Marquanteur On The Beach: France Crime Thriller

By Alfred Bekker

Marquanteur On The Beach: France Crime Thriller

by Alfred Bekker

 

 

An old case takes on new explosiveness when a yacht carrying two people blows up and drugs are found afterwards. Commissaires Pierre Marquanteur and François Leroc search for a ruthless killer who has a certain signature. But there seems to be more than one murderer.

 

Alfred Bekker is a well-known author of fantasy novels, thrillers and books for young people. In addition to his major book successes, he has written numerous novels for suspense series such as Ren Dhark, Jerry Cotton, Cotton Reloaded, Kommissar X, John Sinclair, and Jessica Bannister. He has also published under the names Neal Chadwick, Jack Raymond, Jonas Herlin, Dave Branford, Chris Heller, Henry Rohmer, Conny Walden, and Janet Farell.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alfred Bekker
• Release date: Aug 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223672746

Alfred Bekker

Alfred Bekker wurde am 27.9.1964 in Borghorst (heute Steinfurt) geboren und wuchs in den münsterländischen Gemeinden Ladbergen und Lengerich auf. 1984 machte er Abitur, leistete danach Zivildienst auf der Pflegestation eines Altenheims und studierte an der Universität Osnabrück für das Lehramt an Grund- und Hauptschulen. Insgesamt 13 Jahre war er danach im Schuldienst tätig, bevor er sich ausschließlich der Schriftstellerei widmete. Schon als Student veröffentlichte Bekker zahlreiche Romane und Kurzgeschichten. Er war Mitautor zugkräftiger Romanserien wie Kommissar X, Jerry Cotton, Rhen Dhark, Bad Earth und Sternenfaust und schrieb eine Reihe von Kriminalromanen. Angeregt durch seine Tätigkeit als Lehrer wandte er sich schließlich auch dem Kinder- und Jugendbuch zu, wo er Buchserien wie 'Tatort Mittelalter', 'Da Vincis Fälle', 'Elbenkinder' und 'Die wilden Orks' entwickelte. Seine Fantasy-Romane um 'Das Reich der Elben', die 'DrachenErde-Saga' und die 'Gorian'-Trilogie machten ihn einem großen Publikum bekannt. Darüber hinaus schreibt er weiterhin Krimis und gemeinsam mit seiner Frau unter dem Pseudonym Conny Walden historische Romane. Einige Gruselromane für Teenager verfasste er unter dem Namen John Devlin. Für Krimis verwendete er auch das Pseudonym Neal Chadwick. Seine Romane erschienen u.a. bei Blanvalet, BVK, Goldmann, Lyx, Schneiderbuch, Arena, dtv, Ueberreuter und Bastei Lübbe und wurden in zahlreiche Sprachen übersetzt.

Book preview

Prologue

What the hell are you doing here? the colleague Anaïs Harnon asked me when she saw me. She froze in mid-motion.

I could ask you the same thing, I returned. You're here in the middle of the night at a very specific dock in a very specific part of Marseilles Harbor. And I'm there at the same time as well.

That is indeed strange, Monsieur Marquanteur. And I hope you have an explanation for it, too.

By the way, my name is Pierre Marquanteur and I am a Commissaire. I work in a special unit called Force spéciale de la police criminelle, or FoPoCri for short, which deals mainly with organized crime, serial offenders and counterterrorism. For some time, the colleague Anaïs Harnon had also belonged to this department. She was not yet thirty. I was surprised that she had risen so quickly. And I was also surprised that she had been transferred to us, even though her previous skills profile did not really fit the requirements we needed.

Of course, you have to think about that. Such things can have political reasons. Someone had held their hand over them and promoted them. And that, of course, fueled further speculation.

I'm a cop through and through, and that means I ask questions.

First of all, to myself. And if I can't think of any reasonable answers, then I ask others. And others again, and at some point you come across something. I wouldn't even call that investigative work, but rather a completely normal, automatic curiosity that should probably be innate if you want to be successful as an investigator.

And then, finally, you put one and one together.

What are you doing here at the harbor at this hour, Madame Harnon?, I asked.

I have heard that you also spend time at the port from time to time, Mr. Marquanteur. Am I asking you why?

My reasons are well known, I said. I fish in the harbor sometimes.

This shouldn't even be a really good fishing spot here, she said.

It isn't. To be honest: I've never caught anything either. And to be even more honest: I don't even own a fishing license.

You do realize that this could be a misdemeanor, Monsieur Marquanteur?

I just hold a fishing rod in my hand and enjoy the view, the atmosphere and everything around. The ships, the signal horns, the huge container cranes ... You come to your senses a bit and think about things other than those that occupy you all day. But if I were just sitting there, you would ask yourself: What is he actually doing?

Like I'm asking you now.

