Death in Pont-Aven

by Jean-Luc Bannalec

  Maurice Kerriou appeared with the seafood, a bottle of chilled Sancerre and a big bottle of Badoit. Dupin was finding this all a little over the top. Everything was laid out beautifully on the table. This was taking a while.

  ‘You were talking about the clubs.’

  ‘Yes, as I was saying, alongside his work in the hotel, Monsieur Pennec found the time to get involved in societies relating to Pont-Aven and the museum. I should make special mention of course, of the fact that he was the chairman, until last year, of the Mécénat breton – an organisation for the patrons of the museum. We have a huge number of prominent donors. Without them we could never have achieved what we have – the town, the region and the département, as well as local government, have supported us too of course. With the financial backing of the society we were able to convert the rear section of the Julia Hotel into a museum and we were able to commission a respected architectural firm in Concarneau to build it – I’m sure you’re aware of that.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And that was the only way we were able to finance our spectacular acquisitions too. You’ll be aware of those?’ Beauvois was looking expectantly at Dupin.

  ‘I would like to know how much money Pierre-Louis Pennec contributed… and what exactly it went towards?’ said Dupin, instead of answering Beauvois’ question. He was gradually losing patience with Beauvois’ wonderful stories about himself.

  Beauvois looked quite disappointed. ‘It varied a lot. Sometimes it would be small amounts for putting up exhibition posters, for instance. Other times it would be larger amounts.’

  ‘If you could be more specific?’

  ‘There were two donations recently. Three thousand euro for a series of radio adverts for our new exhibition. We’re going to –’

  ‘And the second amount?’

  ‘It was a larger amount of money, for the museum and the exhibition rooms. We need to do some renovation and we need a new air-conditioning system. We don’t have any of the truly important paintings here, of course we don’t, but there are some interesting ones.’

  ‘What do you mean by larger?’ Dupin was annoyed.

  ‘Eighty thousand euro.’

  ‘Eighty thousand euro?’

  ‘That’s only a fraction of what the air-conditioning system and installation will cost. We had to do some construction work for it. Armor Lux is generously giving us the rest of the money – the Breton textiles company, do you know it? The one with the stripy jumpers.’

  Of course Dupin knew Armor Lux, everyone in France knew it.

  ‘Pierre-Louis Pennec knew the owner of Armor Lux, he helped me a little bit with getting the funding. And he wanted to take care of the funding we still needed.’

  ‘This is seriously big money. Do you have any idea how much he’s donated over the last few years and decades? Just to the museum I mean.’

  ‘Well it’s hard to say. I’ll have to think about it.’

  Beauvois scratched his nose. Apparently this topic made him uncomfortable.

  ‘Maybe… maybe three hundred thousand in the last fifteen years, that’s how long we’ve had the art society. There was one before that too actually. But so unprofessionally run, Monsieur Aubert had –’

  ‘You think it was three hundred thousand euro?’

  ‘I can’t say exactly off the top of my head. About that, I reckon.’

  ‘So they were substantial donations then.’

  ‘Indeed. The individual amounts add up. But the eighty thousand, if I’m not mistaken, was the highest single amount.’

  ‘And how were the other amounts used?’

  ‘Oh, well that has been documented very carefully, every detail, you’re free to take a look at our books.’ Beauvois was looking somewhat indignant.

  ‘I meant in broad terms, what kinds of projects were implemented with these funds?’

  ‘Renovation work at the Julia Hotel, converting that section of the museum. If you only knew how much sanitation systems in such old buildings cost. A whole new floor in three rooms. The inner insulation, I could –’

  ‘Pierre-Louis Pennec’s death must be quite a blow to the art society. I’m sure you can’t have many supporters who are quite that generous.’

  ‘Well not many, no. That’s true. But it’s not like we can complain. We’ve been able to persuade a huge number of local businesses to get involved, not just private individuals. But yes, it’s a great loss to our society. Pierre-Louis was a generous soul!’

