Syrah and Swingers Read online

  “Why couldn’t you?” asked Joy.

  Sophia brushed off her comment. “What’s important was the shocker for Nicole and Henri that came later.”

  Elwin jumped in. “Imagine their surprise when Nicole stops by the restaurant a few weeks later, and she strolls into the kitchen to see Henri, and she sees Ted and Ted sees her, and all hell breaks loose. Ted didn’t know that Nicole was his boss’s wife. He’d only worked at the restaurant maybe a month. And he was new in town, so we didn’t know either or we would never have set it up. That’s the downside of not asking questions.”

  “Define ‘all hell breaks loose,’” said Max.

  “Henri swept an entire tray of freshly cleaned silverware to the ground and stormed out of the kitchen and into the alley. Nicole chased after him, and once she had him calmed down, they sat down with Ted.”

  Joy tilted her head in thought. “But Ted came to last night’s party, as did Henri and Nicole. And now Ted is dead.”

  “Yes, but jealousy doesn’t have a place in our world, not that it doesn’t bite us here and there,” said Sophia. “It was just a shock, that’s all. Henri had started his affair with Nicole, the nanny, under his wife’s nose. He married Nicole shortly after the divorce, and they’ve been together a dozen years at least. Later, Henri cheated on Nicole, and she nearly left him. He took her to Victor and Gloria’s club as a surprise. The conversation of swinging came up as a way to save the marriage. She was reluctant but willing to try. If he was going to be with other women, she wanted the power to approve it or not. And she had the same rights. They made it work. Henri approved her coming to our party without him. And she brought him to the club another night.”

  “But Henri and Nicole agreed that Ted was off limits,” said Elwin. “Ted agreed to that too. He was more worried about losing his job, but Henri said to keep quiet, and he could keep his job. Nicole moved on. They all did.”

  Max made a note. “We may need more later. But I think we’ve got enough for now.”

  5

  Max and Joy figured they’d pay a visit to Henri and Nicole next. The pair lived on a sprawling elegant estate that had a personal vineyard with which they made a small press of champagne. The house made Chief Goldsby’s French tract home look like a miniature. The chateau had a pale yellow and cream brick façade with an ornate stone entryway, over which hung an elegant balcony. Dormer windows cut into the roof and ornate stone detailing above the windows and around the entryway were grand enough for a French aristocrat. White roses bordered a bright green lawn.

  Nicole answered the door and led them inside.

  Henri’s face showed worry and fatigue, but Nicole bounced around in a white top that slipped off of one shoulder and left little to the imagination, as she did not wear a bra. She also wore white short-shorts that did not cover the crease of her butt cheeks entirely, which she seemed perfectly aware of as she led Max and Joy into the great room.

  Max had grown accustomed to the diversity of Wine Valley’s residents. In fact, he enjoyed the breadth of nationalities, ethnicities, economies, and characters. He was a country boy at heart, so normally, he didn’t care for opulence, but this “great room” he liked. It was pretentious but rustic. A heavy metal cartwheel chandelier hung down from the beamed ceiling. A seating area made up of a sofa, two chairs, and a chaise lounge, all in cream fabric and trimmed in wood, surrounded an enormous stone hearth. An ornate antique armoire towered to the right of the fireplace. Large windows overlooked the vineyard. The room had country elegance and charm.

  “Thanks for seeing us,” Joy said matter-of-factly before jumping to business. “How long has Ted worked for you?”

  Henri maintained a guarded expression. He wore casual slacks and a lavender shirt. He rested a confident arm on the back of the sofa, crossed his legs, and spoke perfect English, but with a French accent. “A few months. Ted was a line cook. Nothing special.”

  Max asked, “What’s the name of your restaurant?”

  “Le Chevalier Noir,” said Henri.

  “The Black Knight,” chimed Nicole, sitting on the sofa with her legs crossed. “That’s the meaning.” Her accent was heavier than his.

  Max and Joy eyed each other, sending a clear signal that they needed to separate these two. Sometimes, like with Elwin and Nicole, they complemented one another—each filling in the gaps left by the other, but here, Nicole was eager to speak and Henri was not. So separation would be the only way to extract information from each, which he and Joy would compare later.

