‘Some of the “better sort” here have spots on both sides so that they don’t need to drive to the large bridge if they want to do something on the other side.’
‘Did Pajot own a boat before this?’
‘Apparently not. Not in these two harbours anyway.’
‘First he’s got no boat, then suddenly a really expensive one and two mooring spots at the same time?’
‘He must be very well off. His construction company is one of the two largest in Brittany and is also known throughout the country. He has had the boat driving license for a long time, since 1978. The boat, the Conquerer, is a Gran Turismo 49 by the way. Bénéteau.’
The tone of this last remark made it clear that it was meant to be significant. Everyone here on the coast was knowledgeable boats – one of their favourite topics. Dupin didn’t have a problem not being knowledgeable about them, but from time to time he was sorry when it was made into esoteric secret knowledge.
‘And that means?’
‘15.6 metres long, 4.3 metres wide, around 12,000 kilograms in weight. Two 435 PS. About half a million euro.’
Kadeg was putting this as cockily as if it were his own boat. It sounded like old times, playing Top Trumps.
‘Half a million?’
None of the other figures meant anything to Dupin.
‘Boats are expensive. And as I said: Pajot will have been seriously rich.’
‘When were you on the phone to Savoir?’
‘From the boat. A few minutes ago.’
‘Did he say anything?’
‘What do you mean?’
Savoir had apparently not hinted at anything to do with the murders yet.
‘Nothing. Call him again. I want to know whether this man is the third man beyond all doubt.’
‘The Gran Turismo is registered to him, it’s definitively his boat.’
‘I want the absolutely cast-iron facts.’
Far too much in this case was obvious and then turned out to be not so obvious after all.
Clearly in a bad temper, Kadeg got out his phone. Suddenly they could hear the infernal noise of the rotors – and the helicopter was right above the island again. Riwal was back. That was good.
Kadeg had to raise his voice considerably.
‘Yes, Docteur, exactly, Inspector Kadeg. Exactly. I…’
You could tell how much of an effort Kadeg was making to understand. The noise was getting increasingly ear-splitting, the helicopter was about to land.
‘You have to speak louder, Docteur. I…’
Kadeg broke off again. In despair, he pressed the phone to his ear, doing acrobatics to try and shield it with his other hand as he did so – which didn’t even help. It looked rather bizarre. He was pacing back and forth the entire time as if he was looking – also, inevitably, to no avail – for a place where the noise would be less loud. He suddenly stood still, taking the phone angrily from his ear. Then he walked right up to Dupin, leant in and shouted:
‘It’s him! It’s Pajot! They’ve…’
The helicopter had landed, but the engines were still running.
Dupin waited, he knew the procedure. It took less than half a minute for the great silence of the archipelago to return without warning. Dupin was ready more quickly than Kadeg.
‘And there’s no doubt about it?’
‘No. Docteur Savoir is certain. They found a series of usable photos online.’
‘Good. Then we have our third dead man. Voilà. The full set.’
Kadeg looked at the Commissaire in bewilderment.
Dupin was simply happy to be on more solid ground. To know the starting point of the case at least.
‘There’s news, Kadeg. We need to talk. With Riwal. Right away.’
‘We should find ourselves some other place. The Quatre Vents is absolutely inappropriate for our discussions. It’s a public place.’
‘Out of the question. We’re staying here.’
Dupin’s spontaneous reply had arisen out of deep indignation.
Quite apart from Dupin’s style of developing rituals straight away, everywhere and always, the real reason not to want to look for a different place was that there was also de facto no alternative. Where were they meant to go? Sit on the quay, on the beach, in a dune? On a boat? Commandeer a room at the sailing school or the diving centre? Dupin would have, in all honesty, done this without hesitation if it had been his preference – but, and this was definitely the second, important reason: there would be no coffee there.
‘We’ll sit down out here, right where we were sitting just now.’
Dupin headed straight for the table that was still as it had been before. Kadeg followed with visible reluctance, but stayed silent.
‘We’ll make it quick,’ Dupin said firmly.
* * *
Inspector Riwal, Inspector Kadeg and Commissaire Dupin had not sat down for very long. Not because it really had become ‘nippy’ – by now ‘seriously nippy’! –, but because Dupin was uneasy. He was well known for his urgent sense of restlessness when he was on a case.
In just a few words, he had conveyed to Kadeg and Riwal the news that changed everything. The colour visibly drained from their faces. They asked a few questions first and then in turn – and only just – extracted from Dupin exactly what Savoir’s report had said and how the conversations with Solenn Nuz had gone. Dupin wanted to get to work.
Kadeg and Riwal also thought it most likely at the moment that Lefort and Konan had been given the benzodiazepines in the Quatre Vents. And that the culprit had therefore spent time there the previous evening, briefly or at length. They thought it necessary to find out very soon exactly who had been in the Quatre Vents, what Konan and Lefort haddrunk and eaten and whether anyone had seen anything suspicious. Dupin wanted a list of people categorised into ‘regulars and/or known persons on the archipelago’ and ‘unknown persons’. The other category was obvious: which of the people had a connection to which of the three dead. And what kind of connection had it been? Another priority was to learn as much as possible, as quickly as possible, about the three victims, their lives, their work and the links between them and come across something of substance. Potential leads, potential conflicts, a potential motive, people who might have had some interest in the deaths of the three men.
