The Killing Tide Page 7

  “The murder was probably carried out here, or nearby,” said the other of the two men, older with thick white hair, making a confident gesture. “There is a lot of blood soaked into the ground next to the body, and she can’t have lost that much in two different places. She can’t have moved after she was placed in the ditch; the blood all flowed the same way.”

  Manet nodded in agreement. “Laetitia Darot would already have lost consciousness by then—it normally happens in about ten seconds.”

  “Just to be sure, we’ve searched the entire cemetery for any other signs of blood. And found none. Not on the grassland around the cemetery. Absolutely nothing of note. And on ground like this,” the older of the two glanced down pointedly, “there’s no point even starting to look for footprints. We haven’t found anything suspicious on the clothing or the body. We’ll inspect everything once again after the body’s been removed.”

  The competent impression they gave seemed confirmed.

  Dupin had walked around the ditch.

  “She must have met up with the murderer here, very early.” Dupin’s gaze wandered toward the shore. “If he had come here with a largish boat he would have anchored by the jetty, exactly where the police boat is now.”

  “Or…” Madame Coquil spoke up for the first time since the “incident” with the graves. Dupin had the impression she was still giving him a strange look. “He could have anchored farther out and come in on a tender, or,” her face darkened, “he lives on the island.”

  “Exactly when did your son find the body, madame?”

  The two crime scene men had set off toward the jetty with their two heavy silver cases. Dupin had remained behind with the boy, his mother, Antoine Manet, and Madame Coquil.

  “At seven twenty-four A.M.”

  The boy had chosen to answer the question himself.

  His eyes were sparkling. It was quite clear he was in no way cowed.

  “How do you know that so exactly?”

  The boy proudly showed the commissaire a shiny black digital watch. “Precise timing is important in criminal cases. School starts at eight thirty, but I can play outside until eight fifteen and then I have to go.”

  His mother felt obliged to add: “We live in one of the first houses, at the front. Normally Anthony isn’t allowed to come this far. But then nothing can happen here.” She noted the irony. “Normally, that is.”

  “Was the body lying exactly like this when you found it?”

  “Yes, exactly like that.”

  “Did you notice anything else unusual, Anthony?”

  He was a very bright boy. An adventurer. Stubbly dark blond hair, a roguish smile. Filthy jeans, sneakers, a faded blue T-shirt. All the pockets of his jeans, front and back, were bulging: it seemed he had all sorts of stuff in them.

  “Rabbits. Six rabbits, who were having a look at the body. They were sitting all round it. And Jumeau was out there.”

  “One of the island fishermen, with his boat,” Manet said, looking admiringly at the boy.

  Suddenly Dupin was wide awake.

  “How far out?”

  “Halfway,” Anthony said, and pointed into the distance, at the open sea. It wasn’t a very useful answer.

  “Perch, line fishing. For a few days now, he’s been out there at the same spot every morning. You have to add that fact, or else the commissaire might think it suspicious. But you only have to say what’s most important.” Anthony’s mother wrinkled her brow.

  The boy wasn’t going to let himself be browbeaten: “Do you know that the president visited with us in our house? And over there,” he pointed in the direction of a stone monument a little way away: a soldier next to a curious double cross standing on a large stone plinth, “he made a speech last year. Because we were so brave and it was the anniversary of that bravery. We were all there, the whole school. After the speech I went up to him and invited him to lunch. It was midday.”

  Anthony’s mother laughed in embarrassment. “It’s true. He really came back to our house. For half an hour.”

  “We had turbot with fried potatoes.”

  Dupin had other interests. “What was the name of this fisherman you mentioned?”

  “Jumeau.”

  “Does he have a first name?”

  “Luc.”

  Dupin made a note. He already had quite a few names on his list: Gochat, the harbormistress; Batout, the woman at the coffee stand; Morin the fisherman king … Struggling to remember names was the hardest thing in all his cases. It had been like that in Paris, but it was harder still with Breton names. To be honest, Dupin reflected occasionally, it was a weakness that should have made him unsuited to his job, and a few others too.

  “Ten years ago,” the museum chief added, “there were still twelve fishermen.”

  “What else did you notice, Anthony?”

  “Nothing that would be relevant to an investigation, Monsieur le Commissaire.” Even so, he seemed to be thinking hard. “But I’ll let you know if anything occurs to me—that’s the way to put it, isn’t it?”

  “It’s time for you to get to school now,” his mother said in a tone that brooked no argument. “You’ve missed enough already.”

  The boy’s eyes lit up again.

  “School’s not quite the same,” his mother explained apologetically.

  Dupin understood the boy well. “Many thanks. You’ve been a lot of help.”

  Dupin reckoned that were it not for Anthony, the body would not have been discovered so quickly. The distance from the east–west axis was at least fifty meters. And the body in the ditch could really only be seen from next to it. It could have taken a lot longer, days perhaps.

  The next minute, the boy was up and away with his mother following him.

  Dupin walked over to Antoine Manet and Madame Coquil. “Who comes regularly to this part of the island?”

