Spilt Wine

35. Adjustments

"The coward. What a fucking horrible coward he was," Catherine said after I rejoined her in the cellar to help see the last few pièces into place. "What else did the Lieutenant have to say?"

I started telling her the story, but Catherine kept interrupting as the pièces continued to come down. "Let's put the story on hold until I can concentrate on it, enjoy it more." She turned her focus back to finishing her task.

There were only a couple dozen pièces left to come down and the men on the barrows were having a much easier time finding the places to put them. It was now a matter of simply filling in the last few gaps in the rows.

"I feel grubby," she said after the last pièce was in place, and they had thanked the workers and seen the last of them out of the courtyard. You lock up here. I'm going to take a quick shower and change into something clean."

"Take a long one. Here comes the adjuster." I nodded toward the car driving in and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "I'll handle him. I have some good wine speak to use in arguing the value of loss."

It was an easy meeting. The adjuster had grown up in a wine family in Gevrey, and he understood quality wine and the market. After examining the past three years' harvest and sales records and writing notes, he said, "I have photos of the puddles of wine in the bilges of the péniche, and I need photos of barrels back in the cellar."

"And we can taste a few while we're down there – see if there was any damage." I got a pipette and two glasses from the pantry rack and pointed out the door.

The adjuster paused frequently to shoot photographs as I led between the pièces and stopped in front of the ones marked aux Combottes. While the adjuster continued looking around and shooting, I reviewed my memory of the write-up I use to describe this wine in my catalogue. This Premier Cru is often confused for a Grand Cru in blind tastings, and for good reason. It is completely surrounded by them: Latricières-Chambertin to its east, Mazoyères-Chambertin to its south and Clos-de-la-Roche on its west and north.

I recalled being disappointed with it a few weeks ago while tasting with Louis, who had talked about the runaway fermentation and being unable for a long while to keep the temperature from climbing. The wine had a slightly cooked taste, thus, my choice now. I turned to the broker and pointed to the chalk script on the end of the pièce. "Do you know this wine?"

"I certainly do, this is one of my father's favourite vineyards. He has rows of it against Latricières, and his plot continues across the line. Some years his Premier is better than his Grand Cru."

I thumped out the bung and pulled a taste into the glasses. There was a long silence, except for the sniffing and gurgling. Then, the adjuster put his nose to the glass again. "It suffers badly from heat."

"A dark steel hull in the sun gets hot inside."

While the adjuster nodded, Catherine called down the cellar steps, "Are you boys finished playing yet?"

"I'm done here," the adjuster said. "My report is already written in my head. I can do the calculations later."

After a brief conversation at the top of the stairs, I locked the door, and we walked the adjuster to his car, waved him off and headed inside.

"I didn't have to use my wine speak on him – I let the wine speak for itself." I told the story as we walked into the kitchen.

"You're a rascal, you are. A very fast-thinking rascal. Go get some wine, I'll pull out some cheese and baguette, then we can sit in front of a fire, and you can tell me a longer story."

"Put a slab of persillé on the board, as well – I'm hungry."

"Persillé is a given here. Pick a big wine, the bigger, the older, the better."

I exchanged the ageing cellar key for the one to the house cellar and headed down. I spent a long time searching through the bins for an appropriate bottle, not knowing the cellar as intimately as Louis, who himself was still learning his way around more than four years since he had taken it over. I finally emerged, locked the door, returned the key and walked into the long salon, cradling a bottle in a pannier in my arm.

The fire was already turning from yellows, and the low table was set with glasses and a board of cheese, ham and baguette when I arrived. She looked up from the couch and asked, "What have you found for us down there?"

"I thought the '61 Bonnes-Mares would be an appropriate celebratory drink."

We sat nosing the wine, losing ourselves in it for a long while. Finally, she said, "So tell me."

I slowly began, "Grattien apologised to us for not giving us details on the raid on the péniche. Said he was busy all day with the team, gathering evidence aboard and around the area, wanting to have it completed so we could start moving the wine off this morning.

"Eleven thirty was their start time. Laurent Grotkopf was found dead of apparent suicide when his home was entered and searched. Two bicyclists on the canal towpath arrested the lock keeper as a large team moved in on the péniche. There was nobody there.

After pausing to savour a piece of Époisses, I continued, "The péniche was indeed the one Jean-Luc had sold just before my viewings. Gendarmes obtained the documents and all the information Jean-Luc had on the deal. The purchase had been poorly disguised in offshore money in an easily unravelled chain that led to a bulk wine and shipping company in Marseille –"

"Bulk wine shipping?" Catherine looked up from her glass. "What about the plonk Grotkopf brought up from the south to stretch his Bourgogne? Louis always said he was selling Midi with fancier labels."

I nodded. "I told Grattien about that, suggesting he search through the files. He told me they had seized all the Grotkopf files and are looking for links with the Marseille group."

After a long pause staring blankly into the fire, Catherine said, "We have our wine back – but not the people. There are still three missing people: Louis, Philippe and l'éclusier."

"Yes, but –"

"Tell me a nicer story, a happier story, I want to enjoy this wine, this moment. Try to forget the bad stuff for a while."

"Why don't you tell me a story? Share with me some things from your past, some happy things from your childhood."

"I still have trouble looking at that. Let's do something easy tonight. It's so easy listening to you."