Commissaire Dupin reached instinctively for his gun, which he had placed underneath his pillow. He tried to get his bearings. There was semi-darkness. He didn’t even know which way to point his gun. Riwal, who was standing next to him in a T-shirt and underwear looking miserably tired, leapt to one side.
‘It’s only me, chief, it’s me. Hello, chief, it’s me!’ he shouted. First and foremost, Riwal wanted – in his own best interests – to make sure that Dupin had realised beyond doubt where he was and what was going on here.
‘It’s okay, Riwal.’
Dupin had come to his senses. To some extent anyway.
‘Your phone is ringing.’
At the word ‘phone’ he jumped up. A moment later, he was wide awake. He had been having another deep, juicy Caribbean dream until just moments before and was glad not to be able to remember it exactly.
He had only fallen asleep in the early hours, having spent hours tossing and turning with increasing despair. He looked at his watch with something approaching panic: seven minutes past seven.
‘This cannot be happening.’
He should have been up and about much earlier. There was no sign of Le Coz. The mattress on the absolutely worn out steel springs, which had seemed millimetres thick to Dupin, was dank. Just like the horribly thick pillows and the two garish green beach towels that had not kept him warm in the slightest. The whole room was dank. The worst thing was, it smelt that way too. They had not been able to open a window. It had, without doubt, been one of the most wretched nights of his life.
His mobile was still ringing.
‘Yes?’
‘Monsieur le Commissaire.’
Dupin recognised Goulch’s voice.
‘Lefort, Konan and Pajot have in fact been seen at the same place in the same area a few times in the last week. Around twenty-seven nautical miles south-west of the Glénan.’
Goulch sounded, by his standards, worked up.
‘I was just in the fish halls in Concarneau, where the local fishermen bring their catch from five in the morning. I was asking around. About the Bénéteau. Two of the fishermen are sure they saw it. It’s an area where the seafloor suddenly and clearly drops away. The Gran Turismo 49 is pretty noticeable after all.’
Dupin stood up, which caused considerable pain throughout his body.
‘Good work, Goulch.’
‘That would make the hypothesis about the treasure-hunting much more likely.’
‘Or else they were fishing. Because there were some schools of fish there.’
Dupin said it without thinking.
‘The large schools are closer to the coast at this time of the year, where the water has already warmed up and where there is, therefore, more food.’
‘Good. How do we find out whether there really is something lying on the seabed?’
‘I’ve already ordered a special boat with the relevant equipment; it’s leaving right now.’
‘Good. Very good, Goulch.’
‘Another thing: the forensics team had to call off their operation yesterday, they changed course in the helicopter when it was clear that the storm was hitting the islands. But they’re already on their way today. They should be there by now.’
‘I – we had no reception. We were totally cut off from the world.’
‘That’s not an uncommon occurrence on the Glénan. The storm wasn’t that bad here on the mainland, but when I couldn’t get through to you any more, I thought that it might be a bit more severe out there. I’ll be in touch.’
‘Thank you.’
Dupin had not really been concentrating. For various reasons. Because he felt extraordinarily uneasy this morning. Because he hadn’t had a coffee yet – devastating. Because since he’d woken up he’d been thinking about all that might have happened while they had been cut off from the world. But especially because what had preoccupied him so much before he had fallen into his utterly unrefreshing sleep had just recurred to him.
During the short phone call he had used one hand to put on his – still very wet – trousers. Then his socks and shoes – equally wet.
Out of the corner of his eye he could see Riwal starting to squeeze into his clothes.
‘I need a coffee, Riwal.’
He was already at the door. He needed to get out.
‘See you in the Quatre Vents in a few minutes. Check on Le Coz. It seems he’s still sleeping.’
With these words Dupin opened the door and walked out.
He had to screw up his eyes outside. He hadn’t reckoned with how much light would greet him. It was phenomenal. The sky had been swept completely clean, not a cloud to be seen for miles and miles. Wafer-thin clouds of dust hung in the air, almost more palpable than visible. It was one of those ‘silver mornings’ as they were called in Brittany, when sun, sky, sea and the whole world possessed a shimmering silver aura.
He had stopped right outside the front door. He breathed deeply. Very deeply. The air was fresh, magnificent. He was shivering a little. Nothing, not a trace of the storm remained. As if everything had been a bad dream.
* * *
Solenn Nuz greeted him with a doubly warm, doubly cheering smile, as if she wanted to give him a sign that she knew what torture the night had been. She looked dazzling, well rested, in top form, she really was a beautiful woman. She was standing by the large coffee machine, the exact spot where Dupin was headed with a look of longing on his face.
‘Petit café?’
‘Double.’
She set to work at the machine straight away. The heavenly sound was interrupted by Dupin’s phone. Reluctantly, he took a look at the number. Kadeg. Of course.
‘One moment.’
Dupin made for the door and stepped outside.
‘Yes?!’
‘You couldn’t be reached all evening, Monsieur le Commissaire. Not even late at night.’
This sounded accusatory to Dupin’s ears.
‘What is it, Kadeg?’
‘Du Marhallac’h claims he actually drew up plans for the extension to Pajot’s private house, so did in fact provide architectural services. This was above board apparently. Absolutely normal and legal. Pajot had some luxurious renovations made to his house six months ago, with a new pool, a terraced landscape and an extension. Du Marhallac’h really did make out two invoices for exactly the amounts that were transferred from Pajot’s accounts. I asked him to show me the plans that he drew up. He said he didn’t have them in his office. And he also didn’t see any reason to show them to me.’
Even this early in the morning Kadeg had already moved into his diligent reporting style.
‘How was he acting?’
‘At first he was behaving very reasonably, by the end he was bad-tempered.’
Sometimes Dupin was impressed by Kadeg after all – he had put it in a nutshell. It was just as Dupin had imagined it: that answers like this would come from Du Marhallac’h. That such behaviour was to be expected.
‘I’m about to speak to the building contractor who carried out the work. He knows who prepared which plans. Let’s see if this building work really existed.’
‘Please do, Kadeg.’
This was important.
‘I was also in the mairie yesterday and checked what applications Lefort submitted. There isn’t a single one. Nothing. Officially, nothing was ever actually submitted.’
‘You’re absolutely sure, Kadeg?’
‘Absolutely sure.’
Dupin was finding this more and more interesting.
‘Have you read the papers yet this morning? There are extensive reports about Le Menn’s disappearance now.’
‘That doesn’t bother me. I’m going to…’
‘Just quickly on Medimare too. All the content from the hard drives has now been seized. But there are an immense number of documents, even if you narrow them down. They are being examined one by one. Four experts are working on it. So far nothing stands out from the documents relating to the deals that Medimare did with Leussot’s research work or anyone else’s.’
Dupin really did have to admit that Kadeg was doing good work on this case.
‘And – – – the Prefect tried to reach you yesterday evening, but then only spoke to Nolwenn and me. He was really worked up, he…’
Dupin hung up. He’d really needed that. The same thing all over again – Kadeg was still Kadeg.
Dupin reflected. There were important things to do. He went back into the bar. The double espresso was on the counter. Next to it was a plate with a small brioche nature that he hadn’t even ordered.
‘Wonderful.’
His mood was improving.
Solenn Nuz was nowhere to be seen. On the counter, near the passageway, there was already a pile of newspapers. Dupin recognised the lettering of the Ouest France right at the top. He decided to keep his distance.
The brioche was fantastic. Melt-in-the-mouth, soft as butter, the way it was supposed to be and with the delicate hint of yeast in the milky flavour typical of a good brioche. But the most important thing was: the coffee was simply perfect.
But Dupin didn’t linger. Two minutes later, he left the bar again.
On the terrace he saw Riwal and Le Coz coming towards the Quatre Vents from the left. He turned right. As on previous days, he made for the tip of the island without thinking. This time at the lowest tide. He got out his phone.
‘Nolwenn?’
‘Monsieur le Commissaire! I hope you haven’t had too awful a night.’
Nolwenn’s sympathetic words almost made everything all right again. ‘Nolwenn, you’ve got to research something for me. I want to know everything about the death of Solenn Nuz’s husband, Jacques. Everything. Check in the police files. He went missing at sea ten years ago. He set out from the Glénan shortly before a storm reached the island,’ Dupin hesitated, his voice changed. He seemed to be speaking less to Nolwenn than to himself. ‘A storm like last night perhaps,’ he paused again, ‘a storm like three days ago, like Sunday night.’
