The Fleur De Sel Murders

by Jean-Luc Bannalec

  The answer came just as softly. “I’m moving forward. Parallel to the river.”

  What was going on here? Cordier and Daeron must be in the area, and one of them had shot at him. Probably Cordier. But where was Daeron? Was he under her control?

  Dupin walked cautiously onward, through the thick shrubbery close to the bank. One leap and he would be on the bottom of the riverbed.

  He put the radio in his pants pocket and looked for some big stones. He found two. He threw the first one underhand as far as he could with the reduced swing. He threw it a few meters to the left and toward the street. He didn’t get lucky until the second stone, but the sound wasn’t all that loud. He seemed to have hit a tree. Nothing happened.

  He took the radio out of his pocket again and whispered, “Throw a few stones. Away from the river.”

  “Okay.”

  Dupin kept going. Then he paused.

  The radio came on again.

  “Boss?”

  Unmistakably Riwal.

  “Quiet, Riwal, I can’t talk right now, I’m being shot at,” Dupin whispered.

  “They’ve identified the speed trap photo, clearly Madame Cordier. And she was also a competitive shooter when she was a student in Paris. But we haven’t found any registered guns. Still, you should be careful, she knows what she’s doing.”

  “Thanks, Riwal!” Dupin almost burst out laughing.

  The high-pitched metallic hiss came again. But it seemed to be heading in a different direction. The shot wasn’t meant for him.

  Another hiss. Then silence again.

  Dupin stopped, motionless. A loud gunshot cracked. A SIG Sauer without a silencer. Rose.

  The seconds went past. Lengthened. Nothing happened. He assumed nobody had been hit.

  If Rose walked down diagonally toward the river now, she probably wouldn’t be far from him. He was unsure whether to move. Cordier could be somewhere to the side by now.

  “Hello? Hello? I’m here.”

  The loud call echoed across to him from the water from one of the boats. Not far away. It must have been Paul Daeron, although Dupin couldn’t identify the voice.

  Dupin was trying to peek through the bushes. His radio came on again, muffled.

  “Cordier must be exactly halfway between us. Daeron appears to be unharmed,” Rose whispered.

  “Cordier must know that backup will be here soon. In fact, the only option she has left is to flee.”

  He did think Cordier fully capable of another attack, but only if she could be sure her chances of success were realistic. Not as some dramatic showdown. She wasn’t desperate. She wouldn’t want to die in one final epic battle. The way she had acted during this case had a clear—albeit ruthless and brutal—logic. She wouldn’t see the point of dying here. It wasn’t clear how far she might get, but she could certainly get out of this situation, she’d be able to figure that much out. The terrain was absolutely vast.

  “This is the police. Give yourself up, Madame Cordier.” Rose’s voice was loud and aggressive. “Put down your weapon and come out with your hands up.”

  Dupin thought it over briefly, but decided to remain hidden. Even Rose herself had to be speaking from her hiding place right now.

  “We will not hesitate to shoot. It’s over—you’re out of options.”

  Again, no response. Nothing. For the first few minutes, images from Wednesday evening had raced through Dupin’s head. Images from when he was standing in the pool, then in the hut. The powerlessness, the helplessness, and yes, even the humiliation. Someone had shot him; it had been close. His profound, burning rage returned. It wasn’t going to happen to him again. He wouldn’t allow himself to be cornered again.

  The radio came on.

  “I can see a green dinghy just a few meters away from the bank. It should almost be where you are. It’s probably the one from earlier. But it looks empty.”

  “Could be a distraction technique. Or a trap. And she wants us to reveal ourselves.” Dupin was less than half a meter from the riverbed.

  Suddenly he could see the small green dinghy too. Just four or five meters away. It was drifting in the current. Moving more quickly than he would have expected. He couldn’t see anyone either.

  The hard plastic boats weren’t long, but they were quite deep. A slim woman could be lying flat on the bottom inside it.

  Yes, it could be a trap.

  But he would take the risk.