  ‘I’m sure that Monsieur Pennec would have wanted to protect your work beyond his death.’ His sentence had been awkwardly phrased, Dupin knew that. But he was very interested in finding out whether Beauvois knew anything about the provisions of the will. And when you couldn’t ask something directly, bizarrely vague sentences could sometimes come in handy.

  ‘What do you mean, Monsieur le Commissaire? That he remembered us in his will?’

  Dupin hadn’t reckoned with Beauvois being so direct. ‘Yes. I suppose that’s exactly what I meant.’

  ‘I don’t know anything about that, Monsieur le Commissaire. Monsieur Pennec never so much as hinted at anything like that. Never, not even once. We never spoke about it.’

  A mobile with an irritating ringtone went off. Monsieur Beauvois reached into the pocket of his rather baggy dark blue jacket. ‘Hello?’

  He smiled conspiratorially at Dupin. ‘Ah. I see. Go ahead.’

  Beauvois listened carefully to the person on the other end of the line for a while. Then his voice suddenly became curt. ‘No, that’s not how I see it at all. Not in the slightest. I’ll be in touch. We’ll discuss it. Yes, au revoir.’ He hung up, smiled at Dupin again and continued smoothly. ‘It would of course be very fortunate… in the midst of this catastrophe of course. Very fortunate for our work. But I really don’t know anything about it. About any kind of provision along those lines in his will.’ He blinked. ‘And I’m not counting on it… even though I don’t know either way.’

  Beauvois was doing this in style. Or else what he said really was true.

  ‘Anything else then?’

  Beauvois looked confused.

  ‘I mean, did anything strike you about Monsieur Pennec when you saw him on Tuesday, a change in his behaviour, in his appearance? Whatever it might be, any insignificant detail could be important.’

  ‘No.’ The answer came without hesitation.

  ‘Did his health seem to you to be affected in any way?’

  ‘His health?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘No… I mean, I didn’t notice anything about him in particular. He was very old. You could tell he was feeling his age more in the last few years. But his mind was totally alert and still razor sharp. Did you have anything specific in mind?’

  This was exactly what Dupin thought he would say.

  ‘Do you know Pierre-Louis Pennec’s half-brother?’

  ‘André Pennec? No. I just know that he exists. He wasn’t here very often. I’ve only been in Pont-Aven for thirty years. I’m from Lorient. I don’t know all the stories. André Pennec had already left Finistère by the time I came to Pont-Aven. All I know is there was a serious quarrel. Something very personal I think.’

  ‘And his relationship with his son?’

  ‘I don’t think I can really judge that either. Pierre-Louis Pennec was such a discreet person, you know, a man of firm principles. He would never have said anything if the relationship hadn’t been all that good. There was a lot of talk about the relationship between father and son. Here in the village I mean.’

  ‘Really? What were people saying?’

  ‘You shouldn’t take this very seriously.’

  ‘I won’t. But maybe I should at least know what the gossip is, eh?’

  Beauvois gave him an amused, knowing look.

  ‘People used to say that the father wasn’t too pleased with his son.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I can actually imagine, that… Well, one thing was for sure, you know, y
ou could see it straight off. Pennecness, that typical Pennecness, Loic Pennec didn’t really have it. The desire for something big. To create something that mattered. Not every generation inherited that.’

  ‘And you think this was obvious? Obvious to everyone?’

  ‘Oh yes, anyone with eyes could see it. It’s sad. We’d resigned ourselves to it here in the village. Myself included.’

  ‘Here in the village?’

  ‘Yes. The village is a… a close community. You just don’t know it well enough. Don’t think about the few weeks of the summer when there are thousands of outsiders here. Think of the rest of the year. We’re very much left on our own. So inevitably people are very close to one another. Everyone knows a lot about everyone else, that’s just how it has to be.’

  ‘Did they fight? Were there any arguments?’

  ‘Oh no, that wasn’t it. Not as far as I know.’

  Beauvois’ forehead creased.

