Murder on Brittany Shores

by Jean-Luc Bannalec

  ‘One moment. I’m going outside.’

  Reluctantly, Dupin stepped outside.

  ‘You want to tell me that the third man drowned, like the two others?’

  It sounded more sarcastic that he’d intended. Investigating the death was the right thing to do.

  ‘The serum is headed towards pink. The blood is already slightly haemolytic, the corpuscles have begun to dissolve. That means that the detectable substances have already diminished somewhat, it…’

  ‘Savoir, what are you saying?’

  ‘Benzodiazepines. Benzodiazepines can be detected in the blood serum in a reasonably significant concentration.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘I had the toxicology tests done using high-pressure as a quick method. Normally…’

  Dupin raised his voice.

  ‘I want to know what that means!’

  ‘Benzodiazepines were detected in Lefort’s blood. They’re a group of strong sedatives. You’ll know Valium. Or Lexotanil. Another twenty-four hours and and it would no longer have been possible to detect, the corpuscles would have been…’

  ‘What? He had what?’

  It had not been a proper question.

  ‘He had a not insignificant amount of benzodiazepines…’

  ‘I understood.’

  Dupin stood as though rooted to the spot. Savoir took up the thread again.

  ‘I don’t think he took that kind of dosage intentionally, he would have had to know how that ends, in combination with the alcohol that we could detect…’

  ‘Was it a lethal dosage?’

  ‘As I said: he died by drowning. But the dosage was undoubtedly high enough to produce severe disorientation and a serious loss of coordination. And that definitely has considerable consequences if you have to handle a delicate navigation by boat with an impending storm.

  ‘How severe do you think the effect was?’

  ‘It’s hard to say. It depends on too many factors and the exact amount of benzodiazepines in the blood can no longer be determined. The only thing that can be said is that it was considerable and definitely manifested itself in the symptoms I just mentioned. And as I said: you must take into account the additional alcohol consumed in no small quantity, it was a good 1.5 millimetres…’

  Dupin had not really been listening during Savoir’s last few sentences.

  It was murder. They were dealing with a murder!

  ‘Bloody hell.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  Dupin rushed to try and get his thoughts in order.

  ‘Have you analysed all three of the men’s blood?’

  ‘We could detect benzodiazepines in Monsieur Lefort and Monsieur Konan, that alone makes an accidental misuse unlikely. We couldn’t detect anything in the blood serum of the third dead man.’

  Dupin’s thoughts were racing. In all directions.

  ‘How long do these drugs take to work? I mean, after taking them: how long before an effect occurs that you really feel?’

  ‘Half an hour. Not longer. But then things go quite fast. At first you just feel a bit odd.’

  ‘Can these substances be dissolved in liquids? In drinks, I mean?’

  ‘Very easily. They dissolve quickly. You can dissolve them in a small amount of liquid and add them to something else without any difficulty – food or drink for instance, neither would be a problem. You can’t taste it.’

  It was a cunning murder, carefully thought through.

  ‘Can you comment on the time of death yet?’

  ‘No, and it won’t happen quickly either. Can you narrow down the timings from your end yet?’

  ‘At the moment I would say that the boat might have capsized after around quarter past nine yesterday evening. And probably not later than quarter to ten or ten o’clock. But please keep this new information to yourself for now, Docteur Savoir.’

  ‘As you wish.’

  ‘Thank you, Docteur.’

  Dupin hadn’t moved an inch. He was staring motionless at the staunchly majestic chamber lying there and at Fort Cigogne opposite. Everything was exactly as it had been a few minutes ago. But for him and for the case, everything had changed. Dramatically. Dupin broke away and walked towards the beach. He felt slightly dizzy. Mechanically, he felt about for his phone.

  ‘Monsieur le Commissaire, good to…’

  ‘It was murder.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  Nolwenn’s ‘Excuse me?’ came very softly.

  ‘I need Riwal and Kadeg. I want to see the two of them here as quickly as possible. But don’t say anything about the new situation yet. I want it to stay between us for the time being.’

