Today's Reading

"After the conversation with Madame Docteur, I'll take on a shift," completed Riwal, his features brightening.

"Very good." Dupin nodded. By "shift" he meant the surveillance of a boat-building site, a defense against industrial espionage. For the past four years, the sailor François Gabart—one of the international greats of sailing and a proud Concarnois—had been building his new super-boat: a trimaran of the "Classe Ultime." Thirty-two meters long. An aerodynamic marvel. The entire town was captivated by the construction. And now it was almost ready; the following year, Gabart would sail it in the transatlantic regatta. The color of the boat was a patriotic affirmation: a blue boat for the blue town. Two police officers had been assigned to keep an eye on the building site, and in truth that was enough—but Riwal loved the job. As much as he loved boats. And François Gabart.

"Et voilà." Paul was back. With the cafés—and the tart. Silence descended; everyone was immersed in their enjoyment of the dessert.

In the dock of Ville Close—Concarneau's old town, which was located on an island—the sun put on a sparkling display that overexposed the entire scene and distilled it into a diffuse, hazy light. The light's typical early-fall mildness was nowhere to be seen.


"Yes?"

A "yes" had probably never sounded grumpier.

It was half past twelve. At night.

Dupin was in bed, with Claire next to him. She had been asleep for a while now. Since ten o'clock, in fact. Having come back from the clinic late and exhausted, she had wolfed down the omelet Dupin had prepared for her, taken a quick shower, stepped over to the window to look at the sea—an evening ritual—and had then promptly fallen into bed.

Before long, Dupin had settled down next to her with the intention to read. A crazy story, Freya from the Seven Islands, a book given to him by Claire. But he had actually watched Claire sleeping, something he was fond of doing. He'd wanted to go away with her last weekend. A surprise getaway. He'd booked a room, in the hotel Ty Mad in Tréboul, a jewel at the very end of the end of the world, which belonged to his friend Armelle. Everything had been just right. With Armelle's help, he had organized a magnificent picnic in a secluded bay. In the warm sand between mighty, pale rocks surrounded by the sea. That, in any case, had been the plan. But then Claire's colleague had gotten sick, and she'd had to work through the weekend. To compensate, she would now have tomorrow and the following day off, but they wouldn't be able to spend any of that time together.

Dupin had been planning to ask Claire that weekend. Finally. It would have been perfect.

"He—he's outside my door. He tried to force his way in. I think." Dupin recognized the marine biologist's voice. The professor sounded panicked.

"What was that, monsieur?" Dupin was now wide awake.

"I saw the door handle move. He's trying to get into the house."

"Are you sure? I mean, that the door handle moved?" Dupin whispered, not wanting to wake Claire.

"Almost certain—it was dark. And I didn't turn on the light, of course."

Dupin had sat up in bed.

"There was somebody outside the house. I swear. He was walking up and down."

"And it was the man you think has been following you recently?"

A brief pause, then: "I can't say with absolute certainty."

Wonderful. Dupin was already regretting having given the professor his cell phone number. It had been intended as a form of reassurance.

"Are you alone in the house, monsieur?"

"My wife's here too. She's asleep."

"Are you able to recognize the person from the window?"

It was a clear night, and the moon was almost full. On nights like these, the world was anything but dark.

"If I go over to the window, he'll see me."

"Whoever it is presumably already knows you're at home."

If there even was someone there.

"I just want..."

A crackle.

"Hello? Professor?"

The call had broken off.

"Hello? Hello?" Dupin's voice was now far from being a whisper.

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