Murder on Brittany Shores (18 page)

‘We've got further with the list than I expected, chief.'

Riwal had probably delivered this sentence to combat his own fatigue and to prevent the atmosphere getting worse.

‘Is Madame Nuz in the kitchen?'

‘She left about ten minutes ago. She would rather clear up in the morning.'

‘Did she give you the key?'

‘She said we should just switch off the light and close the door behind us. And she sends you her best wishes.'

Dupin smiled in spite of himself.

‘Let's make it quick, it's already late.'

He hadn't even finished the sentence when an idea came to him.

‘Riwal, the helicopter is here on Saint-Nicolas, isn't it?'

‘Yes, Monsieur le Commissaire. I gave it instructions to wait here. I assumed you'd be okay with that. Goulch has already gone off in the boat.'

‘Excellent.'

Dupin thought it would be better to go outside quickly.

‘I'll be right back.'

He left the bar and closed the door carefully behind him. He fished out his mobile.

‘
Amiral,
bonsoir.
'

‘
Bonsoir,
is Paul there?'

‘Just a moment.'

It really did take just one moment for Paul Girard, owner of the
Amiral,
to come on the line. Dupin liked him a lot – something like friendship had arisen between them over the years, because Dupin began each day with a coffee in the
Amiral
and usually also ended it there too. They didn't talk much, but an unspoken understanding had grown between the two of them.

‘Georges here.'

‘We heard about what happened.
Mon Dieu.
'

Dupin knew that he needn't say another word about the case. Which was wonderful.

‘I'll call in tonight, but it's going to be late.'

The
Amiral
closed at half twelve at the latest. But Girard knew that during a case it sometimes got very late.

‘I'll let the cook know. The usual.'

‘The usual' meant: a large
entrecôte,
chips, a rich red Languedoc,
Château Les Fenals.

‘Wonderful.'

‘See you soon.'

Dupin already felt a good bit better. Psychologically. He had solid ground beneath his feet again.

He went back into the
Quatre Vents.
Riwal and Kadeg stared at him quizzically.

‘Excellent, gentlemen. We'll start early tomorrow morning. I say we have a meeting here at eight. We will need both boats in the coming days, Goulch and his crew – and the
Luc'hed.
Also, the helicopters should be available at all times. We have to be able to react quickly to everything, it cannot make a difference that we're out here in the middle of nowhere.'

There was something cheerful to Dupin's tone now, which he himself found amusing.

‘Then let's meet tomorrow morning at the airport in Quimper at half seven?'

‘Absolutely, Kadeg.'

The prospect of sitting with an
entrecôte
in the
Amiral
so soon was giving Dupin renewed energy.

‘Have we learnt anything new about Konan or Pajot yet? Under no circumstances can we make the mistake of concentrating too much on Lefort, that would be negligent.'

He wasn't sure whether he himself believed what he was saying.

‘We also need to focus on the issue of what connections there were between the three of them – what they got up to together, had planned, whatever. Whether someone had it in for all three of them. The same goes for each of the pair combinations: Lefort – Pajot, Pajot – Konan, Lefort – Konan. That the murder attempt might have been meant for just one person is,' Dupin broke off for a moment and wrinkled his forehead, ‘the least likely. But cannot be disregarded of course.'

‘Of the customers we've spoken to this evening, nobody knew Monsieur Pajot personally, not even any of the regulars. Monsieur Du Marhallac'h knew the names, the others didn't even know that much – even Solenn Nuz didn't,' Riwal reported. He also spoke about Solenn Nuz as though she were the ultimate authority on all things.

Now Kadeg butted in too, looking eager.

‘We showed them the photo of Pajot, but nobody has seen him on the islands, anywhere. A little mysterious.'

‘Perhaps he'll have been on his boat. That wouldn't be out of the ordinary after all. The boat was big enough to spend evenings on comfortably.'

Kadeg looked offended in his typically childish way. Dupin had really only said this to make a point to Kadeg, but suddenly thought it seemed very logical.

