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 gently squeezed her hand. "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 understood quality wine and the market. While he examined the past three years' harvest and sales records and wrote notes, I descended to the cellar to find a bottle of 1983 aux Combottes, remembering being disappointed with the 1985 a few weeks ago while tasting with Louis. He had explained a runaway fermentation and being unable for a long while to keep the temperature from climbing. 

Then, back up with the adjuster, I showed him the label and asked, "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."

"Yes, the same as here. But it makes sense, being surrounded by Grands Crus; Latricières-Chambertin to its east, Mazoyères-Chambertin to its south, and Clos-de-la-Roche on its west and north. I thought we would taste this beside the 1985 in barrel. See if there was any damage."   

"A fine idea." He pointed to his camera. "I have photos of the popped bungs and puddles of wine in the bilges of the péniche, and I need photos of barrels back in the cellar."

I opened the 1985, got a pipette and four glasses from the pantry rack and pointed out the door. "We'll taste them side-by-side in the cellar."

The adjuster shot photographs as I led him between the pièces and stopped beside the ones marked aux Combottes. After setting the glasses on the next barrel, I poured the 1985 into two glasses, thumped the bung from the barrel and pulled tastes into the other two glasses. There was a long silence, except for the sniffing and gurgling, then the adjuster nosed his glasses again and said, "The 1983 is superb, but the 1985 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. So unlike the straight-laced and honest I've always seen you as."

"I thought it was the best way to compensate for the depressed prices of the past few years. It would have been far too difficult – likely impossible to convince the adjuster of the wine's true value after he had seen what Louis accepted from Grotkopf."

"True. Justified dishonesty." She giggled. "Go get some wine, I'll pull out some cheese and a 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 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."