"Making progress?"
Shrug. Noncommittal grunt.
"Not solved yet, I take it?"
"Not yet." Coherent speech this time. A distinct improvement.
"Suspects?"
"Oh, yes."
"Well, it certainly is fascinating getting all this information right from the horse’s mouth." He bit into a roll spread with soft, tart Banon.
Joly smiled. "Everyone in the manoir is a legitimate suspect." He hesitated, then apparently decided to trust Gideon after all. "The wine carafe was placed on the sideboard by Marcel at about ten o’clock last night, when Claude took the previous one up to his room. Between then and nine o’clock in the morning, everyone had ample opportunity to drop a few hundred milligrams of cyanide into it. With or without fingerprints."
"So much for opportunity. Any leads on why he was killed?"
Joly had succeeded in separating a hard crescent of cheese from the wedge and using his fork to place it on his bread. He looked up at Gideon without raising his head, so that his eyebrows were lifted and his forehead wrinkled. Unexpectedly, he burst into his machine-gun laugh; a real one, the kind in which his eyes participated.
"In my long and distinguished career, Dr. Oliver, I have rarely seen so many credible motives." He put down his fork and leaned forward. "In less than a week, Claude Fougeray has antagonized everyone within reach." He began to count on his fingers. "He held Jules du Rocher up to ridicule as a braying and cowardly fool, which he no doubt is; he brought the docile Marcel Lupis to white-faced and violent rage by insulting Madame Lupis; he disparaged Ben Butts’ honor; he-Now, what have I forgotten?" His right forefinger paused over the fourth finger of his left hand and came down. "Oh, of course he’s devoted a lifetime to bullying and mortifying his wife and daughter. And Leona Fougeray, who makes no bones about her delight that he’s dead, is not a woman I would care to provoke."
Joly gave up counting and slowly twirled his wineglass by the stem, staring into the dregs. "Ah, and in what must have been a memorable scene at the reading of Guillaume’s will, he implied strongly that he would challenge it; this in front of a roomful of people who benefited substantially from its provisions."
Gideon listened with increasing respect as Joly went on to elaborate. A lot had been uncovered in a very few hours. "Are people usually this forthcoming?" he asked.
"About each other, yes." Joly smiled. "Especially about their relatives. If it’s damning evidence you want, I often say, talk to your suspect’s family."
Gideon smiled too. It sounded like something Ben’s Uncle Beau Will’m might say.
Joly continued to rotate his glass thoughtfully, then drained the little left in it. "But you know, I can’t say that I put much faith in Claude’s being murdered as revenge for offended dignity or impugned honor. Or even to avoid the bother of divorce. It simply doesn’t happen very often."
"Which leaves the will. You think somebody killed him to keep him from contesting it?"
Joly squirmed a little. He didn’t like being pinned down. "Not exactly. The possibility of a successful challenge was small to the point of absurdity. There were simply no grounds. The lawyer Bonfante carefully explained that to everyone after the reading. Why should someone risk murder in such a case?"
"What did you mean,‘not exactly’?" He poured himself and Joly some wine from the half-bottle of new Beaujolais they’d ordered to go with the cheese; the policeman held up his hand when the glass was a quarter full.
"Well, I think there’s something else going on beneath the surface-something that they haven’t been so forthcoming about. Claude Fougeray, it seems, declared loudly and at every opportunity that the reason Guillaume had called them all together was to announce a new will he was going to prepare; presumably with Claude himself as the major beneficiary."
"Do you think it might be true?"
The inspector swirled the wine in his glass thoughtfully. "Not really. So far I’ve found nothing to suggest it was anything more than wishful thinking. And Bonfante says Guillaume hadn’t mentioned his will in years."
"But you’re not completely sure about it?"
"I wonder about it, yes."
"You think the attorney might be lying?"
"Georges Bonfante? No, no, I’ve known him for years. And if you’re thinking he himself might make an interesting suspect, I’m afraid he won’t. He hasn’t been near the manoir since the reading. Neither have any other outsiders, I might add. So our suspects, if not our motives, are finite and well-defined. A nice, old-fashioned mystery."
Gideon tried some of the ash-impregnated Montrachet on a piece of roll, scraping off most of the grit and doing his best not to think about the horrifying lesions he’d seen in the teeth of prehistoric peoples who’d consumed ash with their food as a matter of course. But taking care of your teeth was an everyday concern. How often did you meet up with a really first-rate Montrachet?
"What was the reason Guillaume got them all together?" he asked.
"Ah, your mind runs like mine," Joly said; clearly a compliment. "According to Jules it was to discuss the selling of the manoir to a hotel chain."
"According to Jules?"
"Jules was the only one he told, apparently. He was the old man’s great favorite, it appears; they were very close."
"Jules?" Gideon said with surprise, remembering the soft young man who had slavered over the thought of severed heads and hands.
Joly smiled wryly at his expression. "Yes, it seems an inexplicable lapse in judgment by a man otherwise well-known for his discernment. How is that Montrachet?"
"It’s delicious, but I hope your teeth have thick enamel."
He offered the wine bottle again but Joly declined. "Thank you, no. I’ve already had too much. I generally limit myself to a single glass at lunch."
"Look, Inspector," Gideon said, pouring a little for himself, "I’m confused. Let’s say Guillaume had been planning a new will-"
"I don’t think it’s likely. Claude was given to deluding himself."
"But let’s say he had, and the estate was going to go to Claude instead of the others…Well, Guillaume died five days ago, right? Without making a new will. It was over and done; what connection could there be to Claude’s murder?"
Joly swallowed a small piece of bread and cheese and dabbed at the corner of his mouth with a napkin. "Yes, that’s true."
"Well-" Gideon put down his glass. "Hey, are you saying that you think there was something fishy about Guillaume’s death after all?"
This was dismissed with a wave of the hand and a sour expression. "I hope that wasn’t a pun. Why do you persist in returning to this? What reason would anyone have to kill Guillaume?"
"For the money in the will," Gideon said. "A lot of people must have been champing at the bit to get their hands on their shares."
"Surely they could wait another year or so."
"Another year?"
"You didn’t know? That’s all he was given to live by Dr. Loti, and that was some months ago."
Gideon very nearly blurted: "I’m sorry to hear that," which would have been pretty peculiar under the circumstances. "No," he said instead, "I didn’t know."
"Well, it’s common knowledge. Dr. Loti’s a good physician, but he isn’t the man to have if you want to keep secrets. Now, does that satisfy you?"
"I suppose so," Gideon said doubtfully. But with or without a plausible motive, Guillaume’s death just didn’t sit right. Not that he expected to convince Joly.
"‘I suppose so,’ " Joly repeated with a smile. "A man who doesn’t give up easily. Still you’re right in a way. There is, as you say, something fishy here somewhere; something they know but they’re not telling me, something not quite…" He searched for a word and came up, surprisingly, with: "…kosher. Something in the past, I think. I’ve begun to wonder if it might not have something to do with the SS man’s murder."