Death in Pont-Aven

by Jean-Luc Bannalec

  ‘Nonsense… Has anyone been in the room today?’

  ‘Nobody. Only Labat and I have the key. And you of course.’

  There was a pause. Le Ber knew that the Commissaire sometimes hung up without saying goodbye if he felt the conversation was over. ‘Are you still there, Monsieur le Commissaire?’

  Dupin again began his answer with a hesitation. ‘I want to go into the restaurant again.’ Dupin spoke very firmly, although he was really speaking more to himself than Le Ber.

  ‘Is there anything I should be doing?’

  Again there was a pause and while Le Ber was asking again whether the Commissaire was still there, Dupin hung up.

  ‘Yes?’

  Madame Pennec was standing in the doorway. She was looking Dupin right in the eye, her gaze somewhat reproachful. It occurred to him that he hadn’t prepared any kind of strategy for this conversation; he couldn’t just ask how the reading of the will had gone.

  ‘Inspector Le Ber tells me you’ve asked to speak to me.’

  Madame Pennec composed herself. ‘Yes, of course. That’s what we wanted. Do come in. My husband just wanted to have a lie down. He’s burnt out. Emotionally I mean. I’ll get him, if you could wait in the drawing room.’

  Dupin already knew where it was. Loic Pennec appeared on the stairs a few minutes later.

  ‘Monsieur le Commissaire. I’m so glad you’ve come.’

  Pennec looked absolutely awful. His face haggard, his eyes red.

  ‘No problem.’

  Pennec glanced at his wife. ‘First of all we obviously wanted to know how the investigation is going. Whether you’ve made progress yet. And how your investigation into what happened last night is going, too.’

  ‘We have made progress, Monsieur Pennec, I can assure you. Although we don’t have a smoking gun, as they say, the investigations will continue. The more we know, the more complicated the case is becoming.’ Dupin paused. ‘And we have nothing new on the broken windowpane and the possible break-in last night.’

  ‘Yes, I can imagine you have a lot on your plate at the moment.’ Pennec tried to smile but he couldn’t manage it.

  ‘That’s exactly it. But this is our job.’

  ‘And the other thing,’ Madame Pennec’s voice sounded strained, ‘the other thing we wanted to ask is how you foresee your work in the hotel going? I mean all the rooms that are locked up, all of that. I’m sure you can see that this isn’t easy for us. The tourist season has started. My husband is responsible for everything now,’ she broke off for a moment, ‘and he wants to handle this new responsibility properly since he’s been landed with it in this terrible twist of fate. I’m sure you understand.’

  ‘Of course, Madame Pennec, I understand completely. If you tell me exactly what you mean then maybe we can help.’

  ‘When will everything be back to normal in the hotel? The tourist season with no restaurant, how’s that meant to work? The guests quite rightly expect the Central’s restaurant to be open. And normally the restaurant is used as the breakfast room too. The guests always have to come first.’

  ‘Are you asking when we will be finished using the crime scene for our investigations?’ Dupin was familiar with this situation. It was always the same. ‘It’s hard to say. Every murder case I solve takes on a rhythm all of its own.’

  Catherine Pennec briefly seemed to be considering carrying on but didn’t.

  ‘Does your father and father-in-law’s will contain what you expected, I mean, did you expect those conditions?’

  Dupin’s sudden question surprised them both. Madame and Monsieur Pennec looked irritated. It took a while for them to react, but Madame Pennec was first.

  ‘So you already know what was in the will?’

  ‘Obviously examining the contents of the will is one of the first things police do in a murder case.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Madame Pennec looked somewhat abashed, Loic Pennec noticeably calm.

  ‘As I’m sure you can imagine, we… we had expected slightly different provisions, that’s not something we can deny… But fundamentally I think it corresponds exactly to our expectations… to what my father and I have discussed time and again for years. I’m taking over the hotel.’

  ‘That is really the core of the will.’ Madame Pennec’s voice shook a little. But she had herself under control.