  “Me, for a start,” Manet replied. “When I come to see the four technicians at the lighthouse, and the equipment itself.” He laughed. “But there are others too. People just going for a walk. The path out to the lighthouse is very popular, not just with island folk, but day-trippers too. There aren’t that many paths here.”

  Dupin let his gaze drift over to the lighthouse.

  It was no more than a kilometer away. And there was nothing in between.

  “The three houses between the village and the cholera cemetery,” Manet nodded toward the village, “are only occupied in July and August. Maybe for a week at Easter.”

  Dupin rubbed his brow, one of those gestures that along with several others became a tic when he was on a case.

  “Have you any idea what might have been going on here? Two women from the Île de Sein killed. You knew both of them.”

  Madame Coquil wasn’t going to get worked up. “We’ve had worse. They won’t beat us that easily. But there’s something nasty going on. Something very nasty. I can’t tell you any more. But you need to look out for yourself too, Monsieur le Commissaire. The seven graves!”

  With those few words she turned on her heel. “I need to go back. My museums. I’m supposed to open at nine. I’ll look forward to you getting the chance to visit, Monsieur le Commissaire—I know a lot.”

  With that she rushed off.

  “You have no idea either what might have happened here, Monsieur Manet?”

  “To be honest, no. I haven’t the slightest idea.”

  “Tell me about the two women. What they did, who they were connected to.”

  “One moment. I must get in touch with the pathologist and the helicopter. We shouldn’t leave the body here too long.”

  Manet took a few steps to the side. It came into Dupin’s head that he might be able to fly with them, and avoid the trip back on the boat, even though it was obviously too early. He still had lots of people to talk to.

  The commissaire pulled out his cell phone and dialed his inspector’s number.

  “Riwal, one of the uniformed police officers should come to the cem
etery here and keep an eye on things until the body is removed. I want to close the cemetery off.”

  “Very good, boss. I have placed one of our men down at the harbor to make sure that no boats leave the island before we’re told about it. The oil boat is still there. And the hairdresser too. I’ve told them we want to talk to them. They’re waiting for us in one of the bars. The food supplies boat had already gone though. People get hungry. It will be more difficult with the list of all the boats that arrived or left between yesterday and today. There’s no harbor office. But we can try. We’ll talk to everyone, and the bar landlords will help us.”

  “Very good.”

  “Even so we won’t be able to catch up with every boat. In summer there are always some that arrive late in the evening and leave again very early the next morning. They don’t have to report anywhere, just come and go as they please. Even during the day, boats come for just a few hours, the people go for a walk through the village, get something to eat, and head off again.”

  There was no chance of them putting together a systematic record. They would have to rely on pure luck. Dupin sighed.

  Antoine Manet had finished his phone call, but remained a few meters away out of discretion.

  “As I said”—Riwal made it sound as if it were encouraging—“it is always possible the killer lives on the island.”

  If the killer were an islander, he would have had to have taken a boat trip to Douarnenez before eight or nine the previous evening—on some boat or another—and another back after the murder there. Either during the night or very early that morning, to have time to carry out the second killing. Or, there was another scenario: the killer lived on the mainland, in which case he would have had to have taken a boat to the island yesterday between eleven o’clock in the evening and six o’clock this morning. But if there was an accomplice involved then there were any number of alternatives. Dupin didn’t even want to start working them out.

  “I want us to go by every house and make inquiries—maybe somebody saw something that might help us. Somebody going for a walk very early this morning, for example.”

  They were going to have to trust on luck, or at least to give it a chance, no matter how improbable it might seem.

  “I’ve already requested additional reinforcements that should be here soon. Another two boats. Eight police in all.” Riwal knew his boss. It would be a minor invasion. “Between the south quay and the north there is a row of sheds and huts used by the fishermen, among others. They store their nets and buoys and so forth in them. Both Céline Kerkrom and Laetitia Darot rented one. A colleague of the mayor will show them to us. I already have two of our men in Kerkrom’s and Darot’s houses, taking a first look around. Laetitia Darot’s boat is actually in the harbor here. Obviously we’ll take a look at it.”

  Riwal was concentrating seriously on the business, which pleased Dupin, because it meant he could concentrate on his own ideas.

  “See you soon, Riwal.”

  Manet came over to Dupin. “Come along. If you accompany me to my patient’s house, we can talk along the way. She has a badly inflamed knee, just a minor accident in a wooden boat, as it happens, but a nasty splinter.”

  The island doctor had already set off while he was talking. Dupin followed him. Two particularly nosy rabbits that had been sitting by the cemetery gate shot off.

  “I used to have a drink now and then with Céline. Usually at Chez Bruno. We talked about everything under the sun: life, the island, fishing. Serious conversations but we also had a lot of laughs. She was a serious woman, sincere. Very quirky. Very involved. I’m sure you’ve already been told that. A loner, but not antisocial. Not grief-ridden, or constantly moaning about the world. By and large I think she was at ease with her life, including her failed marriage. She loved her job, despite how hard things are for the fisherfolk.” It was a balanced résumé. “When the dolphin researcher arrived on the island in January, they immediately became friends. It was remarkable. Particularly in recent times, over the past two or three months, I frequently saw them together. Sometimes they would come in their boats at the same time of an evening, or occasionally one of them on the other’s boat.”

