‘Did he get along well with Josselin?’
‘The two men respected each other. Josselin was proud of his son-in-law and, on top of that, they were both keen chess players.’
‘Was he seriously ill?’
‘I was the one who asked him to cut down on his activity. He has always been fat and I have known him to weigh over one hundred and ten kilos. That didn’t stop him working twelve or thirteen hours a day. His heart couldn’t cope. Two years ago, he had a heart attack, which was fairly minor, but still it was a warning.
‘I advised him to take on a business partner and to confine himself to a supervisory role, just to keep his mind occupied.
‘To my great surprise, he chose to give up altogether. He said he was incapable of doing things by halves.’
‘Did he sell his business?’
‘To two of his employees. Since they didn’t have enough money, he retained a stake for a certain number of years, I don’t know how long exactly.’
‘How did he spend his time over the past two years?’
‘In the morning, he’d go for a stroll in the Luxembourg Gardens; I often used to see him there. He walked slowly, cautiously, as many people with heart disease do, because he ended up exaggerating his condition. He read. You saw his bookshelves. He’d never had the time to read before, and now he was discovering literature belatedly and talked about it enthusiastically.’
‘His wife?’
‘Even though they had a maid and then a cleaning woman after they decided to do without a live-in servant, she kept very busy with the home and the cooking. And she would go almost every day to Boulevard Brune to see her grandchildren. She’d take the eldest one in her car to the Parc Montsouris …’
‘You must have been surprised when you heard what had happened?’
‘I still can’t believe it. I have witnessed tragedies among my patients, not often, but still there have been a few. But they were never entirely unexpected, if you see what I mean. In each case, appearances belied some kind of fragility, some kind of disturbance. This time, I don’t know what to think.’
Maigret signalled to the waiter to refill their glasses.
‘Madame Josselin’s reaction worries me,’ went on the doctor, still with the same smoothness. ‘Or rather I’d say her lack of reaction, her listlessness. I haven’t been able to get a word out of her all evening. She watched us, her daughter, her son-in-law and me, as if she couldn’t see us. She didn’t shed a tear. From her room, we could hear the noises from the drawing room. It wasn’t difficult, with a bit of imagination, to guess what was happening in there, the photographers’ flash bulbs popping, for example, then, when they removed the body …
‘I thought that at that point at least she would react, try to rush out. She was conscious and yet she didn’t budge, didn’t make the slightest movement …
‘She has spent most of her life with a man and then, on returning from the theatre, she finds herself alone all of a sudden …
‘I wonder how she’s going to manage …’
‘Do you think her daughter will take her to live with her?’
‘It’s not really possible. The Fabres live in one of those new buildings where the apartments are quite small. Naturally she loves her daughter and she’s crazy about her grandchildren, but I can’t see her living with them all the time … I really must go home now … Later this morning my patients will be waiting for me … No! Leave that …’
He had taken his wallet out of his pocket, but Maigret had been faster.
People were coming out of the cabaret next door, a whole crowd – musicians, dancers – waiting for one another or saying goodnight, and the pavement echoed with the clicking of very high heels.
Lapointe slid behind the wheel next to a Maigret whose expression was blank.
‘To your place?’
‘Yes.’
They were silent for a long time as the car drove through the empty streets.
‘Tomorrow morning, early, I’d like someone to go to Rue Notre-Dame-des-Champs and question the residents as they get up. It is possible that someone heard the shots but wasn’t worried because they thought it was a car backfiring … I’d also like to know the residents’ movements from nine thirty p.m. onwards.’
‘I’ll take care of it myself, chief.’
‘No. You must go to bed after passing on my instructions. If Torrence is free, send him to Rue Julie, to the three apartments whose doorbells Doctor Fabre says he rang.’
‘Understood.’
‘For the sake of thoroughness, it would be best to check what time he arrived at the hospital.’
‘Is that all?’
‘Yes … Yes and no … I have the feeling I’ve forgotten something but, for the past fifteen minutes at least, I’ve been asking myself what … It’s an impression I’ve had several times during the course of the evening … At one point, I had an idea, or the beginning of an idea, and then someone spoke to me, Saint-Hubert if I’m not mistaken … By the time I’d answered him, I couldn’t for the life of me pick up my train of thought.’
They reached Boulevard Richard-Lenoir. The window was still open on to the darkness of the bedroom, just as the window of the Josselin’s drawing room had remained open after the departure of the deputy public prosecutor.
‘Good night, Lapointe.’
‘Good night, chief.’
‘I probably won’t be in the office before ten tomorrow.’
He climbed the stairs with heavy steps, vague thoughts going around and around in his mind, and he found the door open and Madame Maigret standing there in her nightdress.
‘Not too tired?’ she asked.
‘I don’t think so … No …’
It wasn’t tiredness. He was preoccupied, uneasy, a little sad, as if the tragedy of Rue Notre-Dame-des-Champs affected him personally. The chubby-cheeked doctor had put it in a nutshell: the Josselins were not the sort of people you would expect to be caught up in a tragedy of this kind.