  As quick as a flash, he stood up halfway, enough to be able to get a look into the boat.

  Empty. It was empty. The only thing in it was half a plastic bottle for bailing out water.

  Dupin took cover again immediately. He needed to think. Think hard.

  If Cordier had been watching all of this, and there must have been some point to the maneuver, then she must know where he was now. He picked up the radio. “The boat’s empty.”

  “She just wanted to know where we are. Get a handle on the whole situation. She wants to escape. We can’t see anything when we’re hiding.”

  This was true. But if they gave up their cover and Cordier was in a good position, they would be offering her some easy targets.

  Suddenly it hit Dupin. Something had occurred to him. Maybe it was crazy—but this could be it. Cordier was sophisticated. It would be a clever move. He thought she was capable of it. And if he was right—then he needed to act immediately. Even if acting would be highly risky. He wouldn’t wait helplessly again. Not this time.

  “Give me covering fire. Right on the bank. Try to stay reasonably well hidden. Now!”

  “What are you planning to do?”

  Dupin had already dropped the radio.

  With one huge leap he jumped out of the undergrowth and onto the hard sand of the riverbed. He went straight into a sprint, his gun in his right hand. Everything was happening at top speed.

  His sprint ended in line with the dinghy and he ran into the water. It was up to his knees, and then, visible through the milky water, the water suddenly got deeper. The channel.

  The green plastic boat was about three meters away from him. The SIG Sauer was trained firmly on the empty boat.

  “Madame Cordier,” Dupin said loudly, his voice deep, penetrating, firm, “drop the gun immediately.”

  He stared at the empty boat. “I’m going to shoot. The bullets will penetrate through the plastic. Three, two…”

  Before he could count “one,” something black flew through the air from behind the boat and made a loud splash as it hit the water. A pistol.

  Every possible course of action was pointless. Cordier knew it. She had no cover and couldn’t see Dupin. And he would have opened fire. Without hesitation. She had known that too.

  It was over.

  A moment later, he saw two hands grasp the back wall of the boat.

  “That’s good. Maneuver the boat onto land.”

  It had been a brilliant idea. Cordier was not in the boat—she was behind it. In the water. She must have got into the river by the thicket in front of them, setting the dinghy she had used earlier expertly into the current. Swimming, invisible to Dupin and Rose. If her plan had worked, she would have let herself drift farther down the river and would have got away.

  Dupin was still standing in the same position, his gun trained on the place where her head had to be behind the wall of the boat. But now the boat was moving unmistakably in the direction of the bank. Two or three seconds later, Dupin grabbed it. He held it fast.

  “Come on.” His tone was harsh.

  Céline Cordier appeared round the left-hand side of the boat.

  She stood up slowly. Totally self-assured. The water was up to her waist. With provocatively measured steps, she walked to the bank. Her white T-shirt and jeans were covered in greenish mud. Still not saying a word. A clear, determined look in her amber eyes. Dupin let go of the boat, keeping the gun still firmly trained on her.

  “That’s it, Madame Cordier. That’s how this ends.”

  She looked
at him. Frankly. Fearlessly. Calmly. For a moment their gazes locked.

  “How did you find out? How did you end up here?” Her voice was clear too, firm, determined. No drama. She was genuinely interested.

  “That’s unimportant. All that counts is that we’re here.”

  Dupin heard footsteps behind him. He didn’t turn around. A moment later Rose appeared, her gun already back in the holster on her belt. But her handcuffs were open.

  “I’m arresting you for the murder of Lilou Breval—and for the suspected murder of Maxime Daeron. And for the attempted murder of Commissaire Georges Dupin.” Rose was standing right in front of her.

  Cordier held her arms out without being asked. Rose put the handcuffs on in just a few deft movements. Her gaze met Cordier’s briefly. Dupin saw a flicker in Rose’s eyes.

  Then Rose turned toward the river. “Monsieur Paul Daeron—this is Commissaire Rose from the Commissariat de Police Guérande. Come out of your hiding place. A police boat will be here any moment and will bring you over to us.”