  There was no specific reason for this, it was essentially Dupin’s way of keeping some things back for now. To have everything under control.

  ‘I will have to inform the Prefect immediately – urgently and on your behalf.’

  That was unfortunately true, there was nothing for it.

  ‘All right, good.’

  Dupin almost hung up. But Nolwenn needed some more information. For the Prefect, but especially because it was always good when Nolwenn was up to speed.

  ‘Somebody administered a large dose of valium or something similar, benzodiazepines, to Konan and Lefort, presumably here in the Quatre Vents, probably some time between half eight and a little before nine, enough to result in severe coordination difficulties relatively quickly, which would explain a shipwreck. At Guiautec, on the edge of the chamber, a diver discovered a sunken boat. We must establish as quickly as possible who it’s registered to. Then we’ll have the third man.’

  ‘And were there no benzodiazepines present in the third man’s blood?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then Lefort or Konan must have been steering the boat. But why wasn’t the third man, who owned it, doing that? If one of the two had noticed that they were coming over strange, wouldn’t they have been able to hand the steering over?’

  That was a good question.

  ‘That … no idea. They were probably the insured sailors, especially Lefort of course – Lefort knew every rock here. They had already seen the storm looming. And then the drugs quickly started to take effect. And on top of that they had been drinking and we’re not talking a small amount. People overestimate themselves even more when they’ve been drinking.’

  He thought it sounded plausible to a certain extent, this on-the-spot improvisation of his. Even though it was pure speculation.

  ‘And why didn’t the third man have benzodiazepines administered to him?’

  ‘That obviously wasn’t necessary.’

  Dupin had improvised again – and again, he found it plausible.

  ‘But we’re not at that stage yet.’

  ‘The Prefect is going to be very involved, Monsieur le Commissaire. I mean: personally involved.’

  Dupin was fully aware of the scale of this case, he was under no false pretences.

  ‘He will definitely want to speak to you personally. I will tell him – truthfully – that you are already in the midst of important interrogations. You should speak to him later. When he has calmed down again somewhat.’

  ‘Thanks, Nolwenn.’

  Without realising it, Dupin had kept walking during the conversation. He now found himself on the northern tip of the island. He was still grappling with the new reality.

  The chance of this murder ever being discovered at all had been slim. Everything had – the murderer could be sure of this – pointed towards the deaths of these three men being considered an accident forever. Just a few hours later and the strong sedatives would no longer have been detectable. And had the boat not wrecked here on the archipelago, but somewhere on the way to the coast instead, or had the bodies stumbled into a different current here in the vicinity of the Glénan during the severe storm, they would, like the majority of people lost at sea, never have been found. It was, you had to admit, without doubt a cold-blooded and cleverly conceived murder. It had not been a spo
ntaneous act, Dupin was sure of that. No sudden escalation of emotion. It appeared somebody had been waiting for the right moment. It was an act that betrayed great discipline. But had the murderer had all three men in mind? Or just one or two of them, tolerating the death of the other or others in the end? Only Lefort and Konan had been seen in the Quatre Vents. Also, perhaps there was not just one murderer.

  New questions and possibilities kept occurring to Dupin. All kinds of things, all at the same time. He had to get his thoughts in order. Ask himself what was the most urgent thing now. Above all he had the vague feeling he needed to be quick, very quick. But he had nothing under control yet. Nothing at all. He was right at the beginning.

  Dupin switched his phone to vibrate. And to ‘call divert in case of unanswered call’ – during hours of studying the crazy menu and sub-menu commands, he had taught himself this one skill in handling his phone. He wouldn’t answer any more calls where he didn’t recognise the number. It was always the old familiar drama: not just the Prefect, but also other ‘important’ people would absolutely ‘desperately’ want to speak to him now and, of course, want to know how the investigations were going. Especially to emphasise urgently how tragic this case was and what devastating consequences it had already had. And also what consequences there would be for every minute that it remained unsolved. Dupin hated this and from now on he could easilybe busy all evening having that kind of conversation.

