‘Exactly what I said.’
‘I would like to know more, Monsieur Pennec.’
‘I don’t see any reason to divulge personal details about my relationship with my brother.’
‘You were a radical advocate of the Breton nationalist movement Emgann at the beginning of the seventies.’ Dupin had used one of his favourite techniques, launching straight into a topic without preamble. ‘There are rumours you have links with its extremist military wing, the Breton Revolutionary Army.’ Dupin paused for a few moments. ‘There have been casualties in the struggle against the “French oppressors”. Quite a few in fact.’
André Pennec momentarily lost control of his facial features, just for a split-second, but Dupin had seen it. Anger and bewilderment. ‘That’s ancient history, Monsieur le Commissaire.’ André Pennec was speaking in an arrogant, relaxed tone now. ‘The sins of one’s youth! I never had any links to the Breton Revolutionary Army. None at all. Foolishness is what it was, that army. Good thing they stamped it out.’
‘A young socialist, Fragan Delon, publicly accused you of these links at the time. Repeatedly and publicly. The story goes that you refused to take any action against him because you were afraid of the investigations.’
‘That is absurd. Delon has always been a lunatic. My brother should have been more wary of him. I was always telling him so.’ His voice was still under control, even if his tone had become a little sharper.
‘Wary?’
‘I mean –’ He broke off. ‘People choose their friends.’
‘Your brother was firmly against Emgann, in every way.’
‘We had our differences over it.’
‘You haven’t seen each other much in the last, what, forty years since then? They must have been pretty serious “differences”.’
‘That’s just how it happened to turn out, Monsieur le Commissaire. These old rumours.’ Again he hesitated a little. ‘We talked on the phone from time to time. Every so often.’
‘I understand you left Brittany at the end of the seventies and started all over again in Provence because you were afraid that a political career here could be put at risk at any time by those old rumours.’
‘That is also absurd.’
‘Your career rather took off in the years that followed.’
‘What are you trying to get at, Monsieur le Commissaire? Do you suspect me of murdering my brother? That is grotesque in itself. All because of minor ideological disputes forty years ago? I’m seventy-five now and I’m not going to sit here and listen to any more of this. This is all irrelevant. A joke.’
‘You have a significant event coming up. You’re going to be receiving the National Order of Merit. That would be the crowning achievement of your life’s work as a politician.’
‘Very much so.’
‘Bad news could ruin everything.’
‘Bad news? There is no bad news. I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Where were you the day before yesterday, Thursday, during the day and evening?’
‘Is this an interrogation, Monsieur le Commissaire?’ He sounded openly aggressive now. But André Pennec remembered himself straight away and changed his tone. ‘Toulon. I was at my house in Toulon on Thursday. I was working all day.’
‘And somebody can attest to this of course.’
‘My wife certainly can. Then yesterday morning I was in the office when Loic Pennec’s call came through. I set out immediately. My wife brought a few things in a little suitcase to the airport for me. Feel free to take a look at my boarding pass. I hired a car in Quimper. And that’s all I’m going to say.’
‘Did your brother remember you in his will?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘I just want to know whether you think you’re getting anything in your brother’s will?’
‘No. I shouldn’t think so. Unless he changed it again recently, which I’d imagine is highly unlikely. After our differences of opinion he drafted a clause to exclude me from inheriting anything and deposited it with his notary. He told me.’ André Pennec was speaking in hushed tones again now. ‘I’ve managed to achieve a certain level of wealth myself you know. I don’t need any financial support. And of course you’ll have been familiar with the contents of my brother’s will for a while by now. You know I’m not mentioned.’
‘A politician’s reputation is his greatest asset. And his most vulnerable.’
‘Monsieur le Commissaire,’ Pennec’s tone was almost conciliatory now, ‘I don’t think this is appropriate. I came to find out what really happened to my brother and whether you’ve got any leads yet. I’m not interested in anything else to be honest. And then I’ll see if I can help Loic and Catherine in some way. Make sure everything’s okay at the hotel. My brother considered it his life’s work.’
