you do not use your sense of taste?’
‘
Oui
, Chef,’ barked the terrified Damien like a rooky private answering the sergeant major.
‘Imbecile,’ Colbert muttered to nobody in particular. ‘Why must they always send me incompetent monkeys?’ He swung round to
face Wesley who instinctively took a step backwards.
‘You wish to speak with me about Charlie?’ He pronounced Charlie the French way.
Wesley cleared his throat. ‘Yes, sir. Is there somewhere we can talk in private?’
Colbert made a vague Gallic gesture with his hands and began to march towards a door marked ‘Private’. Heffernan gave Wesley
a nudge and they followed. It wasn’t often Gerry Heffernan looked overawed but it seemed that Fabrice Colbert had rendered
him speechless. Wesley, however, told himself firmly that he wasn’t one of Colbert’s kitchen hands and there was no way he
was going to be intimidated by ajumped-up cook. He kept this thought in his mind as he entered what he assumed to be the chef’s office and sat down without
being invited. After a few moments of hesitation, Gerry Heffernan did likewise.
‘I assume you’ve heard about Charles Marrick’s death?’ said Wesley.
‘
Oui
. I hear it on the news this morning.
C’est terrible
.’
‘Indeed.’ He glanced at Heffernan who was staring at the chef as though he wasn’t quite sure what to make of the man. ‘When
did you last see Mr Marrick?’
The chef didn’t look so sure of himself now. ‘Er … it must have been
Lundi
… Monday. Yes, Monday. I go to his house.’
‘Mrs Marrick told us that you and Mr Marrick had an argument.’ Wesley looked the man in the eye, waiting to see how he’d react.
The chef swallowed hard. ‘
Oui
.
C’est vrai
. We quarrelled.’
Gerry Heffernan leaned forward. ‘What about?’
There was a long silence. Colbert had been standing up, as though he hoped to get rid of his visitors as soon as possible.
But now he took his seat behind the large oak desk covered with receipts, lists and menu plans.
He picked up a pen and turned it over in his long fingers for a while before he finally spoke. ‘Charlie Marrick was a crook.
Un voleur
… a thief.’
This captured Heffernan’s interest. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean what I say. He was a thief. He stole from me.’
Wesley glanced at his boss. ‘Can you be a little more specific, Monsieur Colbert? What did he steal?’
‘My money … and my good name. My reputation.’
This was like pulling teeth. Wesley tried again. ‘Can you tell us the details? What exactly did he steal and when?’
Another long silence. Wesley wondered what the man was up to, dangling a piece of juicy information in front of them then refusing
to elaborate. But eventually the chef spoke.‘He tricked me. We order wine from his warehouse … the best vintages … we have a discerning clientele here at Le Petit Poisson.
We use his warehouse before and we never have trouble, but this time …’ He gave an expressive shrug.
‘Go on,’ Wesley prompted. He looked at Gerry Heffernan who was sitting attentively like a child being read his favourite bedtime
story.
‘My customers order expensive vintages. When they taste they send them back. My sommelier he changes the bottle … the same thing.
The wines are not what they claim to be on the label. The Chateau Margaux tastes like a
vin de table
. The Chateau Margaux is a
vin de table
. That Charlie Marrick … he swap the labels.’
Wesley gave a low whistle. ‘So you order expensive wines and he sends you cheap plonk with expensive labels.’
‘That is correct. I am upset. My reputation – the reputation of Le Petit Poisson – is at stake.’
‘You have proof of this? It wasn’t just a bad bottle or two or … ?’
‘Oh non, Inspector. This is deliberate. Every bottle we open is the same.’
‘Perhaps it was just a bad year,’ said Heffernan, trying to sound as though he knew what he was talking about.
Colbert
‘
Oui
, Chef,’ barked the terrified Damien like a rooky private answering the sergeant major.
‘Imbecile,’ Colbert muttered to nobody in particular. ‘Why must they always send me incompetent monkeys?’ He swung round to
face Wesley who instinctively took a step backwards.
‘You wish to speak with me about Charlie?’ He pronounced Charlie the French way.
Wesley cleared his throat. ‘Yes, sir. Is there somewhere we can talk in private?’
Colbert made a vague Gallic gesture with his hands and began to march towards a door marked ‘Private’. Heffernan gave Wesley
a nudge and they followed. It wasn’t often Gerry Heffernan looked overawed but it seemed that Fabrice Colbert had rendered
him speechless. Wesley, however, told himself firmly that he wasn’t one of Colbert’s kitchen hands and there was no way he
was going to be intimidated by ajumped-up cook. He kept this thought in his mind as he entered what he assumed to be the chef’s office and sat down without
being invited. After a few moments of hesitation, Gerry Heffernan did likewise.
‘I assume you’ve heard about Charles Marrick’s death?’ said Wesley.
‘
Oui
. I hear it on the news this morning.
C’est terrible
.’
‘Indeed.’ He glanced at Heffernan who was staring at the chef as though he wasn’t quite sure what to make of the man. ‘When
did you last see Mr Marrick?’
The chef didn’t look so sure of himself now. ‘Er … it must have been
Lundi
… Monday. Yes, Monday. I go to his house.’
‘Mrs Marrick told us that you and Mr Marrick had an argument.’ Wesley looked the man in the eye, waiting to see how he’d react.
The chef swallowed hard. ‘
Oui
.
C’est vrai
. We quarrelled.’
Gerry Heffernan leaned forward. ‘What about?’
There was a long silence. Colbert had been standing up, as though he hoped to get rid of his visitors as soon as possible.
But now he took his seat behind the large oak desk covered with receipts, lists and menu plans.
He picked up a pen and turned it over in his long fingers for a while before he finally spoke. ‘Charlie Marrick was a crook.
Un voleur
… a thief.’
This captured Heffernan’s interest. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean what I say. He was a thief. He stole from me.’
Wesley glanced at his boss. ‘Can you be a little more specific, Monsieur Colbert? What did he steal?’
‘My money … and my good name. My reputation.’
This was like pulling teeth. Wesley tried again. ‘Can you tell us the details? What exactly did he steal and when?’
Another long silence. Wesley wondered what the man was up to, dangling a piece of juicy information in front of them then refusing
to elaborate. But eventually the chef spoke.‘He tricked me. We order wine from his warehouse … the best vintages … we have a discerning clientele here at Le Petit Poisson.
We use his warehouse before and we never have trouble, but this time …’ He gave an expressive shrug.
‘Go on,’ Wesley prompted. He looked at Gerry Heffernan who was sitting attentively like a child being read his favourite bedtime
story.
‘My customers order expensive vintages. When they taste they send them back. My sommelier he changes the bottle … the same thing.
The wines are not what they claim to be on the label. The Chateau Margaux tastes like a
vin de table
. The Chateau Margaux is a
vin de table
. That Charlie Marrick … he swap the labels.’
Wesley gave a low whistle. ‘So you order expensive wines and he sends you cheap plonk with expensive labels.’
‘That is correct. I am upset. My reputation – the reputation of Le Petit Poisson – is at stake.’
‘You have proof of this? It wasn’t just a bad bottle or two or … ?’
‘Oh non, Inspector. This is deliberate. Every bottle we open is the same.’
‘Perhaps it was just a bad year,’ said Heffernan, trying to sound as though he knew what he was talking about.
Colbert
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