‘That’s right.’
‘And after lunch, if I remember correctly, she would take a nap in her armchair.’
She nodded.
‘Then, if the weather was fine, she would go to the Tuileries Gardens and sit on a bench.’
‘We’ve already been through all this, haven’t we?’
‘I have my reasons for going through it again. And you were not fond of her?’
‘No.’
‘You still resented the measly hundred francs she gave you long ago when you asked her for help because you were expecting a child?’
‘It’s the kind of thing you don’t forget.’
‘But you kept on visiting her. How many times a year?’
‘I never counted.’
‘Well, once a month?’
‘Once. Or maybe twice.’
‘Always at the same time of day?’
‘Almost always. I finish work at six. And in summer, that would be about the time she came home.’
‘Would she ask you to sit down?’
‘I didn’t wait to be asked. She was my aunt, after all.’
‘And she was going to leave everything to you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you think about that?’
‘I used to think it would make my life easier when I’m old. The profession of masseuse is a more tiring one than you might imagine. You need a certain amount of physical strength. In a few years, I’ll be too old to carry on.’
‘But in the meantime, did you ask her for money?’
‘From time to time. Because in this job, there are sometimes dead seasons. During the summer holidays, for instance, when practically all my clients leave Paris, some of them for two or three months.’
‘Did you ever quarrel with your aunt?’
‘No, never.’
‘And you never accused her of being mean?’
‘No.’
‘Did she know how you felt about her?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘And you knew she never kept much money at home?’
‘Yes, I knew that.’
‘Who took an impression of the front-door lock?’
‘Not me.’
‘Your lover, then.’
‘He never said so to me.’
‘But he did show you the key he had had cut?’
‘No, I never had any key.’
‘Look, here you are, telling lies again. Not only did you have a key to the apartment, you also had the one for your uncle Antoine’s workshop across the corridor.’
She said nothing, like a stubborn child being scolded.
‘I’ve got some bad news to pass on, and that might perhaps change your statement. I was in Toulon the day before yesterday.’
She gave a start. Though, as he knew, she was well aware where Marcel had gone.
‘First of all, admit it: you two hadn’t quarrelled at all, you hadn’t really thrown him out.’
‘Think what you like, I can’t stop you.’
‘This quarrel, supposedly because he was lazing about in bed, was staged for my benefit.’
She didn’t move a muscle.
‘I met him in Toulon. And of course, you know what he went to do there.’
‘No.’
‘Still lying? Down there, a few kilometres out of town, is a villa where a certain Pepito Giovanni lives. An ex-gangster, who has more or less bought his way out of trouble and is now into big business. I imagine Marcel must have worked for him at some point in the past, but he was a very small cog in that machine. Marcel was never a big-time gangster. Just a henchman, who had a few walk-on parts.’
A flash of anger crossed her features, but she made no protest.
‘Do you agree with me?’
‘I’ve nothing to say.’
‘Please excuse me for a moment.’
He picked up the telephone and this time he got through to the examining magistrate.
‘Maigret here. Can I come up and see you for a minute?’
‘I’ll be waiting. Better come straight away, because I have a witness to question in ten minutes.’
He left his interviewee alone with Lapointe, and went through the door to the Palais de Justice.
‘How’s the investigation going?’
‘I hope I’m not getting ahead of myself, but I’m expecting to clear it up today. I went to Toulon on Saturday and a number of things happened there. I’ll tell you about them later. But for the moment, I need an arrest warrant in the name of Angèle Louette.’
‘Isn’t that the niece?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you think she was the one who killed the old lady?’
‘I don’t know that yet, but I hope I soon will, one way or the other. That’s why I’m not sure whether I’ll use the warrant or not.’
‘Hear that, Gérard? Can you make out the form?’
When Maigret returned to his office, it was as if the two people sitting there were waxworks.
He held out the warrant to Angèle.
‘I presume you know what this is, and that you will understand why I asked you to bring a case with a change of clothes and whatever else you need.’
She did not reply or flinch.
‘Now, to start with, we’re going to talk about Marcel. I met him in a bar in Toulon, the Amiral, it’s called, a place he knew well when he lived on the Côte d’Azur. He also knew very well a barman called Bob. Ever heard him mention the name?’
‘No,’ she spat out.
But her attention was aroused: she was waiting with visible anxiety to hear more.
‘A bit player like Marcel wasn’t going to be able to get a meeting immediately with a big fish like Giovanni. He needed a go-between, and Bob was the one. What he told Giovanni, I don’t know. Marcel had something to sell, something very important, because this big crime boss agreed to see him the next day. Do you follow me?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’ve understood I’m talking about the revolver.’
‘I’ve never seen this revolver you keep talking about. I’ve told you that more than once.’
‘And every time, you’ve been lying. Well, Giovanni was so intrigued that he held on to the gun. I went to see him shortly afterwards, and we had a very interesting conversation. Among other things, I told him about the origin of the revolver, and the part that Marcel had played in the death of your aunt.