Dupin had put Kadeg on Pajot, Riwal on Konan and he himself had taken on on Lefort, although he had asked Riwal to put him in touch with the man’s girlfriend as soon as possible. The houses belonging to all three on the mainland were to be searched and Pajot’s home in Paris. All of the ‘routines’ had to begin, the gathering of information about will and inheritance matters, looking into assets and property matters, bank transactions, phone line evidence … they would need more people in addition to the team from their own Commissariat.
Kadeg had wanted to have the Quatre Vents declared a crime scene. Dupin, who was otherwise known for sealing off crime scenes for long periods at will and for as long as he liked, had been dead set against it – even though Kadeg had raised arguments that were criminologically relevant, such as the issue of whether they should have the counters, glasses and kitchen examined for traces of the sedative. It wasn’t just because Dupin was worried about the steady supply of coffee (which he was!) that he had been against it. No: if they closed the Quatre Vents, they themselves would be boycotting the scene of their enquiries: they would be forcing everyone to make themselves scarce. Here they actually came together: those who could say something about the world out here, who might know something – who maybe even knew the perpetrator. It had not beena long exchange, Dupin hadexpressed his position categorically, whereupon he hadmarched into the Quatre Vents.
For a few moments the customers’ attention had been directed entirely at the small group of police officers coming in. The conversations at the tables had faltered briefly. People knew who they were of course. Dupin, Kadeg and Riwal had moved across the room at a decidedly calm pace and stood by the wall to the left of t
he bar. The conversations at the tables had quickly resumed their earlier liveliness.
They stood very close to each other, practically squashed together. Dupin hated it. Riwal and Kadeg were having an incomprehensible conversation about the bad air, the incredible bustle in the place, you could tell that they were feeling ill at ease.
Dupin, however, was content. From here, you could observe exactly what was happening at the bar. The trays sitting on the counter. The drinks being added, the food. The trays occasionally sat for several minutes absolutely ‘unsupervised’. It was this exact place at the counter where the majority of customers lingered. It was all just as Solenn Nuz had said: a closely packed, chaotic swarm. Anyone, it was clear at a glance, could have come over here at any time without attracting any suspicion or attention at all. Anyone could have got close enough to the trays.
Or else it had happened at Konan and Lefort’s table. Of course they would painstakingly try to reconstruct that decisive half an hour before they had left – they would question everyone about whether someone had noticed anything unusual during this time – but the likelihood of finding out more in this way, Dupin felt, was not very high. It was clear they were dealing with a very intelligent perpetrator.
Dupin’s forehead was deeply creased. He didn’t like this one bit. And drawing up the list was also taking too long for his liking.
‘Monsieur le Commisssaire, we should…’
Kadeg began loudly in his self-important tone, but Dupin interrupted fiercely.
‘Riwal, Kadeg, watch the customers carefully over the next few minutes.’
Dupin was not quite sure whether what he was about to do was right. It had suddenly occurred to him, even though it might seem theatrical and he couldn’t stand theatrics. In theory it might be – and he had already been thinking this at the table outside – a technical advantage, if the murderer didn’t know for as long as possible that his deed had been discovered to be murder. But that was an absolute pipe-dream. It would do the rounds anyway. Probably quite soon, too.
Dupin wove his way to the centre of the counter and stood still. Without preamble, he began to speak to the whole room in a powerful voice and official tone:
‘Commissaire Dupin from the Commissariat de Police Concarneau. Bonsoir Mesdames, Messieurs.’
The room was instantly as silent as the grave. Because of the clear words certainly, but certainly also because of his impressive physical presence, which could lend his words, when Dupin wanted, a considerable emphasis. Riwal and Kadeg’s heads had whipped around in his direction and they stared at him in disbelief for a few moments.
‘Last night three men were murdered on the Glénan. The three dead, who were found on Le Loc’h this morning are, categorically, not the victims of an accident. It was a cold-blooded triple murder. A capital offence. And we have reason to believe that two of them had strong sedatives mixed into their drinks or food right here in this bar, the effect of which led to the fatal shipwreck,’ he broke off artfully. ‘We are now investigating a murder case and would like to ask you to give all the support you can to our work.’
He paused again.
He went on, in the unmistakable tone of a police briefing:
‘First of all we want to know which of you were here yesterday evening in the Quatre Vents, no matter how briefly, where you were sitting and whether you noticed anything suspicious. Especially here at the counter, by the trays. Regardless of how trivial or irrelevant it might seem to you. We’re asking you to speak up. The smallest circumstance could be significant. The two men in question, Monsieur Lucas Lefort and Monsieur Yannig Konan, were sitting at this table.’
Dupin pointed to a table in the corner.
‘I also want to know whether anyone was here yesterday evening who is not here today. Furthermore, whether you knew the victims and where every single one of you comes from, whether you are on a diving or sailing course or taking a sailing trip. Another pressing question is whether you saw one or both of the victims in the company of the third dead man, a certain Grégoire Pajot? – – – Thank you for your cooperation. We will take down your details. This is police procedure.’ Dupin paused for a long time and let his gaze wander openly over the customers. Most of them looked stony-faced and didn’t seem to have breathed during his speech. Even the two Nuz daughters stood as though rooted to the spot.
