Murder on Brittany Shores (20 page)

‘I – am already outside again.'

‘You're outside again already?'

‘It was a very short conversation. As I said: we need a search warrant.'

‘Did any new suspicious facts come out of the – very short conversation with the director?'

‘I think so.'

‘We ought to have something more than a vague tip from an anonymous caller.'

‘The director of the institute acted completely uncooperatively. I've got
the well-founded suspicion, that he has made false statements and is covering up the truth – that delaying would be dangerous. That he will immediately get rid of incriminating documents.
– That's got to be enough.'

In these last phrases, Dupin had – albeit incoherently – put together the formal requirements for obtaining a search warrant.

‘Call the Prefect, Nolwenn. Say it's about an acute suspicion and there is explicit, acute danger of the suppression of evidence,' Dupin was absolutely resolute, ‘I want this search. Tell him it's indispensable in solving the murder of his friend. The first good lead. He's to call the investigative judge in charge personally or try the public prosecutor's office. We will also need to take a look at the business premises of
Medimare,
Paris.'

‘Fine.'

That was the ‘fine' that Dupin loved about Nolwenn. The more difficult it got and the more hectic it got and the more the pressure grew, the more Nolwenn liked it.

‘Wonderful. Speak to you later, Nolwenn.'

Dupin hung up.

He had reached his car, in the lower part of the large carpark in front of the Port de Plaisance, very close to his flat.

He dialled Kadeg's number.

‘Where are you, Kadeg?'

‘I'm at the diving centre, Riwal is at the sailing school. I…'

‘Call Nolwenn. We've got an anonymous tip about illegal business activity between the
Institut Marine
in Concarneau and a company held jointly by Pajot and Konan. It's called
Medimare.
We don't know much more than that yet. It buys and sells patents and licenses for pharmaceutical and cosmetic products based on findings from marine biology. The headquarters are in Paris. Nolwenn is still researching. We are trying to get a search warrant right now. For the institute and for
Medimare.
'

‘What concrete suspicion do you have?'

‘I don't have a concrete suspicion,' Dupin was aware that that didn't sound very strong, so his voice sounded all the more determined, ‘but I would like everything to be probed, all business connections. I have no idea what dodginess could be going on there – but find it! I want you to deal with this. Rigorously. I mean
really
rigorously.'

‘I understand.'

Kadeg's tone, even more so than his words, made it clear to Dupin that he really had understood. The disagreeable part of Kadeg's nature, which was the majority of it – there was also a small other part – was made for tasks like this. Kadeg was like a terrier at times like these.

‘As I said, coordinate with Nolwenn. She's also trying to arrange for us to have a team from headquarters for the operation. You are going to lead this, Kadeg.'

‘I look forward to it.'

‘Speak later.'

Dupin sat still a moment longer before starting the engine. Wait five seconds before breathing in, five seconds before breathing out. Deep in the stomach.

Dupin did not know whether they would actually get the search warrant, it wouldn't be easy, not matter how forcefully he had just expressed it and no matter how much Nolwenn would devote herself to it. What they had was anything but compelling. He also knew that his behaviour just now in the institute might not been very clever. He had not achieved anything for the time being. But would he have got more out of that man if he had been more diplomatic? In any case, he didn't have the faintest idea if this tip would lead anywhere at all or whether they would even find anything relevant during a search. Perhaps the vague hint at the business links was just to create confusion, a diversion. Waste time. The caller had not supplied proof of any kind that he was well informed and really knew something. But – he had existed. And one thing was clear: the director was an extremely unpleasant individual. Dupin was looking forward to the look on the director's face when Kadeg was standing in front of him with the search warrant. And there was another thought that pleased him about this – and it would also mean his approach wouldn't have been completely wrong: a search would really make waves. In the media too. It would be a clear demonstration that the police were determined to do everything possible and were proceeding with massive resources and the clearer this was, the more nervous the culprit would become. Nervous culprits act more rashly. And, ultimately, make mistakes. Though Dupin had to admit that the murder plan itself, as far as he could guess from the current state of the investigation, did not point towards a nervous personality.

