“Talk of being capable of killing someone is nonsense,” Arsov said without preamble.
Agnes took her place on the same chair she had occupied the night before and Arsov angled his wheelchair to face her. Before she had a chance to greet him properly, a maid pulled a rolling cart nearby. With a practiced flourish the butler removed domed silver covers from the food. Arsov grinned. Agnes noticed that the staff now had outdoor clothes on over their uniforms. It made for a bizarre scene.
“Don’t eat much anymore, but I still like to look at good food,” Arsov said. Lunch was a delicate filet of perch, accompanied by small potatoes and asparagus. A light wine sauce was on the side.
“Impressive with the power out,” Agnes said, touching her heated plate, slightly in awe of the attention to detail.
“Pay them enough and they’ll figure out a way. Brought my cook from Paris. Got rid of my secretary and everyone else when I came here, but I nearly cried at the thought of never tasting Antoine’s food again, so I bribed him to leave France. You would have thought I was asking him to move to the Ukraine. I promised that if he’d stay with me three more years I’d set him up in his own restaurant anywhere in the world. He’ll filet his hand to keep food on the table so I don’t have reason to back out of my promise.”
The butler opened a bottle of white wine and poured three glasses, offering one to Frédéric Estanguet, who was slouched deep in a chair near the French doors, far from the fire. He had offered to accompany Agnes, saying that no one should be outdoors alone in the cold. She hoped the change of atmosphere would help him recover from the shock of seeing the dead woman’s body the night before. Despite her hopes, during the walk she had grown irritated. Wasn’t there a Good Samaritan code of behavior? Seeing him now, she was angry. They had all had a bad experience. She wanted to tell Estanguet to buck up. He’d seen a dead body, not had one fall on him.
Prodded by the butler, Estanguet moved to a chair near the low table they were using as an alternative to relocating to the even colder dining room. His hand was unsteady and Agnes wondered if he needed the nurse. Then Estanguet took a sip of wine, closed his eyes, and appeared to relax.
“Monsieur Arsov,” she said, “your butler asked me if we had made progress on the investigation. I’m afraid I don’t have much to report. He’s very conscientious. He said he’d rechecked all the doors and windows to make sure they are locked. I don’t think your staff have any cause to worry, although I am surprised you don’t have professional security.”
“You think a hired thug would take more care with my life than I do? I take my precautions. Since Stalingrad I have been ready to defend my life at all times. That was a lesson I learned well.”
Agnes wanted to ask exactly how Arsov planned to defend himself. The old man could barely draw a solid breath and was too weak to walk. She surveyed the wheelchair, half expecting to see high-tech weaponry attached to the sides. Or was it possible that Arsov planned to light his oxygen tank with a cigarette and let it explode in an enemy’s face? The idea had a certain dramatic flair. She felt her mind wandering and knew that it was the result of fatigue.
“Anyone can kill,” Arsov said, absently slipping his hand to the empty space between his thigh and the chair arm. He smoothed the blanket and Agnes stifled a grin. The old man had a gun. She bet it wasn’t licensed.
“The marquise, St. Sebastian bless that woman, could kill as easily as my butler opens a bottle of wine, and do it with a steady hand and no remorse.” He shot Agnes a dark look. “How is she? Who does she think did it? You won’t speculate, but you should. Madame la marquise has good instincts. It’s reason that motivates a killer. What reason would motivate you? Don’t look so shocked. Take the kindest mother, threaten her child, and create a killer. Same thing with cannibalism. Hungry enough and you’ll eat anything. I ate shoe leather once. Very unsatisfying; later I wished I had the shoe leather to wear.”
Agnes wouldn’t be drawn into speculating. She took a forkful of fish and understood why Arsov couldn’t bear to lose his chef.
“What did Mimi tell you?” Arsov demanded.
“What we already knew. Nothing.”
The butler appeared in the doorway. “Monsieur Ralph Mulholland.”
Mulholland crossed the threshold swiftly, pausing to acknowledge Agnes and Estanguet with a curt nod. “I came to see if you needed anything,” he said to Arsov. “Ridiculous, I see now. You’ve even got the police.”
“Inspector Lüthi is not here for me, she was speaking with Mimi.” Arsov motioned Mulholland forward and the butler hastened to set another place for lunch.
“She is a good child, Mimi,” Arsov continued. “She reminds me of my sister, Anya. Too young to be alone in the world. She will be taken care of when I am gone.”