  It took a moment for a head to appear abruptly above the railing of a motorboat twenty meters upstream, much closer than Dupin had thought it would be. The head was followed by the rest of Paul Daeron. He made a hand signal to show he had understood everything.

  The radio handset came on. “We’re with you, Commissaire. There’s a team in every dead end.”

  Excellent. Good timing.

  “Arrest successful. Everything is secure.”

  “Good. We’ll come to you. Over.”

  Rose stashed the radio away in her pants pocket.

  Four police officers came running toward them from the small path next to the stream.

  Madame Cordier made no move to say anything. She looked around, calm; defiantly calm. And superior.

  Dupin had so many questions. Questions only she could answer. But he felt extremely reluctant to ask her. He knew asking her would give her some satisfaction. And she knew she mustn’t say anything, not one word.

  The police officers came running over to them.

  “Take her away. To the commissariat. I’ll question her there. She’s going to want to speak to her lawyer.”

  There was a smile on Cordier’s face. Just a hint of one, but Rose must have noticed it. She paused for a moment. Looking Madame Cordier right in the eye. Penetratingly. Then, out of nowhere, a smile spread across Commissaire Rose’s face. A frank smile. A smile of victory that wasn’t even particularly meant for Madame Cordier. How must she have felt. It didn’t get more brutal than that.

  “Do you know why murderers do it all? They think they’ll get away with it. But they don’t get away with it. You didn’t.”

  Rose’s voice could not have been icier. Without pathos or aggression. It was a sentence that restored order. And made Madame Cordier into nothing more than an exemplary aberration. An eradicated aberration. Dupin understood these words. Profoundly. Deep down inside.

  The police boat had now come level with where they were on the river. The captain had seen them and was standing on deck with a megaphone. He was in the process of mooring by the motorboat Daeron was hiding on.

  “We’ll bring him over to you now.”

  Dupin walked a few steps along the waterline. He took a deep breath. He closed his eyes, held his breath for a few seconds, breathed out hard, and opened his eyes again. He half turned and saw four police officers surround Madame Cordier and head for the small path where the cars were parked.

  * * *

  A dinghy brought Paul Daeron across and then went straight back to its mothership. The captain asked whether they still needed him—but everything was done. The police boat, majestic and gleaming in the evening sunlight, was already turning around.

  They were alone with Paul Daeron.

  They would go to their car soon too. Paul Daeron was stooped, his gaze vacant as he stared at the silty ground. The sun was coloring the river a metallic orange. The silence was absolute.

  “It’s all my fault. I made a terrible mistake. Lots of terrible mistakes.”

  He looked utterly exhausted. Broken. Even worse than this morning. This was no pretense. This was familiar to Dupin, the moment when people began to talk. Finally needed to talk.

  “Maxime had this … this disastrous idea. With Céline Cordier. Yes, maybe it was their joint idea really. I don’t know. I wasn’t involved at that stage. A green algae repellent. It was intended to be used in the affected areas. They both sat on one of those committees where algae kept on coming up.” Riwal’s theory had been correct. “At first it was just a vague idea to my brother, I think. Completely and utterly insane. Céline Cordier said it was doable. Then they got more and more caught up in it. Maxime saw it as the chance of a lifetime. And that there were millions to be made. It was his chance to turn everything around. He was so naïve. At some point he came to me, as always. He asked me for money. He openly told me why he needed it. He told me everything. I said no. I … I tried to talk him out of it. I told him it was illegal. But…” He broke off for a second, breathing shallowly. “But I didn’t do anything. And Céline Cordier was fanatical from the beginning. She never considered going to a research laboratory with it, she always said they’d just steal the idea. And that it would take years to get a license—if they ever did get one—and that she didn’t believe in it. She knew the procedures, knew how things worked. I should have realized then how ruthless she was. At some point it became clear to me that she would stop at nothing, but by then it was too late. She could be convincing. Very convincing. She tried to explain everything to me in forensic detail. But I said no. Then my brother decided he wanted to sell his salt marshes to Le Sel. To get his hands on some money. They needed money. Quite a lot of it. Céline Cordier didn’t have much, but she invested all she had.” Daeron wasn’t easy to understand, he was speaking so softly and monotonously. “Then I gave Maxime ninety thousand euro because I didn’t want him to sell the salt marshes. That was crazy. I never believed their plan would be successful. I made a terrible mistake. I should have ended it immediately. Céline Cordier wanted me to be in on it. So that I would be putting everything I had at stake too. Everything, everything. I should have seen then how far she would go. But how … Who could know that everything would get out of hand like this? She pressed ahead with everything. Organized it all with military precision. Maxime soon didn’t have a role anymore. She … could only think about her own profit. Not about anything or anyone else. And she thinks that’s her right. Her God-given right. Maxime was a sidekick. Still, I … I was even more naïve than Maxime, much worse, unforgivably so, I should have—”