  Joy made the move. “We need to ask you a few questions separately. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Of course,” bubbled Nicole. “Elwin called to say you had spoken to them already, so the cat is out of the bag, as you say, oui? Nothing to hide.” She laughed at her own joke, jumped up, and walked away. “My interrogateur, come this way.”

  Joy followed her, giving Max a knowing smile. It was clear to both of them that Nicole would do all in her power to distract Max. He was safer with Henri.

  Max started with a comment meant to unseat Henri’s smug confidence. “I understand there was an altercation at the restaurant not long ago. You found out your wife had slept with the ‘line cook.’”

  Henri lowered his arm to close his stance. He folded his hands together. “First of all, detective, they did not sleep. They had sex. Yes, there was an altercation. It was an unexpected consequence of the life we live. Eventually, you run into someone you’ve seen with their clothes off, maybe even been intimate with, but I did not know Nicole had been with Ted, my employee, and she did not know who he was either, until that moment.”

  “I thought swingers were open?”

  “Yes, of course. I had to work, so I told Nicole to go and have fun at the Hansen’s party. They had an extra male who needed a date. When you love someone in our world, you want them to take pleasure with others. Freely. Openly. But we keep our business separate from that life. Ted happened to live on Sophia and Elwin’s street. They brought him into our circle, and he and Nicole met. When we found out that he worked for me, she was as horrified as I, and we set a boundary. No more Ted. Simple.”

  “She kept to those boundaries?”

  Henri smirked. “Swingers are honest thieves, detective. Others sneak around behind their lovers’ backs. As I did before.” Henri momentarily cast eyes of regret to the rough-hewn stone floor, but he regained composure and leaned back again in ease. “Nicole and I do not sneak around. We grant permission, so it is not ‘cheating.’ It is sharing. Growth. Exploration.”

  “You skipped love.”

  Henri laughed. “Nicole and I love each other. We consider our time with others as ‘play time,’ no more important than playing a game of tennis with friends, except that our games involve sensual contact and everyone wins.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t fire Ted.”

  At this, Henri bristled. His eyes narrowed, but otherwise, he did not display discontent. “As I said, Nicole and I set boundaries. Ted promised discretion, and I promised he could keep his job.”

  “You don’t mind sharing your wife with others? You don’t get jealous?” Max watched Henri’s chest heave. His demeanor relaxed.

  “I have no right. I cheated on my first wife. I cheated on Nicole too. When Nicole found out, she was going to leave me. I know what I am. I love women. Nicole is sexy, smart, fun—everything I want, but I still cheated. I didn’t want to lose her. I’d heard of Victor and Gloria’s club. I took Nicole out one night, as a surprise. We had a sexy time of it, me with Gloria, and Victor with Nicole. She was reluctant at first.” Henri shot Max an ironic smile. “But she took to it—how do you say—like a swan to water.”

  “A duck to water.”

  “A duck. I suggested that we quit once, but Nicole would not have it. We agreed we were either both in or both out. So we’re in until she’s had enough. I support my wife. I deserve it. I took pleasure in others, why shouldn’t she. I must admit, I still enjoy other women. But
I only love Nicole.”

  Max couldn’t yet tell if Henri meant what he said or if he harbored a temper he could not control, and in the heat of the moment at the party, his anger flared, opportunity presented itself, and that led to Ted’s death—a quick and final resolution to “the line cook” having his way with his wife.

  In the other room, Joy squared off with Nicole, who had hungry eyes. She seemed just as interested in pursuing Joy as in pursuing Max. Her lips puckered in a near kiss. Joy imagined that Nicole indulged in the thought of a threesome—Max, Joy, and her. Joy squashed her feasting gaze by getting her to talk about Henri. “How did you and Henri meet?”

  The spell had broken. Nicole pulled away. “I came to America to visit, but I stayed. Old story. You Americans allow it, so we do it. I worked for Henri and his wife Suzanna. I was the nanny to their six-year-old daughter, Charlotte. Two years later, I was his wife. Suzanna and Charlotte moved out. I moved in.”

  “He cheated on her. Did he cheat on you?”

  “Oui, but we women know men. A man who cheats will cheat on us too. But I love Henri. It is the cheating I could not tolerate. I threatened to leave him.”

  “Who suggested swinging?”

