Maigret and the Nahour Case

by Georges Simenon

  ‘What state was Nahour in at that point?’

  ‘He was very pale, with a hard look on his face. He slowly stood up, and I think that’s when he half-opened the drawer, but I didn’t know what he was intending to do yet. I said that I didn’t bear him any ill will, that I was grateful for everything he’d done for me, that I’d leave it to him to decide about the children, and that my lawyer would be in touch with him.’

  ‘Where was Ouéni?’

  ‘I wasn’t paying attention to him. Near me, I suppose. He never makes much noise.’

  ‘Is that when your husband fired?’

  ‘No. That was later. He repeated what he’d often told me, that he wouldn’t agree to a divorce for anything. I said that he’d have to. It was only then that I realized he was holding a gun.’

  ‘Then what happened?’

  Maigret was leaning towards her slightly, as if to prevent her escaping again.

  ‘The two …’

  She corrected herself:

  ‘The shot went off.’

  ‘No. The two shots, as you were about to say. I am certain Alvaredo was in the studio, but that it wasn’t him that fired.’

  ‘Do you think it was me?’

  ‘I don’t think it was you either. Ouéni took the gun out of his pocket before or after your husband had fired.’

  ‘There was only one shot while I was in the house, Nelly will confirm that.’

  ‘Nelly is almost as good at lying as you are, my dear …’

  This time the Maigret who got to his feet was almost threatening. He had stopped playing. After putting his chair back in a corner of the sitting room, he paced around the room, unrecognizable now to Lina, who had thought him almost paternal moments before.

  ‘You’ll have to stop lying at some point,’ he said, ‘and the sooner the better. If you don’t I’ll ring the examining magistrate and get an arrest warrant.’

  ‘Why would Ouéni shoot my husband?’

  ‘Because he loved you.’

  ‘Him? Fouad, love someone?’

  ‘Don’t play the innocent, Lina. How long was it after you met Nahour that Ouéni became your lover?’

  ‘Did he tell you that?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. Answer the question.’

  ‘Several months after my marriage. I didn’t expect it. I’d never seen him with a woman. I thought he despised them.’

  ‘Did you set out to excite him?’

  ‘Is that what you think of me?’

  ‘I’m sorry. Anyway, it doesn’t matter if he was the one who started it. Until then he was almost Nahour’s property. And now he was escaping him to a degree, through you. By becoming your lover, he was avenging himself for all past and future humiliations.’

  She was suddenly almost ugly. The features of her face lost all definition, and she cried without thinking to wipe away her tears.

  ‘You and your husband had separate rooms in the scores of hotels and villas you lived in, so it was easy for Ouéni to meet you at night. At Avenue du Parc-Montsouris …’

  ‘Nothing ever happened there.’

  She was genuinely distraught, looking at him with sad, beseeching eyes.

  ‘I swear! When it became serious with Alvaredo …’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘When I realized he really loved me and I loved him, I broke off everything with Fouad.’

  ‘Who accepted it?’

  ‘He tried everything he could, even force one time, to make me take up with him again.’

  ‘How long ago was this?’

  ‘Roughly a year and a half.’

  ‘Did you know he still loved you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Weren’t you rubbing salt into his wounds that evening by talking to your husband in front of him?’

  ‘I didn’t think of that.’

  ‘If he moved closer to you at the start of the conversation, wasn’t he trying to protect you?’

  ‘I didn’t ask myself that. I don’t even really know where he was.’

  ‘Were the two shots almost simultaneous?’

  She didn’t answer. She was obviously exhausted and had given up trying to maintain a pretence. Her shoulders had sunk into the pillows, and her body was curled up under the blanket.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell the truth the first time you were questioned?’

  ‘What truth?’

  ‘About the shot fired by Fouad.’

  She answered in a whisper:

  ‘Because I didn’t want Vicente to know.’

  ‘Know what?’