  ‘We assumed, and I’m sure this is something you’ll be asking about, that all of my father’s real estate would be part of our inheritance. I think we were justified in assuming that.’

  ‘Of course. Why were Madame Lajoux, Monsieur Delon and the art society all remembered in the will? I mean, these are high value properties.’

  ‘My father-in-law was a very generous man, a man who really valued family as well as his friends.’

  Loic Pennec came to his wife’s aid. ‘I’m sure you understand what my wife is trying to say. Friendship and of course his work were very important for my father – the hotel, the tradition, the artists, all of that – and so he expressed that in his will. We obviously respect that completely. His will corresponds exactly to his life.’

  It was clear from both their faces how upset they were by the will – and also how much they were trying to hide it. But Dupin didn’t think the will had come as a shock to them. They looked more nervous than shocked.

  ‘Yes, of course. I understand. So are you still selling honey?’ Again the question was abrupt.

  ‘We never really got it off the ground.’ Madame Pennec had rushed to answer before her husband could.

  ‘We thought it over for a long time. It could have been a very lucrative business. But we ditched it in the end. It would have been all-consuming, if it were done properly I mean. And after all it was always clear that my husband would one day take over the hotel.’

  ‘But there was already a workshop.’

  The Pennecs looked at Dupin in astonishment. ‘You mean my father’s shed?’

  ‘Yes, on the plot of land where Monsieur Delon lives.’ This last sentenced had slipped out of Dupin’s mouth very curtly.

  ‘You’re right. The shed would have been ideal for setting up a workshop. We actually did consider it.’

  ‘Was there anything your father used to worry about?’

  There was absolute confusion on Catherine and Loic Pennec’s faces now. The question was as abstract as it was open.

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Loic Pennec.

  ‘Something that was often on your father’s mind?’

  ‘I really don’t know what you mean, Monsieur le Commissaire. The hotel was my father’s life. And it was constantly on his mind. The whole time.’

  ‘I mean other things.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘That’s what I’m asking you.’

  There was silence.

  ‘Did you know about your father’s heart condition?’

  ‘Heart condition?’

  ‘A serious one.’

  ‘No. What do you mean? What heart condition?’

  ‘He didn’t have much longer to live.’

  ‘My father? He didn’t have much longer to live? How do you know?’ Pennec’s face was ashen, he looked utterly distraught.

  ‘Darling, calm down. It can’t do him any harm. He’s already dead.’ Madame Pennec noticed the black humour in what she’d just said. ‘I mean,’ she stammered, ‘I mean it’s simply awful.’ Trailing off, she laid a hand on her husband’s cheek.

  ‘Docteur Pelliet informed me yesterday. Doctor-patient confidentiality and all that. He examined your father at the beginning of the week and advised him to have surgery straight away. Your father seems not to have told anyone about this.’

  ‘Monsieur le Commissaire,’ Madame Pennec beat her husband to it, ‘Pierre-Louis Pennec was an incredible person, but also very solitary. He never wanted to bother anyone. Maybe he wanted to spare us unnecessary worry. And lots of old people have weak hearts. You shouldn’t be trying to make our grief even worse.’
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  ‘Of course, Madame Pennec. I just thought it might be important to you to know something so significant about your father and father-in-law.’

  Catherine Pennec looked embarrassed for a moment. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Thank you for your frankness, Monsieur le Commissaire. Did my father suffer… I mean, was he in pain?’

  ‘Well how did he seem to you, was his health giving him any trouble? Didn’t anything about him strike you as different?’

  Pennec still looked extremely distressed. ‘No. I mean, I don’t know. Nothing in particular. He did seem exhausted sometimes. There was that.’

  ‘But he was ninety-one. If you’re ninety-one you’re going to feel exhausted sometimes. He was slowing down of course. Had been for the last few years.’

  Pennec looked somewhat disapprovingly at his wife.

  ‘That’s just what I think. It’s normal for a ninety-one year old to get tired more quickly than someone in their eighties or seventies. But he was still in very good shape for his age. And he didn’t have any obvious physical weaknesses. Not even towards the end.’

