Murder on Brittany Shores (37 page)

Dupin hung up.

He turned to Riwal and Le Coz.

The helicopter will be here any minute. I need to get going.'

*   *   *

‘You're welcome to sit down. Please.'

The employee of the mairie in Fouesnant, not just thin but almost scrawny, was extremely solicitous, in an exaggeratedly submissive, yet also authoritative way – a dangerous mix, Dupin knew. She had moulded the severity of her features into a smile with some force. Early sixties, he guessed.

With a brief nod of agreement, Dupin took the folder that she was holding out to him in her firm grip. He sat at one of the decades-old, dark yellow veneered tables scattered around in a ridiculously haphazard way. Dupin had chosen a solitary table in the corner – as a sign he didn't want to be disturbed.

It had taken them less than a quarter of an hour to drive here from the small airport in Quimper. Riwal had announced the Commissaire was coming and the deputy mayor – Du Marhallac'h was ‘indisposed' – had practically welcomed him in state and accompanied him to the first floor. Followed by curious looks from the staff.

The folder practically looked like it was about to burst open. ‘Jacques Nuz and Solenn Pleuvant, later Nuz,' it said on the typewritten index card. ‘Jacques Nuz' had been crossed out by hand with a short, sharp, horizontal line. The ‘and' had been left as it was, which looked strange.

The documents were in chronological order. The file seemed to have been administrated painstakingly well. The most recent documents nearest the top.

Dupin found the current application, the one Le Coz had spoken about. Twenty-four pages long. A form filled out by hand. Two construction sketches attached. Elevation, floor plan. By an architect called Pierre Larmont. From Quimper. A ‘reconstruction of the existing annexe in wood in masonry construction'. The application was full of technical terms that Dupin didn't understand, but it was all thoroughly plausible and corresponded with the information that he had. He placed it to one side. Shorter applications followed – six- or eight-page long forms and the relevant decisions – from the last few years. ‘New connection to the professional technical medium-format static-solar board of the Glénan', ‘new construction of a demand-appropriate, independent soakaway system for gastronomic purposes'. Everything logical and self-evident.

Dupin came to the first applications that Solenn had submitted in conjunction with her husband. Opening the
Quatre Vents
had clearly entailed an impressive number of individual- and sub-applications for the then young couple and their great dreams. The ‘internal structural redesign of the restaurant
Les Quatre Vents
(bar/cafe), formerly
Le Sac de Noeuds
', ‘the renaming of the restaurant (bar/cafe)
Sac de Noeuds
as
Quatre Vents…
' Unbelievable. Besides applications for the diving school ‘international association for the friends and patrons of the underwater sports of the island group Les Glénan'. And of these too: a considerable number. Dupin went through them quickly. They corresponded with his basic understanding too. Everything seemed to be in good order.

Dupin stood up, somewhat frustrated. Only now did he become aware that the office worker was still standing in the doorway. She was looking at him expressionlessly.

‘Madame, was it you who handed the folder over to Madame Nuz?'

‘Oh yes, I manage and administer the files for the entire archive.'

‘Do you know why Madame Nuz needed these documents by any chance?'

‘That's obviously a question I don't ask. Because I don't need to ask it. Every citizen can have a look in their file at any time. And people make use of that.'

She expressed this as if she considered it the central achievement of a free citizen. Dupin would have gladly said something like ‘So tens of thousands gave their lives in the Revolution for the right to free access to their file?' He was reminded of the Revolution whenever he was dealing with administration and management.

‘Did you happen to see which document Madame Nuz needed? I'm asking you to recall carefully. And to give me an answer.'

Dupin had adopted his clear, commanding tone.

‘I have no occasion of any kind to spy on people,' the woman retorted, before added in a more subdued yet still acid tone:

‘She will have needed statements from earlier applications for filling out a series of forms that are still outstanding with regard to the new construction she applied for – there are still two due. Although they are just copies, we never give them out. You have to come here – these are important things.'

