“Why?”
“Well, unsurprisingly the use of microorganisms can result in unforeseen circumstances. In the worst-case scenario, it could lead to toxic effects, primary or secondary, that could occur due to bioreactions in the ecosystem. And we haven’t even touched on the variants of genetically modified species; that would be even more dangerous! But the adulterated microorganisms could unintentionally contaminate everything too. Depending on what kind they were. Just imagine it! In the middle of the salt! It would be criminal to do something like that in the salt marshes. Laboratories would only get the permission for open-air tests under very strict regulations, and only under full supervision by state institutions, all of which is why it would be very difficult to do something like this. Private companies wouldn’t go near it.” It was as though by voicing them, Goal’s forceful remarks could ward off the possibility that someone had in fact hit upon this kind of plan in the middle of the salt marshes.
“Could you examine the microorganisms from the pool for this, Monsieur Goal?”
“You’re considering the possibility that this is what we’re dealing with in the pool? Really? Do you know what that would mean?”
“I consider it likely.”
“We—we’ll get to work. It will take a few hours.”
“Thank you, Monsieur Goal. You’ve been very helpful.”
Dupin hung up without waiting for a response.
For a moment the two commissaires stood next to each other in silence, elbows propped on the railing.
“The wooden structure with the net”—Dupin’s mind was still trying to fit everything together—“would have been to keep the algae down, underneath the water. So that nobody would stumble across it. There must have been significant amounts of it. For a realistic experiment. And it must all have happened at night, when the salt marshes are deserted. You’re completely alone. Perfect.”
There was another long pause. This time it was Rose who ended it.
“Do you know the astronomical costs to the region caused by the impact of constant deposits of green algae? It’s estimated at one point five million euro at this stage. The majority of that is for the laborious cleanup of the beaches, taking away and disposing of the algae—we’re talking about thousands of cubic meters of algae being collected every year. And those aren’t the only damages and consequences. Some damage, like the harm done to tourism, can hardly be calculated,” she said pensively, staring at the wash of the sea over the ferry’s bow. “The interest in a means of destroying or preventing algae would be absolutely enormous. It would be worth millions. And green algae doesn’t just affect Brittany. This is a substantial motive.”
Dupin was aware of these figures. At the end of August there had been overly detailed articles about them everywhere. The district council in Rennes took stock annually, officially reporting on the costs of green algae in the current year. People didn’t realize the magnitude of it all. Every single beach needed to be cleaned immediately if green algae washed up, some were simply sealed off; if the algae lay on the ground in the sun, it could become dangerous instantly if toxic gases were released during the decomposing process. They had begun to build extra-large incinerators for the disposal of algae.
“Whoever it was,” Rose said darkly, “they must have known the penalties they could face, what an enormous risk they were taking. Not only would their livelihood be destroyed, they would be going to jail for many years. That being said, the profits would be phenomenal.”
Dupin ran a hand roughly through his hair.
This must be it. The story around which everything revolved. He would have smiled if it hadn’t been so serious: if this was true—if it was really about green algae—then it was a very Breton story. And it was a big story that explained why so much ruthlessness was at work. A lot of money, big deals, and, if an experiment like this were discovered in the salt marshes, drastic consequences and penalties.
“Monstrous creatures—it’s like it said on the board in the exhibition. Someone has bred some kind of monster organism in a salt pool,” Rose said solemnly. She hadn’t intended this as a joke. “So we have a solid hypothesis. Impressively deduced, Monsieur le Commissaire,” she said, sounding sincere. “It would be a perfect motive. Now we need the perpetrator. We’ve got to go back to the drawing board with new assumptions.”
It was true. The state of the investigation had changed dramatically. There was a lot to discuss, a lot to do. And yes, they needed to go back to the drawing board. But Dupin usually did that in a very different way: he walked around the area, through woods, by rivers, across beaches, sat on benches, stood by the sea, whatever—but always by himself.
Rose looked at her watch, took out her mobile, and vanished toward the stern of the ferry. They were just passing by the harbor at the Île aux Moines; they would be in Port-Blanc very soon.
Dupin had stayed standing in the bow. What was coming to light here was an insane story.
Rose came back soon afterward, the phone to her ear, and Dupin assumed it was Inspector Chadron.
Suddenly the ferry tacked hard to portside. For some reason the captain’s steering was taking them in a huge swerve. A moment later Dupin could see that they were heading straight for the Île aux Moines.
Rose hung up and came to stand next to him. “We need to talk. Madame Bourgiot can wait. Inspector Chadron has already let her know. I’ve asked the captain to drop us off in Port du Lério. I’ve got to eat.”
Dupin couldn’t believe his ears.
* * *
Five minutes later they were sitting in Le San Francisco in the same place Dupin had sat at lunchtime (oddly enough, Rose had gone in first and made straight for his exact spot).
“I’ve given orders for Daeron’s houses, office, and salt marshes to be carefully searched again. In light of the new developments. Along with his computer, mobile, all personal documents, bank records. And we’ve got to speak to his wife again. If this is about the green algae repellent, and he was involved, there will be traces. Of some kind. You need money, you need the raw biological materials, you need to buy them, store them, transport them, and use them. All of that leaves traces behind.”