‘I’ll see what I can find. I’ll take care of it straight away. You – you should…’
‘I know. I really can’t manage it.’
It didn’t take long, but there was a moment before Nolwenn answered.
‘I’ll explain to the Prefect that you regrettably still cannot get in touch. That you yourself regret it the most. I think the Prefect … he himself has an interest of course, in light being shed on this darkness soon.’
Dupin loved Nolwenn. He loved her.
‘Speak to you later.’
‘Just one more thing, Monsieur le Commissaire. Your mother. This morning there were another four calls on the voicemail, all of which were rather indignant. She’s arriving tomorrow evening, I’m to tell you that again. And that she absolutely must speak to you immediately.’
‘I’ll call her.’
Dupin hung up. This could not be happening. Tomorrow. He really did need to call her. He would have to cancel. But not now.
Jacques Nuz’s accident. Four times, he had noted ‘Jacques Nuz, in an accident’ in his notebook. It had occurred to him last night on the fold-out bed. It wasn’t, as he had first thought, the reference to the death of Le Berre-Ryckeboerec’s niece that had put him on the alert in his utter fatigue. But in fact the death of Jacques Nuz, who had set out from the Glénan before a storm to get over to the mainland.
As he walked he pulled the Clairefontaine out of his jacket pocket – it was still damp, but its varnished cover had kept the rain off surprisingly well – better than he had feared last night. He leafed through and found his last notes. Yes. It was written here. ‘Was in the mairie.’ So in Fouesnant then. He put it back into his damp jacket pocket. And dialled Riwal’s number.
‘Riwal, what did Le Coz say yesterday about where Solenn Nuz had been? In the mairie, I wrote down.’
‘That’s what he said. He’s sitting next to me. We’re drinking coffee, do you want to speak to him?’
‘Yes, pass me over to him.’
There was a rustling, then Le Coz was on the line.
‘Monsieur le Commissaire?’
‘You asked Solenn Nuz yesterday where she’d been all day, didn’t you?’
‘Precisely.’
Le Coz was a very conscientious police officer.
‘She told you she was in the mairie in Fouesnant. Did she tell you what she was doing there?’
‘No. Only what I’ve told you. I didn’t probe any deeper because I thought it was only about the issue of where she had been between half twelve and four that day.’
‘That was correct, Le Coz. So she she didn’t say anything more about it.’
‘No. Nothing.’
‘Can you try and find out from the mairie?’
‘Right away, Commissaire.’
Dupin hung up.
He had arrived at the tip of the island. Or more specifically: he had walked past the tip of Saint-Nicolas, over the seabed, which suddenly became stony and covered in blue mussels at this point and he had reached an absolutely tiny little island. Only forty metres away from Saint-Nicolas in fact and it was barely more than ten metres by ten. At low tide it was a small appendage to Saint-Nicolas. Dupin had been so wrapped up in his thoughts that he only realised where he was now. He turned on his heel immediately.
He got out his notebook again, flicked through, found what he was looking for and dialled Riwal’s number again.
‘Chief?’
‘Give me Le Coz again.’
‘Will do.’
The same rustling sound again.
‘Did Madame Barrault tell you what she did between lunch and the time I met her on the quay?’
‘No. Just that she was at home. Alone. So that couldn’t be verified anyway.’
‘Thanks.’
Dupin hung up. That had not been a productive telephone call. He was right between the two islands. He was moving very carefully. This was crazy when you thought about it, it could make a person from the 6th Arrondissement dizzy: he was walking over the seabed. Fish usually swam here. Like the ones from his cotriade yesterday.
Dupin’s mobile rang. It was a Paris number. He briefly feared it was his mother, but he recognised Claire’s number. He agonised for a moment. Then he answered it. And knew immediately that it had been a mistake. He would have to tell her that he didn’t have time to speak now – and that was exactly what he needed to avoid. The biggest problem between them had been that he had so little time for Claire and for the two of them.
‘Bonjour, Georges. Is this not a good time?’
‘I. No. Bonjour, Claire.’
‘Thanks for your message. I’ve had some insanely hectic days there, I was in the operating theatre all the time. Two of my colleagues were ill.’
‘No problem.’
There was an embarrassing pause. Claire assumed that Dupin would say something. Finally she spoke again.
‘And what are you up to? Where are you?’
She obviously hadn’t heard about the case. Claire didn’t often watch the news.
‘I’m on an archipelago, eighteen kilometres off the coast. I’m standing on the seabed between two islands, it’s low tide right now. There are blue mussels everywhere here, the ones you love so much. I’m walking over them.’
He had said all of these things because he had no idea how to resolve this situation. He even briefly considered whether he should tell her about the dolphins.
‘That sounds wonderful. Are you on a trip?’
‘I,’ there was nothing for it, he couldn’t avoid saying it, ‘I’m on a case.’
‘On a case on an archipelago?’
‘Exactly right.’
It took Claire a moment to understand what he was trying to say.
‘So you don’t have any time to talk now.’
‘No! I … No. You’re right. But I’ll call you as soon as the case is solved. Then we’ll have plenty of time.’
‘Oh right, yes,’ another pause. ‘I understand.’
That had always been the worst sentence.
‘I want to see you.’
He had let that slip out. And it must have really surprised Claire. They had agreed to think it over together. Whether they wanted to see each other.
‘What?’
‘I’m absolutely certain. I want to see you.’
Dupin had taken the bull by the horns. This was his only chance. But above all: this was right. It was the absolute truth.
‘Good.’
That had been a real ‘good’. He was familiar with it. From their happy times. The best times he’d ever had.
‘Then let’s see each other.’
‘Good.’
‘I’m glad. That we’ve talked. That was a – good phone call.’
Dupin was truly exhilarated.
‘So – call me when the case is closed.’
‘I will, Claire. Straight away.’
She had hung up.
That had been rather incredible, Dupin thought. He needed to be careful, he had nearly slipped on some algae.
But he didn’t have time to keep feeling pleased, his phone was ringing yet again.
It was Goulch.
‘Yes.’
Dupin sounded more bad-tempered than he actually was. He would simply have liked to let the effects of the conversation with Claire linger.
‘The forensic scientist has found two bullet holes. Shots were fired in the abandoned house on Brilimec. At least two shots.’
‘Shots?’
‘Yes, they found the bullets in the brickwork. They match the calibre exactly. About one metre to the left of the footprints that we saw. The two bullet holes are close together and were probably fired from the point where we suspected somebody had been standing.’
‘So somebody deliberately missed.’
‘Excuse me?’
The shooter could have been standing at most two or three metres away in the small room, Dupin thought, even if he had been standing in the passageway from the first to the second room. From that distance, nobody missed a shot by a metre twice. Le Menn? Or was Le Menn the one who had been shot at?
‘They were intimidating shots.’
Goulch did not answer straight away. So when the penny dropped it was truly audible.
‘Exactly!’
‘Any other trace evidence?’
‘The padlock and the door are being examined more closely.’
‘Is that it?’
‘Yes, for the moment.’
‘Thanks, Goulch.’
A minute later Dupin was standing in front of the Quatre Vents again.
Riwal and Le Coz were sitting at the table they had all sat at yesterday evening. Solenn Nuz was still nowhere to be seen, but her elder daughter was there. Way over on the right, Pascal Nuz was sitting in his regular spot, absorbed in a newspaper. Leussot was right next to him and he made a cheerful signal of greeting to the Commissaire. Small groups were already sitting at two of the tables, divers or sailors. And the ‘press’ was here again too. The remarkable partnership from the Télégramme and Ouest France were sitting in the corner right next to the entrance, two steaming grands crèmes sitting in front of them. They both looked glum. Although they really ought to have known. They had plenty of experience with his – in Dupin’s view – very clear information policy: not a word before the case was solved. There was nothing to be got out of him before then. Unless he could see a specific advantage for his investigation – which he didn’t see here.
Dupin didn’t feel like having a conversation now either, ignoring them completely and walking straight toward the coffee machine, next to which Louann Nuz had just placed a fresh coffee. Clearly an order for one of the tables.
‘Another coffee, please.’
‘No problem. Good morning, Monsieur le Commissaire.’
‘Good morning.’
With a few practised movements of her hands, Louann brewed the fragrant coffee and placed it in front of him.
‘Thanks! Is your mother here?’
‘She’s just getting something from the house. She should be back any moment.’