  Pennec nodded in agreement with his wife, looking relieved. ‘I’m going to speak to Docteur Pelliet sometime. I want to know exactly what was wrong with my father.’

  ‘I completely understand, Monsieur Pennec.’

  There was a long pause, a pleasant one, which allowed everyone to get their thoughts in order. Dupin got out his Clairefontaine and leafed through it as though he were looking for something.

  ‘And in the last few days, I want to ask you again, did anything specific strike you about your father? You did see him this week. What did you speak about?’

  ‘Various things, as usual. The fish, the shoals of mackerel, his boat, the hotel. The start of the season was his main topic recently. About how the season was just getting going.’

  ‘Are things getting off to a good start?’

  ‘Yes, thank you, a very good start. My father was sure this was going to be a great season. Even in the financial crisis we didn’t have to deal with any real losses.’

  ‘Only the cheap hotels did, Monsieur le Commissaire, not the better ones.’

  ‘Were you involved in your father’s patronage work?’

  ‘I think one can… I don’t think he involved anyone in these things. He saw it as his personal mission. And he enjoyed it.’

  ‘Did you know that there had just been discussions about a relatively large sum he wanted to donate? To the art society and the museum. For renovations.’

  ‘Pierre-Louis Pennec was a great patron.’ Madame Pennec had spoken in an assiduously solemn tone.

  ‘What kind of sum was being discussed?’ asked Loic Pennec in a somewhat cautious voice.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know the specific amount. But it was substantial.’

  ‘And you have no idea how much it might have been?’ Madame Pennec had leaned forward slightly as she said this.

  ‘I really couldn’t say.’ Dupin supposed they were now wondering whether this amount would be taken out of their inheritance.

  ‘I’d also like to ask what else you spoke about in your last conversations, Monsieur Pennec?’

  ‘Minor hotel issues.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ asked Dupin.

  ‘My father used to tell me about hotel issues all the time. What had to be done. He spoke about buying new televisions for the rooms, for example. The ones we have are really very old and he wanted to get in some modern, chic flat screens. He hated televisions but thought these awful contraptions at least wouldn’t take up so much room. And of course when you take all of the rooms into account it’s a big investment.’

  ‘You spoke about that this week?’

  ‘Yes. Amongst other things.’

  ‘And what do you mean when you say you spoke about it?’

  ‘I don’t understand the question.’

  ‘I mean, did he tell you about it or did you discuss it together?’

  ‘He told me about it… and then we discussed it, yes.’ He looked enquiringly at Dupin as though wanting to be told he’d given the right answer.

  ‘And was there anything your father was concerned about recently, a big issue?’

  Madame Pennec intervened sulkily. ‘You’ve already asked about that. We didn’t notice anything unusual.’

  ‘But you’ve got to keep going over things again and again in your mind. You might forget something when you’re so emotional.’

  Dupin found himself impressed with Loic Pennec’s poise.

  ‘No. I don’t know of anything that was particularly worrying my father recently. Although of course I now know that… I’m sure his health was very much on his mind, for the last weeks and months, most of all in the last days of course, since the diagnosis. I can only imagine.’

  Dupin had suddenly started to feel uneasy while Loic Pennec was speaking. All at once he caught hold of that shadowy thought that had been going round and round in his head ever since he had spoken to Beauvois.

  ‘I think… we’ve covered a lot of ground here… you have been very helpful once again, Monsieur Pennec, Madame Pennec.’

  Dupin wanted to leave. He wanted to follow up this new lead. The abrupt end to the conversation didn’t seem to bother either of the Pennecs.

  ‘That goes without saying, Monsieur le Commissaire. We want to help in any way we possibly can. Please don’t hesitate to drop in any time if you think we could help.’

  Madame Pennec nodded her agreement, looking perfectly relaxed again. As though in response to some secret signal, all three of them stood up at the same time.

  Loic Pennec was speaking again. ‘We would like to thank you very much for your hard work. And I would ask that you excuse us if we sometimes react somewhat… emotionally at the moment. We –’

  ‘I totally understand, Monsieur Pennec. The way I see it, I have it on my conscience now, bothering you with all these things in your grief. As I said yesterday, it really is an imposition.’

