Maigret and the Nahour Case

by Georges Simenon

  ‘Where’s that?’

  ‘I’m sorry to have to say that you know as well as I do. How did you get Doctor Pardon’s address?’

  There was a long silence. She lit another cigarette, got up and walked around the room, then came and sat back down. She wasn’t obviously troubled. If anything, she seemed to be running through different possible ways to respond.

  ‘What do you know?’ she countered finally, looking Maigret in the eye.

  ‘That you were wounded in the studio by a bullet fired by your husband from a pearl-handled 6.35 which used to belong to you and which he kept in a drawer of his desk.’

  Propping her arm on the arm-rest, she cupped her chin in her hand and looked intently at Maigret with what appeared to be curiosity. She might have been a model pupil listening to her teacher.

  ‘You didn’t leave the house in a taxi but in a red car belonging to a friend of yours called Vicente Alvaredo. He drove you to Boulevard Voltaire, where he told a far-fetched story of you being attacked by a stranger in a car.

  ‘You didn’t say a word as Dr Pardon put a temporary dressing on the wound. Then you went back into his office and as he was taking off his coat and washing his hands, you slipped out.’

  ‘What do you want from me?’

  She was completely unruffled. She might almost have been smiling, again like a little girl who’s been caught lying but doesn’t think it’s such a great sin.

  ‘I want the truth.’

  ‘I’d rather you asked me questions.’

  That was clever too, because it meant she could find out exactly what the police knew. Maigret played along all the same.

  ‘Was this letter really written on January the 6th? Before you answer, you should know that we can check by analysing the ink.’

  ‘It was written on January the 6th.’

  ‘Did your husband know?’

  ‘He must have suspected.’

  ‘Suspected what?’

  ‘That I’d be leaving soon.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because life hadn’t been bearable for a long time.’

  ‘How long?’

  ‘Months.’

  ‘Two years?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Since you met Vicente Alvaredo?’

  Anna Keegel was becoming increasingly jumpy and, as if by accident, her foot nudged Lina’s red slipper.

  ‘That’s right, more or less.’

  ‘Did your husband know about your affair?’

  ‘I don’t know. Someone may have seen us, Vicente and me. We weren’t hiding.’

  ‘Do you think it normal for a married woman—’

  ‘Hardly!’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Félix and I had been living as strangers for years.’

  ‘And yet two years ago you had another child.’

  ‘Because my husband was desperate to have a son. Luckily I didn’t have another girl.’

  ‘Is he the father of your son?’

  ‘Definitely. I met Alvaredo after I had given birth, when I was just starting to go out.’

  ‘Have you had other lovers?’

  ‘You might find it hard to believe, but he was the first.’

  ‘What had you planned for the evening of the 14th?’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘On the 6th you wrote to your friend that you would be in Amsterdam on the 15th.’

  Anna Keegel started talking to her in Dutch, but Lina shook her head firmly and carried on looking at Maigret in the same self-assured way.

  Maigret had finally lit his pipe.

  ‘I’ll try to explain. Alvaredo wanted me to get a divorce so I could marry him. I asked him for a week because I knew it wouldn’t be easy. There’s never been a divorce in the Nahour family, and Félix wanted to keep up appearances.

  ‘We decided that I would talk to him on the 14th and then, however he reacted, we’d go straight to Amsterdam.’

  ‘Why Amsterdam?’

  She seemed surprised that Maigret didn’t understand.

  ‘Because it’s the city where I spent a lot of my childhood and my life when I was single. Vicente didn’t know Holland. I wanted to show it to him. Once the divorce had gone through, we were going to see his parents in Colombia before we got married.’

  ‘Are you wealthy in your own right?’

  ‘No, of course not. But we don’t need the Nahours’ money.’

  She added with a hint of naive pride:

  ‘The Alvaredos are richer than them and they own most of Colombia’s goldmines.’

  ‘Right. So you left around eight without saying anything to your husband. Alvaredo was waiting for you in the Alfa Romeo. Where did you have dinner?’