Dupin wondered whether he should say that he wanted to speak to her. He decided against it.
Dupin took the coffee and went over to Riwal and Le Coz.
‘Let’s keep working outside.’
‘We were planning that too, chief. But everything is still soaking there.’
‘Doesn’t matter.’
Sitting inside was a stupid idea. For all sorts of reasons, not just because of the press.
Outside, they shook the rainwater off the chairs as best they could and sat down.
‘I spoke to the mairie in Fouesnant on the phone a minute ago,’ Le Coz said quietly.
‘Is it already open?’
Dupin was genuinely surprised.
‘It’s nearly half eight now and it’s open from half seven. It’s an office. I spoke to the employee responsible. Madame Nuz put in an application some months ago to be allowed to redesign the annexe on the Quatre Vents. She was there twice in recent weeks to clarify details. She just wanted to take another look at her file yesterday. Every organisation, every person, every company who submits applications gets their own file. A kind of folder. Everything goes in there, even intermediate notifications. The whole process.’
‘Why did she want it? What does it have to do with the intended new construction?’
‘I don’t know. Madame Nuz didn’t tell the employee why she needed it.’
‘And everyone has access to their file at all times?’
‘Yes. That’s very much normal procedure.’
Dupin lapsed into silence. The suspicion that was taking up more and more space in his head was still very incomplete.
‘I need a helicopter.’
Riwal and Le Coz looked at him in surprise.
‘I need to go to the mainland. To Fouesnant. I want to visit the mairie.’
It was a while before there was any reaction.
‘I’ll request it.’
Le Coz stood up and walked a few metres to one side.
Riwal looked expectantly at Dupin.
‘I want to inspect the file.’
‘Are you looking for something specific? I mean, do you know what you are looking for?’
‘No.’
It was true. He didn’t know what he was looking for, but his instinct told him that this was exactly where he needed to look.
‘The helicopter is on its way,’ Le Coz reported. ‘It was on Brilimec with the forensic team just now. So they’ll just have to wait.’
Dupin was reminded of René Reglas and couldn’t help grinning. As he did so, something occurred to him that he wanted to do. He took his mobile out of his jacket pocket and dialled Reglas’ number. It took a while for the call to be answered.
‘Ah, Monsieur le Commissaire. I would have thought it appropriate if we had been in touch directly and in person about the…’
‘Can you say anything more specific about the footprints in the house yet?’
‘I…’
‘Large feet, small feet? Women, men?’
‘It’s extremely difficult to say, you’ve seen it yourself, none of the prints are clear. And the ground is firm and stony in front of the house. But even if there had been some, the storm destroyed all of the prints outside. Even on the beaches, Goulch showed us the places. We couldn’t find anything there any more. Nothing at all. I can’t commit to anything for the time being.’
Dupin hated the ‘can’t commit to anything’.
‘I just want to know what you think. An initial guess.’
‘They are neither significantly small nor significantly large imprints.’
Excellent. It wasn’t a giant or a dwarf.
‘A woman?’
‘I can’t say. I think there were shoe sizes between 38 and 44.’
That didn’t really help either.
‘We’re finishing off the work right now. And are flying back immediately. Then we’ll take the two bullets and…’
An ear-splitting sound started. Dupin knew it well by now. Rotor blades.
‘It’s starting … can you still hear me, Commissaire?’
Dupin hung up.
He turned to Riwal and Le Coz.
The helicopter will be here any minute. I need to get going.’
* * *
‘You’re welcome to sit down. Please.’
The employee of the mairie in Fouesnant, not just thin but almost scrawny, was extremely solicitous, in an exaggeratedly submissive, yet also authoritative way – a dangerous mix, Dupin knew. She had moulded the severity of her features into a smile with some force. Early sixties, he guessed.
With a brief nod of agreement, Dupin took the folder that she was holding out to him in her firm grip. He sat at one of the decades-old, dark yellow veneered tables scattered around in a ridiculously haphazard way. Dupin had chosen a solitary table in the corner – as a sign he didn’t want to be disturbed.
It had taken them less than a quarter of an hour to drive here from the small airport in Quimper. Riwal had announced the Commissaire was coming and the deputy mayor – Du Marhallac’h was ‘indisposed’ – had practically welcomed him in state and accompanied him to the first floor. Followed by curious looks from the staff.
The folder practically looked like it was about to burst open. ‘Jacques Nuz and Solenn Pleuvant, later Nuz,’ it said on the typewritten index card. ‘Jacques Nuz’ had been crossed out by hand with a short, sharp, horizontal line. The ‘and’ had been left as it was, which looked strange.
The documents were in chronological order. The file seemed to have been administrated painstakingly well. The most recent documents nearest the top.
Dupin found the current application, the one Le Coz had spoken about. Twenty-four pages long. A form filled out by hand. Two construction sketches attached. Elevation, floor plan. By an architect called Pierre Larmont. From Quimper. A ‘reconstruction of the existing annexe in wood in masonry construction’. The application was full of technical terms that Dupin didn’t understand, but it was all thoroughly plausible and corresponded with the information that he had. He placed it to one side. Shorter applications followed – six- or eight-page long forms and the relevant decisions – from the last few years. ‘New connection to the professional technical medium-format static-solar board of the Glénan’, ‘new construction of a demand-appropriate, independent soakaway system for gastronomic purposes’. Everything logical and self-evident.
Dupin came to the first applications that Solenn had submitted in conjunction with her husband. Opening the Quatre Vents had clearly entailed an impressive number of individual- and sub-applications for the then young couple and their great dreams. The ‘internal structural redesign of the restaurant Les Quatre Vents (bar/cafe), formerly Le Sac de Noeuds’, ‘the renaming of the restaurant (bar/cafe) Sac de Noeuds as Quatre Vents…’ Unbelievable. Besides applications for the diving school ‘international association for the friends and patrons of the underwater sports of the island group Les Glénan’. And of these too: a considerable number. Dupin went through them quickly. They corresponded with his basic understanding too. Everything seemed to be in good order.
Dupin stood up, somewhat frustrated. Only now did he become aware that the office worker was still standing in the doorway. She was looking at him expressionlessly.
‘Madame, was it you who handed the folder over to Madame Nuz?’
‘Oh yes, I manage and administer the files for the entire archive.’
‘Do you know why Madame Nuz needed these documents by any chance?’
‘That’s obviously a question I don’t ask. Because I don’t need to ask it. Every citizen can have a look in their file at any time. And people make use of that.’
She expressed this as if she considered it the central achievement of a free citizen. Dupin would have gladly said something like ‘So tens of thousands gave their lives in the Revolution for the right to free access to their file?’ He was reminded of the Revolution whenever he was dealing with administration and management.
‘Did you happen to see which document Madame Nuz needed? I’m asking you to recall carefully. And to give me an answer.’
Dupin had adopted his clear, commanding tone.
‘I have no occasion of any kind to spy on people,’ the woman retorted, before added in a more subdued yet still acid tone:
‘She will have needed statements from earlier applications for filling out a series of forms that are still outstanding with regard to the new construction she applied for – there are still two due. Although they are just copies, we never give them out. You have to come here – these are important things.’
It made sense and would explain why Madame Nuz had come here. And the hot lead would instantly have cooled, the idea that he had had: illogical.
Dupin stood up and was on the point of turning away without a word when something crossed his mind that he hadn’t paid any attention to before.
‘Copies? You’re saying these are copies?’
‘Oh yes, what do you think? We can’t in all conscience just hand over the originals. The originals are in our archive. All litigable documents!’
The horror was not feigned.
‘I would like to see the originals.’
‘That’s not possible without authorisation. I’ll need to ask the mayor. That’s what the regulations say. We have to be very strict on that. No exceptions.’
Dupin felt the colour of his face changing and he involuntarily planted his enormous body in front of her, standing up to his full height. The way he looked left no room for doubt that he was going to explode within moments. Before Dupin could even lose his temper, she gasped out in a thin, aggressive voice:
‘I’ll get the file.’
She vanished with astonishing speed.
Dupin sat down again.
Had he made a mistake? He had hoped to find something surprising that would shed light on the case.
‘Here you go.’
She had slapped the folder down in front of him, rather than placing it.
‘I hope you are aware of the fact that you are now dealing with originals, the damage or loss of which would have serious consequences.’
She was tough. As much as Dupin would have liked to get into a war of words, he left it. He needed to concentrate.