  ‘About Fouad and me. I was ashamed. I had an affair a long time ago in Cannes and I came clean to him about it. But not Fouad! If I accuse him, he’ll tell the whole story in court, and we’ll never be able to get married.’

  ‘Wasn’t Alvaredo surprised when he saw Ouéni trying to kill your husband?’

  They looked straight at each other for a long time. Gradually Maigret’s expression softened, while Lina’s blue eyes betrayed a look of increasingly weary resignation.

  ‘He helped me outside, and in the car I told him Fouad had always hated my husband.’

  Her lower lip was slightly swollen as she added in a whisper:

  ‘Why have you been so mean to me, Monsieur Maigret?’

  7.

  At eleven on Monday morning Maigret came out of one of the offices in Quai des Orfèvres after officially questioning his fourth witness.

  Alvaredo had been the first. He had asked him only twenty or so questions, which Lapointe had taken down in shorthand along with the answers. One question was crucial, and the young Colombian had taken his time answering it.

  ‘Think carefully, Monsieur Alvaredo. This will probably be the last time I’ll question you before the examining magistrate takes over. Were you in your car or the house?’

  ‘The house. Lina let me in before she went into the studio.’

  ‘Was Nahour still alive?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Was there anyone else in the room?’

  ‘Fouad Ouéni.’

  ‘Where were you standing?’

  ‘By the door.’

  ‘Didn’t Nahour ask you to leave?’

  ‘He pretended to ignore me.’

  ‘Where was Fouad when the shots were fired?’

  ‘About a metre away from Lina, in the middle of the room.’

  ‘So, some distance from Nahour?’

  ‘Just over three metres.’

  ‘Who fired first?’

  ‘I think it was Ouéni, but I’m not sure because the two shots were almost simultaneous.’

  Then, as the Colombian waited for permission to leave, it had been Anna Keegel’s turn in the next-door office. Their exchange had been relatively short.

  In the third office he hadn’t pushed Nelly Velthuis too hard. She had been surprised by everything.

  ‘How many shots did you hear?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Could there have been two very close together?’

  ‘I think so.’

  As for Lina, he had made her repeat a considerable amount of what she had said the previous day, but he was careful not to allude to her affair with Fouad.

  It had stopped snowing. The weather was growing milder, and the snow was turning to slush. The echoing corridor of the Police Judiciaire was as draughty as ever, but the offices were now stiflingly hot.

  The whole building was filled with a sense of excitement because everyone, not just the Crime Squad, knew a major operation was underway.

  Groups of journalists, including the inexorable Maquille, were sitting on the benches and pouncing on Maigret every time he came through a door.

  ‘Later, boys. I haven’t finished …’

  A morning paper, God knows how, probably by questioning the staff at Orly, had found out about Lina’s short trip to Amsterdam with a mysterious individual they called Monsieur X. This meant the case was going to take on a sensational tone, which Maigret did no
t like.

  He still had to confront Ouéni.

  On Sunday evening, when Maigret had gone home around seven after stopping by headquarters, Madame Maigret had only needed to look at him to gauge his state of mind.

  ‘Tired?’

  ‘It’s not tiredness particularly.’

  ‘Discouraged?’

  ‘Damned job!’ he had grunted, as he did every two or three years in situations like this. ‘I’m not allowed to turn a blind eye and if I don’t, I stand to ruin the lives of people who don’t deserve it.’

  She had taken care not to ask him any questions, and after dinner they had sat silently in front of the television.

  At the far end of the corridor he took a deep breath and sighed:

  ‘Shall we, Lapointe?’

  He still had hope. He pushed open the door of the office in which Ouéni was being kept and found him, as usual, sunk in the only armchair in the room, his legs stretched out in front of him.

  Like the day before, the secretary didn’t stand up, didn’t even greet the two men whom he looked at in turn in his cruel, sarcastic way.

  Maigret remembered school lessons about Voltaire’s ‘hideous smile’; he had never thought it was the right word when he had looked at a bust of the great man. He had seen plenty of arrogant, aggressive, deceitful smiles since then, but this was the first time the word ‘hideous’ came to mind.

