Murder on Brittany Shores (36 page)

‘I'll see what I can find. I'll take care of it straight away. You – you should…'

‘I know. I really can't manage it.'

It didn't take long, but there was a moment before Nolwenn answered.

‘I'll explain to the Prefect that you regrettably still cannot get in touch. That you yourself regret it the most. I think the Prefect … he himself has an interest of course, in light being shed on this darkness soon.'

Dupin loved Nolwenn. He loved her.

‘Speak to you later.'

‘Just one more thing, Monsieur le Commissaire. Your mother. This morning there were another four calls on the voicemail, all of which were rather indignant. She's arriving tomorrow evening, I'm to tell you that again. And that she absolutely must speak to you immediately.'

‘I'll call her.'

Dupin hung up. This could not be happening. Tomorrow. He really did need to call her. He would have to cancel. But not now.

Jacques Nuz's accident. Four times, he had noted ‘Jacques Nuz, in an accident' in his notebook. It had occurred to him last night on the fold-out bed. It wasn't, as he had first thought, the reference to the death of Le Berre-Ryckeboerec's niece that had put him on the alert in his utter fatigue. But in fact the death of Jacques Nuz, who had set out from the Glénan before a storm to get over to the mainland.

As he walked he pulled the Clairefontaine out of his jacket pocket – it was still damp, but its varnished cover had kept the rain off surprisingly well – better than he had feared last night. He leafed through and found his last notes. Yes. It was written here. ‘Was in the mairie.' So in Fouesnant then. He put it back into his damp jacket pocket. And dialled Riwal's number.

‘Riwal, what did Le Coz say yesterday about where Solenn Nuz had been? In the mairie, I wrote down.'

‘That's what he said. He's sitting next to me. We're drinking coffee, do you want to speak to him?'

‘Yes, pass me over to him.'

There was a rustling, then Le Coz was on the line.

‘Monsieur le Commissaire?'

‘You asked Solenn Nuz yesterday where she'd been all day, didn't you?'

‘Precisely.'

Le Coz was a very conscientious police officer.

‘She told you she was in the mairie in Fouesnant. Did she tell you what she was doing there?'

‘No. Only what I've told you. I didn't probe any deeper because I thought it was only about the issue of where she had been between half twelve and four that day.'

‘That was correct, Le Coz. So she she didn't say anything more about it.'

‘No. Nothing.'

‘Can you try and find out from the mairie?'

‘Right away, Commissaire.'

Dupin hung up.

He had arrived at the tip of the island. Or more specifically: he had walked past the tip of Saint-Nicolas, over the seabed, which suddenly became stony and covered in blue mussels at this point and he had reached an absolutely tiny little island. Only forty metres away from Saint-Nicolas in fact and it was barely more than ten metres by ten. At low tide it was a small appendage to Saint-Nicolas. Dupin had been so wrapped up in his thoughts that he only realised where he was now. He turned on his heel immediately.

He got out his notebook again, flicked through, found what he was looking for and dialled Riwal's number again.

‘Chief?'

‘Give me Le Coz again.'

‘Will do.'

The same rustling sound again.

‘Did Madame Barrault tell you what she did between lunch and the time I met her on the quay?'

‘No. Just that she was at home. Alone. So that couldn't be verified anyway.'

‘Thanks.'

Dupin hung up. That had not been a productive telephone call. He was right between the two islands. He was moving very carefully. This was crazy when you thought about it, it could make a person from the 6th Arrondissement dizzy: he was walking over the seabed. Fish usually swam here. Like the ones from his
cotriade
yesterday.

Dupin's mobile rang. It was a Paris number. He briefly feared it was his mother, but he recognised Claire's number. He agonised for a moment. Then he answered it. And knew immediately that it had been a mistake. He would have to tell her that he didn't have time to speak now – and that was exactly what he needed to avoid. The biggest problem between them had been that he had so little time for Claire and for the two of them.