Dupin only just managed to control himself. ‘We don’t have any significant findings yet, Monsieur Pennec. The investigation is ongoing. I’ll be conducting interviews with the suspects.’
‘So nothing yet then.’
‘Have some faith in the Breton police… So do you have any idea what might have happened, Monsieur Pennec? I’d be interested to hear it.’
‘Me? Not at all. How would I have any idea? A robbery? My brother was a good businessman and you can get stabbed for ten euro these days.’
‘That would be your theory, then?’
‘I don’t have a theory. It’s your job to solve the case.’
‘Were you in touch with your brother recently?’
André Pennec answered without hesitation. ‘We spoke on the phone on Tuesday.’
‘Tuesday of this week?’
‘Yes, two days before he died.’
‘That’s quite a coincidence, isn’t it? You speak so rarely… and then you speak to him just before he dies.’
‘What an insinuation! Even more of this disrespect. Whatever it is you’re trying to say in your disgracefully vague way, I’m not going to respond.’ His harsh words were strikingly different from the quiet, confident way he said them. André Pennec was a master of self-control – and of the strategic, completely nonchalant change of tone as and when he wished. In this too he was ever the politician.
‘Can you tell me what this phone call was about?’
‘As you already know, I called him from time to time. To hear how he was, how the hotel was, how his son and daughter-in-law were. Just family stuff. For the last ten years at least. I wanted some interaction with my brother, as difficult as that was with our history looming in the background.’
‘That’s all you talked about for ten minutes.’
‘That’s all we talked about for ten minutes. And I can tell you now, he didn’t say anything out of the ordinary. I didn’t notice anything unusual about him.’
‘What specific things did you talk about?’
André Pennec thought about it for a moment. ‘We spoke about fishing. He was planning to buy a new set of fishing equipment. That was one topic. The sea. Fishing.’
‘Yes,’ Dupin paused unnaturally, ‘yes, then I think we can end our talk there… If you’ve found out everything you wanted to find out, I mean.’
André Pennec looked momentarily irritated again. ‘I take it you will inform me personally as soon as anything happens.’
‘We will, Monsieur Pennec. You can depend on it.’
Pennec stood up firmly, held out his hand to Dupin in a professional, polite way and moved towards the door. ‘Au revoir, Monsieur le Commissaire.’
‘Excuse me, Monsieur Pennec… One last thing. How long are you staying for?’
Pennec was already at the door. He didn’t even turn round all the way. ‘Until everything is sorted here. The burial and everything else that’s going on at the moment.’
‘Good. I have your number. And I know where to find you.’
Pennec didn’t respond. Dupin waited until he overheard Pennec leaving the reception. Then he left his office too.
‘I’m going to the notary’s of
fice, Nolwenn.’
There was a coffee right at the edge of Nolwenn’s desk. Dupin smiled. Nolwenn always put it there without a word. He took the cup and drank it in one go.
‘Please do. By the time you get there we’ll have the official judicial order to inspect the will, just one more phone call. Madame Denis only came back from London at midday the day before yesterday. An extremely impressive woman. Her family goes way way back and she speaks fluent Breton. But she just doesn’t have any luck with men.’
Dupin was still preoccupied with the unpleasant conversation he’d just had. ‘I’ve got to call Le Ber.’
‘He just called. About the break-in.’
‘Good.’
‘A horrible man, that André Pennec,’ said Nolwenn sadly, ‘it’s so strange, they look incredibly similar and yet they couldn’t be more different.’
Dupin didn’t say anything.
‘Oh yes, there was another thing. Your sister called yesterday. Nothing specific, she just wanted to speak to you, so I told her you were busy with a complex case. She wanted me to say hello from her.’
Lou. He had been meaning to get in touch with her for ages; she never called his mobile any more.
