Murder on Brittany Shores

by Jean-Luc Bannalec

  Dupin turned back to Madame Nuz.

  ‘I had asked whether anything had occurred to you in general in relation to this murder.’

  ‘You will find a whole series of people with motive. People tell nasty stories about Konan. I can’t say what there is to them. And Lefort – people hate him. I know only a handful of exceptions.’

  She had uttered these sentences in her distinctive, calm tone of voice. But it was clear that she felt the same way.

  This was something new anyway. The deceased usually only had friends, never enemies, they had been admired by everyone, cherished and loved.

  ‘And what was the reason? Why was he hated and by whom? By whom specifically?’

  ‘There would be a lot to tell there.’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  Solenn Nuz looked serious.

  ‘There really are a lot of unpleasant stories.’

  ‘I want to hear them all.’

  She took a deep breath.

  ‘For over ten years, Lucas Lefort has been trying, using every means possible, to make the Glénan into a great “tourist scheme”. With hotels, sports facilities, bridges between the islands. Four of the islands belong to him in any case. To him and his sister. He has always failed in his schemes, although only just. The former mayor of Fouesnant rebelled against it. He was one of his arch-enemies. Lefort then changed his plans two or three times. Purely strategically. He attempted to do it with a gigantic extension planned for the sailing school. He also always wanted to buy the diving centre from me and extend it. His latest idea was: “sophisticated ecotourism”. He is,’ she paused for a moment, ‘he was not above even the most brazen lie.’

  Dupin was making notes. As well as he could. This was a big issue opening up here. These were the stories he had been waiting for.

  ‘The former mayor often wished him dead. Lefort fought back hard, Lefort slandered him maliciously, accused him of corruption. He tried to make a fool of him. Yet the mayor was a man of integrity.’

  ‘What is the situation now?’

  That was vague, but Dupin had to get familiar with the subject first.

  ‘Lefort’s plans died down for a few years, but then he started on ecotourism recently. Apparently, he was on the point of submitting the revised concept. It’s been talked about everywhere for months already. The new mayor hasn’t spoken out yet. We all assume that he will advocate the same firm position as his predecessor. The local council is largely still the same as it was a few years ago. It also voted against, although only by a narrow majority. The district council was similar. The new coastal protection laws make it impossible really. Which didn’t in the least deter Lefort from trying anyway.’

  ‘But he was there yesterday evening too, wasn’t he? The mayor, I mean. Monsieur…’

  ‘Du Marhallac’h. Indeed.’

  ‘You mentioned that he in fact spoke to Lefort too.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Solenn looked away from Dupin and contemplated her hands.

  ‘It would destroy the Glénan. Everything here. Yes, there is tourism, but it only affects the archipelago on a superficial level.’

  To an extent, Dupin understood what she was trying to say.

  ‘And his sister? Muriel Lefort?’

  ‘She has always been firmly against all of these plans.’

  ‘So there was serious conflict between the two of them?’

  Solenn Nuz hesitated for a brief moment.

  ‘Incessantly. They fought bitterly, there was a real battle between them.’

  ‘The Leforts must be very well off.’

  ‘Indeed they are.’

  Dupin made another note.

  ‘Apart from these plans, were there any reasons for disagreements between them?’

  ‘It’s impossible to imagine siblings being more different. In every respect. Muriel embodies the “original spirit” of the sailing school. Her brother trampled all over that. He was only interested in how to make more money, he…’

  ‘Could you explain that in more detail: the “original spirit”?’

  ‘An attitude. Certain values. Volunteering, living collectively, solidarity, self-reliance. The sailing school is a global institution. It was founded at the end of the Second World War, out of the spirit of the Résistance. Lucas and Muriel’s parents were leading members of the resistance in Finstère. The sailing school was initially a kind of commune of idealistic young men and women.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘Over the course of years, it kept being expanded by Lucas and Muriel’s parents. Cautiously. Very shrewdly. And always in keeping with the old ideals. It was about great ideas. Even today it’s the opposite of a “posh yacht club”, the normal sailing schools. The course participants still stay in the most basic conditions here. Everyone is equal. No matter how much money they have. They sleep on cots in dormitories, use communal showers like when camping, they eat together outdoors. They don’t just learn to sail, it’s about much more than that. – That’s what Muriel Lefort stands for. And Maela Menez.’

