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I wasn’t in the mood for an interrogation. There was enough cashflow to build without filing a claim. It could be years before I had anything definitive from the officials here.
“Did you have an update for me?” I still wasn’t sure why he had arrived unannounced.
“Maybe we could talk out here.” He pointed to the patio that used to be a spot for wine tastings. “There’s a lot of construction.”
“Sure.” I followed him through the empty offices and onto the stone platform. Had the nails and wires somehow offended him?
“You should know I am an arson specialist. I deal with high-profile cases. I’ve read all of the reports about the fire. I’ve read your statement as well as the statements taken from the workers. I even interviewed the interviewers. I looked through all the pictures and videos the teams assembled.”
“And?”
“This was arson.” His voice was flat. His eyebrows furrowed, waiting for my response. I felt his eyes analyzing every movement I made. If I took the wrong size breath, he would know it.
It wasn’t a surprise to hear the fire was arson. I’d been suspicious since I saw the flames. But my heart still seized with anxiety. The idea that someone had intentionally tried to destroy the vineyards and my office made me sick. It also made me angry. It wasn’t only my life at stake, but also the livelihoods of the villagers who needed the grapes to live.
“Arson? You’re sure?” I shook my head. “Do you know who set the fire?” I was still waking up from a groggy sleep and part of me wondered if I had heard the words correctly no matter how the theory had taken a deep hold of me in the past weeks. “Have you made an arrest?”
“I am certain after my final review that this fire was set by someone on the outside. The reason the local agency brought me in, Mr. Corban is that they believe there may be some information you could help with.”
“Me? I’ve given my statement. I’m not sure what else I can help you with. I wasn’t even here when the fire started.”
“And yet, no one is any closer to finding a suspect.”
I cocked my head. Was this man here to help me?
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“I understand your family’s history is a part of this region. Many, many generations.”
I nodded. “Yes. Although, I don’t know any of the Corbans here now. Cousins fifth removed or something like that.”
“I’m more interested in the current Corbans. Or the Corban.”
I squinted. “What are you getting at exactly?” Usually these conversations steered toward my father, but the specialist was directing every word at me.
“It’s the timing that interests me the most.”
“What about it?”
He reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a small notepad. He flipped open the cover. “You were here one month before the fire?”
“Yes.”
“But you don’t live in Epernay? You live in Paris?”
“That’s right.” I stared at him. I’d gone over these details before.
“Do you take the same train from Paris on your way to Epernay?”
“I did. Before the fire I went back and forth more often,” I answered.
“And did you take the same train back to Paris. Before the fire?”
“Yes.” I was frustrated with the questions. “I take the train back and forth. Back and forth. Would you like my shoe size?”
“No.” He glanced up. “You have a pattern. A schedule, Mr. Corban.”
“Don’t we all?” I grimaced.