  “Henri. I was horrified at first. You can imagine. But I was sharing my husband anyway. So I tried it—and I love it!” Nicole put her fists together in the air. “The power I feel in attracting a man to be with me is a drug. I feel beautiful, sexy. We women—we’re taught that men stray. It’s normal. But a woman who strays is condemned. In swinging, we’re equal. I’m powerful. I have explored my fantasies. I did not know I would ever enjoy this life, but I do. I say what I want, and it happens. It makes Henri pay more attention. He wanted to quit, but I said no! I said, ‘so you can cheat again?’ Men cheat to feel more like a man. They have two women, not one. They feel twice the man. Well, Joy, that street runs two ways. Do you know the term ‘reverse harem’?”

  Joy squirmed. “I do. One woman, multiple men.”

  “That’s my power. I have the power to say who, how, and how many. I have a harem devoted to pleasing me.”

  “How was Ted?”

  Nicole shuddered. Her face became angry. “Ted has a mean streak. At the party last month, he was rough with Mary. She had not agreed to those things. I think he presumed that swingers did not have rules. Mark left me and yanked him off of Mary. He hit him. I ran to get Elwin, and he pulled Ted aside. Ted apologized.”

  “You took him to Gloria and Victor’s. Was he rough with you?”

  Nicole closed her eyes. “Yes. Sometimes, I like to cross boundaries. To get rough. It’s exciting. I could handle Ted—slap him back—but that ended when I walked into the restaurant kitchen, saw Ted, and realized that he worked for Henri.”

  “Did Henri know?”

  “About Ted’s being rough? No! Henri is gentle. If he saw someone slap me, he would have killed… I mean, he would have fired Ted.” Nicole shrugged her shoulders. “Ted wasn’t playful—he was mean. I’d already finished with him before I saw him in the kitchen.”

  “Henri was angry you slept with the kitchen help.”

  “I had no idea! I would not embarrass Henri for anything. He’s fifty-one now. Maybe if we quit, he won’t cheat anymore. You think? But how do I trust him? This is the only way I know where he is and who he is with. People have desires, you know. Some cannot control what they eat—food is their sensual pleasure. They crave it; they cannot resist. Others crave shoes; others massages; others gamble, smoke, abuse alcohol. We humans, we desire, we crave, and filling our needs does not stop the need. We want more.”

  “Ted no longer has any cravings, Nicole.”

  “Qui, death stops desire.”

  Max pulled into the coroner’s forensic facility. He and Joy found Angelo in an autopsy suite. Max had gotten used to the sights: the windowless suites filled with stainless steel tables, jars of formalin, florescent fixtures that hummed, displays of bone-cutting saws and dissection tools, vials with colored stoppers, scales, polished steel sinks, and a freezer. But the smells—those he could barely tolerate.

  Joy clearly didn’t mind the putrid smells, but why would she—as a little girl, she’d collected and played with dead critters, but Max could never get used to the odors. The pungent air assaulted his nostrils. He tried to mouth-breathe. “Find something interesting?”

  “No,” said Angelo. “This is really odd. We found hair oils and dandruff on the pillows, but no facial imprints or saliva.”

  “That’s good, right?” asked Max.

  Joy shook her head. “Or brilliant. Drug him. Slow his breathing. Incapacitate him, and it wouldn’t take much for him to go from getting a little oxygen to none at all.”

  “Exactly. Conjunctival and facial petechiae do not, in and of themselves, mean hypoxia or asphyxia.”

  “In English?”

  Joy smiled. “Bloodshot eyes or splotches due to broken capillaries on the face do not necessarily mean definitive intentional reduction of oxygen via an obstruction of intake by some means.”

  “But there were a few odd lines on his face when we brought him in, remember,” said Angelo.

  “The pillow mark?” asked Max.

  “Or something put over his face? Like plastic wrap,” said Joy.

  “Which would explain no saliva on the pillows,” said Angelo. “But Max is right. It could just as easily be a pillow mark or something else.”

  “We found him on his back,” said Max. “If he’d have been face down and then rolled onto his back, you would have found saliva on the pillows.”

  “Yep,” said Angelo. “So far, I got nothing. This one will be hard to call. If the tox screen is borderline, I have to rule it an ‘accident’ unless you find otherwise.”

  “Anything on the tox screen yet?”

