The Killing Tide

by Jean-Luc Bannalec

  A sly expression slipped across his face; that seemed good enough for him.

  Dupin came straight to the point. “You were just saying that the fisherfolk sometimes brought things they had found on the seabed: cannonballs, coins, my inspector referred to old anchors and parts of shipwrecks…”

  “You can see it all in the museum. Shall I show you?”

  Actually, it was a good idea.

  “Agreed, but in that case I had better have a word in person with your teacher.”

  The boy’s face beamed.

  “Wait here.” Dupin went up the stone steps into the building.

  “The room on your right. There are only two downstairs.”

  “I’ll find it,” Dupin called over his shoulder.

  A few minutes later he was standing back outside.

  “Done. You’ve got half an hour off to help with police investigation work.”

  “Then we should lose no time.” The boy hurried to the Quai Nord, at the end of which the museums lay. Dupin had to work to keep up with him.

  “Do you know if Céline Kerkrom or Laetitia Darot,” he said casually, “might have made a discovery of some sort on the seabed recently? Come across something special? Might even have brought it here?”

  “Céline found something.”

  Dupin stopped automatically.

  “Mama wouldn’t believe me. Nor would Papa. They say people made jokes about holy symbols. They thought I had just made it up.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The boy had gone on ahead and made no sign of being about to stop. Dupin set off after him.

  “I couldn’t see it properly. It was wrapped up in a cloth.”

  “Céline Kerkrom brought something here?”

  “Yes, on her boat.”

  “What?”

  “A big cross. A really big cross.”

  “You saw a big cross?” Dupin stopped again. It sounded completely implausible.

  “Yes.” The boy hesitated for the first time. “At least it looked like a cross.”

  “What makes you think it was a cross?”

  “The shape. From underneath the cloth it looked like a cross, the thing underneath it, I mean.”

  “It was wrapped in a cloth?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you didn’t see the actual thing itself.”

  “No, but I think it was a cross.”

  “That would be appalling.”

  Had they actually dug up a piece of Morin’s bolincheur? The piece with the identification number, the engine? It wasn’t impossible that provisionally covered or wrapped up it might have had a cross-like shape. Or the bit from the stern?

  “When was this, Anthony?”

  “Oh … about the beginning of the month. I know because I had gone swimming that day, for the first time this year. It was nice and warm, the water too.”

  Dupin recalled the little heat wave at the beginning of June.

  “Mama always says my imagination runs away with me. But it’s not true, monsieur.”

  “Did her boat already have a new lifting arm?”

  “Yes.”

  It had to have been installed in the weeks before. Maybe even for this purpose. There was no way it could be coincidence.

  “And Laetitia was there too,” Anthony said.

  Dupin looked questioningly at the boy. “She was also on the boat?”

  “Yes. They had gone out a couple of times together on Céline’s boat. And before that a couple of times on Laetitia’s. But most recently only on Céline’s.”

  Dupin had to pull himself together. “Did they bring the object ashore?”

  “I didn’t see. I had to go home. The following day I had a look in the treasure chamber. Before school. And I asked Madame Coquil if anything new had been brought in. And Antoine. Céline was already out fishing again.”

  “And?”

  “They said no. That evening I asked Céline herself.”

  “And what did she say?”

  “That it was a wooden beam she needed for her house. That she had brought it from France. But I think she was fibbing.”

  “A wooden beam, she said?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where had you been hiding? Where were you watching them from?”

  “Near the sheds. Between the two quays. If you’re small you can hide unnoticed behind the lobster cages,” Anthony said with another sly smile.

  Dupin himself had been a witness to Anthony’s impressive proficiency in hiding and espionage.

  “I want you to show me that briefly, before we go to the museum.”

  “In that case half an hour won’t be enough. I’ll miss more lessons.” The boy grinned and turned around on the spot.

  They were at the huts in seconds.

  “Just here, this is exactly where I hid.”

  He was pointing at a dozen piled-up lobster cages no more than three, maybe four, meters from the slope of the quay wall.

  “Behind them. There weren’t as many that day, but even so they didn’t see me. And here,” Anthony ran over to the water, “this is where they laid it down. The cross was in the stern of the boat among several fish boxes. You could almost not see it. It was wedged in. I don’t think they wanted anybody to see it.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Because it was so well hidden. And they only came into port when it was already dark.”

  “But you could still see them nonetheless.”

  “Yes.”

  If he had been hunkered down behind the lobster cages he would only have been a few meters away.

  “And you reckoned it was a cross because of the shape?”

  They’d already been over that, but it was an important point.

  “It really looked like a cross, it had exactly that shape. And it was really big.”

  “But you didn’t manage actually to see what it was underneath the cloth?”

  “No.”

  There was nothing more to be got out of him. And Dupin had seen what he wanted to see.

  “Let’s go.”

  Dupin stopped again on the Quai Nord. The boy was still close beside him.

  “And was there anybody else on the quay that evening? Did you see anybody?”

  “No.”

  “What about earlier, did you see anybody nearby?”

  “The two other fishermen had already come in.”

