial traffic, while the top was for cleaner traffic.”

“This place is almost magical, boss, like a fifteenth-century Star Wars.”

Benjamin smiled. He was beginning to feel like his old self. “You’re a fan, son?”

“Of course. A light saber was my all-time favorite Christmas present.”

Benjamin stopped in his tracks. “Star Wars,” he said.

“What about it, boss?”

“I just remembered an item I read in Le Monde. It seems Disney’s set to collect fifty million dollars because Carrie Fisher died before The Last Jedi was completed. She’d signed a three-picture deal.”

Virgile stepped aside for a couple approaching from behind. “I read about that too. But how’s it connected to Leonardo da Vinci?”

“It has to do with the way we’ve been seeing things, son. Our vision has been off. We’ve assumed that the perpetrator in the Simone Margerolle case was acting out of revenge, anger, or a sense of powerlessness. But what if it was about something else?”

“I’m not following.”

“What if the perpetrator had something to gain by getting rid of Simone? What if greed was the motive?”