‘Thanks, Nolwenn. I’ll call her.’
He really would call her.
He hurried out of the door.
Dupin had left his car in the big car park by the harbour because driving it that last little bit was never worth it. Concarneau was a tangle of one-way streets.
Dupin fiddled with his mobile.
‘Le Ber?’
‘Yes?’
‘Check what time André Pennec left Toulon yesterday – and look into his whole journey. He was in the office beforehand. When did he buy the ticket and where, what flight was he on? Where did he rent the car in Quimper? Everything. Immediately!’ He paused for a second. ‘What is Salou saying about the break-in at the scene?’
‘I… Okay. I’ll handle it. On the break-in, Salou says there’s nothing to report. So far. He’s concentrating on possible traces, footprints, whatever there might be, around the window. To establish whether anyone actually climbed in.’
‘You didn’t notice anything either? Did you look carefully?’
‘Of course, Monsieur le Commissaire. But there was nothing to see, no changes since yesterday in the bar or restaurant. If somebody did go into the room, there are no indications as to what they might have been doing.’
‘All right, Le Ber.’
‘It doesn’t make sense though. Why would anyone take down the cordon at a crime scene and smash in a window? Do you think it could have been some stupid joke?’
‘I have no idea, Le Ber.’
‘I’ll let the Pennecs know. I assume you don’t feel you need to do that yourself.’
‘Good. I’ll see you after my appointment with the notary.’
‘My instinct is telling me there’s something big here. Something very big is going on.’
Le Ber’s grave pronouncement seemed to change the tone of the conversation. There was a long pause.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t think I even know what I mean.’
‘Right… well, then.’
Dupin hung up.
The notary had a beautiful old stone house, a tastefully renovated one, further upstream where the river flowed with quiet grace over its bed of granite. She had her office on the ground and first floors, and she lived on the second floor. In the small, pristine, landscaped front garden stood half a dozen palm trees – ever an attraction for tourists; and you could always hear someone showing off about what everyone knew anyway: ‘The Gulf Stream hits Brittany directly which means a mild climate even in winter. There’s never any frost in Brittany because of it, it’s rarely under ten degrees – ideal weather for palm trees.’
Madame Denis opened the door herself. She was stylishly dressed in a beige shift dress with matching high-heeled sandals. Expensive-looking, but understated.
‘Bonjour, Monsieur le Commissaire.’ She smiled at Dupin without overdoing it, looking him in the eye.
‘Bonjour, Madame Maître.’
‘Please come in. We’ll go up to my study.’ She gestured towards the stairs, which led directly upstairs from beside the front door.
‘Absolutely.’
Dupin went first.
‘Are you well?’
‘Yes, thank you. Marvellous.’
‘Thank you for making time to see me at such short notice. You must have known Monsieur Pennec very well.’
‘I’ve known him a long time. Since I was a child.’
She was sitting behind her elegant old desk, and Dupin in one of the two, no less elegant, chairs opposite her.
‘Monsieur Pierre-Louis Pennec called me on Tuesday morning, he said it was about a personal matter. Nothing to do with the hotel. It was urgent. Initially he wanted to have a meeting at six o’clock on Thursday evening. I’d confirmed it with him, but he called again an hour later wanting to postpone the appointment to Friday morning. He said he was planning to make a change to his will. I thought I should tell you that before we get on to the contents.’
Dupin was startled by her words. He was suddenly wide awake. ‘A change to his will?’
‘He didn’t tell me exactly what it involved on the phone. I asked him whether there was anything I could prepare in advance. But he wanted to talk to me about it in person.’
‘Do you have any idea what it might have been? What he wanted to change?’
‘I haven’t the faintest idea I’m afraid.’
‘Is there anything special in the will? Anything surprising, I mean? I take it Loic Pennec will inherit everything.’
