Murder on Brittany Shores

by Jean-Luc Bannalec

  ‘I’ll take care of that, about Anjela Barrault’s boat. I’m having a conversation with her right now.’

  ‘Are you on her boat at the moment?’

  If he were honest, he had no idea if it was her boat.

  ‘What kind of boat does she have? What does it look like?’

  ‘A Jeanneau, Cap Camarat, open-topped, maybe seven metres long, an old model, but in good condition, white, recently repainted.’

  ‘Then I’m not on her boat. – So inspect her boat too.’

  ‘Good. I’ll head out immediately.’

  ‘And yes – the Director’s boat should definitely be searched. And ask around about whether anyone knows of – treasure-hunting activity on the coast here.’

  ‘Madame Barrault would definitely be best placed to know that. Or one of the archaeologists. Or Solenn Nuz.’

  ‘Get in touch if you’ve got something.’

  ‘Will do, Monsieur le Commissaire.’

  Dupin hung up. And took a few deep breaths. It was astonishing, the air smelled and tasted even ‘oceanier’ today: salt, iodine, magnesium, iron, calcium – and algae. Dupin grinned to himself, he was reminded inevitably of Nolwenn: the health, oh no, the medicinal quality of the Atlantic air was among her favourite topics. ‘Like a permanent saltwater bath. The nervous and muscular systems relax, blockages and internal clamps are loosened,’ she liked to say. Dupin particularly liked that internal clamps stuff, even though he had no clear idea of what it meant. Of course people ascribed more ‘banal’ effects to the Atlantic air in general, like the detoxification of the organism, the harmonisation of the metabolism and various healing effects. In the initial period of his ‘transfer’ it had all seemed like esotericism or druidic healing rituals. But then he had done some research and been very impressed. The proportions of the individual components of the sea in fact corresponded almost exactly with how they were present in the blood and in the tissue fluid in the human body.

  When Dupin turned round, he saw that Anjela Barrault was already closing the hatch. The loud bang followed and again she left the divers to their own devices, already making her way back to the wheelhouse.

  ‘Now we’ll drop them all off on Penfret. Our spartan accommodation is there.’

  A moment later she was standing at the the helm again. And Dupin was in the opening of the wheelhouse once more.

  ‘Are we going back to Saint-Nicolas afterwards?’

  Anjela glanced at her impressive diving watch, which she wore over the sleeve of her suit.

  ‘We should be at the quay around five p.m. And then maybe you’d like to go out with me again?’

  ‘You’re going out again?’

  ‘The sun only goes down at nine. These are my hours.’

  She smiled warmly.

  ‘Are you going to be out in your boat?’

  She wasn’t in the least bit put out by Dupin’s question.

  ‘No, I’m staying on the Bakounine. I would only be wasting time. I just let them out at the quay and keep going.’ Without changing her tone she added:

  ‘You’re well informed.’

  ‘That’s my job.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll want to know whether my boat is suitable for hunting for treasure?’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘I have a perfectly normal sonar, but a hideously expensive underwater camera, the latest model. It’s crazy. It’s five times better than normal cameras. My assistants film me with it when I’m training. But you can only see what the camera lets you see. Things on the sand. On the seafloor. Do you want to look at it?’

  ‘I think that’s enough for the time being. It’s possible a police officer will still want to take a look at the boat.’

  ‘You really think that these murders are about treasure?’

  ‘We’ll see.’

  ‘Did you always want to be a police officer?’

  Anjela Barrault had asked this question in the same mild tone of voice that she had been using the whole time.

  ‘I think so, although I never used to think about it. My father was a police officer. He died when I was six.’

  Dupin had answered without thinking and was surprised he’d done so. It wasn’t his way, talking about himself. Especially not on a case.

  ‘What do you think happened here on the islands, Madame Barrault?’

  Dupin was trying hard for a serious tone.

  ‘Maybe it didn’t happen on the islands at all.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Maybe it involved things from the outside that have nothing to do with the people here. Perhaps it was a coincidence that this was where it happened.’