  ‘She’s the assistant.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What’s her exact role?’

  ‘She is Muriel’s right hand woman. She does everything. She runs a few things on her own too. The boat park for instance. She embodies the spirit of the sailing school in a very, how should I put it, rigorous way. Ruthlessly. She is very – idealistic.’

  ‘So she had a strained relationship with Lucas Lefort too.’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  ‘Did the two of them not chat yesterday evening too?’

  ‘They were standing next to each other. At the bar. I don’t know exactly how long for.’

  ‘Still speaking to each other in any case.’

  ‘Don’t get the wrong idea. Even Muriel and her brother weren’t shouting at each other the whole time,’ she seemed to be reflecting, ‘the conflicts went far deeper than that. And don’t ever forget that it’s a very unique world here. And very small.’

  Solenn Nuz reminded Dupin of Nolwenn in some ways, which was something that had already occurred to him before. Yet it wasn’t their names sounding similar, or the extensive knowledge that they both gathered about people, but, more than anything, it was their way of observing, how and what they observed.

  ‘Are you aware of whether there was some escalation between the siblings recently?’

  ‘Muriel always tried not to keep the conflict behind closed doors. Not doing that would have been distasteful to her temperament. She is a highly discreet person. I don’t know exactly what happened. Only she knows.’

  Dupin’s forehead creased.

  ‘Who else? Who were Lucas Lefort’s other enemies?’

  ‘As I mentioned, there were quite a few. And I’m sure there were more than I’m aware of. Marc. Marc Leussot. A marine biologist and journalist. He was here last night too. A radical opponent of all tourism plans. He has written critical articles about the potential consequences of a further increase in tourism on the Glénan.’

  Dupin made a note of everything. He had such a dreadful scrawl that he had to be exceptionally disciplined with himself while writing and keep his speed under control, otherwise he himself couldn’t read things properly later. He had had unfortunate experiences of that.

  ‘He’s sitting over there.’ She moved her head brusquely in the direction of the bar. He’s here very often. – – – And all of Lefort’s women. You can’t forget them. Many broken hearts. It wouldn’t surprise anyone if one of them had taken their revenge. Especially his latest girlfriend. He cheated on her constantly, right underneath her nose.’

  ‘Do you know the name of his current girlfriend?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What else comes to mind?’

  ‘You should also bear his sailing in mind. Apparently he wangled his place in the Admiral’s Cup boat with ruthless methods. He was utterly cold. Unscrupulous.’

  That had sounded like a résumé.

  ‘You know this world
here like nobody else.’

  ‘Inevitably.’

  For a moment, the warm, open smile that Dupin already knew returned to Solenn Nuz’s face.

  ‘But in fact there’s very little I can really say. I have no idea what Lucas Lefort’s life truly looked like. He was always away for days at a time on the mainland. But as for what deals he was involved with right now or whom he might have fallen out with, no idea.’

  ‘You said that you personally didn’t have much to do with Lefort?’

  ‘If he was on the islands, then we said hello and goodbye. Perhaps had some small talk. Not even that yesterday.’

  This case had been strange from the beginning and was continuing that way. By the end of his first proper investigative interview, Dupin would have a list of between five and seven serious suspects. And that was in relation to Lefort alone.

  ‘And Konan? What do you know about him?’

  ‘He started out with mattresses, but within a few years he had built up an empire. Then he expanded his businesses and became a big name in the export of Breton products. He founded a few societies. And he has a company for deep sea exploration, for scouting out oil deposits in the deep sea. He has close links with politics apparently. That probably “helped” him in all of his successes.’

  ‘How do you know all of this?’

  ‘He is extremely unpopular here. A power player. Snooty. He once wanted to buy an exclusive, private mooring spot at the quay. That kind of thing doesn’t even exist here. He put two lawyers onto it.’