Riwal took over again:

‘All of the regulars knew Konan, indeed he was frequently here with Lefort. But none of them know any details about him, just a few general things that we already know. Everyone knew that he was a keen angler. Madame Barrault, the diving instructor, knows his boat and says she met him and Lefort at sea a few times. Near the Moutons. At the spots where there are mackerel. Nobody knew him well enough to have heard about potential conflicts. Everyone just thought of him as “Lefort's friend”.'

‘Kadeg, I want you to pay a visit to Konan's wife first thing tomorrow morning. The Prefect has phoned her personally. Her marriage was possibly at an end.'

Kadeg obviously considered this a suitable task.

‘Will do. I spoke on the phone to Pajot's secretary in Paris at around 10pm. She was dumbfounded. We're going to speak again tomorrow morning. He had no siblings and neither of his parents is still alive. But she wanted to ask around again, about whether someone else knows something. She said he was a rather “distant person”. She didn't know much about his private life.'

‘The sensational news is out in the world, soon we'll know whether there is any more family. If there are, they'll call you and complain that they weren't informed.'

It sounded more cynical than Dupin had intended.

‘Let's call it a day.'

Riwal looked visibly relieved. Even Kadeg didn't seem unhappy.

‘Did anyone mention something about a treasure hunt to you?'

They both looked at Dupin in bafflement.

‘Something about a sunken ship, a discovery, salvage?'

‘I – no.'

‘Nor me.'

Both inspectors seemed too tired to ask. And Dupin wasn't in the mood for more explanations either.

‘Let's head.'

That had been an order.

*   *   *

The helicopter had lifted off at exactly 11.15pm.

The three police officers from the Commissariat de Concarneau were sitting, strapped tightly into their seats – Dupin particularly tightly – each one lost in his own thoughts about the events of this strangely dramatic day. Something people on the coast said about the Glénan popped into Dupin's head: time expanded on the islands. As soon as you were there, under this world's spell. More could happen here than anywhere else; in a minute, an hour, a day. Incredible as it sounded, that's exactly how he felt too.

The helicopter threw a strange shadow on the silver sea, like something out of a surrealist film. Several times, Dupin thought he saw the shadow of a bird of prey in a nosedive, so clear suddenly, that he was starting to get the creeps.

They would reach the mainland soon, the lights of Sainte-Marine and Bénodet were already glittering before them. It was strange, it seemed as though their shimmering marked an elemental border: the peculiar kingdom of the Glénan and the Atlantic here, and the normal world, reality, there. Dupin was glad, but also a little melancholy. And he didn't fully understand why he felt either emotion. With the monotonous noise of the rotors, which were muffled astonishingly well by the headphones, he almost nodded off a few times. Yet the attempt to make progress with some of his thoughts kept him awake. Besides, he would never have taken a nap in front of his inspectors! Except in front of Riwal.

They would have solid ground beneath their feet any moment now. He would climb into his Citroën, drive far too fast and be in Concarneau thirty minutes later. In his
Amiral.
He would park on the large square right at the quay – and everything would be okay for the time being. For a brief moment. After he'd walked into the bar, it would take less than five minutes for the
entrecôte
to be in front of him and he would already have drunk his first glass of Languedoc.

The Second Day

It was half past six. Still dark, the moon had long since gone down. In the westernmost part of the ‘united' European standard time zone – even this was seen as a minor invasion by Bretons – it only got light at seven o'clock at the beginning of May. Commissaire Georges Dupin was sitting in the
Le Bulgare
and drinking his second coffee, having just ordered his third from the energetic waitress. His little notebook lay open in front of him. Things were loud and robust. The day had long been in full, unsentimental flow, there was nothing leisurely here early in the morning. The far from idyllic cafe was right on the
Route Nationale,
on the fourth of the closely laid out
rond-points
on the approach to Quimper. From here, it was just five minutes to the little airport. Dupin did not come here often, but he was fond of it and it had been his saviour today.

