‘Are we having lunch together?’
She couldn’t believe her ears. Although they sometimes went out to eat on a Saturday evening or a Sunday, they almost never had lunch out together, particularly in the middle of an investigation.
Maigret finished his grog at the bar, the voices around him sounding artificial. That was the price he paid for the unwanted publicity the newspapers gave him, which often hindered his work.
Someone said, without looking at him:
‘Is it true that Hard-Done-By was shot by gangsters?’
And another, ominously:
‘If they really are gangsters.’
There were rumours in the neighbourhood about the relationship between Lognon and Marinette. Maigret paid and left, with everyone staring after him, and made his way to Chez Manière.
Located next to a flight of stone steps, the restaurant was a favourite haunt of local celebrities and you could still rub shoulders with actresses, writers and painters. It was too early for the regulars and most of the tables were free, with only a handful of customers at the bar.
He removed his wet overcoat and his hat and sank down on to the banquette by the window with a contented sigh.
He had the time to smoke a pipe, a dreamy look in his eyes, before spotting Madame Maigret as she crossed the road, holding her umbrella like a shield.
‘It feels funny, meeting you at this restaurant … It’s at least fifteen years since we last ate here, one evening, after the theatre … Do you remember?’
‘Yes … What will you have?’
He held out the menu.
‘I already know that you’ll choose the andouillette … Can I be a bit extravagant and order cold lobster with mayonnaise?’
They waited until the starter and the Loire wine were on the table. There was no one next to them. The misted-up window made the atmosphere cosy.
‘I feel a bit like one of your team … When you phone me to say you won’t be home for lunch, this is how I picture you, with Lucas or Janvier …’
‘Unless I’m in my office making do with sandwiches and a beer … So tell me …’
‘I don’t want to be unkind …’
‘Be honest.’
‘You’ve often talked to me about her and her husband … He was the one you felt sorry for, and I was close to thinking you were being unfair—’
‘And now?’
‘I no longer pity her as much, even though it’s probably not her fault … I found her in bed, and the concierge was there with her, along with an elderly neighbour who sits telling her beads all day long … They’d called the doctor because she looked as if she was at death’s door …’
‘Was she surprised at your visit?’
‘Do you know what her opening words were?
‘ “In any case, your husband won’t be able to persecute him any more … He’ll be sorry he never let Charles join Quai des Orfèvres …”
‘At first, I felt uncomfortable … Luckily, the doctor arrived, a calm little old man with a wry expression …
‘The concierge went downstairs. The old woman followed me into the dining room, still clutching her rosary.
‘ “Poor woman! We’re such fragile creatures! When you think about everything that’s going on around us, it makes you afraid to go out into the street …”
‘I asked her if Madame Lognon was seriously ill and she told me that her legs could barely carry her, and that it was probably her bones …’
They couldn’t help smiling, both of them relishing the intimacy of this meal in an ambience that was different from that of Boulevard Richard-Lenoir. Madame Maigret especially was thrilled. Her eyes were brighter than usual and her face was flushed as she spoke.
When they ate lunch or dinner at home, it was chiefly Maigret who did the talking, because she had nothing much to tell. This time, she was conscious of being useful to him.
‘Does it interest you?’
‘A great deal. Go on.’
‘When the consultation was over, the doctor signalled to me to follow him into the hallway and we spoke in hushed tones. First of all, he asked me if I was indeed the wife of Detective Chief Inspector Maigret, and he seemed taken aback to find me there.
‘I explained … Well, you can guess what I said to him …
‘ “I understand your sentiments,” he said. “It’s very kind of you … but let me warn you … Without claiming that she has an iron constitution, I can tell you that she is not suffering from any serious illness … I’ve been treating her for ten years … and I’m not the only one!
‘ “She regularly calls on one or another of my colleagues, wanting them at all costs to discover a major ailment … But when I talk to her about seeing a psychiatrist or a neurologist, she becomes angry, swearing she’s not mad and telling me that I don’t know my job …
‘ “Is she disappointed in her marriage? In any case, she’s furious at her husband for remaining a mere neighbourhood inspector …
‘ “So she takes her revenge by passing herself off as sick, forcing him to care for her and do the housework, and making his life impossible.
‘ “I understand why you came this morning … But if you are too accommodating, she’ll keep you here using every means she can …
‘ “I telephoned Bichat in front of her and I was able to inform her that her husband had a good chance of pulling through … I exaggerated a little … It doesn’t really matter, because it’s not her husband she feels sorry for but herself …” ’
The waiter brought the andouillette and chips and half a lobster dressed with mayonnaise. Maigret filled their glasses.
‘When you phoned me and I told her I had to leave her for a couple of hours, she said bitterly:
‘ “Your husband needs you, of course. All men are the same …”
‘Then, abruptly changing the subject:
‘ “When I’m a widow, my allowance won’t be enough to allow me to keep this apartment where I’ve lived for twenty-five years.” ’
‘She didn’t mention the existence of a woman in Lognon’s life?’
