● 58 ●
Charnier pulled up in front of the Béranger Auto-Repair Shop in Lorient at half-past eleven on his way back to the gendarmerie at the end of his patrol shift. He turned off his engine and stepped out of the Land Rover just as a Saint-Barth came out the garage’s shadows. Mid-fifties, with a sun-freckled face, barefoot. Wearing a sweat and oil-smeared white tee with the name of the shop on it.
“How can I help you, Officer?” he smiled crookedly.
Charnier stopped in front of him and introduced himself, taking off his sunglasses.
“I’m Marcel Béranger,” said the man as they shook hands. “Trouble with your vehicle?”
“No, car’s fine for now. Knock on wood.” Charnier looked toward the garage. “You got someone named Jay working back there?”
“That’d be my first born.”
“He around?”
Béranger nodded, still wearing that same crooked smile.
“Lucky you caught him now. He’s leaving the island this afternoon.”
“Oh, yeah?” said Charnier, suspicious. “Where’s he going?”
“Martinique. With his wife.” Béranger’s smile widened. “I’m gonna be a grandfather.”
The St.-Barts dispensary’s maternity ward had been closed since 1990, and local pregnant women were now forced to go off island to have their babies, to Saint-Martin or Guadeloupe. Martinique. Even mainland France.
“Congratulations. When’s the baby due?”
“Little over a month.” Béranger used the top of his forearm to wipe sweat off his brow. “What’d you want to see Jay about?”
“Nothing serious. Just a couple questions I want to ask him about some guy he might know.”
Béranger turned toward the inside of the garage.
“Jay!” he shouted. “A gendarme’s here to see you!”
A young man with blond hair in a ponytail appeared out of the garage, wiping his hands on a rag. He had the same squat build as his father, bright blue eyes accentuated by tanned skin. He, too, wore a white Béranger T-shirt.
“How you doing?” said Charnier.
Jay Béranger slowly came forward, seemingly relaxed.
“I’m all right. How can I help you?”
“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” said Marcel Béranger, heading back inside his garage.
Charnier turned to Jay.
“You had dinner at L’Entracte with someone I’m interested in. Maybe a week before this last hurricane. Guy’s about my height, dark hair, dark eyes—”
Jay shook his head. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”
“—has somekinda scar on his face.”
“Oh, sure, that guy. Yeah, I remember him.”
“Not a friend of yours I take it, then?”
“Nah, just this dude I was chatting with at the bar. It was a very busy night there and we ended up sharing a table.”
Charnier nodded, studying the young Saint-Barth.
“Remember his name by any chance?”
Jay thought about it for a moment, then shook his head.
YOU ARE READING
Under the Carib Sun: An Adel Destin Crime Novel
Mystery / ThrillerThirteen years prior to Dixie Moon, Adel Destin is far from rock bottom, and far from coming clean. In fact, the Manhattan-born dope smuggler is on top of his game. Or so he thinks. Barely escaping Marseilles with his life, Adel lands on the exclusi...