‘
Bonjour,
Georges. Is this not a good time?'

‘I. No.
Bonjour,
Claire.'

‘Thanks for your message. I've had some insanely hectic days there, I was in the operating theatre all the time. Two of my colleagues were ill.'

‘No problem.'

There was an embarrassing pause. Claire assumed that Dupin would say something. Finally she spoke again.

‘And what are you up to? Where are you?'

She obviously hadn't heard about the case. Claire didn't often watch the news.

‘I'm on an archipelago, eighteen kilometres off the coast. I'm standing on the seabed between two islands, it's low tide right now. There are blue mussels everywhere here, the ones you love so much. I'm walking over them.'

He had said all of these things because he had no idea how to resolve this situation. He even briefly considered whether he should tell her about the dolphins.

‘That sounds wonderful. Are you on a trip?'

‘I,' there was nothing for it, he couldn't avoid saying it, ‘I'm on a case.'

‘On a case on an archipelago?'

‘Exactly right.'

It took Claire a moment to understand what he was trying to say.

‘So you don't have any time to talk now.'

‘No! I … No. You're right. But I'll call you as soon as the case is solved. Then we'll have plenty of time.'

‘Oh right, yes,' another pause. ‘I understand.'

That had always been the worst sentence.

‘I want to see you.'

He had let that slip out. And it must have really surprised Claire. They had agreed to think it over together. Whether they wanted to see each other.

‘What?'

‘I'm absolutely certain. I want to see you.'

Dupin had taken the bull by the horns. This was his only chance. But above all: this was right. It was the absolute truth.

‘Good.'

That had been a real ‘good'. He was familiar with it. From their happy times. The best times he'd ever had.

‘Then let's see each other.'

‘Good.'

‘I'm glad. That we've talked. That was a – good phone call.'

Dupin was truly exhilarated.

‘So – call me when the case is closed.'

‘I will, Claire. Straight away.'

She had hung up.

That had been rather incredible, Dupin thought. He needed to be careful, he had nearly slipped on some algae.

But he didn't have time to keep feeling pleased, his phone was ringing yet again.

It was Goulch.

‘Yes.'

Dupin sounded more bad-tempered than he actually was. He would simply have liked to let the effects of the conversation with Claire linger.

‘The forensic scientist has found two bullet holes. Shots were fired in the abandoned house on Brilimec. At least two shots.'

‘Shots?'

‘Yes, they found the bullets in the brickwork. They match the calibre exactly. About one metre to the left of the footprints that we saw. The two bullet holes are close together and were probably fired from the point where we suspected somebody had been standing.'

‘So somebody deliberately missed.'

‘Excuse me?'

The shooter could have been standing at most two or three metres away in the small room, Dupin thought, even if he had been standing in the passageway from the first to the second room. From that distance, nobody missed a shot by a metre twice. Le Menn? Or was Le Menn the one who had been shot at?

‘They were intimidating shots.'

Goulch did not answer straight away. So when the penny dropped it was truly audible.

‘Exactly!'

‘Any other trace evidence?'

‘The padlock and the door are being examined more closely.'

‘Is that it?'

‘Yes, for the moment.'

‘Thanks, Goulch.'

A minute later Dupin was standing in front of the
Quatre Vents
again.

Riwal and Le Coz were sitting at the table they had all sat at yesterday evening. Solenn Nuz was still nowhere to be seen, but her elder daughter was there. Way over on the right, Pascal Nuz was sitting in his regular spot, absorbed in a newspaper. Leussot was right next to him and he made a cheerful signal of greeting to the Commissaire. Small groups were already sitting at two of the tables, divers or sailors. And the ‘press' was here again too. The remarkable partnership from the
Télégramme
and
Ouest France
were sitting in the corner right next to the entrance, two steaming
grands crèmes
sitting in front of them. They both looked glum. Although they really ought to have known. They had plenty of experience with his – in Dupin's view – very clear information policy: not a word before the case was solved. There was nothing to be got out of him before then. Unless he could see a specific advantage for his investigation – which he didn't see here.

