"They tear you apart... They leave no trace..."
Five years out of the Marseilles Judiciaire, Daniel Jacquot is happily retired, bringing up his two daughters on a beach in the Caribbean. But when an old friend pays an unexpected visit, retirement rapidly becomes a battle for survival...
"The girls didn't see the first shark... They didn't see the second or the third one either..."
"They tear you apart... They leave no trace..."
Five years out of the Marseilles Judiciaire, Daniel Jacquot is happily retired, bringing up his two daughters on a beach in the Caribbean. But when an old friend pays an unexpected visit, retirement rapidly becomes a battle for survival...
"The girls didn't see the first shark... They didn't see the second or the third one either..."
In 1972 a gold bullion convoy is hijacked in Marseilles. The security trucks and hijackers are swiftly rounded up, but a ton of gold has disappeared.
More than twenty years later, Daniel Jacquot receives an unexpected gift from an old fisherman. At the same time, a Marseilles lawyer called Claude Dupont receives an equally unexpected gift from a dying gangland boss.
When the Marseilles police become involved following a series of gruesome murders, the investigation is headed by Chief Inspector Isabelle Cassier. An old friend and sometime lover of Jacquot's, Isabelle discovers that the years haven't lessened her longing for the maverick Marseilles cop, and that her feelings for him are far from professional.
Together they embark on a cut-throat hunt for the gold, with hit-men from the Polineaux and Duclos clans hot on their heels. But after nearly thirty years, is the gold still there? And if it is, who will get to it first?
The Jacquot series is set in the 1990s – the years of Mitterand's and Chirac's presidencies – so there's no real emphasis on technology or advanced forensic science to crack the cases Jacquot finds himself involved in. Rather, it's bloodhound work, and he's the bloodhound – passionate, incorruptible, and often inspired.
It's also France with francs not euros, a golden age when you could smoke in a bar and Calvados didn't come with a health warning. Jacquot is not a drunk, but nor is he the kind of man who counts 'units'. What a horrible word. What a horrible concept. Jacquot would not approve.
MARTIN
BRIEN
O'
Jacquot
This is not meant to be a definitive list, just a few addresses in Marseilles, high and low, where Jacquot and I have enjoyed ourselves for one reason or another. Research is hard work; you have to have some fun…
Marseilles
La Samaritaine
A short walk from Jacquot’s apartment in Le Panier, La Sam is a great place to start the day. Take a newspaper from the rack, order a café-Calva, and watch the Vieux Port go about its business. It’s a Marseilles institution, and for more than a century it has lived up to its name. On the corner of Quai du Port and rue de la République. You can’t miss it.
Sylvain Depuichaffray
This is a name to remember if you have a sweet tooth. Close to the marvelous Musée Cantini on rue Grignan, Sylvain’s Pâtisserie et Salon de Thé has, without question, the very best éclairs and meringues in town, not to mention millefeuilles, macarons, cheesecakes and profiteroles. My advice? Wear loose clothing!
Chez Toinou
They’ve been shucking oysters here for more than fifty years, starting as a street stall on Cours St Louis before opening what’s supposed to be the largest seafood restaurant in France. Shellfish reign – oysters, of course, but also mussels, prawns, lobster, crab, clams, and, in season, Jacquot’s favourite sea urchins.
La Baie des Singes
It’s a long trek to get here from the city, a thirty-minute drive along the coast to Les Goudes, followed by a bracing headland walk. But it’s well worth the effort. The freshest grilled fish is served by weight (which can be expensive), with a really good selection of local wines. But don’t expect any frills. The last time Jacquot and I visited, the tables and chairs were garden-variety plastic, but I hope it hasn’t changed. If you go for lunch, you can sleep it off on the sun-bed terraces above a small private beach. If you go for dinner, take a torch.
Chez Fonfon
A shorter distance out of town, in Vallon des Auffes off the J.F.Kennedy Corniche road, Chez Fonfon opened the year I was born, and served me my very first real, classic Bouillabaisse. It might, occasionally, have been equalled, but it’s never ever been bettered. Fonfon’s interior has been refurbished since that first visit, but it is always a huge pleasure, and treat, to return. I seem to remember that a body was washed ashore here in Jacquot and the Waterman.
L’Épuisette
Just along the quay from Chez Fonfon, L’Épuisette (French for a landing net) is another destination restaurant. The views from its dining room are spectacular, and any visit is an event. Head chef, Guillaume Sourrieu, has worked in some of the world’s greatest kitchens – Troisgros, La Côte d’Or, L’Auberge du Père Bise, La Verniaz, and La Bas Bréau – so you can expect only the most accomplished Michelin-star dishes to be served.
Le Rhul
I came here first because someone told me that it was a favourite Marseilles haunt of The Rolling Stones. I don’t know if this is true, but if it isn’t I’m pretty sure the boys would enjoy themselves. On a bluff above the Corniche, the food and the views are fabulous. All the usual specialities from a celebrated restaurant that’s been around for three generations.