Dupin turned the ignition key. He drove off, fumbling about at the tiny buttons of the car phone. If he were honest, he still had no real idea what
Medimare
actually did. Everything Nolwenn had said was very abstract. Patents and licenses for research results.

‘Nolwenn?'

‘I've already spoken to the Prefect, Monsieur le Commissaire. He is very uncertain, but he's trying. Personally. I'm to tell you that you hopefully know what you're doing – and that you will be in regular contact with him, he…'

‘Tell me, in as much detail as possible, what
Medimare
does.'

‘They buy research results from institutes, which enable pharmaceutically and commercially viable products to be produced from biological and biochemical research into living materials in the ocean. The research institutes partly finance themselves through these kinds of means, they…'

‘You were reading that out.'

‘Sorry?'

Nolwenn had a near photographic memory.

‘Nothing – what does that mean, what kind of products would they be?'

‘Biodegradable, synthetic materials for instance, a really big thing, or completely new kinds of antibiotics, innovative cosmetics, alternative energy sources, potential cancer drugs. All those kinds of things,' she raised her voice dramatically, ‘Brittany's marine environment is teeming with lifeforms that represent incredibly valuable resources. It's very much up and coming, Monsieur le Commissaire. They're called
blue biotechnologies.
In Brittany…'

‘I see. That's all I wanted to know. I take it there's big business at stake there.'

‘Very big business, yes. Think of the cosmetic industry alone,' she broke off briefly, ‘I brought you in a sample of hand cream last November.
Fluidum.
Do you remember?'

Dupin remembered. He found it embarrassing, he had never used it, not only because he never used creams but also because he had never understood the purpose of a cream specifically for your hands. Yet the memory was even more embarrassing because it had been a discreet hint from Nolwenn at a Christmas present for herself. He had only understood that when it was far too late, after he had already bought another of the ceramic maritime bowls from a factory in Quimper that he had been enthusiastically giving her for the last three Christmases running (Nolwenn had once carelessly implied that she liked them).

Dupin didn't answer.

‘That excellent cosmetics range, based entirely on all-natural brown algae. That little light blue tube, do you remember?'

At least Nolwenn didn't lapse into her harsh tone of voice. Dupin was relieved.

‘I remember. It makes your hands very soft.'

Nolwenn sighed gently.

‘Unique across the world! A natural phenomenon for your skin. With all the vital minerals. A concentration of the whole Atlantic!'

Dupin wanted to reply that he was unsure whether it was even possible for minerals to be absorbed via the skin, but he knew that this wasn't about that.

‘Kadeg will get in touch in the next few minutes, because of the
Medimare
-thing. I want him to lead the search. If we get it through.'

‘Good. I'll be expecting his call. What are you planning now, Monsieur le Commissaire? Should the helicopter pick you up?'

Nolwenn was back on top of things immediately.

‘I think I'd really like to speak to the mayor of Fouesnant.'

‘I'll let him know you're coming.'

‘I'm just at the last
rond-point,
heading towards the
Route Naitonale.
'

Nolwenn hung up.

*   *   *

La Forêt-Fouesnant was an idyll. And yet not too picturesque, Dupin thought, it narrowly avoided that. A wide sea inlet extended into the village, giving it a small quay. The local fishermen's pretty, Atlantic-coloured wooden boats were resting contentedly on their sides now that it was low tide. Gently curving, low hills rose up from the harbour, where the little village, which was part of the larger Fouesnant, was widely scattered. Lovingly restored stone houses in the typical Breton style, cosy cafes, a wonderful newspaper shop, a baker famous for miles around. And also: a small piece of the once typical ancient Breton woodland with large oaks, ivy, mistletoe, a druidic, mythical wood that you drove through on a scenic road. It was ten minutes to Concarneau, the same distance to Quimper. It was here that the mayor of the little ten thousand-soul community lived – Fouesnant and La Forêt-Fouesnant taken together – of which the Glénan were officially speaking a part.