  ‘In a little restaurant on Boulevard Montparnasse where Vicente has almost all his meals because he lives round the corner.’

  ‘Were you worried how your husband might react when he found out what you’d decided?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not, if he was against getting a divorce?’

  ‘Because he couldn’t do anything to stop me.’

  ‘Did he still love you?’

  ‘I’m not sure he ever loved me.’

  ‘Why would he have married you, then?’

  ‘Maybe to be seen with a pretty, well-dressed woman. It was in Deauville, the year I was crowned Miss Europe. We ran into each other a few times in the foyer and corridors of the casino. One evening when I was at a roulette table, he pushed some big rectangular chips towards me and whispered:

  ‘ “Put that on the fourteen.” ’

  ‘Did fourteen come up?’

  ‘Not the first time, but it did the third. It came up twice in a row, and I had never seen as much money as I did that evening when I went to cash in my chips.’

  The situation was reversed. It was her version of the truth that seemed the most plausible now, self-evident almost.

  ‘He got my room number and sent me flowers. We had dinner several times. He seemed very shy. You could tell he wasn’t used to talking to women.’

  ‘But he was thirty-five.’

  ‘I am not that sure he’d been with any other women before me. Then he took me to Biarritz.’

  ‘Still without asking you for anything?’

  ‘Biarritz was like Deauville: he spent his nights in the casino then came into my room around five in the morning. Normally he didn’t drink. That evening I smelled alcohol on his breath.’

  ‘Was he drunk?’

  ‘He had had a glass or two to work up the courage.’

  ‘Was that when it happened?’

  ‘Yes. He didn’t stay for more than half an hour. And in the next five months, he can’t have come and seen me more than a dozen times. He still asked me to marry him, though. I said yes.’

  ‘Because he was rich?’

  ‘Because I liked the life he led, going from hotel to hotel, casino to casino. We got married in Cannes. We continued to have separate bedrooms. He was the one who wanted it that way. He was very bashful. I think he was a bit ashamed to be so fat because he was fatter in those days than he has been recently.’

  ‘Was he kind to you?’

  ‘He treated me like a little girl. He didn’t change his life in any way, and Ouéni, who he spent more time with than me, came everywhere with us.’

  ‘How did you get on with Ouéni?’

  ‘I don’t like him.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe because he had too much influence on my husband. Maybe also because he’s of a different religion, one which I don’t understand.’

  ‘What was Ouéni’s attitude towards you?’

  ‘He seemed not to see me. He must feel complete contempt for me, as he does for all women. One day when I was bored I asked if I could send for a Dutch maid. I put an advert in the Amsterdam papers and I chose Nelly because she seemed cheerful.’

  She was smiling now, unlike her friend, who looked worried by the turn the conver
sation was taking.

  ‘Let’s go back to Friday evening. What time did you get back to the house?’

  ‘Around eleven thirty.’

  ‘Did you and Alvaredo stay at the restaurant until then?’

  ‘No. We went to his apartment to get his suitcase. I helped him pack. We chatted and had a drink.’

  ‘Once you got to your house, did he stay in the car?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you go into the studio?’

  ‘No. I went up to my room and got changed. I asked Nelly if Félix was downstairs, and she said she’d heard him come in.’

  ‘Did she also tell you if he was alone or with his secretary?’

  ‘With his secretary.’

  ‘Didn’t you have reservations about the conversation you intended to have with him because of that?’

  ‘I was used to Ouéni always being there. I don’t know what time it was when I went downstairs. I had already put on my coat. Nelly came after me with the suitcase; she left it in the corridor. and we gave each other a hug.’

  ‘Was she going to join you?’

  ‘As soon as I sent word.’

  ‘Did she go back up to her room? Without seeing how your talk turned out?’

  ‘She knew I’d made up my mind and that I wouldn’t back down.’

  The telephone rang on the little round table. Maigret motioned to Lucas to pick it up.

