Chapter Fifteen

Fifteen

D aniel was glad Gervais was there to officially take custody of the man. They headed into a station in Reims with the man and left him to stew in an interrogation room as they watched him from an attached observation room.

He sat at the table, hands cuffed and folded before him, looking pained and miserable. It hadn't been difficult getting information on him. What he hadn't spilled out himself, Jules had easily supplied.

His name was Gabriel Menendez and he was an immigrant from Madrid. The strangest thing to Daniel was that Menendez, in appearance and manner—other than having run like an idiot—seemed to be intelligent. He easily slipped from French to English and back again in his conversations, and Daniel assumed he was equally fluent in his native language.

He had been with the House of Matisse for six years, having come north when he'd learned they were seeking workers for the vineyards.

Despite having toppled the man, Jeannette seemed to be fine and not even out of breath. Gabriel Menendez had landed in some dirt but was obviously unhurt.

After reaching the station, Daniel put through a call and alerted the others as to what was going on. Mason told him they were still waiting to speak with Giselle and Tomas Deauville.

"The man you're holding—he says he's innocent but he knows who did it?"

"Yeah, that's what he said when we pulled him up," Daniel told him. "Gervais arrived and we're about to question him. He clammed up right after he saw Gervais. He hasn't asked for legal assistance. He's just told us now that he has nothing to say. Gervais, of course, threatened to arrest him for multiple murders to which he replied there was no proof against him because he was innocent. We're about to go in and talk about conspiracy to commit murder."

"Who should go in first?" Jeannette asked thoughtfully as she studied their suspect through the mirror as he sat just staring straight ahead.

"Hey, your tackle. Be careful, the pros might want to take you away from us!" Della said lightly. "Seriously, you bested him. What do you think, Daniel?"

"I think we may be here a long, long time—but he will break," Daniel said. "We'll be here." He turned. He'd almost forgotten he wanted Gervais's approval for their moves. They were guests in the country.

"Gervais?" Daniel asked.

"I say send in Jeannette first. He will respect her. I believe he doubted any woman could run as fast as he could or have the strength to stop him," Gervais said. "He will respect you."

Jeannette nodded. "All right, I'll be first up."

"Come. There is a guard at the door. This time, I've warned the officers that they must keep an eye on our suspects. Of course, he will make sure—" Gervais began.

"He's not going to leap out and try to take Jeannette out," Daniel said. "But it's always best to have a guard on alert."

Daniel and Della stayed in the observation room as Jeannette left with Gervais.

"Do you think this man really knows something?" Della asked Daniel.

"I think he knows something, but how helpful... He knows someone or knows of someone who is involved," Daniel said. "But why did he run? He could have just played it all innocent with us."

"Some people are lousy when it comes to acting," Della said. "Maybe it was one of those split-second decisions. But... Wow. That was some tackle Jeannette made. She was like a soaring missile! She's impressive. I've never worked with her before, but Mason knew her. He said she knew how to play a con, had a lot of courage, but was smart as well, and most importantly, she was a team player. And with Blackbird...that's what we need. Mason told me she was great. She's proving to be so."

Daniel nodded. "She is great. I agree. And..."

Della smiled at him. "I'm glad to hear the partnership is working out."

"How the hell do Jackson and Adam know who will fit with whom?" he wondered.

"Jackson Crow is a man of many talents. And Adam Harrison is just one of the most generous and giving men to ever hit the earth. They manage to find misfits like us who would still do our best but live in miserable silence regarding our ability to reach out to the dead for help." She grinned at him. "I know you've only met them all via video channels, but they are truly remarkable people. With, of course, Angela Hawkins, who has our strange talent and is also one of the most brilliant researchers I've ever come across. Oh, Jeannette is in. It's showtime!" she said.

Daniel turned his attention back to the interrogation room.

"This is a false arrest," Gabriel Menendez insisted to Jeannette. "I just... I didn't want to talk to you. Who are you? What are you doing in France? And why are you here, picking on the House of Matisse?"

"Picking on the House of Matisse?" Jeannette said, looking puzzled as she stared at the man. "We love the House of Matisse."

"So, you're questioning Matisse workers, making it sound as if we're all guilty of something!"

"No, we're looking for help. And all we were doing is asking if anyone could help in any way, and one of the people we were going to ask ran away like a rabbit. So that person looks to be guilty of something."

"I am not guilty of anything!" Menendez insisted.