  ‘But he did keep coming here?’

  ‘Yes, with Lucas.’

  This was really a very curious world, Dupin thought. They hated each other, but the place bound them all together somehow.

  ‘And in private? Do you know anything about his private life?’

  ‘We knew each other to say hello, that was all. He’s married. But his wife never came with him on any trips. I barely know anything about her. She might be a primary school teacher. She’s obese, apparently.’

  ‘So what happened to the former mayor?’

  Solenn Nuz hesitated for a second, which surprised Dupin.

  ‘He died two years ago. His heart. Collapsed at a Fest-Noz.’

  Amongst the varied tasks of a Breton mayor there was of course this one: taking part in the endless launches for regional, local and very local festivals in the summer. Drinking festivals.

  Dupin was waiting to see whether she wanted to add anything else. There was a rather long pause.

  ‘It’s clear to me that I’m one of the suspects too. You know my opinion on Lucas Lefort. For me and my daughters it would have been simple to put something directly in their food or drink. Simpler than for the others.’

  ‘I’ve just had an insight into how simple it would have been for anybody.’

  ‘Maman?’

  The younger daughter had come into the back.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Some customers want to leave. They want to get back to the mainland this evening. The two inspectors have said nobody is allowed to leave the bar until they’re finished their interviews.’

  It hadn’t been a question and she had spoken to her mother, as if Dupin had not been present at all. Dupin answered directly.

  ‘Yes, that’s correct, it’s what I ordered. Unfortunately, we have to do it this way. We are solving a murder.’

  ‘Fine.’

  The ‘fine’ had had no trace of resignation or sarcasm at all.

  She was already gone when Riwal appeared in the doorway. He hurried over to Dupin, stood next to him and stooped down.

  ‘Monsieur le Commissaire, Madame Lefort is going to land any moment.’

  Riwal was whispering, but Solenn Nuz could still hear every word (which made the situation unnecessarily ridiculous in Dupin’s eyes).

  ‘Quimper called. Muriel Lefort has confirmed the identity of her brother. Our colleagues are taking care of the formal identifications of the other two. They haven’t said anything to Madame Lefort about the murder yet – as you instructed. If you don’t want her to find out about it from someone after she lands, you should be there to meet her.’

  Dupin reflected. He had completely forgotten about that. It was very inconvenient just now. But he had to do it. And he wanted to do it. For several reasons. He looked at his watch, having lost all sense of how late it must have been. Half past eight.

  ‘Fine, I’m already on my way.’

  He stood up and said goodbye to Solenn Nuz.

  She smiled in a very friendly way. Dupin took it to be a heartfelt gesture.

  He left the room, Riwal at his side.

  ‘You and Kadeg finish the interrogations here and call over to the sailing school and the diving centre. Speak to Madame Barrault, the head of the diving centre and Madame Menez, Muriel Lefort’s assistant. The sketch with all customers from last night is still the priority. Don’t forget any of the questions.’

  ‘We won’t, boss.’

  ‘A Monsieur Leussot was also one of the regular customers there last night.’

  ‘Got him already.’

  ‘Great.’

  ‘Will you be contactable, Monsieur le Commissaire?’

  ‘Of course. Yes.’

  Dupin fished his phone out of his pocket. It was still on vibrate.

  ‘All right.’

  If it rang, he would need to check the number. Which he had not done for a long time now: nine calls received. Riwal once, Nolwenn once, a number he didn’t know, two withheld numbers – and the Prefect four times. Dupin growled quietly. Grimly.

  * * *

  The helicopter had just landed. The pilot had switched off the engine at the moment that Commissaire Dupin, a little out of breath, had reached the field behind the old farmhouse. Madame Lefort was about to climb out of the cabin, while Madame Menez had already disembarked and was helping her. Muriel Lefort looked absolutely worn out.

  ‘It’s kind of you to meet me, Monsieur le Commissaire. It was – very difficult.’

  ‘In fact I should speak to you again, Madame Lefort.’

  There was a vague yet intense fear in Muriel Lefort’s gaze, her eyes narrowed. Dupin briefly considered whether he should tell her one on one.

