The Grave Gourmet (26 page)

“Poor man. But no more Giselle!
Quel dommage
,” Alexandre said. “And what about Delage's secretary?”

“Renault was quite decent with Clotilde. Obviously, they didn't want her around any longer, but they agreed not to press any charges if she resigned. She won't have any difficulty getting a job as secretary to the boss of another big company.”

“So that's it. Case wrapped up. And brilliantly so!” Alexandre said. “We get to take a vacation. Marrakech, here we come! I haven't spent a whole night with you without the phone ringing and you rushing out in what seems like a month.”

“Not so fast, my dear sweet letch. There's one loose end that still has to be tied up. Actually, that's going to be the most satisfying one of all.”

A
sullenly taciturn maid in ancient carpet slippers and washed-out cleaning smock let Capucine in, led her to the sitting room, and left her to her own devices without a word. Capucine knew Guyon would make a point of keeping her waiting. She prowled. The kinetic sculpture was just as abrasive as it had been the last time, clicking away like a nest of irritatingly loud mechanical insects. Capucine walked around it impatiently, attentively. Once, twice, a third time around. Suddenly she stopped, extended her index finger, and lightly caressed a small, domed projection. At her gossamer touch the tiny knob retreated into the machine as if in outrage. The device made a loud chunk and fell silent, leaving the room ominously quiet.

Guyon burst in. “What on earth did you just do? It can't be stopped! It's not made to be stopped! How did you know how to do it?”

“Nothing could be easier. I just touched this little doohickey, right down there. See!” Capucine was delighted. “The damn thing just shut right up.”

“How did you find that?! I've had the sculpture for years. I never noticed that lever.”

“The symmetry was offensive. That little knob was sticking up in the wrong place. It made no sense for it to be there. It's the same reason I've come to take you to Quai des Orfèvres for questioning. You were sticking up in the middle of the case destroying its symmetry.”

Guyon started violently. “But I understood you had arrested a Korean spy for the murder. You're crazy! You can't arrest me. Don't be silly.” Guyon had backed away toward the sculpture, as if for protection. He shouted, “Leave me alone. Go away.”

At the sound of the outburst, Momo and Isabelle, who had been waiting in the foyer, entered the room quietly. Isabelle went up to Guyon and held him gently by the forearm. “You'll have to come with us.”

“Never! Get your hands off me. Get away!” Guyon shouted hysterically. He wrenched free and ran behind the sculpture. Isabelle followed slowly, making soothing noises. “Get away from me,” Guyon screamed. He ran all the way around the back and out the other side, straight into Momo, who was waiting silently. In a single fluid motion Momo translated the élan of Guyon's rush into a rotation that crooked his arm, pinning it to his back and snapping a waiting handcuff on the wrist. Almost tenderly, Momo twisted the other arm around and squeezed the other cuff shut.

 

At the Quai, when he found himself in the room below the level of the Seine, Guyon ran completely amok, tearing against the handcuffs that bound him to the metal chair, opening deep cuts in his wrists. The handcuffs were removed, the wrists bandaged—“Probably needs stitches,” the doctor tsked, “but the hell with it”—and his arms duct-taped to the chair. After a short pause Guyon renewed his efforts, jerking uncontrollably in the chair and spinning wildly on the floor when he fell over. Finally two stocky uniformed brigadiers managed to pick him up and forcibly hold him down in the chair, leaning over, bearing down on his shoulders, panting from their efforts.

Momo was delighted. “
Chauf!
This guy's the best. I'm going to go get my Polaroid. He's going on my wall.”

The doctor whispered in Capucine's ear. “If you'd like, I can inject him with a cocktail of Valium and haloperidol. That'll calm him right down. He'll get sleepy and subdued and chatty. Of course, any statement he makes will not be receivable in court. But you know that.”

“Oh, don't worry about that part of it, Doctor. Go ahead and give him the shot.”

The injection took some doing. Guyon screamed so loudly that two brigadiers from the next room came in with worried looks. But within five minutes Guyon's head fell to his chest and he smiled a boyish little smile.

