Excerpt from Death in Brittany by Jean-Luc Bannalec, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

Dupin realised he definitely wanted to have a bit of a flutter. The enormous lotto jackpot that had the whole country on tenterhooks still hadn't been won last week. Dupin had confidently filled in twelve rows and managed to get one number right in two – different – boxes.

'It's Friday already, Monsieur le Commissaire.'

'I know. I know.'

He would go to the Tabac-Presse in a minute.

'Last week all the lottery tickets were sold out by Friday morning.'

'I know.'

Dupin had slept dreadfully, in fact he hadn't slept properly in weeks. He tried to concentrate on his newspaper. In June, the northern part of Finistère had had a measly sixty-two per cent of the sunshine of an average June – a hundred and forty-five hours. Southern Finistère had managed seventy per cent, neighbouring Morbihan, just a few kilometres away, had notched up at least eight-two per cent. The article was the lead story in Ouest France. Astonishing weather statistics were one of the paper's specialities – indeed they were a speciality of all Breton newspapers and all Bretons in general. 'For centuries', this was the key, very dramatic point, 'no other June has provided us with so devastatingly few hours of sunshine and warmth.' The same old story. And the article ended with the inevitable, 'That's just how it is, the weather is beautiful in Brittany… five times a day.' It was like a patriotic mantra. But only Bretons themselves could complain or laugh about Breton weather; when other people did it, it was considered extremely rude. In the nearly three years Dupin had spent here, he had learnt that this was true of all things 'Breton'.

The piercing sound of his mobile made the Commissaire jump. It got him every time. Labat's number flashed up on the screen. Labat was one of his two inspectors. Dupin's mood darkened, and he let it ring. He would see him at the station in half an hour anyway. Dupin thought Labat small-minded, unbearably keen and sycophantic, yet also driven by hideous ambition. Labat was in his mid-thirties, rather stocky, with a round baby face, slightly protruding ears, a bald patch that he couldn't quite pull off – and he considered himself irresistible. He had been assigned to Dupin right at the beginning and the Commissaire had made numerous attempts to get rid of him. He had been pretty thorough in his efforts, but so far without success.

The phone rang a second time. Labat was always so full of his own importance. The phone rang a third time. Dupin realised he was feeling a little uneasy.

'Yes?'

'Monsieur le Commissaire? Is that you?'

'Who else were you expecting on my phone?' barked Dupin.

'Prefect Guenneugues just called. You've got to stand in for him. Tonight, the Friendship Committee from Staten Stoud in Canada.'

Labat's dulcet tones were obnoxious.

'As you know, Prefect Guenneugues is the honorary chairman of the committee. The official delegation is staying in France for a week and tonight they are the guests of honour at the Bretonnade in Trégunc Plage. Due to unforeseen circumstances, the Prefect has a few things to take care of in Brest, and is requesting that you welcome the delegation and their chairman, Docteur de la Croix, on his behalf. Trégunc is in our jurisdiction after all.'

'What?'

Dupin had no idea what Labat was talking about. 'Staten Stoud is twinned with Concarneau, it's near Montreal, the Prefect has some distant relatives there who…'

'It's quarter to eight, Labat. I'm having breakfast.'

'It's very important to the Prefect, it was the only reason he called. He asked me to inform you immediately.'

Excerpted from Death in Brittany by Jean-Luc Bannalec. Copyright © 2015 by Jean-Luc Bannalec. Excerpted by permission of Minotaur Books. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.