  ‘Was there much talk about the son?’

  ‘There used to be. Not so much now. At some point it just became clear.’

  ‘What became clear?’

  ‘That he isn’t a real Pennec. That’s all.’

  ‘And did he know there were rumours going round about him?’

  ‘I’m sure he must have. He felt it. He failed at everything.’

  ‘Then why has his father left him the hotel to run?’

  ‘Has he really?’

  ‘Wouldn’t you assume so?’

  ‘Well, absolutely. I certainly would.’ Beauvois looked a bit shocked. ‘I don’t think there was any other option. Pierre-Louis Pennec would never have wanted to cause a scandal under any circumstances. And that would have been a very big thing in every possible sense. If the hotel had gone to someone else, I mean.’

  ‘Who else could have taken over the hotel?’

  ‘Well, nobody. That’s what I mean: the Central – it just is the Pennec family. Family and tradition were sacred for Pierre-Louis. A non-Pennec in charge of the Central – that would have been unthinkable. And Pierre-Louis Pennec was clever enough, you know, to have established Madame Mendu in the hotel years ago, and she can run it after Madame Lajoux… exactly as Pierre-Louis Pennec would have wanted it to be run. Under his son’s leadership of course.’ Beauvois was visibly uncomfortable with this topic now.

  ‘This is all quite complicated.’

  ‘Yes. Very complicated, Monsieur le Commissaire. And I shouldn’t be going around talking about all of these things. I think I’ve probably already said too much.’

  ‘Did you have any other joint projects? You and Pierre-Louis Pennec I mean?’

  ‘We used to discuss so many different things whenever we met. But there was nothing specific recently. No specific plans I mean. Except for the little photography exhibition. Yes, we were seriously considering that. He would have liked to have seen those photos, the ones I mentioned earlier, on display sometime.’

  ‘Did you speak about that on Tuesday too?’

  ‘Yes, briefly. I brought it up but then we didn’t go into it. Pierre-Louis Pennec was focused on the brochure on Tuesday, it was very important to him. And the building work in the museum too.’

  ‘Did Pennec request the meeting?’

  ‘Yes, on Monday evening. We always agreed to meet up at short notice.’

  ‘He didn’t seem different to you that day in any way?’

  ‘He seemed full of energy. Very impatient.’

  If he were honest, Dupin really didn’t know where he should be steering the conversation at this point. But he had learnt a huge amount. He thought Beauvois was an odd character; he seemed to be playing some sort of role. Apart from all that, there was something bothering Dupin, deep down. Something vague, all day long, stronger and more urgent now after this conversation with Beauvois. He didn’t know what it was, but it was making him uneasy.

  They had already polished off the red mullet. It had actually been exquisite, grilled, just the way Dupin liked it. That little hint of bitterness to the pure white, firm flesh, it was simply sublime. Although he found there was never much fish left after it had been filleted. They had also drunk a second glass of Sancerre each, although Dupin really hadn’t wanted another.

  Beauvois broke the silence that had descended, ‘Now, we should be speaking to Maurice about dessert.’

  ‘Oh not for me today. I’m sure they’re excellent. But no thank you. I still have a lot to do.’

  ‘You’re really missing out, Monsieur le Commissaire.’

  ‘I’m sure I am. But I have to get going. You stay and enjoy your dessert.’

  ‘All right, that sounds like an order.’ Beauvois laughed, a frank, relieved laugh. ‘I’ll stay then. We pensioners have earned this.’

  ‘Thank you, Monsieur Beauvois. You’ve been really helpful.’ Dupin was glad to be finally getting shot of Beauvois.

  ‘I hope you make progress with your investigation.’

  ‘Thank you. Au revoir.’

  Dupin stood up, held out his hand to Monsieur Beauvois and was already a few metres away when it suddenly occurred to him that he hadn’t paid. He turned on his heel to find Beauvois already smiling at him.

  ‘It was my pleasure, Monsieur le Commissaire.’