  * * *

  The air had become heavier, closer and, of the little oxygen that had been present before, there was now even less left as Dupin walked back into the Quatre Vents.

  It seemed absolutely surreal to him now – in the spot where he had eaten the best lobster of his life earlier in an almost holiday atmosphere, a capital murder had in all likelihood taken place. That was one of the thoughts that had just gone through his head. Of course, it was possible that Konan and Lefort, without suspecting it, had ingested the sedative after their visit to the Quatre Vents, perhaps the perpetrator had mixed it into water bottles on the boat, but Dupin considered that quite unlikely. It would have been difficult for the murderer to predict in advance whether they would ingest it – and whether it would be at the ‘right’ time. Incalculable. It seemed most likely that somebody had mixed the drug unnoticed into the food or drink in the Quatre Vents. But that meant: the murderer must have been here yesterday evening.

  Riwal and Kadeg hadn’t arrived yet. Solenn Nuz, who was dealing with the coffee machine with her left hand and, at the same time, topping up a wine glass with her right – an impressive formation of glasses was standing in front of her on the counter lifted her head briefly and threw Dupin a friendly, knowing look as if to mean: ‘Work…’ It only crossed Dupin’s mind now that they had been in the middle of a conversation when Savoir’s call came. No matter how inconvenient it might be for her right now, he needed to speak to her. Her above all. She and her daughters would most likely know who had been in the Quatre Vents yesterday evening. At this stage, they were interested in all customers. They needed a complete list as quickly as possible.

  Dupin wound his way between the tables and approached the bar.

  ‘Something urgent?’

  ‘Yes, unfortunately.’

  Solenn Nuz had good intuition, which did not surprise Dupin in the slightest.

  ‘Come with me.’

  With the same minimal head movement as before, she gestured towards the kitchen and turned around. Dupin followed her. The elder daughter was just unloading the dishwasher. In the opposite corner of the room there was even space for a little table and four chairs, the same as on the terrace, although they had been painted a deep Atlantic blue. It was cramped, but homely at the same time, cosy, there were two open bottles of wine on the table, a few half-full glasses and next to them lay half a baguette and two candles in empty wine bottles. Solenn Nuz stood by the table for a moment.

  ‘You and your daughters might be very helpful to us. We need an exact, complete list of all customers who were in the Quatre Vents yesterday evening. Between seven and nine o’clock. Nobody can be missed off. And we need it as quickly as possible.’

  As before, Dupin had tried to sound calm, to convey it as routine, but Solenn Nuz had already realised that something had changed. Really changed this time. What could Dupin say? He couldn’t minimise the urgency of course, just so that his request didn’t come across as suspicious.

  ‘If you could discuss this your daughters?’

  It was clearly on the tip of Solenn Nuz’s tongue to ask what all of this meant. But she didn’t. For which Dupin was very grateful. After a brief pause, she answered in a considered tone.

  ‘As I said, a proportion of the customers who come here, we don’t know. The participants on the sailing and diving courses, for instance. You see some of them several days in a row, some just once. And the visitors with their own boats, day trippers and so on.’

  ‘We will also make enquiries at the sailing school and in the diving centre.’

  ‘It’s important, is it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘My daughters and I will be able to get a significant list together. There were lots of regulars there too. I’ve already mentioned some of the people to you.’

  ‘That would be very kind, Madame Nuz. And another pressing issue: do you or your daughters remember what Konan and Lefort ate and drank last night?’

  ‘What they ate and drank?’

  Her eyebrows shot up. Dupin was aware that this question – even more obviously than the request for the list – was likely to betray that something was absolutely and utterly wrong here.

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘We’ll try to remember. I think Konan had the lobster. But I’m not sure.’

  ‘And who has access to the drinks and the food?’