  ‘Hello? Yes, he’s here … I’ll put him on.’

  Maigret knew he was going to hear Janvier’s voice.

  ‘He’s here, chief. He’s in his apartment. Boulevard …’

  ‘Boulevard Montparnasse.’

  ‘You know the address already, do you? He’s got a studio apartment on the second floor. I’m in a little bar just opposite.’

  ‘Stay there. I’ll see you in a minute.’

  As artless as ever, Lina asked as if it were a matter of course:

  ‘Has Vicente got here?’

  ‘Yes. He’s in his apartment.’

  ‘Why are the police watching him?’

  ‘It’s their job to keep all suspects under surveillance.’

  ‘Why would he be a suspect? He never set foot in the house on Avenue du Parc-Montsouris.’

  ‘So you say.’

  ‘Don’t you believe me?’

  ‘I don’t know when you’re lying and when you’re telling the truth. Incidentally, how did you get Doctor Pardon’s address?’

  ‘Nelly gave it to me. She got it from our cleaner, who lived around there. I needed to be looked at immediately and get as far from the house as possible …’

  ‘Right,’ he muttered, unconvinced. He wasn’t taking anything for granted. ‘So, you hug Nelly Velthuis in the corridor by the suitcase. She goes upstairs. You go into the studio. There you find your husband, who is working with Ouéni.’

  She nodded.

  ‘Did you talk to him about leaving straight away?’

  ‘Yes. I told him that I was going to Amsterdam and that I would have my lawyer contact him from there to arrange the divorce.’

  ‘How did he react?’

  ‘He looked at me for a long time without saying anything, then muttered:

  ‘ “That can’t be.” ’

  ‘Didn’t it occur to him to send Ouéni out of the room?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Was Nahour sitting at his desk?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘With Ouéni sitting opposite him?’

  ‘No. Ouéni was standing next to him, holding some papers. I don’t remember exactly what I said. I was pretty nervous in spite of everything.’

  ‘Did Alvaredo advise you to get a gun? Did he give you one?’

  ‘I didn’t have a gun. Why would I? I said that my decision was final and that nothing would make me change my mind and half-turned to head for the door. That’s when I heard a bang and simultaneously felt a pain, like burning, in my shoulder.

  ‘I must have looked round because I remember Félix standing, holding a pistol in his hand. I can still picture his staring eyes, as if he’d suddenly realized what he’d done.’

  ‘What about Ouéni?’

  ‘He was next to him, not moving.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I was afraid I was going to faint. I didn’t want that to happen in the house, where I would be at the mercy of the two of them. I rushed for the door, found myself outside, in front of the car, and Vicente opened the door.’

  ‘You didn’t hear a second shot?’

  ‘No. I told Vicente to drive me to Boulevard Voltaire, to a doctor I knew …’

  ‘But you didn’t know Doctor Pardon.’

  ‘I didn’t have time to explain. I felt very ill.’

  ‘Why didn’t you go to Alvaredo’s apartment just around the corner and get him to call his doctor?’

  ‘I didn’t want a scandal. I couldn’t wait to get to Holland and I was convinced the police wouldn’t find out. That’s why I didn’t say anything at the doctor’s, so no one would notice my accent.

  ‘I wasn’t expecting him to ask us any questions. I didn’t even know the bullet was still in the wound. I thought it was a flesh wound, that the bleeding just had to be stopped.’

  ‘How were you and Vicente intending to get to Amsterdam?’

  ‘He was going to drive. When I came out of the doctor’s I felt too weak to sit in a car for hours, and Vicente thought of the plane. I remembered I’d taken a night flight once. We had to wait a long time at Orly; they weren’t sure whether the plane could take off because of the snow and ice.

  ‘When we got to Amsterdam, Vicente took me straight to Anna’s apartment in a taxi, and I told him of a hotel where he could wait until I had recovered. We were going to have separate rooms until the divorce.’

  ‘To avoid being accused of adultery?’

