This unexpected twist could mean anything. They needed to rethink everything.
“No.”
“Your husband didn’t get to Lilou Breval’s house till just before eleven o’clock. That’s the evidence your husband gave, and because of an eyewitness statement we know it must be true. Lilou Breval wasn’t even home earlier than that.”
“Maybe he was working late in the salt marshes.”
“According to his own statement, he left the salt marshes at half past seven.”
“Where did he go after that?”
It didn’t look like an act. Annie Daeron seemed to be wondering this for the first time.
“At the moment, we’re checking if the gun we found next to your husband is the same gun used to shoot at Commissaire Dupin in the salt marshes on Wednesday. Your husband said he didn’t own any guns. Is that correct?”
“Yes, yes, that’s true. Of course he didn’t have any guns. This is all so horrific.”
Annie Daeron looked lost. Kadeg had already checked into the gun question. There were no guns officially registered to Maxime Daeron, but sometimes guns got into people’s hands through other means.
“So nobody knows what your husband was doing between around eight o’clock and eleven, before he really left for the gulf.”
Annie Daeron’s expression, practically pleading, made it clear she was incapable of answering.
Maxime Daeron could now—according to the new story—have been in the salt marshes himself after all. So perhaps he had been the assailant. Or one of the assailants. And it would also fit with the suicide—something had escalated badly, spun completely out of control. Whatever it was. Although something in Dupin balked at this. They still knew too little. At least the ballistic analysis of the cartridges would soon shed some light on whether it was the same gun.
“We’ve got to ask you one more time what you were doing this time Wednesday evening. I hope you understand. And also where you were yesterday evening,” Rose said very softly. Annie Daeron didn’t look upset by this question at all. She seemed too distressed to realize she was now amongst the prime suspects in Lilou Breval’s murder.
“On Wednesday evening I was at home and on the phone a lot, I had a long conversation with my best friend, Françoise Badouri. For at least an hour. From around eight till nine. I spoke briefly to my mother. And to one of my colleagues. And my friend again. But for longer. I can give you all their names.”
“Did you speak on your landline?”
“Yes. I rang them all myself.”
The phone records and people could be checked.
“When did your last conversation end?”
“Quarter to midnight, or maybe a little later.”
If all of this was true, it couldn’t have been her.
“And yesterday?”
“I was at an event in Audierne until eleven o’clock. Then I had to drive back and I wasn’t home till one o’clock.”
For some reason Dupin hadn’t had Annie Daeron on his list before, not even yesterday. Although a wronged, jealous wife would obviously be plausible as a perpetrator.
“And your husband didn’t say on the night of the crime what he thought might have happened in the salt marshes?”
“No.”
It was clear she couldn’t take anymore.
“I made it a point to call him yesterday morning to find out if he knew any more yet, but it wasn’t to be. In the afternoon—I couldn’t get through to him, in the evening…” She couldn’t finish the sentence.
“You never heard anything about blue barrels?”
“No. A police officer already asked me about that yesterday.”
“The situation has of course now changed tragically.” Dupin was trying to phrase it delicately. “Was your husband caught up in something? Any activities in the salt gardens? Do you know about anything?”
“No. Nothing at all.”
Dupin was positive that, based on what they knew so far, there was no question of her being the perpetrator, but oddly enough he couldn’t be positive she was telling the truth. He dug deeper; they needed to get to the heart of the story at last.
“Was there anything unusual that he talked about or that you happened to find out? That seemed odd to you, as insignificant as it might seem?”
“No.”
“Thank you, Madame Daeron. You’ve been really helpful,” Rose said. She obviously didn’t think Madame Daeron would have anything else useful to say. “You should rest. Perhaps even see your doctor. They might be able to prescribe you a sedative.”
“I would like … to see my husband one more time. I can manage it now.”
“Of course. I’ll go with you. And then one of our colleagues will drive you home if you like. And someone else will drive your car.”
“I”—she positively slumped—“thanks. Yes.”
Annie Daeron stood up. Dupin was still worried that she would collapse.
“Your husband”—Commissaire Rose’s voice was almost intimate—“ended his relationship with Lilou Breval two weeks ago.”
Annie Daeron looked at her and at first it was hard to tell what her emotions were, but then gratitude spread across her face. She didn’t answer.
Rose went on ahead, slowly. Annie Daeron followed her hesitatingly. Dupin let a few seconds pass before standing up.
He needed to think. To be alone. Get moving, walk a little. These were dramatic developments. In this ever more complex, ever darker and larger case. And he needed to make some calls. Five calls had come through during the conversation with Madame Daeron. Nolwenn, an unknown number, Riwal three times—he must have something important to report.
Dupin fell back inconspicuously. Rose and Annie Daeron were already a few meters ahead of him and making their way toward the extension. He hesitated briefly, then turned left into the garden. For the second time, Inspector Chadron materialized out of nowhere and stood in front of him.
“Where should I tell Commissaire Rose you’re going?” Her tone was friendly, but definitely inquisitorial.
“I—” Dupin almost started stammering but he composed himself again. “Commissaire Rose has said it’s important that everyone does all that’s necessary without delay, so that we solve the case as swiftly as possible.”