  ‘No, I can’t accept, I mean –’

  ‘I insist.’

  ‘Okay… yes, well thank you very much then, Monsieur Beauvois.’

  ‘It was a pleasure. Au revoir.’

  ‘Have a nice day.’

  Dupin left the restaurant extremely quickly.

  It was half past three now. The Pennecs would be at Madame Denis’ office. Dupin wanted to speak to both of them again but their appointment with the notary wouldn’t take too long. He decided he would just drop in on them later. He had time to make a few calls now. He could go to his hidden bench where he would have some peace and quiet. It wasn’t far.

  The minute he turned off the path there wasn’t a soul in sight. He stood in front of the bench right by the water and watched the rapids. Two trout darting here and there. If you forgot for a moment that you were just a few metres away from the Atlantic, this looked just like the village his father came from. It was on the other side of France, in the foothills of the mountains right in the middle of the Jura. This wasn’t the first time he had been struck by the similarity. The Doubs was a little river in Orgêt, just like the Aven was here. It had the same atmosphere to it, it really was uncanny. His father, Gaspard Dupin, had loved that little village, even after living in Paris for a very long time and marrying Anna, an upper-class Parisian who could not have been more Parisian if she’d tried and who to this day would rather die than leave Paris. At the age of seventeen Gaspard had left his village and its one hundred inhabitants on the edge of the mountains, gone to the capital and entered the police service there where he had risen quite quickly to the rank of Chief Commissaire. He died of a heart attack aged forty-one; Dupin had been six at the time. He didn’t remember much about his father, but he did remember them going trout-fishing together in the Doubs.

  Dupin realised his mind was wandering. He got out his mobile. Le Ber was on the line immediately.

  ‘Monsieur le Commissaire?’

  ‘I’ve just come from a meal with Beauvois.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I’m not quite sure.’

  ‘An oddball I reckon. And not entirely harmless. The Pennecs would like to speak to you again, I thought you should know. They called late morning and asked to have a meeting with you soon. And the mayor of Pont-Aven was here, Monsieur Goyard. Also the Prefect was trying to get in touch with you, he said it was urgent.’

  ‘What do you mean by “not entirely harmless”?’

  ‘I… I can’t hear you. It’s loud on your end – are you at the river again?’

  Dupin didn’t answer, just repeated his question much more loudly.

  Le Ber was silent for a long time. ‘I don’t know.’

  Dupin ran his hand through his hair. He knew
it was pointless asking any questions when Le Ber spoke like this. But it drove him mad. Every time they were in the middle of a complex case, he would suddenly come up with these mysterious sentences – without any explanation. As much as he wanted to, Dupin couldn’t deny that they had an effect on him.

  ‘What about you and Labat, how are your inquiries coming along?’

  ‘We’ve made some progress with the telephone call lists. With the main line that is, the calls that were made to or from here. We’ve listed the calls according to destination, distance and region. Two thirds were to Pont-Aven and the surrounding region. Most of those to Quimper and Brest. And we have lots of calls to Paris, mainly private numbers. Probably guests. Most of the guests at the Central are from Paris. Then a few other calls to Paris. Three conversations with the Ministry of Tourism. Three to a cake company. Two to the Musée d’Orsay.’

  ‘The Ministry of Tourism and the Musée d’Orsay?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘We don’t know yet.’

  ‘Try and find out. I want to know who made those calls from the hotel. And why.’

  Dupin knew the Musée d’Orsay, rather well in fact. A girlfriend of his had worked there for a long time; she was in Arles now. He had visited many times and had loved it.

  ‘When were these calls?’

  ‘Both on Tuesday, one at half eight in the morning, the other at half eleven.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll be back at the hotel soon. But first I’m going to see the Pennecs. Has Salou said anything else about the break-in?’

  ‘Just that he hasn’t found anything yet. Not even traces of footprints. He’s pretty much assuming it’s a case of someone playing a terrible joke or else some kind of diversionary tactic.’