‘You see, when a gangster has made his money and more or less pulled out of criminal affairs, he doesn’t like any hint of trouble.
‘And Giovanni realized that being in possession of this gun would place him in serious jeopardy. I was no sooner out of the house than he jumped into his yacht and had his man sail him out to sea, so your uncle’s famous revolver is now lying dozens of metres down below.’
Maigret emptied his pipe and filled another.
‘Well, some other things happened in Toulon after I’d left. I only heard about them yesterday morning, when my colleague phoned me, soon after I saw you. But first, tell me again that there was no longer anything between you and Marcel, and that you had definitely shown him the door.’
‘I’m waiting to hear what happened.’
‘Well, Marcel himself was somewhat compromising. As they say in gangland, dead men tell no tales.’
‘He’s dead?’
She had stiffened suddenly and her voice had changed.
‘But that doesn’t affect you any more, does it?’
‘What happened exactly?’
‘Some time that night he was shot in the head, with a .38, the kind of gun used by professionals. He was found next morning floating in the harbour.’
‘Is this a trap for me?’
‘No.’
‘You swear that on the head of your wife?’
‘Yes, I swear.’
Then tears began rolling down her cheeks and she opened her handbag to take out a handkerchief.
8.
He went to stand at the window, to give her
time to regain her self-possession. A light rain was still falling and umbrellas were glistening on the street below.
He heard her blow her nose, and when he returned to his seat, she was patting a little rouge on her cheeks.
‘As you see, the whole affair fell through, and your aunt was killed for nothing.’
She was still sniffing and her hand trembled as she took out a cigarette and lit it.
‘What remains to be ascertained is whether it was you or Marcel who smothered the old lady.’
Contrary to what he expected, she didn’t reply at once. Wouldn’t it have been easy for her to defend herself, now that her lover was out of the picture?
‘As far as he is concerned, of course, there will be no further judicial inquiries. But it’s not the same for you.’
‘Why do you hate me so much?’
‘I don’t hate you. I’m trying to do my job as humanely as possible. From the very first day, you’ve been lying to me. So how do you expect me to take any other attitude towards you in the circumstances?’
‘You knew I loved him.’
‘And indeed I know that you still love him, even now he’s dead.’
‘Yes, that’s true.’
‘Why did you pretend to break up?’
‘It was his idea. He was hoping to throw you off the track.’
‘You knew what he was going to do in Toulon?’
She looked straight at him and, for the first time, she did not try to lie or dodge his question.
‘Yes.’
‘How long had you known about the revolver’s existence?’
‘About thirteen or fourteen years. I got on well with Uncle Antoine. He was a good sort, rather lonely. I don’t think he had found my aunt the kind of companion he was hoping for. So he spent a lot of time shut up in his cubby hole.’
‘Where you would go to see him?’
‘Yes, quite often. That was his passion, and every year or so, he’d send one of his inventions to the Lépine competition.’
‘So that’s how you knew about the revolver?’
‘I saw him work on it for about two years. He told me confidentially that there was a problem he had yet to resolve. “And if I do, one day, it’ll make a lot of noise,” he would say. Then he would laugh. “When I say make a noise, I mean the opposite. Do you know what a silencer is?”
‘“Yes,” I said. “I’ve seen them in films or on TV: a little thing you fix on the end of a gun so that people won’t hear the shot.”
‘“Yes, that’s it, more or less. Of course, you can’t just walk into a shop and buy them, it’s illegal. But suppose you didn’t have to use a separate silencer, that it was part of the gun itself, concealed inside?”
‘He was very excited.
‘“I’ve almost managed it. Just a few more details to perfect. And when I sell the patent, all the guns they use in the police and the army will be silent.”’
She remained without speaking for a while, then murmured:
‘He died a few days later. I don’t know anything about guns. And I forgot all about the famous revolver.’
‘When did you tell Marcel about it?’
‘A month ago, perhaps. Or no, three weeks. We were crossing the Pont-Neuf and I pointed to the windows on Quai de la Mégisserie. I said that’s where my aunt lived, and that I’d inherit from her one day.’
‘Why did you tell him about the inheritance?’
She blushed and looked away.
‘To try and hang on to him.’
She had had no illusions.
‘And a bit later, when we were sitting on a café terrace, I told him the story of the revolver, which I’d suddenly remembered. To my great surprise, he got very interested.
‘He asked me if I’d seen the gun since my uncle’s death.
‘“No, I’ve never even been back into his workshop.”
‘“Did your aunt know about it?”
‘“He might have mentioned it to her, but I dare say she paid it no more attention than I did. I’ll ask her.”
‘“No, my dear Angèle,” he said. “Don’t do that. Don’t mention it to her at all.”
‘I’m reporting our conversation as it happened, and it may surprise you, but we were rather formal with each other. Except on rare occasions,’ she said, with some embarrassment.
‘Do you have a key to the apartment?’
‘No.’