  “Jumeau first?”

  “No, he was the second.”

  “And did he stay about longer on the quay, I mean after he had docked?”

  “He was gone by the time Céline’s boat came in. He had tied up his boat and left.”

  “Long before?”

  “No, not long.”

  Dupin had taken his notebook out and scribbled something as they walked.

  “Are you writing this down?” The boy tried to get a sideways look. “Is what I said important?”

  “That depends. And did you see anybody else before the pair docked in Céline Kerkrom’s boat?”

  “Antoine Manet came by, just as Jumeau came in.”

  “What did he want?”

  Dupin knew he was asking impossible questions. But children didn’t know what impossible questions were.

  “They talked for a bit. He stood up close to the boat. I couldn’t hear them. Then he left again.”

  “And that was it?”

  “Yes, nobody else.”

  “And in the days that followed, did you watch Céline again?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you didn’t see any other … object?”

  “No, the cross was already gone the next day. They must have taken it to a hiding place.” He sounded devastated. “But I’m afraid I don’t know where.”

  There was a brief pause. There were almost back at the museum.

  “Earlier you said the object was really big. Just how big exactly?”

  “About as big as me, maybe.”

  “You’re sure?”

&nbs
p; Dupin put Anthony at about one meter forty. Could be believe the boy? Should he? Dupin thought there was no way Anthony had invented the whole story, just made it up. To get hold of him, grab his attention. But there was another question. Had he maybe just seen something quite ordinary and then his imagination had run away with him?

  “Yes, I’m positive. Maybe the cross was made of silver or gold and Céline had to die because she had found real treasure. Do you think that’s what it is?” The boy’s voice sounded sad and fascinated at the same time.

  Dupin gave him an urgent stare. “What makes you think of gold?”

  “Just because. Gold is the most expensive, isn’t it?”

  Dupin sighed. “Let’s take a look in the treasure chamber.”

  They had already turned into the museum’s inner courtyard.

  Dupin didn’t imagine Kerkrom and Darot—whatever they’d brought back—would have used this as a “hiding place,” but nonetheless … he wanted to see this treasure chamber. Maybe it would give him other ideas.

  “Over here, the room is in the lifeboat service museum.”

  They were magnificent horseshoe-shaped buildings, in the middle of a picturesque courtyard. Dupin was impressed that the lifeboat service had a museum of their own.

  The boy headed straight through the entrance doors, then turned left, past an imposing glass display case in the middle of the corridor with an old lifeboat inside.

  “Ah, here you are, after all. And about time too. A visit to the island without a visit to the museum is unacceptable.”

  The ironclad—wonderful—Madame Coquil had appeared from nowhere.

  “Jacques de Thézac in person, the founder of the Abris du Marin, the shelters for stranded seafarers, built these houses. The very first shelters of all. Because conditions here were worse for people than elsewhere. And because back then lots of ships interrupted their journey here.”

  Her eyes beamed nostalgically.

  “Anyway, this July we’re having a big festival on Sein to mark the one hundred and fiftieth anniversary of the founding of the lifeboat service. You must come, Monsieur le Commissaire. No question about it. Seven thousand volunteers, and only seventy staff. The service was founded in Audierne in 1865,” she said, stressing the year as if she could hardly believe it herself. “That’s where the main festival will be held, but obviously we couldn’t let it go by without having one of our own. And in any case the station here on Sein was one of the very first, founded just two years later. The lifeboat service has a great tradition.”

  She took a step toward Dupin as if there was something important to follow.

  “Do you know how many poor souls have been saved here over the centuries? Tens of thousands! Antoine has made a list of all the life-saving actions, you can find it on the Internet. Back in 1762 the Duc d’Aiguillon proposed to the islanders a wholesale transfer to the mainland, offering them all the finest pieces of land. And why? ‘Who needs to care about the victims of shipwrecks when the island is going to waste?’ That was in the official letter. As a gesture of thanks, the duke sent us tons of biscuits. Tens of thousands we saved the lives of. In 1804 we even saved two hundred and eight English. Up until the lighthouse was built a big ship was wrecked here every two to three years.”

  She took a step backward and smiled. “So, what can I show you? What are you most interested in?”

  “Anthony here,” Dupin was quick to reply, “wanted to show me something.”

  “The treasure chamber. The commissaire wants to see the treasure chamber. For police reasons.”

  The last sentence was supposed to signal authority.

  “That room isn’t open to the public, you know that. It doesn’t belong to the museum! And it’s pure chaos at present. We simply can’t let anyone in.”

  A clear-cut decision.

  “I’m sure it will be fine, Madame Coquil. I just want to take a brief look inside.”

  “And for what reason, if I may ask? Your inspector has already been here.”

  The boy ran on unheedingly straight to the door.

  “At the moment we are on the track of different clues, investigative routine,” Dupin said.

  “It’s off-limits.”

  Anthony was rattling the handle.

  “Yes, it’s now closed during the season. Order from Antoine Manet.”

  “I really just want a brief glimpse inside.”

  Dupin liked Madame Coquil, and he tried to show it in his tone of voice. It seemed to be working.

