by Katie Penryn
By this time, I was no stranger to French funerals and have to admit that it passed by me in a flash of daydreaming until we all found ourselves on our feet. Father Pedro announced that in view of the weather we would forgo the usual march to the cemetery outside the town walls. We would travel in a motorcade. Felix and I hung back waiting for everyone to leave the church. We joined Father Pedro at the tail end of the stream of people. He paused in the porch bringing us up short behind him.
“Madame Munro, may I ask you for a lift?” he asked me indicating the rain pouring down in front of us. “My car wouldn’t start this morning. Too damp for the old thing.”
“Of course,” I said. “Where’s your umbrella?”
He pointed behind him and Felix picked it up. Father Pedro hitched up his robes and with Felix sheltering him, he hopped and skipped over the puddles to the car.
“Phew,” he said as he settled himself in the back seat. “What a day for a funeral. But it was a good turn-out, wasn’t it? The church was full. A seemly tribute to Joseph Marin.”
I started the car, put it in gear and began the crawl behind the long line of cars.
“Father, what surprised me was that even the pleasure boat people were there. The Spaniards, too. I didn’t think they’d bother. People say they’re stand offish.”
“Some of their crew have attended mass in my church every Sunday. They’re good Christian boys, but they’re not Spanish.”
I took my eyes off the road for a moment and looked at the father in my rearview mirror. “Not Spanish? They’re sailing in a boat from Barcelona and they speak Spanish amongst themselves.”
Father Pedro smiled back at me in the mirror. “Ah, Madame Munro, but I am Spanish remember. I can tell the difference. Yes, they speak Spanish but most of them are not from Spain. Only one man. I think he works for them. The others must be from Mexico or some other Latin American country.”
“Did they tell you that?”
“They didn’t have to. They don’t speak Spanish with the Castilian lisp.”
Now, I was really puzzled. “Castilian lisp?”
The father nodded. “It’s not really a lisp, but that’s what people call it. We, Spanish, pronounce a c or a z as th. We say gra-th-ias and Bar-the-lona. The Latin Americans don’t. So one Spaniard, and all the others are from Latin America.”
“Interesting,” said Felix. “Take it easy here, boss, the road is slippery.”
For the next mile I concentrated on the road until we reached the cemetery. I dropped Father Pedro off before finding a space at the end of the queue of cars. We waited until the end of the ceremony so we could take Father Pedro home again.
The storm grew worse after we returned home. Thunder clouds moved in sending molten arrows of lightning down to the earth and sea. No pause between lightning and thunder. The storm was overhead.
At six o’clock we were cast into darkness when the power failed. How glad I was that we’d followed Martine’s recommendations and bought candles and two gas lamps. We huddled together in the kitchen around the Godin wood stove and played Monopoly for hours. In fact, it was the first time in my life I ever finished a game. Sam won, probably because his whole mind was on the game whereas Gwinny, Felix and I were worried about possible damage to the house.
At last it was late enough for us to go to bed hoping that the storm would be over by the morning. With no television and no internet we didn’t know what was going on elsewhere in the town.
The power must have come back on again during the night because I awoke to find my bedside light on at three o’clock. All was quiet outside. The wind had died down leaving a gentle rain. I put my dressing gown and slippers on and tiptoed downstairs and out into the garden to check on the bees. The blocks hadn’t moved. Father Pedro had warned me not to open the hives until the storm was well over and the sun was shining, and so I tiptoed back upstairs followed by Zig and Zag who curled up on the end of my bed.
Chapter 20
As Sunday morning dawned, I sprang out of bed anxious to check on the weather after the worst of the storm. I opened the windows and the shutters, and closed the windows again quickly against the chill sea mist that swirled around our house. It was so thick it hid the other side of the bay from. Brrr! I jumped back into bed to warm up, snuggled down and pulled the covers right up to my chin. Jimbo shouldn’t be out in that dense fog, but it was still early, and I’d catch him before he left for his breakfast trip to Brioche’s bakery.
A welcome knock sounded on the door. Felix with my morning tea. Bless him.
“Sleep all right, boss?” he asked me as he handed me my mug and sat down on the end of my bed with his tea.
I nodded and cupped my hands around the mug to absorb its warmth.
“No nightmares or visits from the witch doctor?”
I shook my head.
“No, I slept well and woke up raring to do something interesting today but the weather’s miserable. When you go back downstairs, please tell Jimbo to wait for me to get up. I’ll give him a lift to Brioche’s. I don’t want him wandering around in this. He could get run over.”
“Sure thing. Now about tod—”
He broke off as the ee-aw of a police siren sounded off in the distance growing louder as it approached the Esplanade.
“What now?” he said striding over to the window.
More sirens joined in, the noise reaching cacophony level. Something serious had happened. An accident? A fire?
I threw back the covers, grabbed up my dressing gown and joined Felix at the window.
The spinning orange lights of the emergency vehicles pierced the thick sea mist.
“They’re lined up on the Esplanade,” said Felix putting his mug down on the nearest surface. “Get dressed, Penzi. We’ll have to find out what’s going on.”
As Felix left, Jimbo came rushing into my room.