He went through the documents in the same order as before. Backwards chronologically. Looked at them again meticulously one by one. After a few documents, he switched to making two systematic piles, one with the originals and one with the copies. This way he could compare and see if there was anything striking or anomalous. He didn’t find any discrepancies. Why would someone have wanted to change something in the copies anyway?
He didn’t find anything, not a thing. By now he had got to the applications for the diving centre, so he was back to the beginning. Left pile, right pile. One more document. He put it to the left. Dupin stopped short. Where was the copy? There was a document missing from the pile on the right. It only existed with the originals. He searched frantically for the heading. ‘Construction of duly compatible hotel company on Saint-Nicolas in accordance with Regulation ‘16.BB.12/Finist.7’, a particularly thick application on thin, faded paper. Date: ‘28.5.2002’. He leafed through it. ‘Capacity/number of intended rooms in hotel company: 88’. That must have been part of the initial great plans that Lefort had had back then. Clearly. ‘A hotel company’. And not a small one. Dupin leafed further through, ‘Integral functionality of a water sports centre and marina for the purposes of tourist use/integration of existing institutions’. That was the big thing at stake. Dupin’s gaze fell on the last page. ‘Primary applicant: Jacques Nuz’, then a difficult to read signature. And: ‘Additional applicants for the purposes of § GHF 17.3: Lucas Lefort, Yannig Konan, Charles Malraux – that must have been the other participant from the ‘mainland’ – Kilian Tanguy, Devan Le Menn’.
Dupin knew that at the outset of Lefort’s tourist plans, other people had been involved in the project. Initially, if he understood correctly, several young, enthusiastic people had thought they were pursuing a dream together. Then it had turned out that they were dreaming very different dreams – and a fight had erupted which had turned them into enemies for life.
Thus far everything corresponded with what was known. But the application raised questions. Dupin was not sure whether this was what he had been looking for and, if so, what it meant. One thing was remarkable in any case: the document was missing from the accessible folder. If it had not gone missing by chance, then it had been removed, which indicated real effort. And why had Jacques Nuz been the chief applicant? Nobody had ever said anything about that. Everyone had always spoken of Lefort’s plans. And, finally, the application had indeed been submitted. The statements on it had been contradictory the whole time. Even Kadeg hadn’t found anything about it. But Kadeg had only been looking for applications in Lefort’s name. As had everyone else presumably. Dupin leafed backwards. On the first page he found a handwritten comment. Furnished with an official stamp of the 29th of June 2002: ‘Applicant missing according to police’. What did that mean – had its processing been suspended? That would explain why the application had never become ‘official’ anyway. Why everyone thought it had never existed.
Dupin stood up. He saw that the office dragon had guarded the door this time too and was enjoying watching him suspiciously.
‘If an application has several applicants, are the documents then only filed in the chief applicant’s file?’
‘Previously, yes. But we amended it two years ago, now there are copies under each applicant.’
‘I need the files. I’m taking them with me.’
Dupin knew that for the office dragon, this was the worst sentence that a human being on this earth could utter.
‘Monsieur!’
She was obviously having great difficulty keeping up with her own outrage linguistically.
‘Those – those are our originals! Even taking the copies away is forbidden.’
She puffed herself up even more.
‘This is completely out of the question. You – you need to make an application for this.’
Dupin made no move to answer. He walked straight past her. She moved abruptly and for a moment, Dupin was braced for her to try and snatch the folder from him. Instead, she turned around snappily on the spot like this was a military exercise and marched after him. Through the door. Along the corridor. Down the stairs. Wordlessly. She only piped again once they had reached the ground floor.
‘I’m warning you, Monsieur, that you are committing a criminal offence. I’ll demand this of you one last time: put down the documents. They are the property of the French state.’
Then she began to call for help.
‘Hello? Monsieur Lemant? I need you! Hello?’
A friendly woman at reception was staring anxiously at the strange drama.
Dupin was walking with determination, taking his time. A moment later he was outside and signalling to the driver to start up the engine immediately. Within two minutes they were already driving down the motorway towards Quimper, back to the airport. Dupin had put his phone on vibrate in the office. It had vibrated several times in the last hour. He checked the numbers. The Prefect … five times in total. Along with Kadeg, Riwal, Goulch, Nolwenn. The forensic star, Reglas.
Nolwenn was engaged. He tried her three times.
Then he dialled Reglas’ number.
‘You’ve got our helicopter. We’re still marooned on Brilimec,’ Dupin heard instead of a greeting.
‘I really hope you didn’t try to call me because of that.’
‘I wanted to inform you of something – incredibly surprising.’
Reglas paused. Dupin knew his tendency towards the theatrical.
‘Reglas, I’ll…’
‘The gun in question is probably an FP-45 Liberator. From the Second World War. A primitive but effective gun, which the Americans…’
‘Reglas!’
‘… it was then used by the French resistance.’
Dupin started. That was interesting.
‘And that is indisputable?’
‘As good as. The ammunition is very distinctive. Even though I could only examine it with the provisional means that we have on site, the…’
‘So this weapon would be quite rare to come across?’
‘On the contrary. There are still many specimens. Although the majority of them do not work any more.’
‘What do you mean by “many specimens”?’
‘At the time, the Résistance were gradually building up sizeable arsenals right here in Brittany. In quite a few houses one of these weapons remains in the attic or in the cellar to this day … Many kept them for sentimental reasons too and took care of them.’
All of this was very plausible.
‘Get in touch when you know more, Reglas.’
Dupin hung up. He tried Nolwenn again. It was still engaged. Then Kadeg.
‘Hello?’
‘Kadeg, did you have them show you the original of Lefort’s file in the mairie or just the folder of copies?’
‘The original of course. I summoned the acting mayor especially.’
‘Good. What other news do you have?’
Dupin was speaking quickly, but clearly and with focus. Kadeg adjusted to his speed.
‘The building contractor states that he planned the terrace himself. Du Marhallac’h did butt in occasionally with ideas and concepts, but never drew up a concrete plan.’
‘Brilliant.’
That would be enough. Even if Du Marhallac’h claimed Pajot had paid him the fee for oral consultations – he had nothing to show for it. That was sufficient for reasonable suspicion – of corruption.
‘Hand it over to the Prefecture, they should get the state prosecutor involved. Immediately. – Oh yes, inform the Prefect personally.’
Although it had nothing to do with the case and Dupin was sure of that by now, the Prefect would nevertheless be a bit busy.
‘And the Director of the institute?’
The driver had taken a particularly tight rond-point at high speed and Dupin was pressed against the door.
‘Directeur Le Berre-Ryckeboerec?’
‘Exactly.’
‘That won’t be easy. Our people still haven’t found anything clear. Nothing that breaks the law. But since the institute, although largely funded by third parties, is essentially a state institution and partially even a European institution, there are regulations to be strictly adhered to regarding the sale of research. Studies, results, licenses and patents must come onto the market in a verifiable way. But it’s probably complicated because it’s not clear which regulations apply to which of the institute’s platforms for which activities in each case. We need to look carefully at that. It will take a while.’
‘And his accounts? The private ones?’
‘I’ve spoken to Nolwenn a few times on the phone. It would be easier if we found something here. It was a miracle that we got the search warrant at all.’
‘Get in touch as soon as there’s news. One more thing: call Riwal and tell him someone is to go to Muriel Lefort and ask whether she is in possession of a gun from the Résistance, belonging to her parents – she, or perhaps her brother…’
‘Will do…’
It was clear that there was something Kadeg still wanted to say. Dupin knew what it was too: he would want Dupin to bring him up to speed on things.
‘I’ll be in touch, Kadeg. And I’ll tell you then.’
Dupin had hung up. He wanted to speak to Nolwenn. He tried again. And at last he got through.
‘I have some information, Monsieur le Commissaire.’
They had arrived at the airport. Dupin got out, his mobile to his ear.
‘I looked at the file on Jacques Nuz’s accident in great detail. The story begins just like the story on Sunday. It’s astonishing. The Glénan, a stunning day in early summer. Then a storm picks up. Jacques Nuz has urgent things to do on the mainland and wants to get across before the storm. According Solenn Nuz’s statement, he leaves the island at half two. So says the report. The next morning she registers him missing with the police in Fouesnant. A search operation is launched immediately by boat and helicopter. He is never seen again, his body never discovered, just pieces of the boat two days later. Quite far in the east. Nobody knows anything about the accident itself.’
‘The next morning?’