“Do you want to tell me about it? You know you won't get out of here until you do,” Capucine cooed in her most maternal voice.

“I still don't know how you knew I was involved. I underestimated you.”

“You didn't, really. It's just that our minds work in completely different ways. It's my failing as a detective, I suppose. When you look at a car you see all the rods and pistons and all those clanky technical things. When I look at a car I see an object, the sum of its parts. You're a master of rational analysis, something I need to get better at. But, thank God, I do very well drawing intuitive conclusions. That's what made that lever that stuck out just a bit too far on your sculpture so apparent. It destroyed the integrity of the whole. Do you understand?”

“So what was the protrusion that led you to me?”

“Oh, le président. Without you he never would have been part of the case.”

“I'm not sure I understand,” Guyon said softly. He was falling into a presleep languor.

“Tell me about your involvement first, and then I'll tell you my side,” Capucine said with the gentleness of a mother tucking in a small child.

“Not much to tell, really,” Guyon slurred. “Typhon was my doing. It was I who sensed that this rocket fuel fluke had the capacity to put a new face on the automobile. I, and only I, realized its potential. It was a chance to rebuild the industry. Do you understand what that means? The whole foundation of the Western economy reinvigorated. A fresh new start for everything.” He was beginning to get excited again. Capucine put her hand gently on his shoulder.

“From the very early stages I could see that it did not really interest Président Delage. He was after a global alliance. Renault had already joined forces with the Japanese. There was also a good hope of a link with those boneheaded Americans. I think he saw himself as the architect of the first really global automobile industry. He was a statesman, not an engineer. He saw triumph in negotiation, not in industry or technology.” Guyon fell silent and seemed to lose interest.

“So what happened?”

“What?…Yes…He funded the project, of course. But he didn't have his heart in it. That was obvious. My fear was that once it got close to becoming a reality Delage might begin to think it could even be dangerous to his endless negotiations. I didn't know what he'd do. But the more I thought about it the more I became convinced he would find a way to keep Typhon in a closet forever. I was getting very worried. Very worried. Very worried.” His voice had fallen to a whisper.

Capucine shook him. He jerked up with a start. “You don't understand at all, mademoiselle, do you? At Poly-technique a professor told us the fable of the pig and chicken who are behind our breakfast of ham and eggs. The chicken is merely involved; she only lays the eggs. But the pig is truly committed because he sacrifices his life. For our professor both those roles were viable. But it is the rooster who can have no place on the team. He merely struts around arrogantly, crowing and adding no value at all. Delage was that rooster. Don't you see?”

“I'll refrain from drawing the obvious conclusion. What happened next?”

“I approached them, of course.”

“Who?”

“The KAMA, the Korean Association of Automobile Manufacturers, at the Detroit automobile show, of all places. Can you imagine! Their chairman was there. It was awful. They thought it was clever to serve sausages from stands at the meetings. They would wheel the stands right into the showrooms. Le hot dog! It's a sort of
choucroute garnie
on a long pastry roll. Must be some sort of Germanic influence. Impossible to eat because everything falls out of the bun onto the floor. Made me utterly sick, too.” He came to a dead stop. It was painfully obvious that the doctor had been a little exuberant with his cocktail.

“Koreans?” she prodded.

“Yes…they were the most likely choice. They were desperate for something to leap-frog the competition. Their chairman went crazy with enthusiasm when I hinted about Typhon. He flew me to Seoul in his private jet. Wanted me to quit Renault and move to Korea immediately. I held out. I wanted to become the head of my own production company. With an important share of the equity. We had a long negotiation. They agreed, ‘in principle.' But only ‘in principle.' Only ‘in principle.'”

“So then what happened?”

Guyon's features slowly reassembled themselves into a sharp, crafty look. “I began to suspect it was Typhon they wanted and not me.” He shot Capucine a conspiratorial glance. “But I wasn't going to be their fool. I wasn't going to give them even a hint of the technology until I had a deal drawn up on paper. Things just went on and on. They promised and promised, but would sign nothing. Nothing. Nothing at…all.”