It made sense and would explain why Madame Nuz had come here. And the hot lead would instantly have cooled, the idea that he had had: illogical.

Dupin stood up and was on the point of turning away without a word when something crossed his mind that he hadn't paid any attention to before.

‘Copies? You're saying these are copies?'

‘Oh yes, what do you think? We can't in all conscience just hand over the originals. The originals are in our archive. All litigable documents!'

The horror was not feigned.

‘I would like to see the originals.'

‘That's not possible without authorisation. I'll need to ask the mayor. That's what the regulations say. We have to be very strict on that. No exceptions.'

Dupin felt the colour of his face changing and he involuntarily planted his enormous body in front of her, standing up to his full height. The way he looked left no room for doubt that he was going to explode within moments. Before Dupin could even lose his temper, she gasped out in a thin, aggressive voice:

‘I'll get the file.'

She vanished with astonishing speed.

Dupin sat down again.

Had he made a mistake? He had hoped to find something surprising that would shed light on the case.

‘Here you go.'

She had slapped the folder down in front of him, rather than placing it.

‘I hope you are aware of the fact that you are now dealing with originals, the damage or loss of which would have serious consequences.'

She was tough. As much as Dupin would have liked to get into a war of words, he left it. He needed to concentrate.

He went through the documents in the same order as before. Backwards chronologically. Looked at them again meticulously one by one. After a few documents, he switched to making two systematic piles, one with the originals and one with the copies. This way he could compare and see if there was anything striking or anomalous. He didn't find any discrepancies. Why would someone have wanted to change something in the copies anyway?

He didn't find anything, not a thing. By now he had got to the applications for the diving centre, so he was back to the beginning. Left pile, right pile. One more document. He put it to the left. Dupin stopped short. Where was the copy? There was a document missing from the pile on the right. It only existed with the originals. He searched frantically for the heading. ‘Construction of duly compatible hotel company on Saint-Nicolas in accordance with Regulation ‘16.BB.12/Finist.7', a particularly thick application on thin, faded paper. Date: ‘28.5.2002'. He leafed through it. ‘Capacity/number of intended rooms in hotel company: 88'. That must have been part of the initial great plans that Lefort had had back then. Clearly. ‘A hotel company'. And not a small one. Dupin leafed further through, ‘Integral functionality of a water sports centre and marina for the purposes of tourist use/integration of existing institutions'. That was the big thing at stake. Dupin's gaze fell on the last page. ‘Primary applicant: Jacques Nuz', then a difficult to read signature. And: ‘Additional applicants for the purposes of § GHF 17.3: Lucas Lefort, Yannig Konan, Charles Malraux – that must have been the other participant from the ‘mainland' – Kilian Tanguy, Devan Le Menn'.

Dupin knew that at the outset of Lefort's tourist plans, other people had been involved in the project. Initially, if he understood correctly, several young, enthusiastic people had thought they were pursuing a dream together. Then it had turned out that they were dreaming very different dreams – and a fight had erupted which had turned them into enemies for life.

Thus far everything corresponded with what was known. But the application raised questions. Dupin was not sure whether this was what he had been looking for and, if so, what it meant. One thing was remarkable in any case: the document was missing from the accessible folder. If it had not gone missing by chance, then it had been removed, which indicated real effort. And why had Jacques Nuz been the chief applicant? Nobody had ever said anything about that. Everyone had always spoken of Lefort's plans. And, finally, the application had indeed been submitted. The statements on it had been contradictory the whole time. Even Kadeg hadn't found anything about it. But Kadeg had only been looking for applications in Lefort's name. As had everyone else presumably. Dupin leafed backwards. On the first page he found a handwritten comment. Furnished with an official stamp of the 29th of June 2002: ‘Applicant missing according to police'. What did that mean – had its processing been suspended? That would explain why the application had never become ‘official' anyway. Why everyone thought it had never existed.

