The Vieux Scaphandre was as much a symbol of Marseille as its boats and wood-fired pizzas. It was the town’s oldest, best-known, and best-stocked diving store. Vidal pushed open the door and immediately felt as though he was walking into a cartoon. To his right, he was welcomed by a mannequin dressed in an ancient deep-sea diving outfit, its orange color partially bleached by years in the sea. Vidal was intrigued and stared at its face through the meshed window of its bronze helmet, then looked down at its lead-soled shoes.
“Can I help you, sir?”
“Good morning, Maxime Vidal, murder squad …”
Gilbert Simian, the shop’s owner, propped his glasses up on his bald pate and looked at Vidal with eyes as round as marbles.
“You’re from the police?”
“That’s right. I’m investigating a disappearance.”
“Really?”
With a wave of his hand, Simian beckoned him into the back of the shop.
As they passed a display case, Vidal noticed the same type of knife as had been found in Sugiton. A collection of flippers of every conceivable color were piled up any old how on some shelves. Below them, two fluorescent yellow and blue wetsuits dangled from hangers, with large labels pinned to them: “Special Offer.”
The office was in the same apparent mess.
“So, how can I be of help?” Simian asked.
“Well, I want to know if you sold a diving knife and torch with the following serial numbers.”
Vidal handed him a piece of paper.
“What makes you think they were bought here?”
“You’re the best-known shop, that’s all.”
Simian grimaced, pursing his lips.
“For the ‘Lagoon Legend,’ it won’t be difficult because I don’t sell that many. But for the torch …”
“So start with the knife.”
“I don’t have a computer. I don’t know how to use them. Otherwise, it would be quicker! And as I don’t keep customer records …”
Simian stood to open a decrepit cupboard. On top of it stood a huge, scale model of a clipper in full sail, measuring about a meter long.
“Here, I still have all the bills since last May. I say ‘May’ because that’s when the knife came out.”
The owner of the Vieux Scaphandre looked about sixty and spoke with a heavy Marseille accent. The skin of his hands and face had been weathered by the sea. Two deep lines furrowed his forehead.
“There … I sold two ‘Lagoon Legends’ … one on May 20 and the other on August 30 … and you say the serial number was K6-2216?”
“That’s right.”
“Here’s a copy of the guarantee … you’re lucky, it was a customer who has an account here! His name’s Franck Luccioni.”
Simian pushed his glasses on to his forehead and sat up in his chair. His eyes searched Vidal’s.
“Wasn’t Luccioni found dead at Le Torpilleur?”
“Exactly …”
“Goodness me! But just now you told me you were investigating a disappearance.”
“We can’t reveal everything …”
Simian’s hand flopped heavily on to a stack of bills. Vidal remained impassive.
“You also asked me about the torch …”
“Indeed.”
“That could take some time. It’s a very popular model …”
“Look at the same period. You never know …”
“I’ll try a different way … I’ll take a look at the stock book.”
He went back to his cupboard and removed a file covered with stickers of various brands of diving equipment. After a few minutes, Vidal stood up and paced around the store. On a noticeboard, several small ads offered trips out to sea. Beside them was a poster for the Le Guen Cave exhibition, going back to the time when it was first discovered. Vidal read the large letters printed on a negative hand: “The Frescoes of Silence. The Treasures of Le Guen’s Cave.”
Then Simian’s voice called out from his office:
“O.K., I’ve found it!”
Vidal returned to the room.
“It was Luccioni as well. It’s lucky he had a customer account, otherwise we’d never have found the name! There you are, he bought it on March 15.”
Vidal wanted to ask him a few questions about lifting blocks of concrete under water, but he restrained himself. He produced a photo of Luccioni.
“Did you know him?”
“No, he was a customer, that’s all.”
“Did he come here often?”
“Quite often, yes. He bought a lot of things here: crossbows, masks, a knife … He was a good customer!”
“Nothing else?”
“No, nothing …”
Simian looked sorry as he shook his head. “He was a good diver, was he?”
“To judge from the equipment he bought, he must have been very good. He must have done underwater pot-holing too. When I looked through my bills just now, I noticed that at the beginning of last year he bought a 20-watt lamp and a T 25, a superb lamp with two Xenon bulbs and a revolver grip. It can last for up to four hours … a marvelous piece of kit!”
“What would equipment like that be used for?”
“For anything, just to see underwater …”