“Guyon!” Capucine snapped sharply.

“Oh, yes,” he said, lifting his head with a jerk. “Well, it became obvious they were just playing me. So I told the chairman of the KAMA that I wanted no part of it anymore.”

Guyon paused. The crafty look vanished. His face relaxed. He looked younger. He became a small, injured boy. “And also, I realized that I had been greedy. I had wanted too much. It was all too dangerous. I wanted to be recognized as the hero I know I am, but if things didn't work out in Korea—and I had learned how dangerous the Koreans are—I would be seen as a traitor to my country. So,” he beamed suddenly. “That's why I just told them the discussions were over. Voilà! Guyon
fini.
” He burst into peals of laughter.

“That was when the troubles began. They said it was no longer my choice. They were going to assign an NIS agent to produce where I had failed them. You can't imagine their tone. Me, a failure! And they did! Some Korean began calling me at the office to tell me that he was an intelligence agent and had installed an apparatus—yes, that was his word—an apparatus to extract all my secret data right inside my own company. He would laugh. He would call again and again. He would tell me how well it was going and that he nearly had all the data he needed. Soon he would be going and I would be left alone. ‘Thanks for all your help,' he said.”

There was a long pause. Guyon stared at the floor, un-blinking.

“So I had to do something. I knew what they were going to do. They were going to implement Typhon and blame me for the theft, so they would be protected from lawsuits. It was obvious.

“I got smart.” Guyon looked pleased with himself. “Yes, I handled the beginning badly, but I extracted myself brilliantly.

“When the Seoul R & D conference came up, I simply circulated the rumor that the catalyst had been perfected. But cleverly. I told a couple of blabbermouth press agents. In a matter of hours the rumor was all over the place. Brilliant. It was perfect. Once the rumor was launched I would be free to sic the authorities on those damned Koreans and, the best part, I would be free of any possible accusations.” He looked up at Capucine for approval. “Isn't that brilliant?”

“Brilliant,” Capucine said as if speaking to a small child. “And then what happened?”

“It was perfect. I told Delage about the rumor flying around in Seoul and he elected to take it to the highest levels of the government. My problems were over. Except…Except…”

“Yes,” Capucine prompted him.

“I might have been just a little bit indiscreet. In my relief I hinted, no more than hinted, mind you, to one of my staff, that imbecile Vaillant—you know him, remember?—that I had solved a very sticky problem and that Président Delage was going to clamp down hard on the security for Typhon.

“Vaillant became overemotional and began asking me any number of questions. Too many questions. But it was perfectly correct for me to have spoken to him. There was absolutely nothing wrong in that. I was Vaillant's mentor. It was natural for me to share my emotions with him. No fault can be attached to me for that. Surely you can see that.”

“Of course,” Capucine said. “Anyone can see that.”

Guyon smiled happily. “There. That's all there is to it.”

“But when you learned that Président Delage had been killed, what did you think?”

“Oh, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that it had been the Korean spy who had somehow killed him. You can't imagine how violent that man is. But so what? It wasn't me, was it? My involvement with those people had been purged. They could do what they wanted to. It had nothing to do with me anymore. Don't you think? I did quite well. I saved Typhon for
la gloire de la France.
Actually, I think I should get the Legion of Honor for my bravery. At the very least.”

Capucine had a bad taste in her mouth that seeped through to the rest of her body. “But did you not feel any remorse that you had been instrumental in the death of Président Delage? After all, he had been your close colleague for a number of years.”

Guyon shot upright with a start. “Remorse! Are you insane? Do you not see the enormity of his crime? Industry is about making things. Better and better things. He would have let the greatest development of the century languish because he wanted to create a paper empire. He was the nemesis of industry. Remorse! Indeed!”

As if guilty of their momentary lapse the drugs grabbed Guyon with renewed vigor and he fell asleep, his chin on his chest, snoring quietly through a contented smile.