‘I assume he’s based in the main building. I’ll check that.’
‘Yes. Get in touch.’
‘What are you going to do now?’
‘I’ll see.’
Dupin hung up.
Should he take the anonymous phone call seriously? His instinct told him: yes.
He felt a bit better anyway – the caffeine was doing the trick. Riwal and Kadeg would surely already be on their way to the airport. He had in fact intended to fly to the islands with them, to begin by speaking to Solenn Nuz. Then to the diving instructor. But he also wanted to talk to the mayor of Fouesnant. And the doctor from Sainte Marine, who was probably one of the last people to have spoken to Konan. Dupin had a series of urgent questions.
He reached for his phone.
‘Riwal?’
‘Yes, chief?’
‘Fly without me. I’ll come later. I’m paying a quick visit to the Institut Marine. You and Kadeg get to work on what we discussed yesterday evening. I want to know immediately if there’s anything interesting. No matter what. You’re aware it’s about every detail, every irrelevant-seeming circumstance.’
‘Understood.’
Riwal probably knew these sentences off by heart already. But he had not sounded resigned.
‘The examination and salvaging of Pajot’s boat, who is going to supervise that? Goulch?’
‘Definitely. How are you going to get to the Glénan, chief?’
‘We’ll see. I’ll be in touch.’
Dupin hadalmost hung up.
‘Riwal, wait.’
‘Yes, chief?’
‘One more thing, I want to know the situation with Lucas Lefort’s estate as soon as possible. Whether Madame Lefort will inherit everything. And talk to Madame Menez again, the assistant.’
‘Anything specific?’
‘Lucas Lefort wanted to have some cargo boat or other for the coming week. Take a look at that. And ask what the boat can be used for. And find out what led Madame Menez to end up on the Glénan. Her story.’
‘Her story?’
‘Exactly.’
Those were two things that had been going through his mind yesterday. Two among many other things.
After they ended the conversation, Dupin took his notebook and pen, stood up, placed ten euro on the little red plastic plate and left the Bulgare.
His car, an old, much-loved, boxy and unwieldy Citroën XM, which he had not replaced with a new official car yet, against all of the Prefecture’s instructions, was right in front of the door. The sun had come up now and the traffic heavy Route Nationale, which was ten or fifteen metres in front of him, ran eastwards towards Concarneau, into a dazzling orange-pink sky.
* * *
It was eight o’clock on the dot. The director had arrived at almost the exact same time as Dupin. For science, the working day began early.
It was an impressive office that the director was sitting in, impressive for its size alone, a good forty metres square Dupin guessed, but especially impressive due to its view: through the panorama window you could see far out over the open Atlantic. The fifth floor of the dignified, dark-grey, stone building – which looked all of its hundred years and had resisted the tossing surf with its rear side built directly into the sea – boasted a view like that from a lighthouse.
Director Le Berre-Ryckeboerec was an angular, not exactly tall man in his late fifties with a gaunt, wan face and not much hair, whose pale appearance was only lent vitality by his extremely lively, light green eyes. He was sitting behind an intimidatingly sharp-edged wooden desk, wearing a dark grey suit that had obviously been elegant once, but was now worn-out.
It was clear the director’s secretary was a little shocked by the Commissaire’s unannounced visit. She was sure to have heard about the triple murder. Without announcing him, She had led Dupin into the Director’s room after a brief, hasty knock. He had, it seemed, only just sat down and obviously thought her behaviour inappropriate.
‘I would have liked to make a call first, Madame Sabathier. And since when do we accept visitors who do not give any notice?’
He was pointedly acting as though Dupin was not in the room at all. His voice was – in contrast to his outward appearance – powerful and authoritative.
‘I’m terribly sorry, Monsieur le Directeur, it won’t happen again. I just thought – Monsieur le Commissaire Dupin is in fact investigating this awful murder case on…’
‘I know perfectly well about the murder case.’
The conversation was still taking place without any acknowledgement of Dupin’s presence.
‘But that is no reason to suspend etiquette and manners. Or to upset my working day.’
Dupin felt an angry buzzing in his solar plexus. His rage was growing from second to second. ‘I think it is, Monsieur,’ he said. ‘A triple murder thoroughly upsets everything.’ Director Le Berre-Ryckeboerec looked him coldly up and down.
‘And the investigations in this murder case lead you to the illustrious Institut Marine? Well, the institute, along with its one hundred and fifty international scientists, welcomes you warmly. How can we be of help?’
On the journey here, the anonymous call had already started to seem like a bizarre dream to Dupin. He had to admit that the vague hint at some kind of ‘activities’ was shaky ground for questioning, especially under these hostile conditions. And apart from the minimal information available online about Pajot and Konan’s business, which Nolwenn had sent through to him shortly before his arrival, Dupin knew absolutely nothing. All in all, an extremely weak starting point. There was nothing for it but to take the bull by the horns, an option that was very much in keeping with Dupin’s character anyway.
‘It’s about the illegal business transactions between the institute and Medimare – the company that belonged to the two of the three men who have just been victims of murder.’
Dupin’s insinuation was not backed up by anything. But he needed to know whether he was on the right track and caution was hardly going to get him anywhere here. The director sat up straight, his face becoming even more pointed, his mouth more thin-lipped, his eyes, now fixed keenly on Dupin, had narrowed into slits.
‘I don’t think I quite understand what you just said.’
‘I’m happy to repeat it.’
Dupin needed to persevere now. It wasn’t difficult for him, the antipathy had been spontaneous and strong. Dupin knew these kinds of characters.
‘I understand – there’s a method to your humour.’
Now Le Berre-Ryckeboerec’s irritation was clear too. Dupin was on the point of losing his temper. He tried to regulate his breathing (he was proud that he had learnt this, the basics at least: take a deep breath into the stomach, wait five seconds before breathing out slowly, then five more seconds before breathing in – this delay was important!). All of the life had drained out of the secretary’s face in the last half a minute, standing motionless as though rooted to the spot.
‘I don’t think I will be having this conversation, Monsieur le Commissaire.’
Le Berre-Ryckeboerc knew that he needn’t say a word now, here.
‘I will be consulting our lawyers immediately about your outrageous insinuations. We have maintained excellent business links with Mr Konan and Mr Pajot’s company for many years. Like other companies, they have acquired patents and licenses from us. If you are interested in these topics, go ahead, that will be a matter for communication to our lawyers. I suggest that we bid each other farewell now.’
‘Yes, that would be best for all of us.’
Le Berre-Ryckeboerec turned to Madame Sabathier as if Dupin had already left the room:
‘I will place my call now, as planned. And if you could inform Monsieur Daeron that I wish to speak to him here in the institute.’
Dupin’s thoughts were racing, but he couldn’t think of any more tricks that he might have had up his sleeve.
‘We will,’ Dupin said softly, almost whispering, yet harshly
and acidly, ‘we will look at every tiny detail of this cooperation with Medimare, everything that has existed and exists,’ a subtle smile showed in one corner of his mouth, ‘we’ll take this opportunity to put the entirety of your business activities under the microscope. I’m looking forward to this, Monsieur le Directeur.’
Dupin didn’t wait for a reaction, but turned on his heel and left the office. He took the lift, which was unbearably slow.
He already had his mobile to his ear as he left the building.
‘Nolwenn?’
‘I was just going to…’
‘I need a search warrant. For the institute. Doesn’t matter how. Does not matter at all. And immediately. We have to check the institute’s business links to Medimare, especially the sale of licenses and patents, all of the research output.’
‘Are you in the institute already?’
Nolwenn sounded slightly confused.
‘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.
Murder on Brittany Shores Page 15