  ‘No, no, Monsieur le Commissaire. It’s the right thing to do.’ Madame Pennec had already gone on ahead and opened the door.

  ‘Au revoir Madame, au revoir Monsieur.’

  ‘Au revoir Monsieur le Commissaire. I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon.’

  Dupin stood in the doorway. ‘Oh, Monsieur Pennec?’

  Both Pennecs looked enquiringly at the Commissaire.

  ‘Just one more little thing. I wonder whether we could meet in the hotel, late morning tomorrow? That would be useful. You could show me round.’

  ‘Around the hotel? No problem. And what… I mean, what’s this for?’

  ‘Nothing specific. I’d like to go over the whole hotel with you once and take our time over it.’

  Louis Pennec looked faintly offended. ‘Of course, Monsieur le Commissaire. We have an appointment with the undertaker at eleven, but apart from that I’m free. I have a lot to do in the hotel now anyway.’

  ‘Great, thank you. See you tomorrow.’

  ‘See you tomorrow.’

  Labat and Le Ber were already waiting when Dupin got to the hotel. Le Ber was smoking outside the front door. He rarely smoked; Dupin had seen him do it perhaps three or four times in the last few years. Labat was leaning casually against the doorframe in the entrance. He looked decidedly sullen when he saw Dupin coming and made a beeline for him straight away.

  ‘Monsieur le Commissaire, I’ve got to –’

  ‘I want to go to the restaurant. Alone.’

  ‘There are a few urgent things we need to discuss. I have to inform you that –’

  ‘We’ll discuss everything. Later.’

  ‘We’ve –’

  ‘Not now.’

  ‘But Monsieur le Commissaire –’

  Dupin simply walked past Labat. Le Ber followed Dupin with his eyes and took a deep pull on his cigarette, all with minimal movement. Dupin was already in the foyer of the hotel, taking out his keys and opening the door to the restaurant. Labat wouldn�
�t let it go. He was standing right next to Dupin now.

  ‘We’ve also –’

  ‘Not now, Labat.’ Dupin’s voice was sharp. He went into the room, closed the door behind him immediately and turned the key twice. He had forgotten Labat within seconds.

  All at once there was silence. The insulation really was excellent. The air-conditioning was a faint, low buzzing in the background. It was a constant hum, so you really had to listen out for it. Dupin looked around. He walked a little further into the room and stood still. He let his gaze drift slowly over the walls and ceiling. The air-conditioner, the unit itself, was nowhere to be seen. It must have been in the adjoining room or maybe in the kitchen. Every two metres or so, there were inconspicuous air vents about thirty centimetres long right the way across the entire ceiling in matte aluminium casing. This was where the air was coming out. It must be powerful air-conditioning and it must have required extensive building work.

  Dupin walked into the middle of the room, keeping his eyes glued to the walls and the paintings. There were twenty-five of these by his estimation, maybe thirty, by artists from the famous artists’ colony such as Paul Sérusier, Laval, Emile Bernard, Armand Seguin, Jacob Meyer de Haan and of course Gauguin, and also some by artists he wasn’t familiar with at all. Dupin had heard a great story once. Juliette had told it to him. She had still been a student of art history at the École des Beaux-Arts. They had been travelling round Coullioure and Cadaqués. The story she told him was a crazy one, but true. Dupin was moving very slowly, looking at each painting in turn with the utmost concentration.

  Dupin had spent three quarters of an hour in this way, going through the restaurant and bar. There had been a few knocks at the door, but Dupin hadn’t really noticed them. Then at six o’clock he opened the door himself. Both inspectors were standing across the way at the little reception desk. This time it was Le Ber who came hurrying up to him.

  ‘Monsieur le Commissaire, did something happen?’ His voice was agitated. Labat had stayed where he was and he still looked put out.

  ‘Who is the greatest art expert in this town? I mean an expert on the famous painters who used to come here.’