‘She simply said that being a policeman is a vile job, where you mix with all sorts of people, including prostitutes …’
‘Did you try to find out whether his behaviour had changed recently?’
‘She replied:
‘ “Ever since I made the stupid mistake of marrying him, he’s forever been telling me that he’s working on the big case that will bring him glory and force his superiors to promote him to the rank he deserves … At first, I believed him and was thrilled for him …
‘ “In the end, the big case would fizzle out, or someone else would take the credit for it.” ’
Madame Maigret added, cheerful in a way her husband had rarely seen her:
‘I have to confess that the way she looked at me when she said that, it was clear that the person who took all the credit was no other than you … She complained recently that he was being asked to do night duty more often than was fair … Is that right?’
‘He was the one who requested it.’
‘He didn’t brag about it in front of her … Four or five days ago, he announced that soon there’d be some news and that, this time, the newspapers would be publishing his photo on the front page, whether they liked it or not …’
‘She didn’t try to find out any more?’
‘She didn’t believe him, and I imagine she laughed at him. Wait! She did add something that struck me. He told her:
‘ “People aren’t always what they seem and, if we could see through walls, there would be some strange surprises …” ’
They were interrupted by the owner, who came over to greet them and offer them a liqueur. When they were alone again, Madame Maigret asked, a little anxiously:
‘Have I been of any help to you? Will that be useful?’
He didn’t reply immediately because, as he lit his pipe, he was mulling over an idea that was still half-formed.
�
��Did you hear?’
‘Yes. What you have just told me will probably change the direction of the investigation …’
She looked at him, still incredulous, but delighted. That lunch at Chez Manière would be one of her most treasured memories.
3. Marinette’s Love Affairs
The rain was beginning to ease up, no longer slanting down furiously and drenching those out and about, and Maigret, looking out of the window, prolonged this exceptionally delightful lunch.
Had Lognon been able to see them, it would have given him yet another reason to vent his bitterness:
‘While I lie injured in a hospital bed, others are treating themselves to a romantic lunch at Chez Manière and talking about my poor wife as if she were a shrew or a madwoman …’
An idea occurred to Maigret, not necessarily original, or profound:
‘It’s curious how people’s susceptibility generally complicates our lives more than their actual faults or their lies …’
This was especially true in his profession. He recalled investigations that had dragged on for several days, if not weeks, because he hadn’t dared ask the person in front of him a blunt question, or because they were loath to talk about certain matters.
‘Are you returning to your office?’
‘I’m going to Avenue Junot first. What about you?’
‘You don’t think that if I leave her on her own, she’ll accuse you of abandoning her with no one to care for her while her husband lies dying as a result of his devotion to the police?’
It was true. Madame Lognon, whose ill-suited first name Solange meant angel of the sun, was capable of complaining to the reporters who would soon be knocking at her door, and goodness knows what they’d end up printing in the newspapers.
‘But you can’t spend your days and nights at her place until he’s better. See if the old spinster with the rosary can help out.’
‘Her name’s Mademoiselle Papin.’
‘For a little money, she’s bound to agree to spend a few hours in the apartment. Or you could perhaps hire a nurse …’
By the time they left the restaurant the rain had eased up, and they went their separate ways at Place Constantin-Pecqueur. Maigret walked slowly up Avenue Junot and spotted Inspector Chinquier coming out of one building and ringing the bell of the one next door.
That too was a task that was both delicate and disheartening. You disturbed people who were going quietly about their business at home and who were either worried or annoyed by the mere mention of the police.
‘May I ask you whether last night …’
They were all aware that an attempted murder had taken place in their street. Did they feel they were under suspicion? And is it not sometimes disagreeable to tell a stranger what one was doing the previous night?
Even so, Maigret would have liked to be in Chinquier’s shoes, to become better acquainted with the street, its residents, its inner life, which would have helped him understand the context, if not the tragedy itself.
Unfortunately, it was a job that a divisional chief inspector cannot allow himself to do in person, and Maigret was already criticized for being out and about too often instead of managing his men from his office.
There was only one officer left on duty outside Marinette’s building. The faint bloodstain on the pavement was still visible. A few passers-by stopped for a moment, without forming a crowd, and the reporters had vanished.
‘Nothing new?’
‘Nothing, inspector. Things have calmed down …’
In the lodge the Saugets were lingering at the table, the night porter at Le Palace still in his unsightly dressing gown, and still unshaven.
‘Don’t let me disturb you … I’m going up to the fourth floor for a minute, but I’d like to ask you one or two questions first … I presume Mademoiselle Augier doesn’t have a car?’
‘She bought herself a scooter two years ago, and sold it two or three months later after a minor accident …’
‘Where does she usually spend her holidays?’
‘Last summer she went to Spain and came back so tanned that I didn’t recognize her at first.’
‘Alone?’
‘With a female friend, so she told me.’
‘Did she often have visits from female friends?’
‘No. Other than the fiancé I told you about and the inspector who has been coming to see her recently, she lived quite a solitary existence …’
‘What about Sundays?’