"You just said you are innocent, but you know who has been doing this, killing people, brutalizing them," Jeannette said flatly.

"I am innocent. I don't know what you people are doing, harassing us."

She shrugged. "Trying to keep people alive?"

He was silent for a minute. "Have you seen just how many people wind up dead?"

Jeannette frowned at the man. "You believe that if you speak with us, you'll wind up dead?"

"Again, I ask, have you seen how many people wind up dead?"

Jeannette seemed to carefully weigh the man's question. "I believe you're suggesting that if you talk to us, you'll be killed for doing so."

"Of course—and I'm not suggesting, I'm saying it outright!" Menendez told her.

Jeannette looked at him, shaking her head. "All right, then. We can let you walk out of here. But if we do that...well, we can't protect you. And everyone saw us bring you in here, so they're going to assume we got something out of you. And..." She lifted her hands as if she were sorry.

And if he was right—the minute he was out, he was in deadly danger.

The man looked down.

"Lock me up," he said. "Lock me up and they'll know I didn't talk!"

It was Jeannette's turn to be silent for a few seconds. "And more people will die. How many people do you want to die?"

"I don't want anyone to die—but especially not me. And..."

"And?"

He shook his head. "I—I don't know who is giving the orders."

"Okay, let me understand this. You know of someone who is involved in all this—perhaps someone who is kidnapping the victims and bringing them to someone else?"

He didn't answer.

"I'm right on that. But please, Mr. Menendez, if we can get to them, they may be able to get us to whoever is doing this. And then we can stop all the killing!"

He looked up at her. "Can you lock me up?" he asked her. "I—I have to look as if I was silent, ready to risk incarceration, please."

Jeannette was silent again. And Daniel knew she was thinking about Claude Chirac.

"How much do you really want to live?" she asked him.

He let out a breath. "I... I desperately want to live. And I don't want to... Have you heard about the way some of the people have died?"

"Tell me," Jeannette said quietly.

"Knives, cut after cut, little cuts, salt put in them. Bigger cuts. Blood all over a body, and then honey, and some left out then, bleeding and covered with the stuff, with insects consuming them until they die at last after a long slow torture!"

"The last victims were found just drained—"

"I don't know what the blood is for." He winced. "I do know that there are no real vampires, just someone who has a lust for blood, copious amounts of it. And sometimes... I heard that there had been a man in custody. It was on the news. He killed himself while he was being held for questioning. Don't you see? It was easier for him to kill himself. We all know those who have been involved and who were stopped, who messed up, who offended the main person behind this in any way. We know those people wind up not just giving blood—but being slowly tortured to death."

"Are you telling me we can't leave you alone for a minute, that you're intending on suicide if we hold you?"

He shook his head. "I don't want to die. But I have heard what has been done and I... I don't want to be tortured to death!"

"Of course not, I understand. But what you don't understand is we can really keep you safe. Obviously, we can put you in protective custody."

Menendez stared at Jeannette, his expression hopeful—and doubtful.

"I told you. I don't know who is really running things, but..."

"Look. Word can go out that you were completely uncooperative, and we can put out a good story about you being charged for...for assaulting someone. You're being held pending charges, and a judge has decreed that you must be held. Please. If you help us, we can give you back your life. If we can stop the monster who is truly behind the crimes, you'll be free to lead a normal life again, one without fear. And," she added, leaning earnestly toward him, "you can save the lives of others!"

He nodded. "You will hold me and protect me?"

"Yes, I promise."

"But you're not even part of the French law enforcement."

"Ah, but I can bring in Gervais LaBlanc, who is one of the highest-ranking officers in the country," she assured him.

"All right. But even if I talk, I don't know if what I give you can help solve anything. I haven't seen the man now in...days? Weeks?" Menendez said, frowning and perplexed.

"I may know who you are talking about. He worked for both the Houses of Montague and Deauville—"

"Yes. A man named Aristide Broussard," Menendez told her earnestly. "I thought he left the House of Montague because..."

"Because?"

Menendez looked around, as if assuring himself no one else was in the room. As if in that moment, he had no understanding that the mirror in the interrogation room was a two-way one and that he was, of course, being observed by others.

"Leticia Montague is...a shrew! She thinks we're back in the dark ages where rich people had servants, and it was legal to beat them! She's a true horror. That's why he left, I mean, at least that's what he told me."