“Hurry up, Penzi. There’s something exciting going on. I want to see.”
“Don’t you dare go out there on your own, James Munro. You wait for me,” I said pushing him out of the door so I could wash and get dressed.
We met up in the kitchen with Gwinny, leaving Sam still fast asleep upstairs.
With our anoraks and boots on the four of us hurried out of our front door into the thick mist. As we walked gingerly along the wet cobbles to the end of our street stepping around fallen tiles and other debris strewn about by the violence of the storm, a loud speaker started up calling out instructions. At that distance all I could hear was the word enfants, children.
We increased our pace. As we neared the end of our street an ambulance and three gendarmerie vehicles loomed up at us out of the mist. Now, I could hear the message being broadcast.
Citizens, keep your children away. Take them home now. This is not a scene for children, squawked the loud hailer.
“Gwinny,” I said, “please take Jimbo home. Dubois wouldn’t have issued that instruction idly.”
Gwinny took hold of Jimbo’s hand, but he pulled away and ran off towards the vehicles.
“I’ll get him,” said Felix running off after the tearaway.
He caught up with Jimbo before he reached a police cordon all along the top of the Esplanade facing the beach. Felix brought Jimbo back to us.
“Now you go home with Gwinny, young man,” he said, “or I’ll escort you back to the house myself.”
Jimbo shrugged and shouted out, “I always miss the fun.”
“If the police don’t want children here, it won’t be anything funny, Jimbo, I assure you,” I said. “We’ll tell you what’s suitable when we get back. Now go home with your mother and stop sulking.”
I turned to Gwinny. “You’ll have to give him porridge for breakfast. Please don’t let him out again until we get back.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” said Gwinny putting her arm around Jimbo’s shoulders and leading him back up the street to Les Dragons.
“It doesn’t look good,” said Felix as we turned back to wal
k towards the Esplanade.
As we approached, we passed people four or five deep lined up against the seawall that runs along our street, all gawping down at the activity on the beach. The police tape stretched to within five yards of the shops on the far side of the Esplanade leaving just room enough for the traffic to pass by the shops in single file. All the police vehicles stood lights and sirens going full blast within the cordon.
“Maybe the storm wrecked a boat on the beach,” I said.
I ducked under the police tape only to be confronted by a gendarme who waved me back. I was about to argue with him when Dubois appeared out of the mist wearing full crime scene protective clothing.
“Let her through, officer,” he shouted as he drew near.
Felix and I rushed up to Dubois. “What’s going on?” I asked him.
“Another catastrophe,” he said rolling his eyes. “I don’t know what’s happening to our quiet little town. It’s like an epidemic.”
“Is it a fishing boat?”
“Come with me,” he said. “But first you must kit up.”
As we passed one of the police buses, he pulled out two sets of crime scene suits, shoes and gloves. “Put these on quickly and I’ll show you.”
As soon as we were all dressed, he led the way to the steps going down onto the beach. “Now, don’t touch anything.”
“As if we would,” I whispered under my breath to Felix and he gave me a grin.
Dubois continued. “Stick to the wooden path we’ve laid down.”
We followed him through the mist in single file to the makeshift wooden platform on which Dr Ambrose knelt hiding the object of her examination from us. But it was obviously a body. Why else would the pathologist be there?
We edged onto the platform behind her and I got my first sight of what had shattered the peace and tranquility of Beaucoup-sur-Mer so early in the morning.
A man’s body lay on the sand at the high tide mark. A dead body is never a pleasant sight, but this was grisly. No wonder Dubois had forbidden children within sight of the beach.
“The tide is on its way in again,” said Dubois. “We have to work quickly before the waves reach the body. We haven’t had time to put a tent up yet.”
The body lay on its belly with its head half turned. It wore a full wetsuit and harness with air cylinders. The hose to the facemask had been ruptured, no longer connected to the tanks. The visible side of the face, the left side, had been nibbled by sea life in the parts not covered by its mask. Strangest of all, it was missing a foot.
Dubois nudged me, “Any ideas?”
“It’s a man, obviously a diver,” I said.
Dr Ambrose looked up. “Difficult to make anything but a rough guess at this stage. The left eye is gone. Given the context of his being washed up on the beach and his scuba diving gear, preliminary verdict is a possible drowning.”
“Time of death?” asked Dubois.
“Impossible to say at this point, but he’s been in the water for some time. Note the damage from sea creatures and the skin beginning to slough off his hand.”
“Anything else you can tell me?”
“Not now. I’ll carry out the autopsy as soon as we get his body to the morgue. We can’t afford to waste time when a body has been in the water for any length of time. I’ll send you my findings immediately, with the caution that toxicology and diatom tests will take a few days.”
“Diatom tests?” I asked.
The doctor twisted round to smile at me.
“Salut, Penzi. I didn’t notice you there. Diatom tests will help towards a verdict of drowning but are not conclusive. Also, they can indicate location and depth of the possible drowning.”
“Can you turn him over yet?” I asked, wondering if I knew him.
Dubois shook his head. “No, we have to let the forensic team do their work. Go back and wait for me on the Esplanade. I’ll call you when it’s time.”