Chadron gave him a skeptical look. Dupin walked past her unperturbed.
“I was supposed to…”
“You can get me on my mobile.”
Without awaiting any further response, he strode toward the front door.
His mood didn’t lift until he was on the street again. He knew where he would be able to think properly. And he needed to go to the quay anyway.
* * *
“Voilà.” With the same friendliness and incredible speed as yesterday, the young woman in the straw hat placed the espresso in front of him. She had greeted him as if he had been coming in for years, which he liked.
He was sitting in the same spot as yesterday, which was no coincidence. Dupin liked to turn things into rituals, and quite a few people affectionately made fun of him for it. Even Claire. Le San Francisco was wonderful again today, a happy corner of the earth, no doubt about it. It would be going on the list of “favorite places” he secretly kept; a very important, very personal list. He was sure Claire would love it too. Despite the chilling events of the morning, he kept thinking about her. She had come to see him—on her own birthday, it should have been the other way round—and he still thought it was wonderful.
He rummaged around for his mobile and got it out of his pocket with his left hand while drinking the still-hot coffee in small, expert mouthfuls with his right. He dialed Riwal’s number.
“What have we got, Riwal?”
“Maxime Daeron wanted to sell his salt marshes to Le Sel nine months ago.” Riwal sounded worked up.
“He wanted to what?”
“There’s more, boss. It actually got as far as a meeting with a notary and a signed contract between himself and Madame Laurent
. Then Maxime Daeron had the contract annulled. A few days later.” Riwal left a meaningful pause. “Le Sel brought in a lawyer and was planning to sue him to comply with the contract. But then they suddenly dropped the suit. That was three months ago.”
This was getting more and more baffling.
“Damn it, what does this all mean?”
“We’ll find out, boss.” Riwal’s optimism was unshakable.
“Riwal, I’d like to know exactly what state Maxime Daeron’s business was in. Get someone to look into it in forensic detail.”
“No problem. And what do you think, was it suicide?” his inspector said in a deliberately brooding way.
“Everything points that way, Riwal.”
“All the more reason to be suspicious.”
“Really?”
“If this was a crime novel, you’d think: everything points toward suicide, so the readers should think it isn’t suicide, because that would be too simple. But then for that very reason it actually is suicide, because that would be just as overly simple as if it wasn’t one after all. But if someone were to think that up and if the crime novel was good, then there would—”
“I get it, Riwal. This is not a crime novel.”
He hung up. Riwal’s love of crime novels wasn’t new, but for a while now Dupin felt it had been getting out of hand.
So was their case about business, takeovers, enormous plans, and financial hardship after all? Perhaps even that was just a part of the bigger story. Perhaps it was all linked in a way they just couldn’t see yet.
Dupin’s phone was almost still at his ear when it rang again. He glanced at the number.
Commissaire Rose.
“Yes?”
“Where are you?”
“I’m … investigating.”
She hadn’t known, apparently; but as he sat down just now he wondered if Chadron might have followed him, under orders, of course.
“Your colleague Kadeg has taken a look at the pool. Someone built a kind of underwater cage in it out of wood. It’s big and flat, with a net over it as if they wanted to keep fish. But it was empty. Nothing inside, nothing at all, just a few traces of algae. Green algae. And no clues as to the person who built it.”
This sounded mysterious. An underwater cage. He had seen green algae in some of the other, larger pools; it must get washed in with the seawater.
“And what’s more: the chemist detected a noticeably high concentration of bacteria in the water. He can’t yet say what the bacteria in question are. He says it looks like they might be ‘destruens.’ Apparently the concentration is significant and could under no circumstances have developed through natural biological processes. There is something in that pool.”
This last sentence sounded like something out of a horror film, even more so because it was so different from Rose’s usual rational approach and her icy tones.
“Something was poured into that pool,” Dupin said to himself more than her. This was big news.
He had been right. He had been right not to give up on the pool issue. And the barrels too.
“We’re also having the pool where the four barrels were found investigated for this bacteria. We’ve sealed off all adjacent salt marshes. I will inform Madam Cordier just in case.”
Dupin hadn’t thought of that, but of course she was right. The state-appointed food chemist. They’d need to let her know. Although he didn’t agree with it—just as he didn’t agree with passing on any kind of information whatsoever during an investigation, on principle. A deeply ingrained quirk he passed off as his method whenever disputes arose, which was not that infrequently.
“Fine. Anything else?”
Rose didn’t answer—perhaps he had been a bit abrupt. Dupin made an effort to create a particularly collaborative working environment with his next sentence:
“What I still have to report is that Maxime Daeron wanted to sell his salt marshes to Le Sel…”
“I’m up to speed. Your colleague couldn’t get hold of you—and he then called Inspector Chadron.”
“I…”
“I’m still a little tied up here. I assume we’re agreed that we pay Madame Laurent a visit next. She has been in Lorient for work since this morning. She has been instructed,” Rose spoke drily, “to drop everything immediately. So we’re best off seeing her at her home. On the Île d’Arz. That’s—”
“I know where it is.”