"Is he a friend of yours?"

"Many of us know each other. The wine region here is expansive, but many of the workers from the different houses are friends or at least know one another. Anyway, yes, I thought of Aristide as a friend. I knew he left one winery for another because of Leticia. He told me she struck him right across the face. But then... I saw him one night at the restaurant in Reims, the one we all go to all the time," Menendez told her.

"La Maison de Rivière?" Jeannette asked.

"Yes, there. He was upset. Naturally. He went on and on about the things he'd been asked to do, that he was miserable...but I don't think he was as miserable as he was frightened. I think he'd been told that he had to do..."

"Terrible things? Like kidnap women for someone to torture and kill?" Jeannette asked.

Menendez nodded and told her, "He never said that in so many words. But he was... I think he was scared. And then I never saw him again after that. I'm afraid that..."

"That?"

"That his is one of the bodies you're going to find in the fields," Menendez told her. "But if not... Well, if you can find him alive, he's the one who can tell you who is doing what!"

Jeannette nodded solemnly to him. "Mr. Menendez, we are truly grateful for that information and—"

"And it may do you no good. Aristide might well be dead already."

"And he may not be. And knowing that we need to increase our efforts to find the man might save his life and others. I'm going to have Gervais LaBlanc come in now. He can see to it that you are protected. And I promise, the story that will go out there is that you have been locked up—for being entirely uncooperative."

Menendez nodded and tried to smile as he looked at her.

"You know, you scratched up my knees pretty good."

"I'm sorry. You were running. I had to stop you."

He did smile. "You are very good at what you do."

"We try very hard as investigators," she told him.

He laughed. "I meant you were very good at running."

"Okay. Well, I will take that. Thank you. LaBlanc will be right in."

Jeannette left the interrogation room at last. Gervais LaBlanc walked in.

A second later, Jeannette joined Daniel and Della in the observation room. She shook her head. "I was so hoping we really had something."

"Well, we do. You were great in there," Della told her. "He gave you what he had. And the man is truly terrified of whoever is doing this suspecting that he might know something."

LaBlanc returned to the observation room as well.

"You can really keep the man safe?" Daniel asked him.

"That I can—and will—do," Gervais told them. "We must find this man—Aristide Broussard."

"Police are already searching for him around the country, right?" Daniel asked.

Gervais nodded. "But now..."

"You know, it's gotten quite late, and we could use a meal," Jeannette said. "I think we should head back to La Maison de Rivière."

"There's an idea," Daniel said, looking at Gervais.

"You go. I must arrange for this man's safety. Perhaps there is more to be discovered there. Your friend Alphonse might know something more than he's given so far," Gervais said, looking at Jeannette.

"We need to eat, anyway," Della said. "I'll call Mason and the others. Let them know what we're doing."

"And I'll call our friend the magician. I believe he went back to the B&B when we brought Menendez to the station," Daniel said.

He put through his call to Jules while Della called Mason.

"Gervais, we'll be at the restaurant—and then at the B&B," Daniel told him.

"And Mason and the others had little luck with Giselle and Tomas Deauville," Della said. "Apparently, Tomas was very angry, exploded, said he couldn't possibly know what his people did twenty-four hours a day—and foreigners should get out of his country."

"Do you think that suggests they might be complicit in this?" Gervais asked.

"We haven't any hard evidence in any direction," Daniel reminded him. "They could be guilty, they could be innocent. But—"

"We'll go back together," Gervais said. "I'm not a foreigner—they will pay heed to me. I need to arrange for Menendez to get to a safe house and get the word out he's been arrested. That could get something stirred up, so..."

"Everyone needs to be vigilant. Hypervigilant," Daniel warned.

"I will make sure my officers around the country are aware," Gervais told them.

He looked weary, Daniel thought. Gervais was worn down by the number of corpses that were stacking up in the morgue.

Daniel, Jeannette and Della left the precinct. They were ready to meet up with the others—and Jules—at the restaurant where Menendez had last seen Aristide Broussard.

Mason, Luke and Carly along with Jules were already at a table when they arrived. Alphonse was working and appeared to be happy they had come back. They sat, read the menu and ordered before the discussion turned to the day.

Since Jules remained a character who might be a suspect or the son of a chief suspect, they were careful about what was said. Naturally, he wanted to know all about Gabriel Menendez.

"He's under arrest," Daniel told the man.

