Free Late Harvest Havoc by Jean-Pierre Alaux Page B

know.”
    â€œThat’s my attitude, as well, Inspector. As far as I’m concerned, water is absolutely essential. I make it a practice to shower in it every morning.” Benjamin turned to Virgile and gave him a discreet wink.
    The officer typing the statement grinned at Virgile. The inspector’s affectations were comical, indeed.
    Fauchié smoothed his hair back and changed his tone.
    â€œTell me, Mr. Cooker, why are you in Alsace?”
    â€œWriting my guide requires that I travel all over France. I do numerous tastings and familiarize myself with the various terrains and the people who produce our country’s wines, both the vintners who go back generations and those who are just starting out. My line of work is more about a philosophy of life than a healthy lifestyle.”
    â€œI see. And do you have any enemies? A winegrower, for example, who may have gotten a bad rating in your guide? I believe you give both high and not-so-high ratings. You have an economic influence that goes well beyond handing out laurels and lashings.”
    â€œI never administer a lashing, Inspector. My guide is objective. As for my economic influence, you flatter me.”
    â€œI’m only repeating what I read in the papers. A good rating in the Cooker Guide guarantees sales, does it not?”
    â€œIf that were true, those who get the highest ratings in my guide would be putting me up for canonization. But the wine world is experiencing a crisis without precedent, and I’m no guru. I’m just a man with a lot of requirements whose aim is guiding consumers in their choices.”
    â€œAll right, Mr. Cooker. Just for the sake of argument, let’s eliminate the possibility that the person who slashed your tires was some marginalized individual insulted by the flamboyance of a Mercedes convertible. And, by the way, parking your car on a public square without any surveillance seems rather reckless.”
    â€œI grant you that,” Benjamin said. “So we were saying…”
    â€œIf we reject the first hypothesis, we’re looking at a premeditated act that we could classify under the heading ‘willful damage.’ The question is: who’s angry with us. Perhaps you have an idea, Mr. Cooker?”
    Virgile was intrigued by the police inspector’s line of reasoning, but he couldn’t take his eyes off a black-and-white photograph in a black leather frame. Pictured were a bare-chested man—obviously the inspector in his younger days—on a beach, with a smiling woman at his side. The woman, in turn, had her arm around a teenage boy with Down’s syndrome.
    â€œSpeaking of possible animosities. I’ve already talked with Captain Roch of the gendarmerie. Tell me: there wouldn’t be any rivalry between the gendarmes and the Colmar police, would there?”
    Fauchié shrugged halfheartedly. “Theoretically, we always work together.”
    Benjamin didn’t ask the inspector to explain. Instead, he related his encounter with Captain Roch at the Deutzlers. “He’s the one who specifically asked me to file a complaint with you regarding the two slashed tires.”
    â€œAnd he was right to do that,” Fauchié said. “He’ll get a copy of your statement. Would you like to add anything, Mr. Cooker?”
    â€œYes. I don’t mean to interfere in your affairs, but you should interview a man named Séverin Gaesler. He owns a café on the Place de la Cathédrale. An older man, very round and ruddy. At first he doesn’t seem very nice, but he’s not a bad guy. He said he knows things about the vine cutter.”
    Virgile was disappointed with his boss. Why hadn’t the winemaker told him? Despite his desire to leave Alsace immediately, he was conducting his own investigation at that very moment, and it was even possible that he was one step ahead of everyone else.
    â€œAll this can’t be the work of a single