  ‘We didn’t even need to be careful any more. After the shooting Félix couldn’t refuse to divorce me.’

  ‘So, if I’ve got this right, all in all this was good news for you.’

  She looked at him without being able to prevent a mischievous smile crossing her face and admitted:

  ‘Yes.’

  The strangest thing was that this all held up, and he wanted to believe her, such was the apparent candour and frankness with which she answered his questions. Looking at her childlike face, like Nelly Velthuis’, Maigret understood why Nahour had treated her like a little girl and why Vicente Alvaredo had fallen so in love with her that he wanted them to get married regardless of her husband and two children.

  It was warm in the plush, quiet sitting room; you could easily slip into a sort of torpor. Lucas looked like a large purring cat.

  ‘I would like to point something out, Madame Nahour: there isn’t anyone to confirm your statement. According to you, there were three of you in the studio when the first shot was fired.’

  ‘So Fouad’s a witness.’

  ‘Unfortunately for you he claims that he didn’t come back to the house until after one in the morning. We have established that he left a gambling club on Boulevard Saint-Michel around that time.’

  ‘He’s lying.’

  ‘People saw him in the club.’

  ‘What if he went there after the shooting?’

  ‘We’ll try to check that.’

  ‘You can ask Nelly too.’

  ‘She doesn’t understand French, does she?’

  He sensed a slight hesitation before she answered indirectly:

  ‘She speaks English.’

  Suddenly Maigret’s massive body seemed to unfold, and without a sound he crossed over to the door of the adjoining room, which he opened sharply. The maid almost fell into his arms and had to struggle to keep her balance.

  ‘Have you been listening for a long time?’

  On the verge of tears, she shook her head. She had changed out of her twin-piece into a black satin dress and an embroidered scalloped white apron and she was wearing a cap on her head.

  ‘Did you u
nderstand what we were saying?’

  She nodded and then shook her head, giving her employer a beseeching look.

  ‘She understands some French,’ Lina put in, ‘but every time she tried to speak it, especially in the local shops, people would make fun of her.’

  ‘Come in, Nelly. Don’t stay glued to the door. How long had you known Madame Nahour was leaving for Amsterdam on Friday evening?’

  ‘One week …’

  ‘Don’t look at her, look at me.’

  She complied reluctantly, but still couldn’t bring herself to look Maigret in the face.

  ‘When did you pack the suitcase?’

  She was clearly trying to translate the answer in her head.

  ‘Eight o’clock.’

  ‘Why did you lie to me when I questioned you yesterday?’

  ‘I don’t know … I was afraid.’

  ‘Of what?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Did someone in the house frighten you?’

  She shook her head, and her cap became lop-sided.

  ‘Did you see Madame Nahour again at about ten o’clock? Where?’

  ‘In bedroom.’

  ‘Who brought the suitcase down?’

  ‘I.’

  ‘Where did your mistress go?’

  ‘Studio.’

  ‘Did you then hear a gunshot?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘One or two?’

  She looked round for Lina again, then answered:

  ‘One.’

  ‘You didn’t go downstairs?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why?’

  She shrugged her shoulders, as if to say she didn’t know. It wasn’t so much that one of the women had copied the other, Maigret thought. They had each taken certain traits from the other, so that the maid now seemed to be giving a muddled version of Lina’s answers.

  ‘Did you hear Ouéni go up to his room?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you go to sleep straight away?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Didn’t you try to find out if anyone had been hurt or killed?’

  ‘Look through window madame. Hear door and see madame and car …’

  ‘Thank you. I can only hope for your sake that when we take your statement tomorrow you won’t produce a third version of events.’

  The sentence was clearly too long and too difficult for her, and Madame Nahour translated it into Dutch. The young girl blushed deeply and hurriedly left the room.

  ‘What I just said applies to you too, madame. I didn’t want you to undergo an official interrogation today. I’ll call tomorrow to make an appointment. I, or one of my inspectors, will come here to take down your statement.’