Pizzaria Etienne
Marseilles without Etienne would be like tapenade without olives… that’s what they say about this neighbourhood Pizzaria on rue de Lorette. Family-run, it’s loud, bustling, and usually jam-packed. If pizzas are not your thing (really?), their pasta dishes are great, the beef comes rare and sizzling, and if they have tartes aux pommes on the menu you won’t be disappointed. If it’s your first visit, equal measures of patience and politeness should see you through. After that you’ll be one of the family.
Côté Rue
Cuisine traditionelle and Produits du Marché chalked on a board tell you all you need to know about this little gem in Le Panier. A good spot for lunch or dinner, inside or out, on a lane no wider than the spread of your arms (well, maybe a little wider!). The staff are friendly and efficient, and there’s a real sense here of being welcomed and cared for. If you go once, believe me you’ll go again.
Brasserie La Coupole
You can eat outside in fine weather, but Jacquot and I prefer a table inside. It’s a perfect rendezvous for lunch, and it’s usually our first port of call. Just a few blocks back from the Vieux Port, the clientele is local rather than touristy, the food brasserie-style reliable, the bill always reasonable, and it has never let us down. What more can I say?
Bar de la Marine
I know, I know, everyone goes on about La Marine on the Vieux Port. But they do so for a reason. It’s a great place to hang out, either inside by the old zinc, or outside on Quai de Rive Neuve, nursing a pastis (ask for a jaune), and watching the world go by. If it seems familiar on a first visit you probably saw Colin Firth propose to his Portuguese girlfriend here in Love Actually. Order a plate of tapas, their beef carpaccio or a pizza anchois if you’re feeling peckish.
Le Miramar
Centrally located on the Vieux Port under its unmistakeable scarlet awning this is another great Marseilles institution, a founding member of the 'Charte de la Bouillabaisse' serving 'Le Vrai Bouillabaisse'. It’s a Jacquot favourite though he usually goes straight to the kitchen for the 'Soufflé au Citron', with a dash of vodka tipped into it. An unforgettable treat. It may look a little like a tourist trap, but don’t be deceived. It’s the real thing. Can’t wait to go back.
... Please don't hesitate to send Martin your own recommendations for his next research trip...
Daniel Jacquot was born and raised in Le Panier, the old quarter of Marseilles. His Corsican father, Vincent, was a fisherman, and his French mother, Marie-Anne, was an artist. He was a wild, free-spirited boy who grew up with little supervision, and by the age of twelve he had joined a local gang called the Chats de Nuit. He learned how to pick a lock and a pocket, and at fifteen was starting to run fast and loose when his father was lost at sea. Three months later his mother was killed when an anarchist bomb exploded outside the department store where she was painting shop-window backdrops.
Jacquot clearly remembers the last time he saw his parents: his father waving to him from the stern of a trawler, putting fingers to his lips and letting out a whistle that rang round Marseilles’ Vieux Port; his mother, dressed in her favourite red shoes and flower-print dress, dropping him at the school gates before heading off to work, stopping at the corner to blow him a kiss.
A week after the bombing, Jacquot was sent to the École des Orphelins in Borel where he was eventually tracked down by his mother's aristocratic father, Antoine de Blazy-Landau, and taken back to the family estate where his mother had grown up. It was through his grandfather that Jacquot learned to love rugby. By the time he was eighteen he was playing with a local club, but when his grandfather died and his uncle took over the estate it was made clear to him that he was no longer a welcome member of the family.
Jacquot returned to Marseilles with a small sum of money left to him by his grandfather. He found himself a loft apartment in Le Panier, and under the guiding hand and stern eye of harbour-master, Jean-Pierre Salette, and apartment concierge, Madame Foraque – both old friends of his parents – Jacquot learned to look after himself and make his own way. Following a raft of part-time jobs, it was Salette who suggested he join the police in order to earn a proper living and still play rugby.
In his mid-twenties Jacquot was finally selected for the national squad and made his first appearance playing for France in a Five Nations final against England at Twickenham. In the closing minutes of the game, brought on as a substitute, he intercepted a bad pass and after running the length of the pitch he scored the winning try. A week later, playing for his club, he snapped an Achilles tendon and his playing days were over.
But twenty years on Daniel Jacquot is still remembered for that mighty try. A handshake here, a drink there, a nod, a smile of recognition. And he's still a policeman, working homicide as a Chief Inspector with the Marseilles Judiciaire.
A good-looking man, well-built, with green eyes, a broken nose and curling brown hair tied in a ponytail, Jacquot is determinedly unaffected by the horrors he encounters in his job, and maintains a maverick attitude towards the politics and protocols of rank and bureaucracy. Like playing rugby, his single aim and focus is to bring down the opposition as quickly and effectively as possible.
As a counterpoint to his work, he has a huge and lasting appetite for life – for good food, fine wine, music, and women – and remains happily and attractively unaware of his own good looks and easy charm.