"And he didn't want counsel?" Jules asked. "I'm not sure what he can be charged with—he just ran from police and I'm not sure what—"

"I'm not an expert on French law," Daniel told him, "but no one had to worry about anything that might be iffy about holding him. He walked in and assaulted the desk clerk. There's no problem with him being held and charged."

"Oh!" Jules said. He sounded surprised. "But did he know—"

Jeannette interrupted him. "So far, we have nothing. But you never know. When someone runs, it usually means something."

"I guess that's true," Jules said.

"It is," Mason assured him.

"I'm afraid, though, that all of this is slow going," Daniel said. "And of course, Jules, we are so grateful to have all the help you and your mother are giving us."

Daniel smiled.

But he couldn't help thinking about the book they'd found in the closet. Had Delphine Matisse purchased it—or had it been left by a guest? The latter would be quite a coincidence. He didn't believe in coincidence often—then again, it did exist!

Their food came. They chatted casually with Alphonse as he served them. And when he moved on to serve other customers, Daniel asked Mason, "What was your vibe from the Deauville couple? Simple anger or they were hiding something?"

"The attitude is so fierce that I'm not sure," Mason said.

"If you could be locked up for being rude and obnoxious, they'd be in for life," Carly noted.

"I wish they would be locked up for life!" Jules said. They all looked at him. "Sorry! I just... I can't tell you how awful they've been regarding me. In their minds, I'm an ungrateful rat. A vineyard is the pinnacle of existence, and I want to throw it all away to be no better than someone homeless on the streets of Paris. Then again, the Montague couple have been just as wretched."

"We need to get by there again," Mason said.

"But I think any time we're paying a visit to one of the houses, we need to have Gervais with us. They want nothing to do with any of us. They think we have no authority at all in France, and they don't seem to care that people are dying," Carly said.

"Excuse me," Jeannette murmured. "I see Alphonse is taking a bit of a breather. He's looking out the window. I think I'll have a little chat with him."

She rose, heading toward the young waiter. He gave her a smile as she joined him, greeting her and pointing out something in the street.

"You'll be staying at my mother's house a little longer?" Jules asked. "I must return to her now, and quickly, I'm afraid."

"Of course! Forgive us," Daniel said.

"No, it's fine, but I do need to leave and we haven't received—"

"Oh, Jules, please!" Daniel told him. "After all the help you have given us? A meal is the very least we can do for you."

"Well, thank you. I shall accept. You have my number, you know where to find me. Please, keep in touch. And if there is ever anything—I mean anything—that I can do to help, please, please, don't hesitate to ask!"

"Trust me, we won't!" Mason assured him.

"Can he be real?" Luke wondered aloud.

"I wish I knew," Daniel said. "He could be. I believe he truly detests the other families, and I'm sure they have made life very hard for him when they've had the chance. He never lied about knowing the girls. We haven't caught him in any kind of a lie. He arranged for the questioning today. But then again..." He paused, realizing he hadn't had a chance to tell the others about the book in the closet.

He did so.

"I find it so curious. From the beginning of this, Jeannette has compared what is going on to the truth/legend of Elizabeth Báthory. These people seem to live by a code that was popular and legal hundreds of years ago. Nobility and gentry were allowed to discipline their servants. Beat them. If a servant died, they were fined so the money could be given to the servant's family. Jeannette is very open about the legend—many things became rumor long after the fact of the matter. Scholars can't find any real indication that the woman bathed in blood. There are many trains of thought. Her husband was a brutal warrior, and what he did to his prisoners was barbaric. There are those who believe the couple started torture and murder together, but the real accusations against her didn't begin until after his death. And no one cared when servants disappeared or suddenly died in large numbers because of cholera . One of Báthory's accusers was a Lutheran minister—that came about when she refused to let others see the bodies of the deceased. It wasn't until girls of high families, seeking the prestige of the Báthory name, became part of her gynaeceum and then disappeared that anyone cared."

"I think Jeannette has been right," Mason said. "Being here—working in Paris and in France for a while now—we've met many nice, fine people, wonderful law enforcement. Well, except for the house where we worked long and hard to find the members of the H. H. Holmes Society. But people are usually polite and cordial, not all, but most. In all the time we've been here, I haven't come across anyone else like Leticia and George Montague and Giselle and Tomas Deauville."