  “Nope, but if he was drugged,” said Angelo, “my money is on Rohypnol. It’s odorless, tasteless, dissolves in alcohol—a blue core was added to the pill to turn a drink blue as a warning, but illegal manufacturers leave that out, and, it’s a club drug, so it’s fairly easy to obtain. Chloral hydrate is another, as it depresses respiration and lowers body temperature, and GBH would be third on my list.”

  “So many to choose from.” Max shook his head.

  Angelo nodded. “According to your report, witnesses said he was fine before he went into that bedroom. And symptoms occurred within fifteen minutes and grew worse. We tested the paper cups, but so far, nothing. Rohypnol would lead to disorientation within fifteen to thirty minutes of ingestion and eventually lead to a blackout. A victim might pass out and then wake up as well. The symptoms others described—slurring, dizziness, confusion, partial limb paralysis—fit well. To the untrained eye, it would look like he drank too much. Can’t call it yet, so Ted will be here a while.”

  “So,” said Joy. “If there is foul play, someone knows what they’re doing to make it look like an accidental death.”

  “Possible,” said Angelo. “Or the boy wanted to party, took a dose, he stopped breathing, and his heart stopped beating.”

  “According to witnesses, he didn’t seem inhibited. So why take a drug?” asked Joy.

  “Maybe his date knows if he had a drug history. The club crowd, unlike the swinger crowd, has the idea drugs make sex better. Ironic, isn’t it. Swingers use every sense in sex, staying fully aware so as not to miss it, and the club crowd has sex in a drunken, drug-induced stupor and calls it ‘ecstasy.’” Max peered down and gazed upon the tall, lanky boy with a skinny mustache. He hadn’t been in Wine Valley more than a few months. He had dreams. He flew out west from New York, where he’d grown up, to be in sunny California, and here he was, stretched out on a cold metal slab. His father and mother had been murdered shortly after his move. He had no one to claim him.

  “Keep us posted.” Joy turned to go.

  “I always do,” said Angelo.

  Max didn’t budge. “I’ll meet you in the car, Joy. I need Angelo for a second. Boy stuff.”

  Joy
smirked. “Liar. But I’ll meet you in the car.”

  As soon as Joy was out of sight, Max pulled a white envelope out of his chest pocket. “Angelo, I have never asked you for a favor.”

  “What kind of favor?”

  “This is important or I wouldn’t ask.”

  “What is it?” asked Angelo.

  “Hair. I need the DNA on it. I’m sure I got enough follicles.”

  “Whose hair, Max?”

  Max peered around. “You and my dad were more than colleagues.”

  “Max, your dad was one of my best friends.”

  “I need to know if this hair belongs to my mother.”

  Angelo’s demeanor changed. “I’m not going to ask where you got this.”

  “Then you’ll do it?”

  Angelo pulled a test tube from a holder. “Come with me.” He led Max to a storeroom. “Open wide.” Max opened his mouth.

  Angelo swabbed Max’s cheek and put the sample back in the container. “Max, your mother? Really? David never said a word about your real mother. And I asked plenty of times. It was like a national secret.”

  “Maybe he didn’t know.”

  “Not the impression I got. But I could be wrong.”

  “I came out of nowhere, Angelo. There’s no record of me at all until David King adopted me. My birth certificate states ‘unknown’ for mother.” Max left out the rest—that Sam Burton, Joy’s father, had built both of their identities through his connection with the FBI, and that the hair he had handed him belonged to the notorious serial killer, Belladonna—who had fed him and Joy belladonna-laced oatmeal, attempting to snuff them out before they reached their fourth birthday.

  “With your DNA, I can run a match. I’ll call you when I get the results.”

  “Thanks, Angelo. I owe you one.”

  “Luckily, one of my lab guys owes me one too.”

  6

  Max and Joy stopped for a quick bite at a mini-mall near the forensic building and grabbed sub-sandwiches before heading back to Wine Valley, a half hour drive or so south on the freeway. Max eyed the hills on either side of him, feeling comforted by them. They formed a living cradle that held him and the precious inhabitants of Wine Valley. They rose up like towers of protection. Yet, each case as a new detective corroded that image a little more. And the drama in his personal life didn’t help. It was as if he’d pulled himself to the rim of his cradle and peered into a room he didn’t recognize, full of people he didn’t recognize. And the baby boy in him wanted to wail until someone he knew picked him up and reassured him, “You’re okay. You’re safe, Max.”