  Daeron broke off again. He turned toward the river and looked at the sluggish but ever-flowing dark green water. Only now did Dupin notice the usual river smell, the brackish water.

  “Maxime … I always wanted to do things right, and I did it all wrong. Somehow he could never get his act together. Not that he didn’t try. He always tried. Again and again. He was serious about it. But he never saw it through.” Paul raised his voice slightly. “He always threw it away. His whole life. He always seemed like such a strong character, but that was deceptive. Everything he tried, it failed, every time. And then, then he’d come to me. Always. To me. And I never said anything. I always sorted things out for him. I just wanted him to have a good life.”

  It all sounded awful. Unfathomably horrible. Maxime Daeron had seemed so confident. This was a harrowing tale, Dupin felt. And, as sincere as his elder brother sounded—the “successful brother,” who had achieved everything—it didn’t take away from how awful it was. It must have been brutal for Maxime Daeron. And tragic. Besides: nothing could free Paul Daeron of his responsibility after the fact; he was aware of that himself. He had not acted when he heard what Cordier and his brother had planned—he had even got involved in a highly illegal project. He went along with it, enabling everything that had ended up so horrendously for his brother.

  “It was the same in his professional l
ife as his personal life. His marriage. It all fell apart.”

  “How far had you actually got with the algae repellent?” Dupin had had enough of the fateful brothers’ tale.

  “It was as good as ready. Céline Cordier wanted to complete the final testing by the end of the summer. She said she was already in serious talks with several firms outside France. About selling it. The finished formula—its illegal origins wouldn’t be clear from looking at it. The companies could then get the license themselves, register the patent, and produce it completely legally.”

  “How did Lilou Breval come to stand in your way? What happened the evening before last?”

  Daeron’s gaze was still fixed on the water, which was getting more and more intensely orange by the minute.

  “She found out something from a phone call between my brother and Céline Cordier. Something vague. But enough that it was clear to her that something underhanded was going on. She picked up something about the barrels they used to get the microorganisms to the salt marshes. The microorganisms and also the algae. She brought it up with my brother. He denied everything. She didn’t believe him. They argued.” He looked at Dupin for the very first time, with an expression of profound resignation. “Everything he told you about it is true—as is everything I told you in our conversation this morning.” He turned back to the water. “Lilou Breval then tried to find out more under her own steam. She failed, but she didn’t let up. On Tuesday she took my brother to task again and threatened to go to the police. I think she was worried about him. That he had got caught up in something. That’s when I told him he had to end the project. Maxime panicked. He called Céline Cordier and told her about Lilou Breval’s threat.”

  Paul Daeron stopped. At first Dupin thought it was just a brief pause. But Paul Daeron remained silent and motionless.

  “And then? Go on,” Dupin said brusquely. He realized he had been feeling more and more on edge as Daeron spoke. He didn’t care. Rose kept her eyes fixed on Paul Daeron the entire time, and it was impossible to tell what she was thinking. She hadn’t said a word yet. She seemed to want to leave it up to Dupin.