Felix and I retraced our steps along the provisional boardwalk and made our way to the café on the corner of the Esplanade. While we sat drinking coffee waiting for Dubois to call us, a pale sun came out and slowly burned the mist away. It was a long wait. The sun had reached its zenith by the time Dubois sent a gendarme to fetch us to join him on the beach again.
Dr Ambrose stood aside while two of the forensic team lined a body bag up alongside the corpse. They picked him up and laid him on his back inside the bag. I took a couple of steps forwards to look into the bag.
I don’t know what or whom I had expected to see, but not Ben’s telltale tattoo of a dolphin on his neck below his right ear. Like everyone else I thought he was long gone from the area whether from innocent motives or guilty.
“Oh no,” I gasped grabbing hold of Dubois’s arm. “I’m pretty sure it’s my diving teacher, Ben Marin.”
“Joseph Marin’s brother? The man who was knifed down at the docks?” asked Dubois.
Felix peered into the bag. “Definitely. That’s Ben’s tattoo. He has another one on his left calf.”
“So he didn’t run away,” said Dubois. “Unless this unfortunate incident occurred while he was on the run.”
“It’s much too soon to be sure,” I said. “We don’t know where or when this happened. Or whether it was an accident or not.”
“I’m praying for accident,” said Dubois. “Our town can’t bear another murder. Accident or murder, I’m not looking forward to telling his wife about this.”
I pulled him aside and whispered, “I’ll strike a bargain with you. If you call me as soon as you get the results of the autopsy and give me a copy of the report, I’ll visit Désirée Marin and tell her what’s happened. We’ve become friends over the past few days while the town has shunned her in the belief that Ben was a murderer.”
“That’s highly irregular, Penzi, but it’s a good idea. And be careful. Her husband could still have murdered his brother. This death could be unconnected to the other.”
“I don’t believe in coincidences, Xavier,” I answered.
“Madame Marin will need to come down to the morgue to identify her husband. As you’ve given us a preliminary identification, her visit can wait until after the autopsy. I’m anxious to press on with this case or cases.”
The pathologist interrupted. “Inspector, you can’t let his wife view the body. It will be far too distressing. I suggest she be shown photographs of his tattoo.”
Dubois frowned. “That will not be enough for legal purposes.”
“Then we need DNA, Inspector. Does this man have living parents, children or siblings?”
“Yes, to all three. Dubois,” I said catching hold of his arm to attract his attention. “If you send one of your men with me, he can wait in the car while I give Madame Marin the sad news. I’ll call him into the house to get DNA from her son as soon as I feel it’s appropriate.”
Dubois called one of his men forwards and asked the doctor to give him a DNA kit from her bag.
“Take one of the police cars and follow Madame Munro. Wait outside the Marin’s house when you get there and wait for Madame Munro to call you. As soon as you have the DNA specimen, rush it back to the hospital laboratory.”
The officer saluted and stood ready to follow us back up to the Esplanade.
“How long will it take you to confirm the identity with the DNA test?” I asked Dubois.
“Four hours if we rush it through,” said Dubois.
Dr Ambrose nodded her agreement.
“All right then,” I said. “For the time being I’ll tell Madame Marin that we suspect the body is that of her husband. I’ll warn her to expect your call, Inspector, when you have the DNA results.”
“For now you should go, Penzi,” Dubois said. “The sooner we get confirmation, the better.”
Felix and I hurried away from the scene with the police officer, leaving the team to carry the stretcher bearing Ben Marin’s body across the sands and up to the waiting ambulance.
“We have to call home first,
” I told the officer. “Park behind us and follow us in.”
“What do you make of that?” asked Felix as we reached our front door.
“All we know for certain at the moment is that Ben went diving, whether alone or not we don’t know. Possibly he drowned as the result of an accident. Or—”
“Didn’t seem like an accident to me. Did you get a good look at the end of the breathing hose?”
“Not really. I was concentrating on the face and the missing foot.”
“I bet you it was cut. The ends weren’t ragged as they should have been if something caught on his equipment and tore the hose apart.”
“No one’s come forward to say they were on a dive with him and he disappeared. Why was Ben out diving on his own?”
“Maybe Joseph was with him.”
“If so, why didn’t he call for help and why was he stabbed?”
*
We took off our anoraks and hung them up and eased off our boots. I gestured for the officer to precede us into the kitchen.
“This is Officer—” I said, waiting for him to fill in the blank.
“Legrand,” he said stepping forwards to shake hands all round the table.
“He’s accompanying us on an unpleasant visit this morning,” I continued.
Of course, that led to a jumble of questions about what had happened.
I told Gwinny and Jimbo everything while Felix made us tea and scrambled us some eggs for a quick early lunch.
Gwinny poured Legrand a cup of coffee left over from breakfast. She sat down again and stayed quiet, thinking over what we’d said.
“If the two deaths are not a coincidence,” she said, “there has to be a third party involved who was responsible for one of the deaths and possibly both.”
I nodded. I had come to the same conclusion. If there was no third party, Ben murdered Joseph before going for a dive. It was unlikely he’d met with an accident so someone would have had to kill him. If Joseph murdered Ben, then some third party knifed him. Or a third party killed them both.