‘Think about it, mobile phones weren’t widespread here at the time.’
Dupin was still standing next to the car. Just a few metres away from the helicopter. The pilot was already sitting in the cockpit. Dupin made a vague gesture that was intended to mean: just a moment.
‘And?’
‘Here it comes: two other boats also leave Saint-Nicolas with Jacques Nuz, one immediately after him and one some minutes later again. And do you want to guess who owned those boats?’
That was a rhetorical question.
‘Lucas Lefort and Devan Le Menn! And it gets even better, do you know who was on board with Lefort?’
‘Yannig Konan.’
It had been more of a murmur than an answer from Dupin. He shuddered.
‘That’s right. Of course Lefort and Konan were questioned about Jacques Nuz’s whereabouts. The statements are documented in the files. Nuz wanted to go to Fouesnant where he and Solenn still had a small apartment. Lefort and Konan wanted to go to Sainte-Marine. It’s the same course at first.’
‘And Le Menn?’
‘He also testified he didn’t see anything. Neither Nuz’s boat nor Lefort’s.’
‘And other boats? Were there any others out, are there any more witnesses?’
‘Nobody else is listed. Any sensible person would either have set out in good time – or else stayed put.’
‘And there are no indications of any kind as to what happened? Did Nuz come aground on a rock? Capsize? What kind of boat did he have?’
‘The pieces that were found didn’t allow for any conclusions, although they were examined thoroughly. The reports are all enclosed. It was a Jeanneau, almost forty years old, but in good condition according to statements from Solenn Nuz and some others. Nothing pointed towards the possibility of the boat having a defect.’
‘Hmmm.’
Dupin’s mind was racing.
‘You always need to remember: these accidents aren’t uncommon here, Monsieur le Commissaire – and only in the very rarest cases are there clues as to the course of events.’
The helicopter pilot made a gesture of his own now, which Dupin understood as a request to get in. Reglas and his team were waiting. Dupin didn’t care much about that, but he was in a hurry himself now, to get back to the islands. To a – very important conversation. What he had just heard was in fact highly interesting. But he still didn’t understand the story, even though he was sure that it was the key. The key to everything.
* * *
Solenn Nuz’s small stone house was – when viewed from the quay – at the back of the island, where the piece of land, scattered wildly over the sea, was at its widest. It was at the island’s western beach, the most beautiful beach, the one that had the most Caribbean-like atmosphere. The building had been built so low that it looked as if it wanted to offer the storms the least resistance possible and was surrounded by an impressive number of flowerbeds, big and small. Salad, potatoes, all kinds of vegetables, even artichokes were growing there, the great Breton speciality in vegetables apart from leeks. Dupin ate them in all forms and by now his favourite way was the utterly Breton way: with a chive-and-egg vinaigrette. Two large herb gardens adjoined the flowerbeds. Somehow it didn’t suit the islands, that there was soil here at all, proper ground, not just sand, dunes, grasses, stones and rocks.
Dupin had walked into the Quatre Vents first, without thinking. Louann Nuz had informed him that her mother was at home.
He was now standing directly in front of her house. Everything looked very simple. He liked it. He looked for a doorbell but couldn’t find one. The massive wooden door with the iron edges and hinges stood half open. He stretched a little, so that he didn’t to have to go inside just to knock.
‘Hello? Madame Nuz?
No answer. Dupin knocked and called a little louder.
‘It’s Commissaire Dupin.’
Again, no reaction.
Dupin was just considering what to do when Pascal Nuz appeared beside him as if out of nowhere.
‘She’s in the sea. Fishing for mussels.’
Dupin almost jumped. Her father-in-law must have been outside in the garden.
‘I would like to speak to her.’
The sentence sounded very obvious, Dupin realised.
‘You’ll find her on the big beach.’ With his right hand, Pascal Nuz made a vague gesture towards the west.
‘I’ll look for her. Thanks very much, Monsieur.’
Dupin found an elaborate zigzag path through the flowerbeds, walked around the house and quickly found himself on the flat dunes right before the big beach.
It was the lowest tide, the beach extended far down into the sea, a flat, even surface, perfect again after every high tide. The uppermost, finest layer of sand had already been dried by the sun and recovered its flawless, dazzling whiteness. It was still thin – here and there the wet sand underneath shimmered like parchment. His eyes peeled, Dupin spotted Solenn Nuz in the north-west. You could just see her silhouette. She was the only person for miles around, in a landscape that belonged to the sea for a large part of the day (Dupin understood why her father-in-law had said ‘in the sea’). She was walking slowly towards the end of the low tide at the northern tip of the island. Dupin set off. It was further than he’d thought.
Solenn Nuz only noticed him once he had already come quite close. He hadn’t called out. Suddenly she turned towards him. There was a dark green, woven-looking, plastic basket hanging over each of her shoulders. In her right hand she was holding a small shovel with a long handle.
She smiled when she saw the Commissaire, the calm, beautiful smile that he knew. She only spoke once he was standing directly in front of her.
‘It’s the season. Palourdes, praires, coques. And ormeaux. – The palourdes are in the sand, the ormeaux on the rocks, in the cracks where the algae are,’ she pointed in the direction of Bananec where the impressive rocky landscapes began at low tide.
‘The palourdes hide ten centimetres deep in the sand. You need to know that and recognise where to find them,’ she spoke calmly to herself, as on previous days, ‘I learnt it from my mother. There are very few clues. Do you want to see how to find them?’
‘Show me.’
Dupin spoke just as calmly.
‘You have to look for small holes in the sand, in a figure of eight, those are the female palourdes. And then for two even smaller holes of equal size two to three centimetres away, those are the larger, male ones.’
Solenn Nuz’s gaze hadmet Dupin’s for a moment. Now her head was lowered again, her gaze fixed expertly on the seabed.
‘And then you put your hand carefully in the sand and feel for the mussels. And take them out.’
Dupin was walking next to her.
‘Do you like palourdes? Or ormeaux – the mother of pearl mussels?’
‘Very much.’
Dupin in fact loved both kinds of mussels, there were delicious palourdes in the Amiral – grilled with herb butter and white breadcrumbs. And he had to admit that, to this day, it still made him as happy as a child when he found an ormeau, an intact mother of pearl mussel that shimmered with every colour of the rainbow. He always stowed them away and he had already accumulated an impressive collection in his desk drawer.
‘There are crêpes with palourdes tonight, maybe with ormeaux too. Pan-fried. We’ll see.’
‘What happened to the application that your husband had submitted at the mairie?’
The question had come without warning. But Solenn Nuz didn’t look in the least bit surprised. Not at all. She answered without hesitation, in the same tone in which she’d just spoken of mussel-fishing.
‘For a while we thought we had a shared idea. Lucas, Yannig, Kilian Tanguy and us. And also Devan Le Menn. Muriel Lefort knew her brother better, from the beginning she was not on board. We didn’t listen to her, we thought she was old-fashioned. After a period of hammering out a plan together, it became clear to us that Lucas had something else in mind entirely. We wanted to leave the Glénan the way they were, modernise and expand the diving school and the sailing club a bit, build a hotel and restaurant, but no crowds, no luxury. For Lucas that was just the beginning, a tactic. We started arguing more and more. Then one day there was a big fight. Yannig never said much about any of it – but he was on Lucas’ side. And he had the money. Charles Malraux was on our side. Devan tried to keep out of it somehow.’
Suddenly she bent down.
‘Can you see, here – the two tiny holes?’
Dupin stooped down low. He might have missed them. But there they were.
Solenn Nuz let her hand glide into the sand in a fluid, gentle movement and drew it back out moments later with a magnificent palourde grise on it. She placed it in the basket to her right and only now did Dupin notice that there were already a large number of mussels inside.
‘Why was your husband the chief applicant?’
‘Because the land on which the hotel was supposed to be located was his land and it was initially intended to be the centre of all of the plans.’
‘I heard the application was never submitted. Why did your husband submit it following the final falling-out?’
It seemed now as if Solenn Nuz was holding back for a moment, but Dupin wasn’t sure. She kept her head lowered, her gaze fixed firmly on the sand.
She was silent, then she seemed to pull herself together.
‘He didn’t submit it.’
Dupin didn’t understand. It seemed Solenn Nuz was not going to elaborate.
‘What do you mean, didn’t he submit the application?’
‘We hadn’t completed the application. But we were already uncertain by that point, Jacques, Kilian and I. And were already fighting fiercely with Lucas.’