  ‘Apart from us, you mean?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘We prepare the drinks behind the counter and then put them on the trays on the counter. We fetch the food from the kitchen. Sometimes the trays sit there for a moment before the customers collect them or we bring them to the table. We do that if it’s taking a relatively long time. It’s always pandemonium at the bar. People cluster together there. You just saw it for yourself. We can’t keep any track then.’

  ‘I see. We…’

  The younger Nuz daughter was suddenly standing in front of them.

  ‘There’s a police officer, an Inspector Kadeg. He’s looking for you.’

  ‘I’m coming.’

  Dupin turned back to Solenn Nuz.

  ‘I would be grateful if you could make a start immediately.’

  She looked resigned. Dupin understood this well – thirty cheerful and happy paying customers were sitting out front and it was dinnertime.

  ‘I’ll start straight away,’ and she added in her younger daughter’s direction, ‘you’ll have to manage by yourself out front for a few minutes. And then I need you back here for a few moments. Both of you.’

  ‘Thanks very much, Madame Nuz.’

  Dupin turned around and went back into the bar. Kadeg was standing right at the counter with a typically desperate look on his face.

  ‘There’s quite a lot to discuss, Monsieur le Commissaire.’

  Dupin could almost have laughed, Kadeg’s sentence seemed so absurd in light of the new situation.

  Kadeg followed Dupin, who had walked straight past him, heading towards the door. Outside, Dupin walked a few more metres at the same pace, only coming to a standstill once he was in front of the naïve surrealist mural, right in front of the penguin. He hadn’t even turned around fully when Kadeg blurted it out.

  ‘We know who the third man is, in all likelihood.’ Kadeg left a small dramatic pause, then intoned almost solemnly: ‘Grégoire Pajot! A developer, a Breton, from Quimper, now has the headquarters of his company in Paris, where he probably lives most of the time. He owns a house in Bénodet. The Breton branch of his company is in Quimper. The sunken boat, the Conquerer, is registered to
him, if only for the last three months. It’s a brand new boat.’

  Everything was delivered in the eager staccato that Kadeg loved.

  ‘How do we know this?’

  ‘Goulch and his people went down to the boat and found the registration. Pajot had a mooring spot in the Port de Plaisance in Bénodet and one across the way in Sainte-Marine.’

  ‘Has Savoir been informed? He will need photos for an initial identification.’

  ‘Goulch informed him straight away.’

  ‘Does he have a wife, family?’

  ‘Unmarried. We don’t know anything more yet.’

  ‘And how do we even know that?’

  ‘In the harbour office you have to deposit the permit for the boat and a copy of your boat-driving license. I spoke to the harbour master in Bénodet on the phone. He told me what he knew, which wasn’t much. He barely knows Monsieur Pajot, he said, because he’s only had his space for a short time after all. One of the best, most expensive spots, by the way. The harbour master at Sainte-Marine knew even less. Nothing at all, really. I also spoke to him directly on the phone.’

  ‘Has his company not been in touch, was he not missed?’

  ‘We don’t know that yet. Who were they meant to get in touch with? The police? So most people wait, to begin with. I’ve asked Bellec to sound out initial findings about Pajot from his company – he’ll definitely have a secretary.’

  Much as it pained him, Dupin had to admit Kadeg was right. And Bellec was still inexperienced but he was an intelligent police officer who had impressed Dupin on a number of previous occasions. He was ridiculously quick, forthright, athletic, with impressive arm muscles and a long scar on his right cheek, the origins of which he kept shrouded in mystery.

  ‘Why did Pajot have two mooring spots for one boat and so close together?’

  Like Bénodet, Sainte-Marine was in the mouth of the Odet, where the river had long since become a three- or four-hundred-metre wide fjord and then gradually turned into the open sea. The two places were directly opposite each other. Sainte-Marine was – along with Port Manech, which was at the mouth of the Aven – the most beautiful place on the whole coast, Dupin thought. He loved it, including the two restaurants right on the quay, which he knew very well. Bénodet was also pretty, much larger and had more shops, hotels and restaurants, but Dupin preferred Sainte-Marine.