"The elitism," Della murmured. "But...again. We're back to the fact that being an elitist doesn't make you a...sadist! Whoever is doing this apparently enjoys torture. That's not just being heedless of human life, that's being a psychopath!"

"And we all know a psychopath can appear as normal—even charming—as anyone else," Daniel said.

"And we're sure it is someone involved in the vineyards," Carly said thoughtfully.

Jeannette returned to the table. Daniel looked at her and arched a brow.

"Alphonse knew Aristide, of course, he told me. He thought he had mentioned that to us before. He told me he thought Aristide was a good guy. But the last time he saw him, he thought that he was upset. And yes, he was here with Gabriel Menendez that night," she said.

"So," Mason murmured, "thus far, it seems our man Menendez is telling the truth."

They were all startled when a man at a table near theirs suddenly let out a scream, throwing his wine glass down.

The contents splashed on the snowy-white tablecloth and across the table.

The woman who had been sitting opposite him let out a scream and rose.

Shouts and panic seemed to abound.

Daniel was glad then he had a decent mastery of French as did Mason and Della. They stood. Della headed quickly for the woman as he and Mason hurried over to the man.

As it turned out, their hysterical French turned to English as they realized they were being assisted by Americans and a Scottish man.

"Blood! They served me blood!" the man cried.

"Sir—" Daniel began.

"Monsters! The monsters are here, the killers are here, and now they're trying to make everyone drink blood!" the man cried.

Mason was already on the phone with Gervais, commanding everyone there to stay. The police were on the way along with a forensic team.

The substance in the glass and on the table did, indeed, appear to be blood.

And...

First, they needed to know where it had come from.

Alphonse had served the table. He looked sick, terrified. "I—I got it from the sommelier," he told them. "The wine comes from the basement where the temperature is controlled. We receive our bottles directly from the wineries."

The sommelier, a man of forty-five or so, lean and dignified, gave way to only a bit of panic as he told them that the bottle had come from the basement.

It was supposed to have been a Matisse burgundy. Daniel took the bottle from him and noted that the bottle was in fact labeled Matisse.

The police arrived and took the names of everyone who was dining at the restaurant when the man found the strange red substance that certainly appeared to be blood in his glass.

He looked sick, of course. He believed he had sipped human blood. Daniel didn't think he was worried about illnesses that might have been transmitted. He was simply horrified by the fact his glass had been filled with human blood, and he had brought it to his lips.

One by one, those who had been at other tables were allowed to leave.

A forensic team quickly arrived, ready to take the bloodlike substance that remained in the glass and had spilled on the table. The woman who had the substance splattered onto her clothing was taken with her husband—the man who had received the glass—to the station. There, her clothing could be taken as well, and she could be given something else to wear while it was tested.

Daniel's French was good enough for him to understand she didn't care what they did with her dress—she would never ever wear it again.

Gervais arrived, determined to get to the bottom of the situation. The Blackbird team quickly brought him up to speed on what was happening, and Gervais first demanded to see the bottle from which the wine had been poured. Daniel, with gloved hands, turned it over to Gervais.

He appeared to be soundly puzzled.

"The bottle says Matisse ...and Jules was here with you, right?" he asked.

"Jules was with us," Mason said. "He was here with us the entire time."

"He never left the table until it was time for him to get back to his mother tonight," Daniel told him.

"We're going to need to verify that it is blood," Gervais said, "which, of course, is something that will happen immediately. This case is a priority above all others."

"It is blood," Jeannette said. "Sadly, we get to know the look, feel and scent of it."

"But, of course," Daniel said, "it could be animal blood."

"And quite frankly, I can't begin to imagine Jules wanting to come here with us if he'd known anything about this. One of us could have ordered a burgundy," Della murmured.

"The thing is..." Gervais murmured.

"What?" Mason asked him.

Gervais shook his head. "This label—it isn't real. I know all of the labels used by the House of Matisse. This one isn't real."

"It was put here by someone wanting the blame to fall on the House of Matisse," Daniel said quietly.

"Or..." Jeannette murmured.

"Or?" Daniel asked her.

She winced. "The label was put here by someone with the House of Matisse. Someone wanting to make it look like they, the House of Matisse, were being set up."

"That's possible," Mason said. "We can't let ourselves be blinded—we must continue to pursue all possible suspects in this."

"And then, of course, there's something else we need to be worried about," Daniel said.

They all looked at him.

"Assuming it is human blood that was in the bottle and in the glass, then whose blood is it?"