  Dupin found this answer only marginally more comprehensible than the first one.

  ‘Specifically?’

  ‘I don’t know. They must be terrible things. So much destruction.’

  Dupin needed to bring the conversation back down to earth a little.

  ‘And Lefort’s tourist plans?’

  Anjela Barrault laughed scornfully. More mischievously scornful than he would have thought her capable.

  ‘Oh yes. His great plans. His great playground.’

  ‘Do you know the new plans?’

  ‘Nobody knows them yet. Except the amorphous bureaucrats from Fouesnant. I don’t even believe in any new plans. They’re always the same ones.’

  ‘The mayor?’

  ‘The mayor.’

  ‘And what do you think?’

  ‘About what exactly?’

  ‘How do you view the idea of expanding the sailing school, the diving school – and tourism on the Glénan?’

  ‘It’s a big joke. A terrifying joke at the same time. I would rather the islands got swallowed up by the Atlantic. Which will happen very soon anyway, if the sea level keeps going up. This little bit of stone and sand.’

  ‘You don’t think that it can be carried out in an ecological way?’

  ‘Bullshit.’

  Anjela Barrault made no move to answer in more detail. She turned her head and looked Dupin firmly, almost sternly, in the eye. A moment later she looked ahead intently again. They had arrived at their destination. Penfret. They were right at the ‘whale skeleton’, the massive, still fully intact wooden frame of a mighty old ship that had run aground here, whose planks had decayed little by little, but whose solid wooden scaffolding still towered up out of the sand. Dupin knew it from last year.

  As the divers got out, he let his gaze sweep over the island. The basic accommodation was visible, scattered far apart, low wooden cabins. They stood in close squares of four, there were perhaps twenty in total. They extended from the beach to the middle of the island where the ruins of the old farmhouses from the nineteenth century stood, which Henri had showed him last year. They were in fact absolutely normal houses, Dupin thought. To the right of the farmhouses stood two taller, two-storey wooden cabins. This was where the temporary canteens and bars, as well as the entertainment rooms were. Youth hostels were luxurious in comparison, Dupin had been impressed. The island was towered over by the famous white-painted lighthouse with the glowing red glass whose 175th birthday had been celebrated last year, by decorating it with festive bunting. It rose up out of the roof of a large stone house where the lighthouse keepers had lived with their families in days gone by. Nolwenn had told him some of the tragic stories that had grown up around the lighthouse. Only one had stayed with Dupin. And still gave Dupin a slight shiver. One day the glasshouse’s red light shattered in a blustery storm and a new one had been installed in a huge rush to avoid accidents, but only white glass had been available. In the weeks that followed, four ships full of people had capsized on the archipelago. People had thought the lighthouse’s white light was the lighthouse on Penmarc’h and during the night or in bad weather, navigation had gone terribly wrong. Hundreds of people had died. A terrible story.

  Voices could be heard from the stern. He heard Anjela Barrault saying ‘see you tomorrow’ many times. It sounded warm each time.<
br />
  Dupin felt dizzy. He probably had for a while now, but he had been distracted during the journey. For a moment he was so dizzy he was afraid he would lose his balance. Or stumble, fall. The boat was bobbing, but Dupin’s feeling went far beyond than that. The sea itself seemed to be swaying. A great, sweeping swaying. He had instinctively taken hold of the railing with both hands and was holding on with all his strength. He tried to keep his gaze riveted on a fixed point on the island.

  But what gave him a shock yet again was: the bang when Anjela Barrault slammed the hatch in the railing shut, clearly with even more force than before. It sounded like a gunshot. Dupin jumped. Yet the small fright helped him more than deep breathing.

  He needed to distract himself.

  Dupin went back to the wheelhouse. The boat was picking up speed, the vibrations going right through him, making his bones resonate right down to smallest one.

  ‘What else do you want to know? We’ll be at Saint-Nicolas any moment.’

  As though to prove it she ramped up the engine to the maximum, along with the noise and vibration.