  He went and sat on a chair, in front of a white wooden table covered with brown paper on which there was a typewriter. Lapointe sat at the side of the table and set his pad down in front of him.

  ‘Your surname and first name.’

  ‘Ouéni, Fouad, born in Takla, Lebanon.’

  ‘Age?’

  ‘Fifty-one.’

  He took a residence permit from his pocket and held it out, without moving from his armchair, so Lapointe had to get up.

  ‘I have it on the French police’s authority,’ he said sardonically.

  ‘Profession?’

  ‘Legal adviser.’

  The phrase was given an even more mocking inflection.

  ‘Your police’s word again … Look.’

  ‘Were you in your employer Monsieur Félix Nahour’s study in Avenue du Parc-Montsouris at any point between the hours of eleven p.m. and one a.m. on Friday 14 January?’

  ‘No. Please will you make a note that Monsieur Nahour was not my employer, as I did not receive a salary.’

  ‘In what capacity did you accompany him to his various residences, particularly Avenue du Parc-Montsouris?’

  ‘Friend.’

  ‘Weren’t you his secretary?’

  ‘I helped him when he needed my advice.’

  ‘Where were you on Friday evening after eleven?’

  ‘At the Saint-Michel Club, where I’m a member.’

  ‘Can you give me the names of anyone who saw you there?’

  ‘I don’t know who noticed me.’

  ‘How many members would you say were in the club’s two relatively small rooms that evening?’

  ‘Between thirty and forty, on and off.’

  ‘Didn’t you speak to any of them?’

  ‘No. I was there to write down winning numbers, not chat.’

  ‘Where were you?’

  ‘Behind the people playing. I was sitting in a corner, near the door.’

  ‘What time did you get to Boulevard Saint-Michel?’

  ‘Around ten thirty.’

  ‘What time did you leave the club?’

  ‘Around one in the morning.’

  ‘So you are claiming that you were surrounded by over thirty people for two and a half hours, and no one noticed you?’

  ‘I didn’t say anything of the sort.’

  ‘But you can’t give any names.’

  ‘I didn’t have any dealings with the other players, who are mainly students.’

  ‘On your way out, did you go through the bar on the ground floor? Did you talk to anyone?’

  ‘To the landlord.’

  ‘What did you say to him?’

  ‘That the four came up eight times in less than an hour.’

  ‘How did you get back to Avenue Parc-Montsouris?’

  ‘In the car I’d come in.’

  ‘Monsieur Nahour’s Bentley?’

  ‘Yes. I was in the habit of driving it and I could use it whenever I wanted.’

  ‘Three witnesses say that you were in Monsieur Nahour’s studio around midnight, standing to his right.’

  ‘They all have an incentive to lie.’

  ‘What did you do when you got back?’

  ‘I went up to my room and went to bed.’

  ‘Without looking into the studio?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘For the past twenty years, Ouéni, you’ve been living off Félix Nahour, and he’s been treating you like a poor relation. You weren’t just his secretary, you were also his valet and chauffeur. Didn’t you find that humiliating?’

  ‘I was grateful for his trust and did various small favours for him entirely voluntarily.’

  He continued looking at Maigret defiantly, almost jubilantly. What he said could be recorded and used against him so he chose his words carefully. But it was impossible to reproduce on paper his expressions, the unrelenting look of defiance in his eyes.

  ‘When Monsieur Nahour got married, after almost fifteen years living alone with you, didn’t you feel frustrated?’

  ‘Our relationship wasn’t inspired by passion, if that’s what you’re insinuating. I had no reason to be jealous.’

  ‘Did your employer have a happy marriage?’

  ‘He didn’t confide in me about his married life.’

  ‘Do you think, particularly during the last two years, that Madame Nahour was satisfied with the life she was leading with her husband?’

  ‘I’ve never given it a thought.’

