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the photograph had been taken from at least four meters, it was difficult to make out the facial details.
    “Who’s the man?”
    “He was with her. Called himself Richard.”
    Richard was on the other side of Evelyne Vaton. He stood with his arms crossed against a dark, broad chest. He had fine features and a long, straight nose.
    “An Indian,” Desterres said.
    Richard was wearing bathing shorts. Tall but putting on weight at the waist. A reflex camera hung from his neck against the bare chest.
    “What does he do?”
    “Works in a bank. The girl was asking him questions about getting money wired from France.”
    “Who took the photo?”
    “The self-timer.”
    “You seem to have hit it off with them.”
    Desterres shrugged, indifferent to the implied flattery.
    “Was Evelyne with Richard?”
    “I got the impression they’d met fairly recently, perhaps even on a beach.”
    “What sort of person is this Richard?”
    Again a movement of the shoulders. “He was afraid I was moving in on his girl.”
    “Vaton was his girl?”
    “I didn’t ask.”
    “What were they doing at Tarare?” Anne Marie asked.
    “They’d been to the Pointe des Châteaux, but Evelyne was interested in swimming and the currents at the Pointe were too strong for her. Richard brought her to Tarare, hoping no doubt to get her undressed.” The immobile face broke into a wolfish smile that disappeared almost immediately.
    “You saw the girl’s car?”
    “She had a car?”
    “A hired Fiat Uno. You didn’t see it?”
    “The parking area’s at the top of the cliff. You can’t see anything from the beach.”
    “You didn’t accompany them to the car park?”
    “When they left?” Desterres shook his head. “I had to prepare lunch.”
    “When did they arrive at Tarare?”
    He glanced at Trousseau. “It must’ve been just before eleven that I saw them swimming and when they came out of the water, I explained it was a nudist beach.”
    “Richard didn’t know that?”
    “Both were wearing swimsuits.”
    “She was not wearing a bikini top.” Anne Marie tapped the photo.
    “Precisely.”
    “There was nobody else around?”
    Desterres hesitated for a moment. “A couple of men who normally come in midweek, but they were on the other side of the trees.” He added, “Two men who were more interested in each other than in a topless female. The people who come to Tarare are the sort of people who like to sleep in on the weekend. They don’t get down to the beach until after twelve.”
    Anne Marie nodded. “Richard’s a native of Guadeloupe?”
    “I think so.”
    “Whose idea was the photograph?”
    “It was me who suggested it—the girl had a camera.”
    “And the other photos?”
    “What photos?”
    “She took more than just this one photograph, Monsieur Desterres?”
    “The girl kept them.”
    Anne Marie pointed to the photograph. Desterres was wearing the same clothes that he now wore. To protect his face, he also had a peaked cap. “What’s that, leaning against the bar? Looks like a rifle.”
    “A gun for the rats and the mongooses.”
    “Having trouble with vermin?”
    “Human vermin.” Seeing Anne Marie’s surprise, Desterres remarked, “We live on an island of thieves. People can be very jealous of success in Guadeloupe, particularly if like me you’re light-skinned. I have a business to run. I know just how much I can count on the police. Sometimes I spend the night in the little back room, just to be sure that nothing gets stolen.”
    “What was the relationship between this Richard and the girl?” Anne Marie asked neutrally.
    “What do you mean?”
    “She liked him?”
    “He was interested in her—but most men in Guadeloupe are interested in young girls. Particularly if they’re single and if they are from France.”
    “How old would you say he was?”
    “Richard? Thirty-eight, forty.” A pause. “Or perhaps a bit older.”
    “What did you talk to the girl about?”
    “I talked to the girl