Exactly. But as long as I have a fishing rod in my hand, everyone might think I'm batty, but no one asks what I'm doing. Because everyone can see that.

A clever approach, Monsieur Marquanteur.

You think so?

In this way, you deceive those around you about your true intentions.

And what of your intentions, Madame Harnon?

She became a little uncertain. I noticed a change in her posture. She turned her gaze sideways. Towards the water, in which the moonlight was reflected, creating some impressive light effects.

There you could at least still see the moonlight, even if only indirectly.

Otherwise, it was so bright in many places in Marseille that neither the moon nor the stars were noticed. Night became day. Light pollution, some called it. But for the sake of avoiding it, I would have found it a bit exaggerated to have to stumble or step in dog poop all the time.

She looked at the water as if she expected something to approach from there.

Or someone.

She looked tense.

Are you expecting someone?, I asked.

What's the point of asking?

Why didn't you just answer them?

Who should I be expecting? There's no one here at this hour.

Yeah, I would think so.

Then why are you asking?

We're going in circles, Madame Harnon.

Perhaps we should just go our separate ways now and consider this meeting a freak of coincidence, Monsieur Marquanteur. Tomorrow in the office we can talk about it further.

"Are you by any chance waiting for a motor yacht named Reine de Soleil?, I asked. Then may I tell you that it won't be arriving here. And neither will the two tons of cocaine she was supposed to have on board."

I have no idea what you're talking about!

We leaked the information to you that a big deal had to be rescheduled because otherwise the people involved would run into the arms of the CID. Only you knew about it - and us. The ship with your contacts that you're waiting for won't arrive here because it's long since been picked up by your colleagues.

This is all nonsense.

You couldn't resist the temptation and let the other side pay you. Somebody went to a lot of trouble to get you into our organization. This has been planned for a long time, and there are some very powerful people involved. Otherwise, it never would have worked.

She fixed me with her gaze.

And what happens now? she asked. You came here alone, Monsieur Marquanteur.

What if?

That means you want a piece of the pie, doesn't it? Otherwise you'd be sitting in the room of the Commissaire général de police and would have sent a special task force after me.

No, I said.

You want to raise your price? How much do you want?

That someone could not be venal, you apparently cannot even imagine, I said.

That's unfortunate, she said, that you don't want to be bought, I mean.

Then she reached under the thin short coat she was wearing and pulled out a gun.

I took the first shot right in the chest and was thrown backwards. The force of the projectile was murderous.

I had still tried to draw my own weapon, but had not been fast enough.

Something like this can always happen.

Nevertheless, a second shot was heard at the same moment.

Colleague Harnon sank to the ground, hit.

Fatally hit, because the shot was well aimed and had caught her in the head.

I had by no means been alone.

Making the arrest of such a perpetrator alone would have bordered on suicidal negligence.

The colleagues came out of their hiding places and cover. They had been posted all around the harbor area.

My colleague François Leroc reached out to me.

Are you all right, Pierre?

As you take it, François ... I gasped a little. Fortunately, I had been wearing a Kevlar vest under my normal street clothes, which had stopped the bullet.

I suppose there will be a bruise left behind, François commented.

I just hope the ribs aren't broken.

François helped me up.

Within the next few moments, I recovered to some extent.

The colleague Harnon was lying on the floor in a strangely contorted position. Her hand still clutched the handle of her weapon. The eyes were fixed. And dead.

I don't think we'll need the handcuffs, François said.

1

On the Mediterranean Sea near Marseille...

The sun was reflected in the water.

A steady wind blew.

And he drove the yacht forward.

The sails bulged out.

The yacht struggled ahead and cut through the foaming sea.

Clouds were in the sky.

It was a beautiful day with ideal sailing conditions.

The sea could be so peaceful.

But sometimes everything could change in the blink of an eye.

Then the idyll turned into something else.

Something that cannot simply be called hell, but rather a game of tremendously strong forces, to which man still has nothing equal to oppose.

The sea ... for humans, it's only a good one as long as the weather is good.

And that is notoriously capricious.

However, there are a few other dangers that are less on your radar.

The biggest danger for a sailing yacht are the huge container ships that stubbornly follow their course like a robot. Giant tin whales that plow under everything that gets in their way. And on board the container ship, perhaps no one even notices what has happened.

In purely statistical terms, this risk should not be underestimated.

And then there's another danger to sailing yachts at sea that may not be quite as statistically relevant as container ships, monster waves or a sudden storm.

Suppose you have explosives on board.

And further suppose you don't know anything about it.

But everything in turn ...

*

Hey, relax! said Gaétan Richard.

He squinted against the sun.

He stood at the helm of the yacht.

The wind blew the sails.

And Gaétan Richard was in a good mood - very good mood.

The gray-haired, wiry-looking man grinned at the young woman leaning against the nautical fittings. The wind had ruffled her blond hair. She looked dreamy. Indeed,