He mulled over the reactions of the various family members, that of Véronique, her husband, and Madame Josselin, whom he hadn’t yet seen and had not even asked to see.
There was something awkward about all this. He felt awkward, for instance, about verifying Doctor Fabre’s statement, as if he were a suspect.
And yet, going by the facts, suspicion fell on him. The deputy public prosecutor and examining magistrate Gossard had certainly thought so and, if they had said nothing, it was because this case made them feel as uncomfortable as it did Maigret.
Who knew that the two women, the mother and the daughter, were at the theatre that evening? Few people, probably, and so far, no names had been mentioned.
Fabre had arrived at Rue Notre-Dame-des-Champs at around nine thirty in the evening. He had begun a game of chess with his father-in-law.
He had received a phone call from his home to tell him that he had a patient to see in Rue Julie. There was nothing unusual in that. Like all doctors, he was probably often called away urgently.
But was it not a disturbing coincidence that the maid had misheard the name on that particular evening? And that she had sent the doctor to an address where no one needed him?’
Instead of returning to Rue Notre-Dame-des-Champs to finish the game and wait for his wife, Fabre had gone to the hospital. That too must happen often, given his nature.
During that time, only one resident came back into the building and said their name as they walked past the lodge. The concierge got up a little later and stated that no one had come in or gone out since.
‘Aren’t you asleep?’
‘Not yet …’
‘Are you sure you want to get up at nine?’
‘Yes.’
It took him a long time to drop off. He kept picturing the thin silhouette of the paediatrician with crumpled clothes and the too-bright eyes of a man who doesn’t get enough sleep.
Did he know he was the main suspect? And had it occurred to his wife and his moth
er-in-law?
Instead of telephoning the police on discovering the body, they had first of all called the apartment on Boulevard Brune. But they weren’t aware of what had happened in Rue Julie. They didn’t know why Fabre had left Rue Notre-Dame-des-Champs.
They hadn’t immediately thought that he might be at the hospital and they had turned to the family physician, Doctor Larue.
What had they said to each other while they were alone with the body in the apartment? Was Madame Josselin already in a dazed state? Was it Véronique who had made the decisions on her own while her mother remained silent, staring vacantly into space?
Larue had arrived and immediately realized their error, if not negligence, in not calling the police. He was the one who had alerted the police station.
Maigret wished he could have seen and experienced this for himself. He had to reconstruct that night moment by moment.
Who had thought of calling the hospital and who had picked up the telephone? Larue? Véronique?
Who had checked to see if any valuables were missing from the apartment and whether a robbery had taken place?
Madame Josselin was taken into her bedroom. Larue stayed with her and eventually, with Maigret’s permission, injected her with a sedative.
Fabre rushed over and found the police at his father-in-law’s and the latter dead in his armchair.
‘And yet,’ thought Maigret as he dozed off, ‘it was his wife who mentioned the automatic.’
If Véronique hadn’t opened the drawer deliberately, knowing what she was looking for, probably no one would have suspected the existence of the gun.
Now did that not rule out the possibility of a crime committed by a stranger?
Fabre claimed to have heard his father-in-law put the chain on the door after seeing him out, at 10.15.
So Josselin had opened the door to his murderer in person. He would not have been suspicious, because he went and sat back down in his armchair.
If the window was open at that point, as seemed likely, someone had closed it, either Josselin or his visitor.
And if the Browning was indeed the murder weapon, the killer knew it was kept in that precise place and would have been able to grab it without arousing suspicion.
Supposing a man had come in from outside, how did he leave the building?
Maigret finally fell into a restless sleep, tossing and turning heavily, and it was a relief to smell the aroma of coffee, to hear Madame Maigret’s voice and see in front of him sunlit rooftops through the open window.
‘It’s nine o’clock …’
Within a second, he had called to mind every detail of the case, as if there had been no interruption.
‘Pass me the telephone directory.’
He looked up the Josselins’ number, dialled it and heard the phone ring for quite a while before it was answered by a voice he didn’t recognize.
‘Is this Monsieur René Josselin’s number?’
‘He’s dead.’
‘Who’s speaking?’
‘Madame Manu, the cleaner.’
‘Is Madame Fabre still there?’
‘Who’s asking for her?’
‘Detective Chief Inspector Maigret, of the Police Judiciaire. I was there last night …’
‘The young mistress has just left to go and change her clothes.’
‘What about Madame Josselin?’
‘She’s still asleep. They’ve given her a drug and she’s not supposed to wake up before her daughter gets back.’
‘Have you had any visitors?’
‘No one. I’m busy tidying up. I had no idea, when I got here this morning—’
‘Thank you.’
Madame Maigret didn’t ask him any questions and he merely said:
‘A good man who’s been murdered, God knows why …’
He recalled Josselin in his armchair. He tried to see him not dead but alive. Did he really sit there alone in front of the chess board, and did he carry on playing for a while, sometimes moving the black pieces and sometimes the white?