“Where shall we meet?”
Dupin reflected. “On the ferry in a few minutes.”
“Fine. See you then.”
“Wait. What are destruens?”
“Microorganisms that decompose things—they break down organic material completely or partially. They’re specific bacteria that decompose specific substances.”
“Okay.”
“At least that’s how the chemist explained it to me. See you on the ferry.”
Dupin stretched and looked at the sky. At last they had a real lead they could follow. A noticeably high, clearly unnatural concentration of bacteria. Destruens—if it were confirmed. Microorganisms that decomposed something very specific. But what? It was baffling. As was the odd wooden structure. What was the point of it?
Dupin signaled to the waitress and she came straight over. Rose’s “I’m still a little tied up” meant he would be able to order another espresso. And perhaps another of the lamb terrines. It had been excellent the first time and he’d only been able to have a few miserable bites of it.
“Another coffee. And the lamb terrine with figs from the island.”
“You’d like to try it again?”
She sounded upbeat and friendly. Dupin was only half listening. He was already lost in thought once more. The questions had multiplied with every new development and piece of news this morning. What did it mean that Maxime Daeron wanted to sell his salt marshes to Le Sel—and that he had kept it secret? And that he had told a lie about his whereabouts on Wednesday evening and made his wife do the same? That in theory he might have been involved in the activity in the salt marshes himself? That he had also had an affair with Ségolène Laurent? Above all, what did his death mean?
Rather absentmindedly, Dupin’s gaze wandered about. The terrace was much fuller than yesterday, it was half past twelve—times of day took Dupin by surprise during a case, he lost all sense of objective time—and people were arriving for lunch.
His ringtone wrenched him away from his thoughts. He grumpily checked the number.
Nolwenn. Somewhat appeased, he answered it; he would have called her very soon anyway.
“Hard at work, Monsieur le Commissaire?”
“I … hard at work, yes.”
“I’m up to speed. On the pool and its mysterious microorganisms too. Riwal is in touch regularly. And I’m keeping the prefect up to speed”—so that’s what she had been driving at—“it’s a special case for him too. So I think you should get in touch directly with him at least once, I’ll take care of the rest.”
Dupin’s mood darkened.
The waitress came with a tray and laid everything out in front of him. He had completely forgotten about the prefect, as if he didn’t even exist. As if he had never existed. Unbelievable. So much was different on this case.
“Will do, Nolwenn, will do.”
“Préfet Edouard Trottet is always perfectly well informed. Commissaire Rose seems to be on top of everything at once. Préfet Locmariaquer doesn’t want to be behind, I reckon. He said you shouldn’t let Trottet’s commissaire intimidate you, she is notoriously ambitious.”
Dupin wasn’t letting himself be intimidated.
“She’s very good. It’s a tricky case, Nolwenn. A tough case. She’s doing an excellent job of investigating it.”
He surprised himself with his instinct to defend Rose. He felt an odd sense of solidarity all of a sudden.
“I want to go to Lilou’s house again.”
Dupin didn’t know why he had thought of this now, of all times. It had crossed his min
d a few times before.
“You know best—you’ll definitely find the point magique, Monsieur le Commissaire. You’ll see.”
It had been meant as encouragement, but Dupin had no idea what it actually meant.
“We were in Huelgoat at the weekend, my husband and I. Do you know it?”
Dupin had never been to Huelgoat. All he knew about it was that it was quite far inland.
“We were staying with Aunt Ewen, a very elderly aunt of mine. Ninety-eight. But looks sixty. She still harvests her own apples and distills them.”
Dupin had never heard of Aunt Ewen before. But he had heard a lot about other members of the family. Nolwenn’s mother alone had eight siblings, her father three, and Nolwenn five. It was a real clan.
“My husband had something to do in the village next to Aunt Ewen’s. It’s a little, let’s say, complicated. He…”
“And there’s a point magique there?”
“In the enchanted rocky ‘high forest’ of Huelgoat, in the ‘Huelgoat Chaos,’ there has been a one-hundred-thirty-ton monolith since time immemorial, known as the famous roche tremblante or ‘trembling rock.’ You can set it moving by just pressing it with your finger—if you can find the right spot. The ‘magic point.’”
Dupin understood the allegory. It was a beautiful image. But he had other matters on his mind.
“I also wanted to … thank you for last night, Nolwenn. That was wonderful.”
“Yes, it was important,” she replied, and carried right on in her usual professional tone: “Inspector Kadeg sent me a shot of the wooden structure in the pool and I’ve done some research. The wood and the design match what they usually use in mussel and oyster farming, but its construction is different. I haven’t found one like it yet.”
Dupin was momentarily distracted. Commissaire Rose had just walked past Le San Francisco, making straight for the quay where the ferries came in and left from again. She must have set off immediately after their phone call after all. And, although he couldn’t have sworn to it, it looked like she had waved to him as she passed by. Rose couldn’t possibly have spotted him here by chance. From a hundred meters away, above the harbor, amongst the trees and shrubbery and all the other customers. Either she had been looking for him—or she had known where he was.
The Fleur de Sel Murders_A Brittany Mystery Page 20