She was silent again. Dupin waited.
‘We lived between two places at the time, the little apartment in Fouesnant and the islands. For a few months we lived on the boat most of the time, even though it was cramped. We didn’t have the house here yet, we barely used the apartment any more. The boat was our real home. Everything we needed was there – we felt free, we were very happy. We kept our personal documents there too,’ she paused again and finished the sentence in the same tone of voice, ‘including the application.’
Dupin stood still. At first, he didn’t realise what she had just said. Then he felt dizzy. It dawned on him. He felt slight goosebumps on his forearms.
‘The application – the filled-out application was on the boat? It was on the boat that Saturday ten years ago when your husband set out from the Glénan one afternoon because the storm was approaching?’
Now it was Dupin who paused, his thoughts racing through his head at tremendous speed. Solenn Nuz kept on scanning the sand undeterred.
‘The application was on Jacques Nuz’s boat when it left Saint-Nicolas,’ Dupin was speaking mainly to himself, ‘and it was submitted directly after the accident. It didn’t go down with the boat. The application – after setting sail from Saint-Nicolas,’ Dupin was speaking more and more slowly, ‘it made its way onto another boat, it didn’t go down with Jacques Nuz.’
They walked next to each other in silence, Solenn Nuz half a step in front. It was appalling. Dupin tried to collect his thoughts.
‘It was murder, wasn’t it? It was murder. It was Lefort and Konan.’
Solenn Nuz still remained calm.
‘They let him drown,’ she said. ‘The motor was defective apparently. Nobody knows exactly. Between the Glénan and the Moutons. The sea was already really churned up. He probably went overboard when he tried to fix something. They saw what happened, Lefort and Konan. They saw it. That he was floating in the water. They positioned themselves parallel and Lefort got on board. And he…’ her voice changed for the first time, although only slightly, becoming flatter, ‘he saw him, he left him to his fate in the sea. He looked for the application where he knew it should be, he knew our boat.’
She paused for a long time.
‘He took it and got back onto his boat. Then they left,’ she faltered again. ‘They thought they’d submit it, and if it was accepted, they could claim Jacques had given them the document – then it would have been three statements against mine.’
That was it. That was the story. The dark core of everything. And – what had happened to Lefort and Konan on Sunday night was this: they had suddenly found themselves in the exact same situation as Jacques Nuz ten years before. Hopelessly floating, without lifejackets, in a fierce storm in relentless Atlantic currents.
‘And Le Menn?’
‘He was almost directly behind them. Le Menn saw them, not everything, but the crucial part – that Jacques was in the sea and Yannig and Lucas were driving away. He didn’t stop. He kept going. He didn’t do anything. Not even afterwards. He was afraid of Lucas. He was a coward. He was always a coward.’
Things were falling into place in Dupin’s mind, the pieces of a gruesome, brutal and terribly sad puzzle were slotting together. Just a few were still missing.
‘How long have you known about it? How did you find out? Did you find the application that was deposited in the file?’
‘It was a coincidence. I found it three months ago. I needed information from the very first applications, for the planned renovation of the annexe. I saw it then. And realised.’
‘And you went to Lefort.’
Her voice changed a second time. It became completely hollow. Eerily hollow.
‘He laughed. He said I could never prove it. And he was right about that.’
Dupin was silent. They had arrived at the rocks.
And how did you know about Le Menn?’
‘Lefort told him. That I suspected it. Le Menn came to me. And he – he told me everything,’ she replied much more quietly and calmly. ‘You have to look for cracks in the rocks, deep, narrow cracks in the pools. You only see a small section of the mussel, a tiny little bit, if at all, and it’s the exact colour of the rocks. Rusty. You…’
‘Monsieur le Commissaire? Hello?’
It was Riwal. He was racing towards them and had called out from far away. It looked funny, the inspector charging at them and extremely agitated. A very bad moment to choose.
‘Sorry! I need to speak to you, Monsieur le Commissaire!’
Dupin walked to meet him. In the darkest of moods.
‘Riwal, now is…’
‘Pascal Nuz has confessed. He has confessed to everything.’
Riwal said this sentence still half running, while wheezing and gasping for breath. He only came to a stop just in front of Dupin.
‘Pascal Nuz did what?’
‘Confessed to the murders. That it was him who put the sedative into the drinks. That he met Le Menn on the island yesterday, forced him onto his boat at gunpoint and finally, two or three nautical miles to the south of the archipelago, forced him to go overboard. He…’ Riwal paused to inhale again deeply, he was still out of breath, ‘he also said why. He wanted to avenge his son. The – murder of his son,’ Riwal supported himself with his right hand on his hip, ‘he is claiming Lefort and Konan killed his son.’
Dupin lowered his head. He was overcome by dizziness again.
He walked towards the waterline. Riwal didn’t follow him. Dupin only stopped just before the gently lapping waves. The water was incredibly clear. Crystal clear. You could see every little stone and every mussel, pin-sharp on the gleaming white seabed.
Dupin didn’t believe what he’d just heard. That wasn’t how the story went. He stood there absolutely motionless for a moment. Then he walked back to Riwal. Riwal stood forlornly in the sand, looking at his shoes and smoking. He had in fact given up smoking for good six months ago. Solenn Nuz had simply kept walking and was now fishing in the cracks in the rocks.
‘Was Le Coz able to verify Solenn Nuz’s stated timings?’
‘Yes. We’ve been trying to call you the whole time. Everything checks out. To the minute. As far as we could verify it in any case. And we have the phone records for Le Menn’s phone calls now, which was not very easy. He spoke to the Quatre Vents twice yesterday, the bar has a business mobile, for reservations and things. He was called once, he called there once. Once at quarter past ten and once at eleven o’clock.’
So Solenn Nuz had in fact not been on Brilimec. Even though there was still some haziness surrounding the timing with all of the verified statements, it couldn’t make a difference of three quarters of an hour or more. She hadn’t been on Brilimec; she hadn’t met Le Menn. And she couldn’t have made or taken any calls from the Quatre Vents yesterday morning.
‘The thing on the island, that really was Pascal Nuz,’ Dupin said to himself.
‘He still had a gun from before. From the Résistance. His own gun. That he fought with,’ Riwal was visibly in turmoil. ‘It was also him who called you about Medimare yesterday morning with a disguised voice, to put you on the wrong track.’
‘And Pajot? What about Pajot?’
‘He didn’t want that. He didn’t know that the three of them were out together. He has said many times that he didn’t want that.’
Riwal sounded as though he wanted to defend him.
‘And how did he do it with the sedatives? Is it plausible, what he’s saying?’
‘Ten tablets, dissolved in red wine. He showed us the tablet packet.’
All of it fit, it was true, but somehow it sounded too slick.
‘And he simply came to you just now? Just like that?’
‘Yes, a few minutes after you left,’ Riwal spoke in a serious voice, ‘you actually ought to have bumped into him on the path. He said you’d have known everything soon anyway.’
Dupin wanted to reply but couldn’t. He couldn’t speak any more. He had been gripped by a profound sadness. Everything, everything about this story was tragic.
He had never been in a situation like this before. He knew it hadn’t happened like that. But he didn’t know what to do. Or even what he was capable of doing anyway. And: above all he didn’t know what he wanted to do. Whether he even wanted to do something.
Riwal had turned around and was walking slowly, still smoking and somewhat stooped, up the flat beach. Back towards the Quatre Vents.
Dupin had no idea how long he had just stood there. Finally, he looked towards the rocks. He saw Solenn Nuz. She was standing very straight, seeming to be balancing. He set off. She had already climbed along a significant portion of the steep rocky landscape and was getting close to the sand on the other side again. Dupin thought it over, walked up the beach to the end of the rocks and went around the stony area.
They stood about five metres apart. Solenn Nuz only saw him at the last minute, she had been entirely focussed on the ormeaux and her footing.
‘Not great pickings today. Five pieces.’
‘Your father-in-law has spoken to us. He has…’ Dupin hesitated, ‘he has told us everything.’
Solenn Nuz looked up, calmly. She looked Dupin hard and piercingly in the eye. He couldn’t interpret her gaze. Then she lowered her head. She was still two or three steps away from the sand. She was silent. As was Dupin. She walked over to him and stood still, the baskets over her shoulders, the shovel in her right hand. All at once she seemed lost in her thoughts, as though she had forgotten that the Commissaire was standing next to her. With a calm movement, she turned her head toward the sea. She looked far into the distance. Dupin observed her the whole time. Looking at her from the side. He couldn’t detect a thing.