Dupin didn't feel like having a conversation now either, ignoring them completely and walking straight toward the coffee machine, next to which Louann Nuz had just placed a fresh coffee. Clearly an order for one of the tables.

‘Another coffee, please.'

‘No problem. Good morning, Monsieur le Commissaire.'

‘Good morning.'

With a few practised movements of her hands, Louann brewed the fragrant coffee and placed it in front of him.

‘Thanks! Is your mother here?'

‘She's just getting something from the house. She should be back any moment.'

Dupin wondered whether he should say that he wanted to speak to her. He decided against it.

Dupin took the coffee and went over to Riwal and Le Coz.

‘Let's keep working outside.'

‘We were planning that too, chief. But everything is still soaking there.'

‘Doesn't matter.'

Sitting inside was a stupid idea. For all sorts of reasons, not just because of the press.

Outside, they shook the rainwater off the chairs as best they could and sat down.

‘I spoke to the mairie in Fouesnant on the phone a minute ago,' Le Coz said quietly.

‘Is it already open?'

Dupin was genuinely surprised.

‘It's nearly half eight now and it's open from half seven. It's an office. I spoke to the employee responsible. Madame Nuz put in an application some months ago to be allowed to redesign the annexe on the
Quatre Vents.
She was there twice in recent weeks to clarify details. She just wanted to take another look at her file yesterday. Every organisation, every person, every company who submits applications gets their own file. A kind of folder. Everything goes in there, even intermediate notifications. The whole process.'

‘Why did she want it? What does it have to do with the intended new construction?'

‘I don't know. Madame Nuz didn't tell the employee why she needed it.'

‘And everyone has access to their file at all times?'

‘Yes. That's very much normal procedure.'

Dupin lapsed into silence. The suspicion that was taking up more and more space in his head was still very incomplete.

‘I need a helicopter.'

Riwal and Le Coz looked at him in surprise.

‘I need to go to the mainland. To Fouesnant. I want to visit the mairie.'

It was a while before there was any reaction.

‘I'll request it.'

Le Coz stood up and walked a few metres to one side.

Riwal looked expectantly at Dupin.

‘I want to inspect the file.'

‘Are you looking for something specific? I mean, do you know what you are looking for?'

‘No.'

It was true. He didn't know what he was looking for, but his instinct told him that this was exactly where he needed to look.

‘The helicopter is on its way,' Le Coz reported. ‘It was on Brilimec with the forensic team just now. So they'll just have to wait.'

Dupin was reminded of René Reglas and couldn't help grinning. As he did so, something occurred to him that he wanted to do. He took his mobile out of his jacket pocket and dialled Reglas' number. It took a while for the call to be answered.

‘Ah, Monsieur le Commissaire. I would have thought it appropriate if we had been in touch directly and in person about the…'

‘Can you say anything more specific about the footprints in the house yet?'

‘I…'

‘Large feet, small feet? Women, men?'

‘It's extremely difficult to say, you've seen it yourself, none of the prints are clear. And the ground is firm and stony in front of the house. But even if there had been some, the storm destroyed all of the prints outside. Even on the beaches, Goulch showed us the places. We couldn't find anything there any more. Nothing at all. I can't commit to anything for the time being.'

Dupin hated the ‘can't commit to anything'.

‘I just want to know what you think. An initial guess.'

‘They are neither significantly small nor significantly large imprints.'

Excellent. It wasn't a giant or a dwarf.

‘A woman?'

‘I can't say. I think there were shoe sizes between 38 and 44.'

That didn't really help either.

‘We're finishing off the work right now. And are flying back immediately. Then we'll take the two bullets and…'

An ear-splitting sound started. Dupin knew it well by now. Rotor blades.

‘It's starting … can you still hear me, Commissaire?'