Dupin had only been half listening; he was still trying to reorganize everything in his mind. But of course it was true: they had to focus on Daeron. It all fit.
“Perhaps he wasn’t acting alone. The whole thing would be a huge undertaking. And someone must have had access to biological and biochemical knowledge, at least to basic knowledge, even if you might be able to buy these substances freely. We need to know who, and fast.”
“Ah, Sylvaine. Bonjour,” the friendly young waitress greeted Rose warmly.
“Two espressos, please, Nadine.”
Dupin couldn’t get his head round this; Rose must come here a lot.
“Two of the tartare de lieu jaune, with lime,” Rose ordered en passant, without deigning to look at Dupin once. “You’re already familiar with the lamb terrine.”
How could Rose know about that? Dupin was too baffled to respond.
“And two glasses of Chenin blanc.”
It hadn’t been a question.
Dupin pulled himself together.
“If the microorganisms were systematically adulterated and cultivated,” he said, taking out his Clairefontaine, “a laboratory would be necessary.”
They had a lot to do. The laboratory issue might be another starting point.
“A makeshift lab at least.” It sounded as though Rose was thinking out loud. Dupin was familiar with this. “A secret lab. In one of the huts maybe, or in the warehouses.”
“Maybe the substances were only mixed together in the pools. And that might not be that complicated.”
They really didn’t know what level of professional knowledge they were dealing with.
“It could definitely have happened in a real lab. There’s enough at stake. Directly and indirectly.”
Dupin didn’t understand. Rose must have noticed.
“There are a good half-dozen private food institutes in the White Land, if not more, with dozens of employees.”
Dupin hadn’t known that.
“Every paludier, the independents, the cooperatives, and also Le Sel, they need to work with a food institute. There are strict requirements in place. There are plenty of private ones in every region: small, medium, and large. These in turn are controlled by state institutions. Food safety is its own industry.”
“I see,” murmured Dupin.
“Maxime Daeron will definitely have collaborated closely with a laboratory. The same goes for the cooperatives. Larger firms even have their own institutes or departments, Paul Daeron and his pigs might too. No doubt he works with a food institute. And a large lab at that—as does Le Sel, of course.”
The service was swift as always, the waitress coming over with a large tray and putting everything on the table. Dupin picked up the coffee immediately, that was his priority.
“Bon appétit.” Rose smiled. “The lieu jaune was caught here in the gulf earlier today and the filet was diced by hand. The zested lime comes from the trees near the dolmens where Julius Caesar was laid to rest.” She gave him a nod of encouragement, then continued abruptly with her deductions: “Maxime Daeron could have had access to a lab through various avenues. We at least have enough grounds for suspicion to examine the lab that he worked with directly.”
“We should look into whether there have been private initiatives or even applications in the last year for permission to research and test a green algae repellent legally.”
“It would be taken into official state custody immediately—a major biochemical weapon.” Rose elegantly ate a large forkful of tartare and calmly took a mouthful of wine. Dupin himself felt a little self-conscious. But then he reached for his misted-up glass too, and he could smell the subtle fragrance of orange blossom, delicate and smooth.
“Somehow Lilou Breval found out about the whole thing,” Dupin said, and took a small sip. “The mysterious blue barrels. And I blundered into it all the evening before yesterday.” He finished the rest of his glass in one go.
“And another thing: the most plausible explanation is that she found out from Daeron. The ‘algae project’ must have been very time-consuming.”
Rose’s final sentence was vague. There was a short pause, which Dupin used to help himself to a large forkful of the exquisite tartare and refreshing lime.
Rose leaned back: “One person did not do all of this, not a chance.”
Dupin agreed.
“The profits would be immense.” Rose sounded almost impressed. “Immense. If it actually worked, could be used in situ, and didn’t have any relevant ecological side effects, there’s no doubt there’d be a line of interested parties around the world. The repellent could then potentially be licensed. We should—”
The unmistakable ring of Rose’s mobile interrupted them. She picked up without hesitation.
“Bonjour, Madame Cordier?”
Rose took the phone away from her ear, pressed the speakerphone function, put it on the table in front of her, and picked up her fork again.
“We’ve got to talk.”
“Great. Let’s talk. Quarter past five, Centre du Sel. We’ll be expecting you.”
“I’ve just been officially informed by the forensic laboratory that we are dealing with a significant population of certain unusual bacteria in a large reservoir pool. I take it this was suspected for some time. You ought to have reported it immediately.”
This was said in that harsh tone of Cordier’s that they had known since their first conversation.
Rose ate the last piece of her lieu jaune with complete equanimity. She made no move to respond.
“I’m going to speak to Paris at once. I don’t know if it’s clear to you that this incident falls into the most serious category. We’ll be ordering a full-scale shutdown of the salt marshes. The entire manufacturing process. Until we are certain beyond doubt about what is going on here.”
“Fine.”