  Manet rubbed the back of his head. “The unfortunate thing is that the pair of them knew more about each other than anybody else on the island.”

  “What can you tell me about Laetitia Darot?”

  “Not much. Laetitia was shy, but not unfriendly. Not introverted or arrogant. She just didn’t go out of her way to make contact. Here on the island we let people get on with their lives the way they want. It’s a unique blend of community and solidarity on one hand and an exceptional individuality on the other. Obviously this closeness, the fact that we’re all crowded together, can lead to conflicts too. But as I said, Laetitia wasn’t really part of the village, which is why I don’t know what she might have got involved in. Some people thought she was a bit secretive, but nobody had a bad word to say against her. People respected the fact she was a scientist. And worked with the dolphins.”

  They were already walking on.

  “She was out at sea most of the time,” Manet continued.

  “Do you know what she did in Brest before coming here?”

  “All I know is that she was working for the parc there too.”

  “Who on the island could tell me more?”

  “Nobody, I’m afraid. But I’ll keep my ears open. If there’s anything to report, if anybody saw or heard anything noteworthy, I’ll soon hear about it, and not just concerning the two of them.” Antoine Manet smiled.

  Dupin believed him. It was obvious. Anything newsworthy would do the rounds like the sails of a windmill on the island. And a doctor was a person of trust; he would hear everything.

  “Fine. Did Céline Kerkrom have contacts with the other island fisherfolk?”

  “Yes, both of them did, but I never heard of any problems. She was closer to Jumeau. But if they were really friends, I couldn’t say. Fishing is a hard life.”

  An elderly couple came toward them on the way to the village.

  “Pauline, Yanik, bonjour.”

  “What a tragedy! Will you be able to make it, Antoine? Are we still on for this evening?”

  “Of course.”

  Obviously everybody on the island knew Manet. Deputy mayor, doctor, and president of the lifeboat association. But he gave no impression of being authoritarian, no superiority complex, no put-on airs. On the contrary he gave the impression of being wise. A friend to everybody, it seemed.

  “See you later then, Antoine.”

  “A meeting to prepare for the big festival to celebrate the one hundred and fiftieth anniversary of the lifeboat association,” Manet explained after the couple had passed them. “Yanik has been a member for fifty years and was an active lifeboat man for a long time. We’ll drink a toast to Céline and Laetitia. In situations like this it’s better for people to stick together. Murder is something we’ve never had on the island.”

  “I believe Céline Kerkrom had arguments with a lot of people?”

  “Not that many. With a certain few, for sure. Every now and then she caused a fuss on the mainland, but not so much here. Life here goes along at its own unshakable pace.”

  “What about the row over the oil? Her action for alternative energy supplies on the island? I heard something about that.” Dupin leafed through his notebook. “Tidal generators, a piping system.”

  “Most people think the same as she did. Just a few worry that it wouldn’t give us a stable supply, but we’ll convince them. There’s a feasibility survey going on at present. It’s not just small tidal generators, but a combination of other alternative energy sources. That’s why the real row was with the oil boat boss. One morning he hung around her boat swearing at her.”

  That was more concrete than anything Dupin had heard so far.

  “Did he lay hands on her?”

  “He pushed her about a bit.”

  “Did he come late in the
morning … I mean wouldn’t she have long been out at sea?”

  “Normally, yes. But sometimes she went out late. It depended on the weather.”

  “What’s the man’s name?”

  “Thomas Roiyou.”

  Dupin looked in his notebook. “I’d like to talk to him right away. My inspector has already made contact with him.”

  Manet nodded.

  “Has there been any trouble or incidents related to fishing recently?”

  “Not that I know. I’ve heard nothing from anybody. Fishing is a hard life. But it hasn’t been any harder this year than in the last few. Céline got by, at least she never complained about financial difficulties. But you should probably speak with the people in charge of the harbor in Douarnenez. Céline took most of her catch to the auction there.”

  “We’re…,” Dupin said as neutrally as possible, “… already in contact.”

  They had reached the first village houses and were about to enter the labyrinth. Manet stopped at the first left turn.

  “And I’ve heard about Charles Morin. And the incident between him and Céline Kerkrom,” Dupin said.

  “You need to think of him as a sort of Breton godfather. He never gets his fingers dirty in his dodgy enterprises. He pulls the strings in the background.”

  “I want to meet him.”

  “You should.”

  “Do you share the belief that Céline Kerkrom was right that he practices illegal fishing—or facilitates illegal fishing?”

  “That’s not the question. The question is whether anyone can find any proof.”

  “What sort of illegal practices would these be?”

  “Morin doesn’t pay any attention to anything, whether it be with his trawlers outside the parc or with his bolincheurs inside it. He ignores the catch quotas, the catch limits, the regulations on nets. And not just sometimes, I’m certain, but systematically. His dragnets cause a huge amount of accidental catch. And some of the fisherfolk have seen his boats leaking seriously polluted wastewater into the sea. All serious stuff.”