Solenn Nuz stood like this for a while. Motionless. Then she turned around, without haste and began to walk up the beach. Dupin walked along beside her. They walked slowly, but steadily. With precise steps.
Once they had almost reached the end of the beach, the place where the marram grass began, Dupin knew that he had made a decision. He had already made up his mind just now. Once he hadunderstood the whole story. He just hadn’t been aware of it yet.
‘We know what happened. We know the whole story, Madame Nuz,’ he broke off for a moment and made an effort to make his voice strong and definitive, ‘for us, the case is solved.’
Dupin hadn’t looked at her as he said this.
‘The police know everything they need to know.’
Solenn Nuz didn’t respond. They had reached the wooden stairs and were climbing the steps side by side. They had almost arrived at the Quatre Vents.
‘You’ll surely want to speak to your father-in-law.’
‘Yes. I do.’
A little later, they reached the terrace. Riwal and Le Coz were standing in front of the entrance to the Quatre Vents. Even Le Coz was smoking now.
‘Pascal Nuz is sitting in the bar. We’ve sent all the customers away. Louann Nuz went home. He is alone. He wanted to be alone.’
Riwal sounded uncertain, in a very odd way.
He hastened to add:
‘We have recovered the gun. Le Coz took it from the house, along with Pascal. It was in his room, in a small box.’
‘Madame Nuz wants to speak to her father-in-law. We will leave the two of them alone for a few moments.’
Solenn Nuz disappeared into the bar and closed the door behind her.
Le Coz had approached from the side. Now all three were standing very close together. For once it didn’t bother Dupin. None of them knew what to say. It wasn’t even an embarrassed silence. Not a void either. Each had fixed their gaze on something else.
They stood like this for a while.
‘The case is solved.’
Dupin spoke clearly and carefully. It seemed like a signal to return to the reality which they had lost touch with for a short time.
‘I’ll let the pilot know, Monsieur le Commissaire.’
Le Coz got out his mobile.
‘I’ll inform Inspector Kadeg,’ Riwal seemed happy to have something specific to do. ‘And Kireg Goulch. The treasure hunt is over.’
Both police officers were walking in different directions and already had their phones to their ears. Dupin remained alone.
He sat down. Not at the ‘operations table’, but where he’d sat that first time on Monday, right at the wall. Where he had eaten the lobster. When he still thought he was dealing with a boating accident. With an accident that his inspectors and the resourceful Kireg Goulch would quickly solve.
He looked over the quay and out to sea. That spectacular spherical light lay over everything again. He would have to call Nolwenn. Above all, he would have to call the Prefect. Dupin hated all calls with him on principle, the ones during the normal ‘working day’, the ones during a case, but most of all he hated the calls after solving a case. But it was different now, after this case it was important that he was the one to talk to him at length first.
Riwal came back.
‘Kadeg is up to speed. He was somewhat miffed that in the end he was, how should I put this, so far away from the action.’
Dupin could well imagine that.
‘Call him again and tell him I’d like him to nail the mayor and the Director of the institute. That under no circumstances is he to let up, in either case. And that I will personally advise the Prefect of this.’
‘Absolutely.’
There was understanding in Riwal’s voice.
Le Coz was back too.
‘I need to make a few long phone calls. You two wait here. Madame Nuz stays alone with her father-in-law until the helicopter is there.’
Dupin stood up.
* * *
Lost in thought, Dupin walked to the left this time. Between the old farmhouse, the sailing school and the oyster restaurant with the two pools beside it, past the big wall, with its surreal penguin. Further towards Bananec in the direction of the sandbank.
The events were swirling around in his head. The controversial story, the whole case.
He came to a stop. He had already been walking for a while and now found himself on the narrowest strip of the sandbank. The water had risen somewhat by now, flat turquoise lagoons glittered to his right and left, then it nothing but sea, endlessly, until the horizon. Saint-Nicolas behind him, Bananec in front of him. He got out his phone. Sixteen missed calls. Since his conversation with Solenn Nuz. Sixteen.
He dialled Nolwenn’s number.
‘Monsieur le Commissaire?’
Dupin thought about how to begin. He was finding it difficult.
‘I’m up to speed. About the big picture. Inspector Riwal informed me.’
Dupin was glad. He hated these summaries. Especially in this case.
‘It’s all so – tragic.’
Dupin could hear that she suspected something.
‘It is, Nolwenn. Tragic.’
‘Poor Solenn Nuz. Unbelievable.’
Dupin briefly considered saying something more. But he didn’t feel capable of it.
‘You can tell me the details this afternoon or another time, Monsieur le Commissaire. You should just call the Prefect. He’s trying every five minutes.’
Yes, he’d do that now. There was a small pause.
‘All right, Nolwenn.’
‘All right, Monsieur le Commissaire.’
There was something solemn in these words. A kind of pact. No, that wasn’t it, it was without saying anything out loud that they had established a kind of pact. Which made Dupin strangely happy.
He hung up. And kept walking. Straight onwards, closer towards Bananec. With determined steps. He dialled the number. It took less than a second for the Prefect to pick up. Dupin held the phone a little bit away from his ear, he knew what was in store for him. The Prefect was bellowing so loudly in one of his well-known fits of temper that Dupin would have understood his words perfectly even several metres away from the phone. He held the handset at a safe distance and let the initial fury subside, during which he picked up something along the lines of ‘another immediate transfer’ amongst other things. Then he kept waiting until he detected a minuscule pause and broke in with impressive speed:
‘The case is solved.’
The sentence didn’t need to be any longer. It had a dramatic effect. For a brief moment nothing happened, then it was deadly silent.
‘Ah. You mean the case is closed? You’ve got the murderer?’
The Prefect sounded confused.
‘We have the perpetrator.’
Again it took the Prefect a little while to answer. He had to regather his nerve.
‘Everything is cleared up?’
‘Everything is cleared up.’
‘I can stand in front of the press and announce the success of the investigation?’
‘You can stand in front of the press and announce the success of the investigation.’
Everything always boiled down to this last point anyway. As soon as the Prefect could announce that his investigation had led to a swift success, he was satisfied. Dupin had experienced this often enough by now.
‘I’ll call a press conference for this afternoon,’ he seemed uncertain, ‘for early this afternoon. Can I do that, Dupin?’
‘Yes, you can.’
‘And who was it?’
It did mildly interest him after all.
‘It’s a very sad story, Monsieur le Préfet. Ten years ago, your friend Yannig Konan and Lucas Lefort let Jacques Nuz, the son of Pascal Nuz and husband of Solenn Nuz, drown in a storm. Wilfully. They…’
‘I want to know who the murderer is.’
So his interest didn’t extend all that far then.
‘Pascal Nuz. His father. He avenged the murder of his son. He learnt three months ago that it was in fact murder. Ten years later. But the pain seems to have remained unchanged.’
‘How old is this Monsieur Nuz?’
‘Eighty-seven.’
‘He planned and carried out multiple murders at the age of eighty-seven? By himself?’
Dupin didn’t hesitate in his answer.
‘We have his full confession. And it corresponds with all of the known facts.’
‘He has filed a confession? Wonderful. So the press conference is settled. And that doctor who disappeared?’
‘Pascal Nuz forced him to go overboard way out from the Glénan. He’ll have drowned.’
‘Why did he do that?’
‘Le Menn stood idly by while Konan and Lefort let Jacques Nuz drown. To understand that…’
‘You will explain that to me in detail. Of course I need all the details. But not now.’
Of course.
‘And another thing, Dupin!’
‘Yes?’
‘It’s not correct to speak of Monsieur Konan as my friend. Bear that in mind. Not everyone whom I know is my friend.’
It was disgusting. Dupin didn’t reply.
‘So it wasn’t about hunting for treasure then.’
Dupin wasn’t sure whether that was meant as a simple observation or a smug comment.
‘No. We do know that two of the three dead were treasure-hunters in any case and that they had been going to a particular spot noticeably often in the last few months and that underwater archaeologists suspect there are still numerous sunken ships in the area around the Glénan – but it wasn’t about that in this case, you’re right there.’
‘A particular spot, you say?’
The enquiry had come swiftly. Dupin couldn’t help grinning.
‘Unfortunately we couldn’t identify it exactly. But everything is sorted now.’