‘Does the same key open the little cubby hole, as you call it?’
‘No, there was a special key, but my aunt had it. Probably in her handbag. He didn’t mention it for a few days. When I got home one night, he had two keys in his hand.
‘“What do you want to do?”
‘“Find that revolver.”
‘“What for?”
‘“Because it’s worth a fortune. When you know your aunt is out and won’t come back, go and look in the apartment and the workshop.”
‘“But why would I? I’ll inherit everything when she dies.”
‘“Oh, old grannies like her, they live for ever. You might have to wait another ten years, massaging all those middle-aged women.”’
She looked at Maigret and sighed.
‘Do you understand now? I didn’t say yes right away. But I didn’t want to lose him and he kept going on about it. In the end, I took the keys one afternoon. I saw my aunt go off towards the Tuileries, and I knew she wouldn’t be back before six.’
‘I began with the apartment. I looked everywhere, putting things back in their place.’
‘Not carefully enough, obviously, because she noticed.’
‘Then two days later, I looked in the cubby hole. In all, I went four times to Quai de la Mégisserie.’
‘And Marcel?’
‘Just once.’
‘When?’
She turned her head away.
‘The afternoon my aunt was killed.’
‘What did he say to you when he got back?’
‘I wasn’t home. I’d been with a client since five thirty – the appointment had been postponed. It was a lady I’ve been going to for twenty years, Madame de la Roche, 61, Boulevard Saint-Germain.’
‘And when did you get home?’
‘At seven. She’d kept me talking as usual.’
‘Why didn’t you say before that you had an alibi?’
‘Because that would have meant incriminating Marcel.’
‘You preferred to be a suspect?’
‘Well, as long as you were hesitating between the two of us …’
‘So the gun was on top of your wardrobe?’
‘Yes.’
‘Your lover had found it in the bedside table?’
‘Yes. It’s the last place I’d have looked, because my aunt was scared stiff of firearms.’
‘Lapointe, did you get that? You can go and type out the statement. But first, telephone Madame de la Roche, Boulevard Saint-Germain.’
They remained alone together, and he felt the need to stand up and go to the window again.
‘As far as Marcel is concerned, the charges are completely dropped,’ he muttered, ‘because we can’t put a dead man on trial. But you’re alive and well. You weren’t a party to the old woman’s death, that’s true. Well, we’ll soon find out about that.’
It was no longer the same woman that he now had in front of him. She had lost her stiff pose. Her features, like her strong body, seemed to have slumped.
There was a good five minutes’ silence before Lapointe appeared again in the office.
‘The lady confirms it,’ he said simply.
‘Thank you. Now do you see the situation you are in?’
‘You made me read the arrest warrant, and I know what that means.’
‘When I had it made out, I didn’t yet know which of the two of you had killed your aunt.’
‘Well, you know now.’
‘You were not at the scene. The crime was not premeditated. So you couldn’t have known it would take place. In other words, y
ou are not a direct accomplice. What you could be accused of is not reporting your lover to the police, and keeping in your apartment stolen goods, namely a firearm.’
She maintained her neutral expression. It was as if life no longer interested her. She was far away, in Toulon perhaps, with Marcel.
Maigret went over to open the door into the inspectors’ office. He spoke to the nearest one, who happened to be the burly Torrence.
‘Can you come into my office for a moment? Don’t you or anyone else leave until I get back.’
‘Understood, chief.’
He went back up to the examining magistrate, who asked the witness he was questioning to step outside.
‘Was it her, then?’
‘No, she’s got a cast-iron alibi.’
Maigret told him the whole story as quickly as possible. It still took a certain amount of time.
‘There’s no question of trying to charge Giovanni,’ he murmured finally.
‘No, we wouldn’t get anywhere.’
‘So all in all, she’s no more guilty than he is.’
‘You mean …?’
The magistrate scratched his head.
‘Is that what you have in mind? You’d simply let her go?’
Maigret did not admit that this idea had come to him indirectly via Madame Maigret.
‘We’d have to establish complicity, which wouldn’t be easy, especially as the revolver has now completely disappeared.’
Another quarter of an hour passed before Maigret could go back down to the Police Judiciaire, since the magistrate insisted on consulting the public prosecutor.
It shocked Maigret a little to see Torrence sitting at his own desk, in his own chair.
‘She hasn’t budged, chief.’
‘Has she said anything?’
‘No, didn’t open her mouth. Shall I go now?’
Angèle was looking at Maigret without curiosity, as if resigned to her fate.
‘How old are you exactly?’
‘Fifty-six. I don’t usually own up to that, because some of my clients would find me too old.’
‘Which apartment will you live in now, your own or your aunt’s?’
She looked at him in astonishment.
‘I don’t have any choice, do I?’
He picked up the arrest warrant and tore it in half.
‘You’re free to go,’ he said simply.
She didn’t get up at once. It was as if her legs had suddenly turned to jelly. Tears rolled down her cheeks and she did not try to wipe them.
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