There was a pause that revealed Madame Cordier had expected a different response.
“You’re aware that you are duty-bound to share all of your suspicions with me.”
“Call the forensic chemist, I hereby give you permission to do so.”
Dupin listened in amusement.
“I’ve already done that; he didn’t want to make any further comments to me and directed me to you.”
“If we think it appropriate to express a suspicion, we shall do so.”
“We’re going to take a look at the pool ourselves, and carry out our own analysis,” Cordier said.
“You will take a look at the pool when we think you ought to look at the pool. Precisely then and no earlier. See you for the official meeting at five fifteen. In the Centre du Sel. Au revoir, Madame Cordier.”
Rose hung up. She turned to Dupin. “We’ve got to get going. We don’t want to rush again.”
Her face was impassive. Dupin quickly ate another mouthful. This time he didn’t want to leave anything on the plate.
“We should bring our inspectors up to speed on the way.” Rose had already stood up. “They mustn’t lose any time investigating everything that might be relevant in light of this new information. They need to examine any links to the laboratories very carefully—who works with whom, what exactly the laboratories do. And after the interviews at the Centre du Sel we should all sit down together. All five of us.”
There was almost a hint of emotion in this last sentence. She sounded unusually collaborative, which made Dupin instinctively skeptical, although it was admittedly a good idea in principle. It was a question of extensive, systematic investigation now, a lot of information to be assembled. And Dupin hadn’t seen much of Riwal and Kadeg on this case, although they had been in touch on the phone regularly.
“We should also—”
Rose was interrupted by her phone again.
“Yes?”
Once again, Dupin couldn’t make out anything, other than the fact it was a man’s voice. At first, Rose listened for a while.
“Otherwise no indications of anything out of the ordinary?… All right, Docteur. Thanks for the information. So it’s all up to us now.”
She hung up a moment later. They had already left Le San Francisco and walked down the steps to the harbor.
“I’d like to know if there’s any update on Maxime Daeron’s autopsy. A tiny smudge of gunpowder residue was identified on the right index finger. The finger Maxime Daeron used to pull the trigger. A small space on the side of his finger is almost clean, which is only visible under a microscope. That could mean,” Rose hesitated for a moment, “for instance, that another finger was on top of Daeron’s. But the pathologist thinks this is not completely reliable and it can sometimes happen naturally. They’ve completed the blood tests and found no sign of any anesthesia. Although of course there are now some that can’t be detected later. We probably shouldn’t expect any more significant results from the autopsy.”
They were standing on the quay. The boat would be docking very soon; it was only a few meters away and both of the blond women from the ferry were standing in the bow holding ropes.
As they boarded the ferry, Dupin started to make some calls. He was on the phone for the whole short boat trip to Port-Blanc, on the way to his car, and most of the car journey. He spoke to Riwal and Kadeg, Nolwenn—who reminded him firmly about the prefect—and he called the chemist twice but there was no answer.
Dupin brought Riwal and Kadeg up to speed and delegated the new tasks. He also told them they should be ready and waiting at the Centre du Sel.
His inspectors had looked into the financial state of Maxime Daeron’s salt business and his private accounts. He had been earning next to nothing over the course of many years. He barely owned anything either; the two houses and the car belonged to his brother or his wife.
The radio was on from time to time, Bleu Breizh. Skippy was fine.
Two crates of Britt beer had gone to two lucky amateur photographers and this time there was no doubt that Skippy had been sighted, in the same area as before; his new home was clearly somewhere nearby. This time there was also coverage of Skippy’s past, before he had ended up in the Breton zoo; he had been born, hard as it was to believe, on “Kangaroo Island,” an island off the south coast of Australia. And, this was the crucial thing for Dupin, something the expert mentioned only in passing: Kangaroo Island was an island where kangaroos and penguins mixed naturally! Unbelievable, Skippy had lived on his island side by side with real penguins.
Dupin spotted Rose immediately when he drove into the large parking lot at the Centre du Sel. They had set out at the same time and Dupin had not been driving slowly by any means. He would love to know how many speed trap photos Rose had been in recently.
She was standing next to her car, just to the right, in one of the first parking spaces. Dupin parked his Peugeot opposite.
“Inspector Chadron tells me Monsieur Goal, the chemist, wants to speak to you.”
“I tried to get through to him twice, but no luck.”
Rose shrugged. “Let’s call him. Madame Cordier is waiting in the conference room. Madame Bourgiot is in her office. We’re going to see them separately.”
Dupin hesitated for a moment. By “Let’s call him,” Rose meant here and now. He took out his mobile.
Rose came very close, just as she had done on the ferry earlier. This time, Dupin turned on the speakerphone.
“Bonjour, Monsieur Goal, Commissaire Dupin here.”
“I was in the lab when you called,” Goal said solemnly. “We’ve run a series of specific tests based on your hunch. By which I mean, we’ve run tests to see if these microorganisms could exhibit specific traits that dissolve green algae in vivo. We tried it with small samples of ulva armoricana. Positive.” Goal seemed surprised himself.
The Fleur De Sel Murders Page 23