Free Late Harvest Havoc by Jean-Pierre Alaux Page A

about the slashed tires,” he said.
    â€œSince when do I take orders from you?” Benjamin said.
    â€œIf I can’t be your son-in-law, let me at least be your most faithful ally.”
    Benjamin stared at Virgile, and he thought his boss was about to say something. Instead, the winemaker just shrugged.
    â€œWe’re here to file a complaint,” Benjamin told the duty officer.
    â€œSecond door on the left, at the end of the hall. But you’ll have to wait. We’ve got more complaints than usual this morning, and two people are ahead of you…”
    Two women of a certain age, one in a gray suit, heels, and a pearl necklace, the other in a stained raincoat, frayed stockings, and a Hermès scarf were sitting on opposite sides of the reception area, glaring at each other. Two boys in handcuffs were on another bench. Virgile had heard them talking, and he thought they were speaking one of the Baltic languages. He didn’t know which. He wondered if they were undocumented immigrants destined to be returned to their homeland. As the older one awaited his fate, he stared at the woman in the gray suit while running his hand up and down his sweatpants. The other one was dozing on his shoulder.
    â€œWe’ll come back another time,” Benjamin told the duty officer.
    â€œWhat was stolen?”
    â€œNothing. My car was vandalized.”
    â€œWindshield? Scratches?” the duty officer asked mechanically.
    â€œThe tires were slashed. To be precise, two pneumatic Pirelli tires on my Mercedes convertible. I have reason to believe that the instrument the vandal used was identical to the one wielded by the person or persons who’ve been chopping down vines all over Alsace, if you follow me.”
    The duty officer put down his pen and gave Benjamin a hard look.
    â€œI’ll go see what I can do for you.”
    The officer disappeared behind a gray metal door that bore the name Inspector Fauchié.
    An officer who had been guarding the boys in handcuffs walked over to the reception desk and slid into the duty officer’s seat. He picked up a pen and started going over the papers on a clipboard.
    Before long, the first officer emerged from his superior’s quarters. Seeing the smile on his face, Virgile surmised that this Inspector Fauchié had given the officer a pat on the back for not sending them away.
    â€œGentlemen, the inspector will see you. Give him a few moments.”
    Not even a minute later, Inspector Fauchié opened his door and invited Benjamin and Virgile in. Virgile took one look at him and wondered why the man was still working. He was clearly eligible for retirement. His hair was white, and the backs of his hands were covered with liver spots. He was slightly stooped, but his eyes were keen and ferret-like.
    Once they were in his office, the police inspector waved his arm at two chairs and asked the winemaker and his assistant to sit down. Then he summoned a clerk to record the complaint.
    â€œWhat makes you think that your tires were slashed by something other than an ordinary kitchen or hunting knife?” he asked.
    â€œI’m telling you what the mechanic at the Mercedes dealership told me late yesterday, when I got back to my hotel,” Benjamin said. “According to him, only a power tool could make cuts that clean. If you want to verify what he said, have your own people take a look at my tires.”
    â€œYou’re making quite a leap there. Why would the person who’s wreaking havoc in the vineyards have reason to vandalize your car?”
    â€œBecause there’s a connection, Inspector.”
    â€œAnd tell me, Mr. Cooker, what’s the connection?”
    â€œWine, of course!”
    â€œGood Lord, you could be onto something! I forgot that I have an authority on the subject sitting right here in my office. Please forgive me. I drink nothing but water these days—trying to practice a healthy lifestyle, you