Marcel Duvoisin

Marcel Duvoisin is 34, and presents himself as Swiss, an employee of a bank in Lausanne. Married three weeks ago, he is traveling through New Zealand with his wife on their honeymoon, and speaks of the trip with the enthusiasm of someone who spent months planning it. He says she had dreamed of the southern fjords since she was a girl, and that all he wanted was white wine, sheep and a bit of rain.

He says he lives in Lausanne, in a bright apartment with a view of the lake, a living room with a gray sofa, a wine rack and a balcony with two iron chairs. He says he loves sailing on weekends, that the air of the region calms him, and that the neighbors call him by name. It is the image of an orderly, tranquil life, of a man who does everything at the right time.

He has a swimmer's broad shoulders, fair tanned skin, short brown hair combed back and a thin, well-trimmed mustache. He wears a navy-blue polo shirt with a beige sweater draped over his shoulders, and a steel watch on his wrist. Far too friendly, he smiles before every answer, talks about wines and mountains to change the subject and treats the detective like a polite waiter.

About what he was doing on the night of the explosions, his account is a tourist's: he was at the hotel, having dinner with his wife, and when they heard the blast they thought it was thunder. Ask the waiter, he suggests, he left a good tip. As for his job, he says it is at a bank in Lausanne, very boring, very Swiss.

Marcel talks unhurriedly, laughs at his own jokes and apologizes for everything, including the time the detective is wasting. It may be the friendliness of a tourist who finds himself caught in a senseless mess. It may be a coat of varnish on someone who has rehearsed every smile. The detective will have to decide which.