Dead End in the Pyrenees

Chapter 3

Chapter 3I now have the unenviable task of informing Bertrand Dupont's wife of his death. I've been told that she has been visiting her sister in Barcelona, but is due home at any time. They have one son, Emil, who lives and works in nearby Perpignan. With a heavy heart, I climb the hill behind the spa to the purpose-built apartments which sit in an elevated position above town. They are practically empty, as most of the visitors have now departed and only a very small number of these apartments are occupied all year round.

It is a cool, crisp morning and the bright sun dazzles me as I make my way. December is usually a dry month with clear, blue skies and lots of sunshine. Many visitors are returning to the north of the country, which is much wetter, and we are glad to see the back of them. It is a relief to have our town return to a slower pace of life as everyone and everything winds down and gets ready for the coming seasonal holidays.

I reach the building and take the lift. It vibrates alarmingly, so I make a mental note to descend using the stairs when I'm done. As the doors open at the fifth floor I see the hallway is in darkness. I search for a switch to activate the communal lighting, feeling my way along the corridor in the darkness and accidentally press the doorbell of an empty apartment. When I finally find the right button and the light comes on, I exhale my bated breath. It takes me only a moment to locate Dupont's apartment and I ring the bell. The door is immediately opened by a plump, middle-aged woman. Her dyed blonde hair is arranged in sausage-shaped curls and she is dressed all in black.

“Madame Dupont?” I speculate.

The woman shakes her head, stepping aside to usher me through the hallway and into a lounge. The room is full of large pieces of furniture, and the walls are lined with shelves stacked with an assortment of religious icons and ornaments. It is dismal and oppressive and reminds me of my mother's house. A rail-thin woman is sitting on the over-stuffed sofa. She constantly dabs at her eyes with a sodden handkerchief. It seems bad news travels fast and it's obvious she's already been informed of her husband's death. Still, I must advise her formally.

“I am very sorry, Madame, but I must inform you that we have found a body at the spa which has been identified as your husband, Bertrand Dupont.”

Her shoulders heave with sobs as a wave of despair overcomes her. There is a moment of awkward silence.

“My name is Madame Da Silva,” the plump woman says, breaking the tension. “I heard about Bertrand, so I met Collette when she got off the bus. It's a terrible business. How did the accident happen?”

“We do not know yet exactly how he met his death,” I reply cautiously. “But it appears as if he may have drowned. We'll know more in a couple of days. In the meantime, I need Madame Dupont to formally identify the body – if she's up to it, of course.”

Madame Dupont shuts her eyes and nods her head.

“I'll go with her,” Madame Da Silva offers.

I am most grateful for her offer, as it saves me from having to hang around.

“Thank you, Madame,” I say. “I'll send a car to collect you both and one of my officers will accompany you. Once again, I am very sorry for your loss Madame Dupont.”

I turn to leave, anxious to get back into the fresh air.

“He told me there was a problem at work when I telephoned him from Barcelona yesterday. You don't think…” Madame Dupont cannot bring herself to finish the sentence.

“I am sure, Madame, he didn't take his own life,” I reply, giving her the answer she needs to hear.

“Thank you, Officer,” she replies, her voice little more than a whisper.

I take the opportunity to make my exit and race down the stairs and out of the building, before either woman has a chance to detain me further. It's such a relief to be back in the sunshine. As it's now nearly lunchtime, I return to my office, make a couple of calls, then pick up my car and drive towards home. I want to take some time out and talk to Patricia before I must face what is likely to be, a very busy afternoon.

When I pull up outside my house I'm surprised and disappointed to find Ollee doesn't hurtle down the garden to greet me. Patricia must be out and she's taken the dog with her, I suspect. I constructed a special dog flap in the door, to enable Ollee to come and go as he pleases when we're not at home and he always responds when he hears my car. Then I remember Patricia saying something this morning about meeting my father at the orchard. By this time of year, most of the pruning and tidying up is over, but they were planning on planting a couple of new fruit trees and I know they were due to be delivered sometime this week. I glance at my watch, decide to make myself some lunch, then stop at the orchard to say hello before I return to work. That way I get to eat and see my family for a few minutes as well.