‘His son will inherit the hotel – although there are certain conditions attached to that, to do with how the hotel is to be run – as well as the house he’s living in with his wife. Pierre-Louis Pennec had four properties in total and he left the second one, which was the house he lived in himself, to the art society in Pont-Aven. The third property will be inherited by Fragan Delon and the fourth by Francine Lajoux. Pierre-Louis Pennec also left her a letter, which she will receive now. Monsieur Delon inherits both of Pennec’s boats.’
Dupin leaned forwards; he couldn’t hide his astonishment. There was no obvious emotion apparent in Madame Denis’ face or voice. She reported the stipulations of the will with utter professionalism.
‘The last two properties I mentioned are in fact the houses that Madame Lajoux and Monsieur Delon have already occupied for quite a long time. Cash and everything else goes to the son, but we’re not talking big amounts. The last I heard was that the liquid assets amounted to about two hundred thousand euro. And that has certain conditions attached to it as well: at least a hundred thousand euro must always remain in the account for potential repairs and renovations to the hotel. Some plots of land in the legacy are going to the son too – seven pieces, scattered all over the region, all of them quite small except for two bigger ones, around a thousand square metres each, with a kind of warehouse on each one. One of these is in Port Manech, the other is in Le Pouldu. None of it is land for building on, it’s worthless really, but if you were to get planning permission it would of course be a completely different story. But the strict coastal protection laws prevent that. Monsieur Pennec inherited most of the plots of land himself in the first place… That’s the core of the will.’
Dupin had meticulously noted everything down. ‘Delon and Lajoux inherit. And the art society too. A whole house.’
This wasn’t a question, and Madame Denis didn’t reply.
‘Three out of the four properties aren’t going to the son.’
‘Three out of five.’
‘Five?’
‘The hotel.’
‘Yes, of course. It’s still a surprise though.’
‘I’m expecting Loic and Catherine Pennec at three o’clock today, for the unsealing of the will. I’ll be making appointments with the other beneficiarie
s for tomorrow morning.’
‘Does Loic Pennec know? I mean, did Monsieur Pennec ever tell you that his son was aware of these provisions in the will?’
‘I’m not sure. We didn’t speak about things like that.’ Madame Denis thought for a moment. ‘He never told me his son was familiar with the contents of the will. But that’s not any business of the notary, you know.’
‘What do you think though, what does your instinct tell you? If I can put it like that.’
‘I really can’t say, Monsieur le Commissaire. I don’t feel comfortable with the thought that my instinct on this question would play any kind of role in your investigation.’
‘I understand, Madame. When does the will date from?’
‘Pierre-Louis Pennec made the will twelve years ago. I drafted it for him. And it’s never been changed since.’
‘Is there only one copy, the one here?’
‘Yes, just this one copy. Appropriately stored of course, in the building’s safe with all the other important documents.’
‘And what kind of letter did he write to Madame Lajoux?’
‘I obviously don’t know the contents. A personal letter.’
‘The Pennecs won’t be very happy about the will.’
‘There are two more clauses to mention. One of them concerns a shed. There is a large shed, practically a little house, right on the edge of Delon’s plot of land. There was a dispute about it once between Pennec and his son, around the time the will was drawn up. The son had set up a workshop for his honey there. You know about Loic Pennec’s business, don’t you?’
‘Not much, just that he once tried to run a small business. He wanted to sell Breton honey, miel de mer.’
‘That’s as much as I know too, Monsieur le Commissaire.’
‘Is he still in business? Is he still using that building as a workshop?’
‘That I couldn’t tell you, unfortunately. I just know that Pennec wanted to allow Delon to use it – it’s in his garden after all. How the son even got in there with his honey I don’t know. There was an argument, and in the end Pierre-Louis Pennec did give his son the use of the building, but the will stipulates that the building goes to Delon after Pennec’s death. What the son really wanted back then was to be given Delon’s house so he could turn it into a shop. I only know this because the clause in the will can be traced back to their argument about it.’
Death in Pont-Aven Page 9