‘My inspectors will now go from table to table and speak to you. If everyone could please not leave the room until the end of this questioning.’
Dupin had a feeling this had been the right decision. Now the case was real. It was out in the open. They needed to be fully alert now. To watch carefully. The game had commenced.
Dupin strode over to Riwal and Kadeg. There was still absolute silence in the Quatre Vents. Dupin murmured: ‘Riwal, you take the left hand side, Kadeg, you take the right.’ The two inspectors turned around and got down to work without any further ado. At first there was a gradual, tentative whispering from the customers, which slowly increased.
Solenn Nuz had been in the kitchen while Dupin was speaking. She only came out now, but stopped barely beyond the doorway, a sheet of paper in her hand. Dupin signalled something vaguely in her direction and then went over to her. Even though she had shown barely any agitation just before in light of the accidental deaths of three men – and she had known two of them after all – she looked distraught now.
‘This is difficult to believe. Are you sure, Monsieur le Commissaire? That it was murder?’
‘Absolutely certain. We have received credible blood analyses.’
She was silent for a moment.
‘Who owned the boat that was found?’
‘Grégoire Pajot. It’s called Conquerer, a Bénéteau. Gran Turismo. No doubt – very large. They went out in his boat, or they did yesterday evening anyway.’
‘The name Grégoire Pajot doesn’t mean anything to me.’
‘Even we can’t say anything on that yet either. How the three met, where they were beforehand and so on,’ something occurred to Dupin that he had just forgotten: ‘We’ll show you and the customers a photo of Monsieur Pajot. One moment please, Madame Nuz, I’ll be right back.’
Dupin went to Kadeg, who was standing at one of the tables on the right hand side.
‘We need a photo of Pajot straight away. You have that thing after all.’
Kadeg’s eyes lit up with glee – now his smartphone was suddenly urgently needed. For once Dupin didn’t care – he wanted the photo. Kadeg had already whipped out his handset and was typing away on the tiny screen with his far from delicate fingers. Dupin raised his powerful voice again:
‘Mesdames, Messieurs, one more thing. We will be showing you a photo of Monsieur Pajot – we would very much like to know whether anybody knows him or has seen him recently.’
Kadeg was standing in front of him with a proud smile and holding the phone under his nose.
‘A photo on one of his companies’ websites.’
Before Kadeg could say anything else, Dupin had taken the phone out of his hand and turned away. He went back to Madame Nuz.
‘Could we perhaps sit back there in the kitchen like before? That would be ideal.’
‘Of course. Come with me.’
They sat down at the little table.
‘This is Monsieur Pajot.’
Madame Nuz studied the photo closely before she said anything.
‘No. I’ve actually never seen him here before. Maybe he came to sail or dive. But not to the Quatre Vents. You should ask at the sailing school. And Anjela Barrault too, the head of the diving school. She’s a friend of mine.’
‘We will.’
‘My daughters and I sat down and drew up the list of people from yesterday evening.’ Still holding it in her hand, she now placed it on the table in front of Dupin.
‘So did someone occur to your daughters whom you hadn’t thought of?’
‘Just Muriel Lefort. She was apparently there briefly and also spoke to her brot
her. I was probably back here in the kitchen then. It must have been around half eight. Or thereabouts.’
Dupin knew that already. Just not the time. Dupin got out his Clairefontaine and made a note.
‘My daughters also remembered what Konan and Lefort ate and drank. They are practically certain. First some draught beer and then red wine. They got themselves a bottle several times, spread out over the course of the evening. Anyone can help themselves to water at the front, the carafes are right there. Both of them ate fish soup, then Konan had the lobster and Lefort the entrecôte.’
Dupin made a note of everything.
‘And nothing struck you or your daughters as unusual that evening? Something up at the bar, a person who behaved in a striking way?’
‘No. But I’ll speak to my daughters again.’
‘Was anybody in the kitchen apart from you?’
Solenn Nuz hesitated.
‘No.’
Dupin switched into a neutral tone.
‘Now that we know that it was murder and that we are dealing with a whole new situation – does anything occur to you generally that you consider relevant, Madame Nuz? Do you have an idea of what may have happened here? I…’
‘Um.’
There was a pointed throat-clearing. Kadeg planted himself right in front of them.
‘My smartphone. We could do with the photo.’
Dupin held it out to him mechanically.
‘Madame Nuz has drawn up an initial list of people. She is going to complete it. I also want a detailed sketch of the room with every table, every chair and the bar – mark everyone on it. Who stood or sat when, for how long, where, along with timings.’
Kadeg and Riwal were familiar with these impossible tasks. What was astonishing was – they had learnt this over the years with Dupin – how often it was in fact possible to achieve what seemed absolutely out of the question at first. And the purposes it could have. Kadeg made no comment on the task, not a word and even his expression was remarkably neutral. He turned around and left.
Murder on Brittany Shores Page 10