  ‘That Sunday evening in the Quatre Vents – do you remember what time you arrived?’

  ‘Your inspector has already asked me that too. Quarter to nine.’

  ‘And did anything unusual strike you then? At about this time, someone was presumably slipping the sedative to Lefort and Konan.’

  ‘I was sitting at the bar. I didn’t even notice them properly. Most of the time I was talking to Solenn’s older daughter. We get on very well. And to Solenn’s father-in-law, Pascal.’

  Dupin had clean forgotten him.

  ‘He doesn’t talk much.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What did you talk about?’

  ‘About a few strange currents there have been recently.’

  ‘Strange currents?’

  ‘Yes, oddly strong currents right at the western and southern exits from the chamber that immediately try and drag you southwards to the open sea. Now that it’s spring tide. We’re familiar with currents like these at coefficients of 120, but always towards the land. Now suddenly they’re tugging you towards the open sea.’

  ‘So you didn’t particularly notice anything that evening?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Who else was at the bar?’

  ‘Oh God, it’s always chaos there. Maela Menez. She’s tough. But wonderful. I like her. I think a few diving students too. Louann Nuz. Armelle Nuz. I stayed a long time. Most people left before the storm got going. I don’t like to be alone in thunderstorms like that,’ this was very confidently expressed. ‘Later, I sat by myself, most of the time.’

  ‘The two Nuz daughters state you were already there around quarter past eight.’

  Something flickered in her eyes for a brief moment.

  ‘This is like an old crime novel. Poisoned drinks, a group of strange folks stranded on an island.’

  Dupin looked intently at her.

  ‘Then the two of them were simply mistaken. I can’t tell you any more than that.’

  ‘What do you mean by “Madame Menez is tough”?’

  ‘Relentless. Unyielding. She has completely internalised the old values of the sailing school. She marches fearlessly into every battle for them. But with an open visor. She works day and night.’

  ‘Which battles?’

  ‘The one with Lefort for instance.’

  It all sounded a bit vague to Dupin’s ears, he wasn’t sure if that was intentional.

  ‘She shows the feelings that Muriel Lefort holds back. Muriel is always composed.’

  ‘What feelings are these?’

  ‘Hate. They are familiar with that.’

  ‘You mean she truly hated Lucas Lefort?’

  ‘It was no secret.’

  ‘How close are you to Muriel Lefort?’

  ‘We get on well. Even if you couldn’t say that we are friends. We women have to stick together out here. Solenn, Muriel and I. Muriel represents something big. She takes it seriously.’

  ‘And Muriel hated her brother too?’

  ‘Deeply. She always wanted to buy him out – and he wanted to buy her out. Both of them thought: at some point the other one will give in. Only Muriel suffered. He had his fun. And trampled on all that was sacred to her.’

  ‘Do you know of a man in her life?’

  Dupin himself didn’t know how he’d got onto this topic.

  ‘No. The women here live without men. Without fixed men. We’re almost there by the way.’

  He looked ahead. The quay was in fact not much further.

  ‘I wanted…’

  Dupin heard his mobile amongst the loud engine noise as though it was coming from far away. He dared to relax his wedged position in the door. It was Riwal.

  ‘They’ve found Le Menn’s car, chief.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘In the big car park in Sainte-Marine, at the harbour, not very far from his house. His boat is missing. He owns a Merry Fisher by Jeanneau, nine metres twenty-five, a popular boat here on the coast.’

  Inspector Riwal was – of course – a boat expert too. Along with his ‘druidic’ streak, he also had a practical and very well-developed interest in technology.

  ‘So he’s out in his boat?’

  ‘Looks like it. So shall we call off the manhunt?’

  ‘No. We don’t have Le Menn yet.’

  ‘But he’s at sea.’

  ‘Let’s wait it out, Riwal. It could be a different story. Perhaps he’s trying to trick us. Maybe he has gone ashore somewhere else. In Fouesnant or Concarneau. Or he went up the Odet and left his boat behind there. If he were on the run, that wouldn’t be implausible.’