As early as it was, Dupin had already got quite a lot done. He had got up at twenty past five – after only getting to bed at a little after half one and then lying awake practically all night, tossing and turning every few minutes. At one point he'd felt like he had a fever. He had gone over the events of the day again and again, the facts, the little that they knew. Might there not be clues that they hadn't seen? A lead. He had been very sure that it would have been better to get some rest, to sleep. That it was completely preposterous to rack his brains in that state.

He would have got up even earlier if he had known how to get his hands on caffeine. The
Amiral
only opened at quarter to seven, which he had discussed very seriously with Girard on a number of occasions. Dupin's disgracefully expensive espresso machine from Paris had suddenly given up the ghost, which he had only realised during the last emergency – because the
Amiral
was always closed on the second of January.

At a quarter to six, Dupin had called Riwal because he wanted the mayor of Fouesnant's number. Dupin could not remember his exact thought processes now, but at some point in the night he had been determined to talk to him.

And then, finally, Dupin had indeed called the Prefect, at five past six. He would need to get in touch quite regularly from now on. Besides, he had realised that the Prefect himself was relevant to this case, although only peripherally: he had been friends with Konan. For the first five minutes, Dupin had let the usual tirade wash over him – why had he not got in touch the day before and then now suddenly did so in the middle of the night, that this was not a proper way to work … Dupin had not actuallylistened for a second. He had agreed, absolutely passively, to leave all press statements to the Prefect and especially to report at least three times a day on this ‘wholly exceptionally important case, which urgently required as quick a resolution as possible'. The Prefect had outlined all the potential ‘disastrous scenarios' in store for Dupin, himself, the Finistère police, the whole
département
if they couldn't manage a quick and complete resolution to the case. Dupin had waited for the choleric fury to subside and then begun to ask questions of his own. Always ‘in the interests of a quick resolution'. At first Locmariaquer had, with some astonishment – Dupin could not tell if it was genuine or not – asked to what it extent it was significant, what Konan's businesses were and whether he had enemies. But then the Prefect noticeably relented, so that for some stretches the phone call had turned into a genuine investigative talk with a ‘witness'. In the end, Dupin left his superior thunderstruck with an overly friendly and formal ‘Thanks for your help' and hung up. The Prefect had apparently felt more and more uneasy as the conversation went on. From a certain point onwards it had suited him to make it clear that Konan had not been a close personal friend in the strictest sense, but rather an ‘acquaintance – a significant figure in Brittany and beyond', with whom he was on good terms for unavoidable professional as well as social reasons. Astonishingly, Dupin believed him. A few times the Prefect had even let a critical distance from Konan develop. He had mentioned that Konan had had ‘problems' with the Inland Revenue from time to time and that his web of investments seemed a little unclear. He had known nothing about a specific, acute or simmering conflict with anyone in particular. He had seen Yannig Konan for the last time three weeks ago, at a party given by the ‘Friends of Breton Beer-brewers Club', of which there were more and more in recent years – both regional beer producers and their friends. (Dupin himself was one of them now, although he would not admit it and was always making the case for his beloved 1664.) The Prefect was certain that Konan's wife knew little about her husband's current life. Up until a few years ago, the Locmariaquers had invited the Konans to dinner once a year. Until the marital crisis had become official. What the Prefect had also confirmed was this: Pajot really was a close friend of Konan. Locmariaquer knew of regular evenings the two spent together in Paris. He had only seen Pajot a handful of times at some receptions.

In any case, Dupin had already learnt a thing or two this morning.

At either end of the
Bulgare
's counter – it was five or six metres long – two televisions were on at the same time, each on different stations. ‘TV Breizh' was on one of them – the Breton channel. Of course, it was about the murders. A photo of Dupin was shown for a few seconds, ‘the young, yet experienced Parisian Commissaire from the Commissariat de Police Concarneau, who has solved a series of sensational cases in recent years, is leading the investigation.' Thank God the people in the cafe were too preoccupied with the beginning of their day to take any notice of the Commissaire. It must still have been possible to read about the ‘tragic accident' in the papers today – the news about the murder had arrived after the editorial deadline. There were multiple copies of
Ouest France
and
Télégramme
lying on the counter, not very far away from him. Dupin did not feel like reading the articles.