  He decided to do it in the presence of Madame Menez.

  ‘Your brother was murdered. It was not an accident. We can say this without any doubt. I’m sorry.’

  Dupin knew he had expressed this kind of message with more empathy on previous occasions.

  Muriel Lefort looked at him as though turned to stone. She didn’t say a word. The fear in her gaze had subsided, her eyes now looked absolutely blank. Madame Menez was silent too. After a few moments Muriel Lefort looked away. She took a few steps, walking around aimlessly. Madame Menez was obviously undecided as to whether she should follow her, but left it.

  Dupin was watching Madame Menez, who looked him directly in the eye a few times and who, despite her silence, made no effort to give the impression she was shocked.

  ‘I’m not really surprised,’ Muriel Lefort said dully.

  She had slowly come back over to Dupin and Madame Menez.

  ‘But it’s still beyond me,’ she added in a rather formal tone. As though she had felt duty-bound to add this.

  ‘Your brother had quite a number of enemies.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How was he murdered?’ asked Madame Menez.

  Dupin had expected the question earlier. And not from her.

  ‘Somebody administered strong sedatives to him and to Yannig Konan. Combined with the alcohol, they had no chance…’

  Muriel Lefort put her hands over her face. There was another long silence. Again, Madame Menez did not show the slightest emotion.

  ‘We’ve also found the boat they were on when they capsized. It belongs to a Grégoire Pajot. A Gran Turismo. A very expensive boat. They sailed onto rocks at the exit of the chamber. – – – Does the name Grégoire Pajot mean anything to you, Madame Lefort?’


  Muriel Lefort did not answer straight away.

  ‘Yes. I’ve heard it before. One of my brother’s “friends”. An investor, I think.’

  ‘The three of them were probably out in his boat over the weekend.’

  Muriel Lefort closed her eyes, taking deep breaths in and out.

  ‘Would it be possible to continue our talk at my home? I would like to have a drink. And sit down.’

  ‘Of course. There are a few important questions.’

  ‘Naturally.’

  Madame Menez walked ahead at a brisk pace. Madame Lefort followed, almost catching her up but not quite. Dupin let himself fall back a few paces. They took a lightly trodden path over the sparse green towards the ugly triangular houses standing about a hundred and fifty metres ahead of them. All three were silent. Dupin was glad of it.

  The sun had already sunk far down to the sea, the play of colours had long since begun. A gentle kind of magic, without any garish effects. Imperceptibly at first, a fine, delicate orange had blended into the light, clear blue, with a little red that had now become a watery orange glow and took up the whole western sphere: the sky, the sea – even the sun itself. Another few minutes and the clearly delineated ball would calmly disappear into the sea, quietly, tranquilly – for tonight at least. It was, Dupin thought, as though the sun was sometimes completely content to set, but other times not content at all. On those occasions, the sun seemed to have an internal struggle, ending in dramatic cosmic battles, apocalyptic colours, scenes and atmospheres and in the end it drowned in the sea like in one final global catastrophe. Within the next half hour the delicate orange would gradually fade and ultimately be swallowed up seamlessly by a deep black. Dupin knew it well. An almost physical black, which was much more than a lack of light.

  As they approached the first house, Muriel Lefort took the lead. She started rummaging in her handbag as she walked, drawing out a small bunch of keys with a flourish.

  They climbed over the low wall and stood in front of the door briefly until Madame Lefort had unlocked it. Still nobody spoke. They went inside.

  ‘If you excuse me a moment, I’d like to freshen up. I’ll be right back. Madame Menez will look after you.’

  Muriel Lefort went upstairs. The house was absolutely identical in design and layout to her brother’s – probably to all of these houses – but furnished more simply. Old wooden furniture, a beautiful, clearly well-worn oak parquet, an open-plan kitchen that you could tell was used. A small, neat table stood in it, a larger one by the east-facing panoramic window. Dupin walked over to the window. The sunset had already happened here. The difference between the hemispheres was profound at the End of the World when the sun was setting. Night was obviously here already, the last of the orange still glimmering in the west.