26

“I’ll be in Tours in two hours. I need to meet with you.” Benjamin heard nothing at the other end of the call.

Finally, Inspector Blanchet spoke. “It’s late, Mr. Cooker, and I’m tired. I was just putting on my coat to leave the office.”

Benjamin could imagine the inspector’s frustration and fatigue. The Simone Margerolle investigation had taken one bad turn after the other, and the papers and their websites were full of questions—questions for which the police had no answers. Had they assigned the right people to the case? Did they have the wherewithal to find the perpetrator? Most likely, Blanchet was resigning himself to working with the vice squad in Paris.

“We’ll meet tomorrow,” Blanchet said.

“No, Inspector, it has to be right away.”

“I don’t understand, boss,” Virgile said, trailing the winemaker as he raced toward the car. “How did you figure out the Mathilde Desloges angle, and what does she have to do with Princess Leia?”

Benjamin slid into the driver’s seat and waited for Virgile. “It’s about greed, son, as I said. Who stood to gain from Simone’s death? The young woman who’d replace her if she died. At David’s party, I spilled wine on a male server. When I looked at the stain on his shirt, it occurred to me that there was something wrong. He was wearing a woman’s shirt. But I was too embarrassed about my blunder to give it any thought.”

“How did you know it was a women’s shirt?”

“Men’s dress shirts don’t have darts at the bosom, Virgile. But more important, they button on the right side, not the left.”

“I never realized that, boss. Why do men’s and women’s shirts button on different sides?”

“Historically, clothing for wealthy men included provisions for weaponry. Because most men held their swords in their right hands, it was more convenient to unbutton with their left. The image of the server in the women’s dress shirt came back to me during our walk in the park.”

“But Mathilde’s masquerading as a man isn’t enough to convict her for murder.”

“You’re right, son. There’s more to it.”

Benjamin and Virgile arrived at the police station and hurried to Blanchet’s office on the first floor. The winemaker wasn’t surprised to find the exhausted inspector slumped in his chair. He handed Blanchet the evidence that Henri had printed out.

“What’s all that?” the inspector asked.

“What I’ve just given you will help you sleep peacefully,” Benjamin answered.

“Well, shit! Let’s take a look!”

Blanchet took the photos out of the manila envelope. Henri had skillfully erased the mustache, smoothed the cheekbones, outlined the lips, applied light makeup, and replaced the gelled men’s wig with a long mane to reveal Mathilde, the gorgeous young woman with the enticing mole near her lip.

“Who is it?” Blanchet asked.

“I’ll tell you very soon, but I have a request.”

Blanchet frowned. “You may be used to getting your way in the circles you run in, Mr. Cooker, but they’re not my circles.”

“I understand, Inspector. But it’s not a request that will put you out too much. I need to see the hospital’s security tapes.”

“I suppose you’re not going to reveal why.”

“That I’ll also tell you—very soon.”

The inspector sighed. “All right, Mr. Cooker. I know you have a reputation for solving crimes, and, to be frank, I could use a hand. Just don’t tell the people in vice that you helped me.”

“Deal,” Benjamin said.

Blanchet made a phone call, and Benjamin and Virgile drove to the hospital. Two days were crucial: the day after Simone’s arrival, and the day of her death. A hospital technician set everything up, and the winemaker and his assistant sat down.

“Boss, now that I’m thinking of it, there was a woman in Simone’s room who looked like Mathilde. She had blond hair in a ponytail, and she was wearing scrubs. But her back was turned to me. She didn’t say anything and left the room as soon as I came in.”

“Most likely she was there to check on Simone’s condition,” Benjamin said.

Benjamin zeroed in on footage captured at the hospital entrance close to the time Virgile arrived. They saw Fabrice come in, and then an attractive blond woman wearing a hat, jeans, and sneakers.

“That’s her!” Virgile said. “Mathilde!”

“Yep, that’s our actress,” Benjamin said. “She must have ducked into a locker room and slipped into scrubs.”

A few minutes later, Virgile entered, and Fabrice left. Then Mathilde.

“All right,” Benjamin said. “We’ve placed her at the hospital the day after Simone was admitted. Now let’s go through the footage on the day Simone died.”

Sure enough, they found her, this time wearing a floppy hat and sundress, entering the hospital close to the time of Simone’s death. Not an hour later, she hurriedly left the facility through the same door.

“What was the time of Simone’s death, boss?”

“Dr. Molinier said it was 6:53.”

“Well, here she is, coming in at 6:16 and leaving at 7:05.”