  “All right then.” She fumbled around in the pocket of her canary yellow cardigan, which today she was wearing over a crimson dress, and produced a key.

  “We never used to close it in the season.” Anthony was still looking unhappy. “Even I have to ask now when I want to go in.”

  “Who has a key to the room?” Dupin asked.

  “Monsieur Manet and I. And there is one in the drawer in the kitchen where the brochures lie.” She nodded her head.

  While still wringing her hands, Madame Coquil had opened the door. She held it open.

  “Afterward you must come by the historical museum. The history of the island should interest you at least as much as that here. Without our history we’re nothing. Just ghostly phantoms! Never forget that!” She added with a smile, “For a competent tour of the treasure chamber I’ll leave you in the hands of the future leader of the island.”

  And with that she turned away.

  Dupin entered the room.

  It was very basic and clearly hadn’t been renovated in ages. The walls that had once been white had taken on a dirty yellow shade and smelled bad. The whole room smelled bad. An intensive mix of dust—which in places lay centimeter-thick on the floor—mold, Dupin guessed, some sort of glue and oil. There was something biting to it. One single window let murky light into the room.

  Chaos was certainly the right word for the state it was in. Narrow painting tables were laid out in a long L. On top of them, next to them, between them, against the walls, everywhere there were cartons piled. With big yellow labels and abbreviations. All in the same format: S.-28-20/ Georges Bradou/ 05/2002.

  The boy had noticed how Dupin stood there looking at the cartons.

  “It’s only the best pieces on the tables. All the rest are in the cartons. The stickers tell all the important stuff: the coordinates of where the piece was found, who found it, and so forth. S stands for Sein. It’s Antoine’s system. It’s the same everywhere in Finistère. He’s in an organization, you know. They lay all that down.”

  It would be the organization in which Professor Lapointe had been a member.

  “Look, Monsieur le Commissaire, these here are genuine Roman.” Anthony was pointing to the middle of the tables. “This is Caesar Mazamian, that’s my favorite coin. And this is Carausius. Caesar entrusted the protection of Brittany against the Germans to him. Real bronze. And here,” he pointed to a handful of other coins, “these are silver.” He was in his element.

  Dupin walked the length of the L. It was a curious, magnificent ragbag of stuff. Every single piece had been given a little tag which gave the exact details as to where it was found, when it was found, and by whom.

  He saw something.

  An engine. Under the table between two boxes was an engine. A big rusty motor. Clearly more than a meter long. He stooped.

  “That belonged to a fishing boat that sank on the west side of Sein, in a storm, found directly on the beach not far from the lighthouse.”

  “How long has it been here?”

  “Oh, a few years. A long time.”

  “There’s no plaque.” Dupin had been looking in vain for the registration.

  “Hm.” The boy had no answer.

  “Did anybody recognize the boat?”

  “Yes. It belonged to a coastal fisher from Douarnenez. He had run it aground himself, he was okay.”

  “I understand. You saw this engine lying here, let’s say, from the beginning of the year? And before that?”
/>
  The boy gave Dupin a quizzical look. “Yes.”

  “Are you quite sure?”

  “I just told you.”

  In which case that couldn’t be it.

  Dupin got down on his haunches. He had never seen an unmounted boat engine before. It had been built lengthwise but on one side there was a shaft that went downward, some thirty, forty centimeters, with a rusty rod in it, probably connecting it to the ship’s propeller. And on the other side, clearly much farther up, a pipe, ripped away after a few centimeters, maybe the pipe to the fuel tank. If you turned the engine on end, and threw a tarpaulin over it, it would only take a little imagination to envisage the outline of a cross. Dupin took another look: a lot of imagination.

  He got up.

  “And the door to this room here didn’t used to be closed?”

  “No. Never before.”

  “When where you last here?”

  The boy thought a minute.

  “I don’t know. Two weeks ago, maybe. Or three. There hasn’t been anything new found recently.”

  “Nothing? Nothing at all?”

  “No. Just the little iron horse.” He pointed to the end of the table. A rusty horse made of iron and coarsely designed. “Jumeau found it.”

  “Where do you think the two women could have taken their big object?”

  “That’s the big question, isn’t it?”

  Dupin nodded.

  “Not here. Home, surely. Or first to one of their two sheds. And then home. In the middle of the night when there’s nobody around. Or very early in the morning.” Once again he seemed to be thinking conscientiously. “That’s how I would have done it.”

  Dupin let his gaze run around the room once again. Along the tables. He ran his fingers down the back of his head.

  “A fabulous exhibition. Thank you for the tour, and in particular for your excellent investigative work. You have done a great service to the police, Anthony.”

  The boy’s eyes lit up. Then suddenly he looked gloomy. “Do I have to go to school now?”

  “I’m afraid so. But by now you’ve already…” Dupin said with a glance at his watch, “been out for substantially longer than half an hour.”

  The light returned to Anthony’s face.

  Dupin headed for the door. “I think we’ll be seeing one another again soon.” He reached out his hand to the boy. The boy took it slowly, and then shook it hard.