  ‘You’re right,’ Riwal’s pondering was almost audible. ‘So you definitely suspect Le Menn then?’

  ‘I suspect everyone right now. Especially if someone was at the scene of the crime at the time it was being committed and disappears the next morning.’

  ‘Or, he is another victim.’

  Dupin answered with some hesitation.

  ‘Or, he is another victim.’

  ‘I’ll inform the coastguard.’

  ‘Please do. And – Riwal?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘There was something else I’d forgotten just now: find out when our biologist, Leussot, is going to get back on land. Whether he’s coming to Saint-Nicolas. I would like to hear from him firsthand what happened with the fight between him and Lefort and why he didn’t say anything about it.’

  ‘Will do.’

  Dupin hung up and only now did he notice that the Bakounine had already moored at the quay. Thirty metres away from Riwal. Anjela Barrault was standing at the railing and looking in his direction. Having been able simply to jump onto the boat earlier, he would just have to climb up some rungs of the rusty iron ladder now.

  ‘Thank you for your help, Madame Barrault. That information was important.’

  ‘Only you can judge that.’

  The smile that crossed her face at this sentence was even more entrancing than before. She was fully aware of its effect.

  ‘Enjoy the diving, deep below the water.’

  ‘I’m not going to go that deep today.’

  ‘Speak to you very soon.’

  That sounded more definite than Dupin had intended.

  ‘It would be a pleasure.’

  Dupin considered offering Madame Barrault his hand to shake, but then simply climbed up the ladder.

  * * *

  Even from a distance, Dupin could see that Kadeg was sitting next to Riwal at the ‘operations table’. Dupin headed straight for the bar and left the two inspectors to their own devices. Which prompted baffled looks. He was in desperate need of a coffee. And a large glass of water. After leaving the Bakounine, he had suddenly been overcome by the strong feeling that the world, although he now had solid ground underfoot, was swaying even more violently than on the boat. The dizziness had been more severe than the attack before. The older of th
e two Nuz daughters served him in a friendly way and started a conversation, but Dupin was not in any condition to show any interest. He was concentrating intently on regaining his balance. He ordered two coffees, drank one immediately standing up and moved very, very slowly and carefully through the bar with the second one and the glass of water, making for the two inspectors outside.

  Kadeg seemed to have been staring at the entrance to the bar. As soon as Dupin emerged from the door, he leapt up and came hurrying over.

  ‘The helicopter just dropped me off. We have come across a range of controversial information during the searches – the hard drives were conclusive,’ Kadeg was too quick and too eager for Dupin to have been able to interrupt him. ‘I had been trying to reach you, but it was always engaged. I wanted to speak to you directly. There are more companies owned by Pajot, some of which Konan was involved in. As an investor. One is a consortium belonging to the two them – and guess who else was involved and what the purpose of it was!’

  This was how Kadeg was when he had tracked something down. Dupin was not in the mood for this over-enthusiasm. He sat down. Of course it had only been a rhetorical guessing game – after a short, dramatic pause, Kadeg came straight to the point.

  ‘They set up a consortium for the development of tourism in the Glénan, which in turn has shares in Lefort’s business.’

  That really was an interesting piece of news. Dupin drank the second coffee. In small, but quick sips, so as not to burn his mouth again. He didn’t know whether it would be good for him in this very unpleasant state, seasickness did have something to do with the stomach – but Georges Dupin essentially believed caffeine capable of anything. A medical miracle of course.

  ‘What is the company called?’

  ‘Les Glénan vertes. ‘The Green Glénan. That was Lefort’s new project. And there’s even better to come.’

  Another dramatic pause.

  ‘It was extremely complicated to find out. They made every effort imaginable to cover it up. With numerous accounts and sub-accounts. An expert from Rennes had to take a look. Then I went through it with him, painstakingly. He obviously couldn’t make out the hidden meaning.’

  ‘What, Kadeg?’

  ‘Transfers were made from one of Pajot’s accounts to Du Marhallac’h twice, each for over thirty thousand euro, nine months ago and six months ago.’