If he was waiting for someone … Knowing that his son-in-law would be coming to spend the evening with him, he couldn’t have made a secret appointment. Unless …
Then it would appear that the telephone call asking Doctor Fabre to go to Rue Julie …
‘It’s the good people who give us the most trouble,’ he grumbled as he finished his breakfast and made his way to the bathroom.
He didn’t go straight to Quai des Orfèvres but simply telephoned to check he wasn’t needed.
‘Rue du Saint-Gothard,’ he instructed the taxi-driver.
He was concentrating on René Josselin to begin with. True, Josselin was the victim, but a man isn’t killed without reason.
Paris still had a holiday atmosphere. It was no longer the deserted Paris of August, but there was a sort of indolence in the air, a reluctance to get back into the swing of everyday life. It would have been easier if it had rained or if the weather had been cold. This year, summer was refusing to die.
The driver turned around as they left Rue Dareau, close to the railway embankment.
‘What number?’
‘I don’t know. It’s a packaging company …’
Another bend and they spotted a large concrete building with curtainless windows. Along the entire length of the façade were the words:
Jouane & Goulet Packaging
Formerly Josselin Packaging
‘Shall I wait for you?’
‘Yes.’
There were two doors, one to the factory and the other, further along, to the offices. Maigret went in through this door and found himself in very modern premises.
‘Can I help you?’
A girl popped her head through a window and looked at him with curiosity. Admittedly, Maigret’s face wore a frown, as was customary during the early stages of an investigation, and he was gazing slowly about him as if making an inventory of the place.
‘Who’s the head of the company?’
‘Monsieur Jouane and Monsieur Goulet,’ she replied as if that were obvious.
‘I know. But which one’s the boss?’
‘It depends. Monsieur Jouane is mainly in charge of the design side, and Monsieur Goulet of production and sales.’
‘Are they both here?’
‘Monsieur Goulet is still on holiday. What is it you want?’
‘To see Monsieur Jouane.’
‘Who’s asking?’
‘Detective Chief Inspector Maigret.’
‘Do you have an appointment?’
‘No.’
‘Just a moment …’
She went to the back of her glassed-in cubicle and spoke to a young woman in a white coat, who darted an inquisitive look at the visitor then left the room.
‘My colleague’s gone to fetch him. He’s on the factory floor.’
Maigret could hear the sound of machinery. When a side door opened, he glimpsed a vast workshop where other girls and women in white worked in rows, as on a production line.
‘You were asking for me?’
The man must have been around forty-five. He was tall, with an open face, and he also wore a white coat, which was unbuttoned, revealing a well-cut suit.
‘Please come this way …’
They climbed a light oak staircase, passing a window through which he saw half a dozen draughtsmen hunched over their work.
Another door and they were in a sunny office, with a secretary typing away in a corner.
‘Leave us, Mademoiselle Blanche.’
He motioned to Maigret to have a seat and then sat down at his desk, surprised and slightly anxious.
‘I wonder …’ he began.
‘Have you heard about Monsieur Josselin’s death?’
‘What? Monsieur Josselin is dead? When did that happen? Is he back from his holiday?’
‘You haven’t seen him since his return from La Baule?’
‘No. He hasn’t been to see us yet. Did he have a heart
attack?’
‘He was murdered.’
‘Josselin?’
It was clear that Jouane struggled to take it in.
‘It’s not possible. Who would have …?’
‘He was killed at his home yesterday evening, with two shots from a revolver.’
‘By whom?’
‘That’s what I’m trying to find out, Monsieur Jouane.’
‘Wasn’t his wife with him?’
‘She was at the theatre with her daughter.’
Jouane bowed his head, visibly shocked.
‘Poor man … It’s so hard to believe …’
And then he grew indignant.
‘But who could have gained … Listen, inspector … You didn’t know him … He was the best man in the world … He was a father to me, more than a father … When I started here, I was sixteen and I knew nothing … My father had just died … My mother was a cleaner … I began as a delivery boy on a tricycle … Monsieur Josselin taught me everything … Later, he made me a manager … And when he decided to retire from business, he called us into his office, Goulet and myself … Goulet had started out working on the machines …
‘He told us that his doctor had advised him to work less, but he couldn’t do that. Coming here two or three hours a day like a dilettante was unthinkable for a man like him, who was used to dealing with everything and who stayed late almost every evening, long after the machines had stopped.’
‘Were you afraid of seeing an outsider become your new boss?’
‘I admit I was. For Goulet and for me, this news was a real disaster, and we looked at each other in dismay while Monsieur Josselin smiled mischievously … Do you know what he did?’
‘I was told last night.’
‘Who told you?’
‘His doctor.’
‘Naturally, we both had some savings, but not enough to buy a business like this … Monsieur Josselin had his notary come in and they found a way to hand over the firm by staggering the payments over a long period … A period which, of course, is far from over … To be honest, there’s another twenty-five years to run …’
Maigret and the Good People of Montparnasse Page 3