Free Gourmet Detective by Peter King Page A

far,” I said. “I need more information. What can you tell me?”
    He was still pacing. I wished he would sit.
    â€œKlaus told you what he knows, did he?”
    â€œHe told me about the mice.”
    He paused for a moment, eyed me then went on pacing.
    â€œAh, yes, the mice. Good man, Klaus. Fine chef. We’re lucky to have him.”
    â€œHe seems quite certain that the mice were put there—and if so, it must have been by a person who knew that the food inspector was coming that day.”
    â€œAnd you’re thinking that’s what he would say—”
    â€œAm I?” I asked.
    Larry Leopold rubbed the sharp point of his beard against the back of his hand reflectively. “No chef would accept that he runs a dirty kitchen, would he?”
    â€œYou think Klaus does?”
    â€œOf course not.” His voice was sharp.
    â€œWhat about the other incidents?”
    â€œI can tell you about the missing VAT files. That’s in my area.”
    â€œMissing? Files do get mislaid.”
    â€œThese were missing. One day they were here, the next they couldn’t be found.”
    â€œThey never turned up?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWhat happened then?”
    â€œThere was a hell of an argument with the VAT people naturally. We estimated the VAT payments as best we could but they weren’t happy about it. They’ve been breathing down our necks ever since.”
    â€œFrançois mentioned foodstuffs, supplies, going astray. What can you tell me about those?”
    His pacing increased in tempo. He was a very nervous individual. “The worst incident was the last one. We were doing a big banquet for one of the Scotch whisky groups. They had asked for lamb chops—we’d had a big write-up in the Evening Standard a few weeks earlier. Perhaps you saw it?”
    I said I thought I had but I didn’t remember.
    â€œThe write-up was so good that the whisky people wanted the same meal. We had to order the chops specially. They didn’t arrive.”
    â€œDid you find out what had happened to them?” I asked.
    â€œThe supplier insisted he had sent them to us. We said they hadn’t arrived. We had to give the whisky people a different meal. They were furious, I can tell you.”
    â€œYou both looked into it further, I suppose?”
    â€œSure,” said Leopold. “All we could find out was that the driver of the delivery van had been told by someone here that the order had been cancelled. We never found out who.”
    â€œYou said that was the last incident. There were others?”
    â€œYes, earlier. Of course, we thought it was human error then. The kind of mistakes that can happen anywhere.”
    â€œFor instance…?”
    He was still pacing. He rubbed his chin again.
    â€œWe use a special honey for one of our dishes—”
    Now, I was rubbing my chin. It was to cover a slight smile I had not been able to suppress. I knew which dish used that kind of honey and I knew how it was used. I concentrated on Leopold. “—It comes from abroad by air. One complete shipment arrived with every jar broken.”
    â€œAccident?”
    Leopold stopped in mid-stride. “Never happened before.” He resumed his patrol. “Another time, we had ordered a shipment of oysters. We received mussels.”
    â€œReadily replaceable, surely?”
    â€œCertainly not,” Leopold said irritably. “Ours are on special order from Turenne. We can’t just substitute them with a boxful from the local fishmonger!”
    It would make anyone irritable, I thought. In fact, there seemed to be a pattern all through this—all these items were not readily replaceable. Whoever was behind this knew a lot about the restaurant.
    â€œCan you give me the dates of all these?”
    â€œOf course.” I nodded wisely. I had no idea what I’d do with this data but it sounded competent to ask for