Even this morning the sun was surprisingly strong and apart from a scattering of the typical fair weather clouds of immaculate white, the sky was a magnificent blue. It would hold up. Dupin's sincere admiration for the Bretons' incredible skills in reading and predicting the weather had prompted him to dabble in this art himself. He had made a hobby of it – and: he thought of himself as not unskilled. His knowledge had increased year on year: the definitive knowledge of what the signs consisted of and how they were meant to be interpreted.

Monsieur Du Marhallac'h – Nolwenn had got through to him straight away – hadasked Dupin to visit him at his home, where he had a small office. It was an unremarkable house, one of the few new ones. Sensible, not too big, not too small, not flashy or showy, but still impressive. It suited Du Marhallac'h perfectly, Dupin thought, it matched him in a curious way. He was also neither tall nor short, fat nor thin, had no very striking features, but not a greying ghost either – distinctly average.

The office was located in an angular wooden extension, built out into the garden. The office furnishings tended far past the ‘unremarkable' and into the ‘clearly ugly'. The wallpapered walls were a dreary pastel colour and, for no reason, decorated with a kind of light blue pattern at the top. They were covered in amateur photographs stuck in colourful plastic frames, showing scenes of Fouesnant and the surrounding area.

‘I take it it's still too soon to ask for your initial assumptions about what happened on the islands, Monsieur le Commissaire?'

‘Indeed it is.'

Dupin needed to concentrate. He was, of course, still wrapped up in thoughts of
Medimare.
But even yesterday evening he'd had a strong instinct that he should be speaking in-depth with all regular guests and residents of this ‘wonderful world out there'. And the mayor was a central figure in this world. Dupin had some pressing questions for him.

‘It's our mission
to know
– not to make assumptions.'

It took the mayor a moment to reply to this.

‘It's absolutely unbelievable. Everything, the whole case! Especially the idea that the murderer committed the deed in full view of us all in the
Quatre Vents.
Indeed I was there myself, the evening before last, I mean.'

The mayor broke off for a moment, trying to meet the Commissaire's eye. Dupin made it clear with a movement of his eyes that this was nothing new to him.

‘I was sitting at the table right next to the two of them. My usual table. It was a lively evening, like it always is in the
Quatre Vents
– and in this cheerful crowd, there was a murderer amongst us!! A person with such evil energy. It's beyond the power of my imagination.'

Dupin hadn't been listening properly to this last sentence. Something had occurred to him. He was looking for his notebook in his jacket pocket. He thought he had made a note of it. He leafed through the pages of his Clairefontaine. Du Marhallac'h continued talking, but kept looking at the Commissaire with increasing irritation. ‘Marc Leussot, marine biologist, also journalist,' that was it.
Marine biologist.
Maybe it didn't mean a thing. But the words ‘marine biologist' had – this morning – now gained a new significance.

‘If you could please excuse me for a moment,
Monsieur Du Mar…
Monsieur le Maire.
'

Dupin stood up and went – without waiting for an answer or signal from the mayor – to the narrow door of the extension and stepped out into the garden.

He dialled directory inquiries.

‘Could you please put me through to the
Institut Marine de Concarneau?
Thanks.'

It only took a second.

‘
Bonjour.
I would like to speak to Monsieur Leussot please.'

The high-pitched female voice at the other end of the line was incredibly friendly.

‘Docteur Leussot does field studies on the Atlantic most of the time, he's not in his office currently.'

‘We're talking about Marc Leussot, the researcher, journalist and – permanent employee of the institute, though?'

The answer came hesitantly this time, the question was unusual.

‘Oh yes. Docteur Marc Leussot.'