‘She would often go away on Saturday evenings, because she worked on Saturday afternoons, and come back on Monday morning. Salons are closed on Monday mornings.’
‘So she couldn’t have gone very far?’
‘What I know is that she went swimming. She would often talk about spending hours in the water …’
He climbed up the four flights of stairs, spent a good fifteen minutes opening drawers and cupboards, examining the clothes, underwear and knick-knacks that reveal a person’s character and taste.
Although nothing was particularly expensive, everything had been chosen with care. He found a letter, postmarked Grenoble, that he’d missed that morning. In a man’s handwriting, the tone affectionate and cheerful, and it was only on reading the closing words that Maigret realized that it came from Marinette’s father.
… Your sister is pregnant again and her engineer husband is prouder than if he’d built the biggest dam in the world … As for your mother, she’s still struggling to keep some forty brats under control and comes home in the evening fragrant with the smell of infant wee …
A wedding photograph, of her sister’s marriage most likely, dating from a few years earlier. Surrounding the couple were the parents, stiff and awkward, as always in these photos, a young man and his wife with a little boy of three in front of them, and finally a woman with lively, shining eyes who must have been Marinette.
He put the photograph in his pocket. A little later, he took a taxi to Quai des Orfèvres, where he went back to his desk, which he’d left at one o’clock in the morning after persevering for hours and hours to try to solve the hold-up case.
He hadn’t had the time to remove his overcoat when Janvier knocked on his door.
‘I saw the brother, chief. I found him in his office in Rue Le Peletier, where he holds a fairly senior position.’
Maigret showed him the wedding photograph.
‘Is that him?’
Without hesitation, Janvier pointed at the father of the little boy.
‘Had he heard about what happened last night?’
‘No. The newspapers have only just come out. At first, he insisted it must be a mistake, that it wasn’t his sister’s nature to run away or hide.
‘ “She’s so outspoken that I sometimes reprimand her, because not everyone likes it.” ’
‘You didn’t get the feeling that he was keeping something from you?’
Maigret had sat down and fiddled with his pipes before selecting one, which he filled slowly.
‘No. He seems like a very decent type. He answered all my questions about the family without hesitation. The father is an English teacher at the Grenoble Lycée and the mother is head of a nursery school. There’s another sister in Grenoble, married to an engineer who gives her a baby every year.’
‘I know.’
Maigret didn’t add that he had learned this from the letter he had found in a drawer.
‘After her baccalaureate Marinette decided to live in Paris, where she worked at first as a shorthand typist for a lawyer. Office life didn’t suit her, and she trained to become a beautician. Her dream, according to her brother, is to open a beauty salon one day.’
‘What about the fiancé?’
‘She really was engaged. The young man, whose name is Jean-Claude Ternel, is the son of a Paris industrialist. Marinette introduced him to her brother. There was talk of taking him to Grenoble to meet her parents.’
It is demoralizing, in a criminal case, to be confronted o
nly with normal people, because you wonder why and how they have come to be mixed up in a tragedy.
‘Does the brother know that Jean-Claude often used to stay overnight?’
‘He didn’t dwell on that point, but he gave me to understand that while, as a brother, he couldn’t approve, he was modern enough not to criticize his sister.’
‘A model family, in other words!’ grumbled Maigret.
‘I found him very pleasant.’
The apartment in Avenue Junot, which must have reflected Marinette’s personality, was pleasant too.
‘All the same, I’d like to track her down as soon as possible. Has her brother seen her lately?’
‘Not last week but the week before. When she didn’t go to the country, she spent Sunday afternoons with her brother and sister-in-law. They live in Vanves, next to the park, which, as François Augier says, is very handy for the children …’
‘She didn’t mention anything to them?’
‘She told them, in passing, that she’d met an extraordinary man and that soon she’d have an astonishing story to tell them. Her sister-in-law teased her:
‘ “A new fiancé?” ’
Janvier seemed embarrassed to be reporting such mundane details.
‘She swore that no, that once was enough …’
‘Why did she break up with Jean-Claude?’
‘She eventually realized that he was spineless, incapable of effort, and that, deep down, he wasn’t so thrilled to be committed. He failed his baccalaureate twice. Then his father sent him to England to stay with a friend, where things went wrong. Finally, he was given an office job in Paris, but he didn’t make a success of it.’
‘Will you find out what time, either last night or this morning, there was a train for Grenoble?’
That proved fruitless. If she’d taken the first train, Marinette could have been at her parents’ house by now. Neither her father, whom they managed to get hold of at school, nor her mother had seen her.
Once again they had to give tactful explanations so as not to worry those good people.
‘No, no … I’m sure nothing’s happened to her … Don’t worry, Madame Augier … It so happens that last night your daughter witnessed a murder … No! Not at her place … It simply took place on Avenue Junot … For reasons that I do not know yet, she has chosen to disappear for a while … I thought she might have taken refuge at your house.’
Maigret and the Ghost Page 4