Free Murder on Brittany Shores by Jean-Luc Bannalec Page B

true: the sea was not just blue. Not here in this magical world of light. It was azure, turquoise, cyan, cobalt, silver-grey, ultramarine, pale watercolour blue, silver-grey, midnight blue, violet blue … Blue in a good ten or fifteen different base colours and infinite numbers of shades in between. Sometimes it was even green, a real green or brown – and deep black. All of this depended on various factors: the sun and its position, of course, the season, the time of day, also the weather, the air pressure, the exact water content in the air, all of which refracted the light differently and shifted the blue into this or that tone. It particularly depended on the depth of the sea and whatever sea floor the light was falling on. It also depended on the wind, on the quality of the surface of the sea and the swell. And on the land that lay in front of the sea, the landscape and its colours. The most important factor was a different blue though – the sky, which varied in the same way and even contrasted with the clouds. It was this blue that found itself in an infinite interplay with the various shades of the sea. The truth was this: you never saw the same sea, the same sky, not once in the exact same hour and in the exact same place. And it was always a spectacle.
    Dupin walked on, at a somewhat faster pace. He would have another coffee. And wait for Riwal’s call. And if that didn’t produce anything either – Dupin was assuming it wouldn’t – he would fly back to the mainland for good. Despite how beautiful it was here.
    *   *   *
    The terrace of the Quatre Vents had emptied noticeably. Dupin saw the three women from the Nuz family together for the first time, they were clearing the tables in a practised, skilled way and sprucing everything up again after the midday rush. Nolwenn was right, they looked almost eerily similar. They all had the same deep brown eyes, the same matt black hair and most of all they had the same obstinate snub nose, the same slim figure. Unlike her daughters, Solenn Nuz wore her hair short, à la Jean Seberg, and had two pronounced dimples. The daughter who was younger – as far as Dupin could make out, although only with an effort – had whispered something to her mother when he had walked into the bar, without making the slightest move to hide it. A brief glance from Solenn Nuz hadswept over Dupin – she was sizing him up – before she busied herself again behind the counter with glasses and bottles.
    He hadsat down in his old place with a coffee. The Luc’hed was in view now. It had lain docked by one of the boats lying quite close to the pier. They were clearly still busy with the interviews.
    Dupin realised that he was not satisfied. He was finding everything too slow. He would simply call Savoir himself. They needed to make progress. And he wanted to be sure they did.
    It took some time for Docteur Savoir to pick up.
    â€˜Is there any news, Savoir?’
    â€˜And to whom do I owe the pleasure?’
    Dupin was absolutely certain Savoir had recognised him straight away.
    â€˜Did you compare a photo of Lucas Lefort with the three bodies?’
    â€˜Ah, it’s you, Commissaire! We are looking for more photos and are in the process of examining the corpses. There is only one who it could possibly be. He has serious injuries, even to the face in part. What we really need is a portrait, most photos show him on a boat, at prize-givings, with other people. And you look different when you’re dead anyway. You have to take into account that…’
    â€˜I want to know what you think, Savoir.’
    Dupin had got louder. For a moment, there was silence at the other end of the line.
    â€˜I think it could be him. The probability is high.’
    â€˜What?’
    Dupin was gobsmacked. This was almost impossible to believe. Now there silence on his end of the line.
    â€˜You think one of the dead is Lucas