The Prefect was silent, you could practically hear his mind at work. But he reconsidered.
‘And what about Monsieur le Directeur Le Berre-Ryckeboerec? And the mayor of Fouesnant, Du Marhallac’h? He’s actually regarded as a reasonable man, he…’
‘Corruption, the evidence is overwhelming. Kadeg has taken this on.’
Dupin wouldn’t yield a millimetre. Ever.
‘Is that so? The evidence is clear? Does Kadeg think so too?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Do you believe the state prosecutor will not see it differently under any circumstances?’
‘No way.’
The Prefect seemed to be reflecting for a moment.
‘If that’s the case, he’s a black sheep and will hopefully receive severe punishment.’
‘And the Director of the institute,’ Dupin knew that this was a weak spot, but he saw no reason to reveal the vulnerability, ‘manipulated the regulations on the sale of the institute’s research results, licenses and patents in a demonstrably large number of cases, thus causing economic damage to the institute.’
Dupin also knew that they had no proof of any kind for it. He didn’t care right now.
‘We are investigating whether undue advantage existed and, if so, in what form. I’m sure that we will find something.’
‘A very unpleasant chap. I had a number of dealings with him in the last two days. With him and his lawyers. They really would have…’ the Prefect’s voice had got a bit louder again at these sentences, sometimes a second outburst then occurred. But not this time.
‘What I wanted to say was this: from now on you’ll inform me of the state of play more regularly if you’re on an investigation. Especially with these kinds of cases. Do you understand?’
Dupin didn’t reply. He had almost reached the end of Bananec. A lengthy strip of land grown over with grasses, whose paradise beaches, just like on the western end of Saint-Nicolas, led to another, small island attached here during low tide. Dupin walked on. The Prefect seemed to have interpreted his silence as obedient acceptance of his dressing-down and to have thus achieved his goal.
‘But that’s not the subject at hand – correct, mon Commissaire? It’s about the solved case now. And we’ve done it well!’
That was the red button to Dupin. Bright red. When the Prefect addressed him as ‘mon Commissaire’ at the end of a case and switched into the plural.
‘Tell me, when can you be here, Commissaire? Because of the press conference. I could hold it without you of course if it doesn’t suit, but we should at least – have a thorough discussion, so that I know the details. I ought to…’
‘Hello? Hello, Monsieur le Préfet?’
The connection had already become unstable at the end of Saint-Nicolas, there had been hissing now and again and a few times he hadn’t been able to hear the Prefect for a few seconds.
‘Dupin? -lo?’
‘Yes, Monsieur le Préfet?’
‘I – any more. I need to – information – absolutely the –.’
Dupin had taken another step. Successfully. The connection had dropped completely.
A few more metres and Dupin was standing on the flat accumulation of sand off Bananec, which had never even been designated an ‘islet’. It was another four hundred metres to Guiriden’s sandbank which he had gone past yesterday, about the same distance again from there to Penfret.
Dupin looked around. It was an incredible panorama. He was standing on the remains of sand that the rising tide was relentlessly conquering. Standing in absolutely nothing. In the ocean. If he did a full turn, he could see the whole archipelago, no island hidden by another here. Today they all seemed inconceivably close. Almost crowded, lined up in a meticulous circle. As if they had rearranged themselves. The air was was tremendously clear.
Dupin could make out a boat that was clearly coming from Saint-Nicolas and seemedto be heading towards him. At first he’d thought it was making for the passage between Bananec and Guiriden, but it was making course towards him too plainly for that. It was a pointed, narrow boat. He recognised it now. It was the Bir. He saw Goulch on his raised captain’s booth. The two young police officers in the bow. Dupin reached for his phone before realising that there was actually no reception here. Goulch signalled to him with both hands. After a brief moment of confusion, Dupin understood. Goulch wanted to take him on board and get him to the mainland.
Dupin had in fact intended to go into the Quatre Vents again. To see Solenn Nuz one more time. But maybe that wasn’t a good idea. Perhaps it wasn’t the appropriate time. He would need to speak to her again very soon anyway. Purely because of the formalities, because of the report. And the official statements. Dupin had sworn to himself yesterday never to set foot on a boat again. To travel only by helicopter from now on. But the advantage of the boat would be that he would be back quickly. And the Bir could drop him off exactly where he wanted, he wouldn’t waste any time. And his interest in getting there, which was almost verging on a longing, was great. It was quarter past one. It would just about work out.
The dinghy had already been launched, one of the two young police officers was on board in his oversized tailored uniform.
Four or five metres from his almost-island, the little boat came to a stop. The police officer looked at him expectantly and politely. Dupin understood. This time he sat down for a moment, took off his shoes and socks, rolled up his trousers – and strode without hesitation through the Atlantic. Two minutes later Commissaire Dupin was on board the Bir.
Goulch nodded to the Commissaire, Dupin didn’t know exactly what it meant, but it seemed to mean a lot. A profound understanding. Dupin nodded back with the same subtle, meaningful head movement.
Dupin was finding everything tough. This case. The ‘solution’. Even his own decision. The decision to leave it the way it had been presented to him. But which didn’t correspond to the truth, Dupin was sure of it. Was that right? He thought about the old man. He thought about Solenn Nuz. About Nolwenn’s words. That the Glénan were her kingdom. A magical kingdom. And about the fact that Solenn Nuz had had a dream, together with her husband. To live in this place. In their place. This dream had been brutally taken from her. For ever. What did Solenn Nuz deserve? She would be alone her entire life. One way or another.
Dupin was sure that he would be making things too easy for himself if he were to dismiss the question of what was ‘right’ as the ‘wrong question’. After all it was a fundamental question, but perhaps it wasn’t the only one? Or, there were two true answers. Perhaps he, Georges Dupin, was caught up in an impossible dilemma. They did exist.
Dupin realised how terribly tired he was. How utterly exhausted. So much so that even going by boat on the open sea on rough waters at top speed didn’t bother him. He ought to stop brooding. In his state, that led nowhere. This case, he knew, would still be with him for a very, very long time to come.
The islands had been sharply outlined behind them just now, almost touchable and now, just a short while later, they were nebulous silhouettes, getting more and more blurred with every metre that the Bir covered as it sped away. He strained his eyes, scouring the horizon. Already, he could not have said whether they weren’t just clouds over the sea that he was seeing – dust, hazy reflections of light on the brightly glittering sea on this silvery day. The Glénan had dissolved into infinite nothingness again. They had disappeared.
* * *
It was quarter past two when Dupin walked into the Amiral. He had walked down the long stone quay, where the Bir had left him ashore to the end with the large parking places, the picturesque old town and, on the other side of the street, the restaurant.
Girard was standing behind the counter, busy with an impressive knife and a paper-thin tarte aux pommes, the last of the lunch customers having long since moved onto dessert. He had seen the Commissaire immediately and called over one of the garçons, handing him the knife.
To his not inconsiderable relief, Dupin saw that his regular table was free. The table to the left at the back, right in the corner of the brasserie, from where you could see everything. The people in the restaurant, the people outside on the squares, but above all: the three harbours. The new yacht harbour to the right, the local fishermen’s harbour on the left and the large open-sea harbour behind it. And between the harbours, the old fortress that had defied everything for five hundred years, never conquered by anyone, a large sundial fixed to the wall facing the Amiral. Underneath the sundial gleamed the words: ‘Le temps passe comme l’ombre’ – ‘Time passes like shadow.’ Sometimes it doesn’t, Dupin thought, sometimes it stands still forever.
It was invincible, indestructible, this fortress. Everything about it conveyed that it would stand there forever. Dupin was glad to be close to it today. To have something so unshakeable to hold onto.
‘Exhausted? Are you done?’
Girard was standing next to him.
‘I’m done.’
‘Was it bad?’
‘The worst.’
Girard looked at him with a warm, undramatic gaze.
‘I saw – real dolphins.’
Dupin couldn’t help smiling. He had more or less whispered this absurd sentence, but knew that Girard, even if he had heard it, wouldn’t say anything about it.
‘Entrecôte frites? Red? The usual?’
‘Absolutely.’ Something else occurred to him: ‘And before I forget: I have a visitor tomorrow evening. I could do with a table for two. Around eight or so.’
‘Noted.’
Commissaire Dupin leaned back. ‘The usual.’ There they were. The words that made everything all right. On this day. At the end of this day. And of all these things. That’s how it was. That’s really how it was.