‘No idea yet. How many international flights have taken off since two, no, two thirty this morning?’
‘Only a couple. One for Amsterdam and another for India via Geneva. Departures have been suspended for the last forty minutes because of ice on the runways.’
‘Are you far from the car park?’
‘Not very, but it’s not easy walking outside because of the aforementioned black ice.’
‘Would you mind going anyway and seeing if there’s a red Alfa Romeo …’
‘Have you got its number?’
‘No. But there can’t be that many Alfa Romeos that colour in your car park at this hour of the night. If it’s there, ask passport control if they’ve seen a couple go through answering to this description.’
He repeated what he’d already told Lucas and the other two.
‘Call me back at Quai des Orfèvres as soon as you can.’
With a shrug of his shoulders, Maigret turned to the trusty Lucas and added:
‘You never know.’
It was a strange investigation, and Maigret seemed not to be taking it entirely seriously, to be approaching it rather like doing a crossword puzzle.
‘Marathieu must be fuming,’ observed Lucas. ‘Imagine sending that stuck-up dandy out into the snow, to skid around on the ice.’
Almost twenty minutes passed before the telephone rang. Maigret announced to no one in particular:
‘Assistant Commissioner Marathieu speaking …’
And those were indeed the first words he heard.
‘Well, what about the red car?’
‘There’s a red Alfa Romeo with Greater Paris number plates in the car park.’
‘Locked?’
‘Yes. A couple matching the description you gave me took the 3.10 flight to Amsterdam.’
‘Do you have their names?’
‘The inspector who checked them off can’t remember them. He can only remember the passports. The man had a Colombian passport, and the woman’s was Dutch. Both passports had copious visas and stamps.’
‘What time are they meant to be landing in Amsterdam?’
‘If there aren’t any delays and the runway is usable, they’ll touch down at 4.17.’
It was 4.22. The couple were probably showing their passports and going through customs. Anyway, Maigret couldn’t take the liberty of contacting the Dutch airport police directly, especially not at this stage in the investigation.
‘Well, chief? What do I do?’
‘Nothing. Wait to be relieved. I’m going home to bed. Good night, boys … Actually, can one of you take me home?’
Half an hour later he was fast asleep next to his wife.
THE BEGINNING
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First published in French as La Patience de Maigret by Presses de la Cité, 1965
This translation first published 2019
Copyright © Georges Simenon Limited, 1965
Translation copyright © David Watson, 2019
GEORGES SIMENON ® Simenon.tm
MAIGRET ® Georges Simenon Limited
All rights reserved
The moral rights of the author and translator have been asserted
Cover photograph (detail) © Harry Gruyaert/Magnum Photos
Front cover design by Alceu Chiesorin Nunes
ISBN: 978-0-241-30414-3
Maigret's Patience Page 15