  Maigret’s gaze became more insistent this time, as if conveying a message, and Ouéni understood it. As a kind of silent challenge, he maintained his cynical attitude, which contrasted sharply with the neutral tone of his answers.

  ‘What was your relationship with Madame Nahour?’

  ‘I didn’t have anything to do with her.’

  Now that the interrogation was official, with a crucial bearing on how the case would turn out, every word was loaded with dynamite.

  ‘Didn’t you try to seduce her?’

  ‘The thought never occurred to me.’

  ‘Have you ever been alone in a room with her?’

  ‘If you mean a bedroom, the answer is no.’

  ‘Think.’

  ‘It’s still no.’

  ‘A 7.65 calibre gun was found in your room. Do you have another pistol, and, if so, where is it now?’

  ‘At a gunsmith’s in Rue de Rennes, where I often go and practise.’

  ‘When did you go there last?’

  ‘Thursday.’

  ‘Thursday the 13th, the day before the murder, that is. Did you know at the time that Madame Nahour was intending to leave her husband the next day?’

  ‘She didn’t confide in me.’

  ‘Her maid knew.’

  ‘We weren’t on very good terms, Nelly and I.’

  ‘Because you propositioned her, and she rejected you?’

  ‘More the other way around.’

  ‘So, in a word, this shooting session on Thursday comes in very handy for explaining why you most probably have powder residues on your fingers. At least two people were in Monsieur Nahour’s studio on Friday evening, just before or just after midnight. Both swear under oath that you were also there.’

  ‘Who are these two people?’

  ‘Madame Nahour, for one.’

  ‘What was she doing there?’

  ‘She had come to tell her husband that she was leaving that night and to ask for a divorce.’

  ‘Did she tell you that her husband was prepared to grant her this divorce? Was it the first time she’d talked to him about it? Didn�
�t she know he would do everything he could to oppose it?’

  ‘Including shooting her?’

  ‘Has it been proved that he shot intentionally? After all, in your experience is it usual to aim at someone’s throat from a distance of three or four metres? Did Madame Nahour also tell you why she was suddenly so impatient to get a divorce?’

  ‘To marry Vicente Alvaredo, who was with her in the room when the shots were fired.’

  ‘Shot or shots?’

  ‘There were two almost simultaneous shots, and it seems to have been the first that hit Nahour in the throat.’

  ‘Which implies the second shot was fired by a dead man, doesn’t it?’

  ‘His death wasn’t necessarily instantaneous. Nahour could have instinctively pulled the trigger as he was suffering massive blood loss and staggering, about to fall.’

  ‘Who is supposed to have fired the first shot?’

  ‘You.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Perhaps to protect Lina Nahour, perhaps out of hatred for your employer.’

  ‘Why not Alvaredo?’

  ‘He’s apparently never used a gun in his life and doesn’t have one. The investigation will confirm this one way or the other.’

  ‘They fled the scene, didn’t they?’

  ‘They went to Amsterdam, as they had been planning to for a week, and returned to Paris as soon as the Dutch police advised them to do so.’

  ‘Was that your doing? Had you promised they wouldn’t be bothered? Monsieur Alvaredo was wearing gloves, wasn’t he?’

  ‘That’s correct.’

  ‘Weren’t they thick leather gloves that haven’t been found?’

  ‘They were found yesterday evening at Orly, and the laboratory hasn’t found any traces of gunpowder on them.’

  ‘Wasn’t Madame Nahour, who was going away, wearing gloves too?’

  ‘Again the test produced nothing.’

  ‘Are you sure they’re the same gloves?’

  ‘The maid says they are.’

  ‘You mentioned three witnesses at the start. I suppose the third is Nelly Velthuis?’

  ‘She heard the two shots from the corridor on the first floor, where she was leaning over the banisters, waiting for them to finish their conversation.’

  ‘Did she tell you that on Saturday?’

  ‘That’s none of your concern.’

  ‘Can you at least tell me where she spent the day on Sunday?’

  ‘At the Hôtel du Louvre, with her employer and a friend of hers.’