Dupin stood up. He saw that the office dragon had guarded the door this time too and was enjoying watching him suspiciously.

‘If an application has several applicants, are the documents then only filed in the chief applicant's file?'

‘Previously, yes. But we amended it two years ago, now there are copies under each applicant.'

‘I need the files. I'm taking them with me.'

Dupin knew that for the office dragon, this was the worst sentence that a human being on this earth could utter.

‘
Monsieur!
'

She was obviously having great difficulty keeping up with her own outrage linguistically.

‘Those – those are our originals! Even taking the
copies
away is forbidden.'

She puffed herself up even more.

‘This is completely out of the question. You – you need to make an application for this.'

Dupin made no move to answer. He walked straight past her. She moved abruptly and for a moment, Dupin was braced for her to try and snatch the folder from him. Instead, she turned around snappily on the spot like this was a military exercise and marched after him. Through the door. Along the corridor. Down the stairs. Wordlessly. She only piped again once they had reached the ground floor.

‘I'm warning you, Monsieur, that you are committing a criminal offence. I'll demand this of you one last time: put down the documents. They are the property of the French state.'

Then she began to call for help.

‘Hello? Monsieur Lemant? I need you! Hello?'

A friendly woman at reception was staring anxiously at the strange drama.

Dupin was walking with determination, taking his time. A moment later he was outside and signalling to the driver to start up the engine immediately. Within two minutes they were already driving down the motorway towards Quimper, back to the airport. Dupin had put his phone on vibrate in the office. It had vibrated several times in the last hour. He checked the numbers. The Prefect … five times in total. Along with Kadeg, Riwal, Goulch, Nolwenn. The forensic star, Reglas.

Nolwenn was engaged. He tried her three times.

Then he dialled Reglas' number.

‘You've got our helicopter. We're still marooned on Brilimec,' Dupin heard instead of a greeting.

‘I really hope you didn't try to call me because of that.'

‘I wanted to inform you of something – incredibly surprising.'

Reglas paused. Dupin knew his tendency towards the theatrical.

‘Reglas, I'll…'

‘The gun in question is probably an FP-45 Liberator. From the Second World War. A primitive but effective gun, which the Americans…'

‘Reglas!'

‘… it was then used by the French resistance.'

Dupin started. That was interesting.

‘And that is indisputable?'

‘As good as. The ammunition is very distinctive. Even though I could only examine it with the provisional means that we have on site, the…'

‘So this weapon would be quite rare to come across?'

‘On the contrary. There are still many specimens. Although the majority of them do not work any more.'

‘What do you mean by “many specimens”?'

‘At the time, the Résistance were gradually building up sizeable arsenals right here in Brittany. In quite a few houses one of these weapons remains in the attic or in the cellar to this day … Many kept them for sentimental reasons too and took care of them.'

All of this was very plausible.

‘Get in touch when you know more, Reglas.'

Dupin hung up. He tried Nolwenn again. It was still engaged. Then Kadeg.

‘Hello?'

‘Kadeg, did you have them show you the original of Lefort's file in the mairie or just the folder of copies?'

‘The original of course. I summoned the acting mayor especially.'

‘Good. What other news do you have?'

Dupin was speaking quickly, but clearly and with focus. Kadeg adjusted to his speed.

‘The building contractor states that he planned the terrace himself. Du Marhallac'h did butt in occasionally with ideas and concepts, but never drew up a concrete plan.'

‘Brilliant.'

That would be enough. Even if Du Marhallac'h claimed Pajot had paid him the fee for oral consultations – he had nothing to show for it. That was sufficient for reasonable suspicion – of corruption.

‘Hand it over to the Prefecture, they should get the state prosecutor involved. Immediately. – Oh yes, inform the Prefect personally.'

Although it had nothing to do with the case and Dupin was sure of that by now, the Prefect would nevertheless be a bit busy.