Chief Inspector Maigret Visits London

by Margaret de Rohan

  ‘Gotcha, guv,’ Andy said, under his breath. And I think you might be right.’

  And he was.

  The next morning, when he and Jacques showed the photograph to the students as they entered the school gates, Zach, Max’s friend, recognised Slippery Sid Ellis immediately. ‘That’s him – he’s the guy who was asking about Max,’ he said.

  ‘Is that right, Max?’ Jacques asked.

  ‘Dunno. I never saw him. But a few of the other boys did, you could ask them. Zach knows who they are. He’ll show them to you.’

  And indeed Zach did: and all three boys recognised the man too.

  ‘A good result, Jacques,’ Andy Gillespie said, as they left the school when the bell rang, ‘that’s another charge we can add to Sid Ellis’s sheet.’

  ‘Yes. But now, my friend, I’d like you come to the new little gallery with me, before you return to Scotland Yard.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘There’s something I need to show you. It’s something that I think will interest your chief inspector.’ As he spoke, Jacques received a text from Chief Inspector Maigret in Paris.

  ‘ES St P, 1800 aujourd’hui, Maigret,’ was all it said.

  ‘Oh, dear,’ Jacques muttered, or something very like that in French.

  ‘What now?’ Andy Gillespie asked.

  ‘It’s what I’ve been expecting, mon ami. I’ve been recalled to Paris.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘I leave on the 6 pm Eurostar this afternoon.’

  ‘So time’s running out for us, Jacques.’

  ‘And not only us, I’m afraid, Andy. God help us all, not only us.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  The night before, at about the time Slippery Sid Ellis was being hosed down (with warm water, of course!) at Scotland Yard, Celia arrived home. Earlier that afternoon she had sent a text to her mother, asking if she could do her homework with Charlotte at her home after school. Her mother had replied that she could.

  Two hours later, Celia sent another text saying that she had been invited to stay for supper, and that Charlotte’s father would drive her home by 8.30 pm.

  When she came in the door she looked strange: she seemed troubled and generally not like herself at all.

  ‘Granny,’ she whispered, ‘can you come up to my room? I’ve something important that I must tell you.’

  ‘Now what, I wonder?’ Granny asked, glancing across the table at Jacques, who raised his eyebrows, and looked amused.

  ‘If the chief inspector was here, he’d say that… ’

  ‘Yes, I know what he would say, Jacques. He’d say that the apple doesn’t fall far from the granny’s tree, wouldn’t he?’

  ‘A most charming expression, Madame, and one which I had not heard before you came into our lives,’ he replied, barely suppressing a grin.

  ‘Hmm… that’s a matter of opinion. And I think that you, Celia Jane, have been doing precisely what I asked you not to do. Am I right?’

  ‘I can’t help it, Granny. It’s obviously in my DNA.’

  ‘That’s debatable too. But okay, let’s go up to your room, if that’s what you want.’

  They went upstairs, where Celia made sure she closed the door of her room firmly, before she said anything.

  ‘Oh, Granny,’ she said quietly. ‘Me and Charlotte… ’

  ‘Charlotte and I,’ Granny interrupted.

  ‘Charlotte and I,’ Celia continued, looking exasperated, ‘went to see Genevieve Evremond this afternoon. And she’s so ill. And she’s so unhappy, too.’

  ‘Oh, Celia!’

  ‘She is, Granny. I know because she told us! And she was crying when she said it. And she’s so pale and thin. It was terrible to see her like that.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have gone. You should have left the poor girl in peace.’

  ‘No – wait, Granny – it was alright. She was happy to see us! We took her some flowers and chocolates, and Izzy came with us, because she used to be friends with Genevieve at school, before she went into hospital. But that was before her father stopped people visiting her.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He did, Granny. It’s true! He doesn’t like people coming to see her. He says they bring germs that… er… might undo… er… under… ’

  ‘Undermine, her health?’

  ‘Yes. People bring germs that might undermine her health.’

  ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘The au pair who let us in when Izzy rang the doorbell; she said we could only stay a little while. We had to leave before Mr Evremond came home.’

  ‘And you did? He didn’t see you?’

  ‘No, we left, like the au pair said. But Genevieve made us promise that we’d come to see her again. And soon: so we said we’d go again tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh, Celia, what on earth am I going to do with you?’

  And what’s this all about, Megan thought.

  ‘Granny, she needs help. I thought you could go to see her with us, so you could say a crème caramel prayer like you did with Georges, and she’d get well again.’

  ‘Celia, darling child, Georges’ case was very different from Genevieve’s,’ her Granny said, wary of encouraging false hopes in anyone, least of all a child. ‘He’d been injured, but was otherwise healthy. Genevieve has a serious illness. And to be honest, I used the crème caramel prayer as much for Max as I did for Georges… ’

  ‘You lied to Max? He never actually said that prayer when he was a little boy? That’s not very nice,’ Celia interrupted.

  ‘Oh, yes he did! And exactly the way I described it to him. How could you think I’d lie to Max, especially when he was so ill?’

  ‘But you said you did it as much for Max as for Georges.’

  ‘Yes, and so I did: we could all see how ill Max was, I had to do something, because it seemed that Max’s life was somehow linked to Georges’ life at that time. And I was so afraid that what happened to the one, would happen to the other too. I thought that Georges might die. And then… ’

  ‘Oh, Granny,’ Celia said, giving her a sympathetic hug, ‘but what if it hadn’t worked? And what if Georges had actually died? What would you have done then?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘Because I didn’t have a Plan B. In fact, no one ever has a Plan B, even if they say they do. I trusted that the prayer would work. And it did.’

  ‘Then why can’t you trust that Genevieve will get better too?’

  ‘I wish I could, and I will pray for her. But with Genevieve it feels completely different. From what I hear, she has the same illness that her mother had, and she sadly died.’

  ‘Genevieve knows that, Granny. And she thinks she’s going to die too. She knows there’s nothing more the doctors can do for her, that’s why she’s been sent home from hospital. But she’s not afraid to die. She said that to us – and more than once. But her father has told her she won’t die.’

  ‘How can he be so sure?’

  ‘He’s met someone who says she won’t, and he believes him, but Genevieve doesn’t like him.’ ‘She’s actually met this man? Did she tell you what he looked like?’

  ‘Yes. He’s been to their house often. She says he’s not really that old; maybe about forty, and he’s tall, and quite good-looking, but in a creepy way. And he’s very black.’

  ‘What? You mean he’s from Africa or the Caribbean?’

  ‘No, silly Granny, he’s white, with an English accent. He just dresses completely in black and his hair is black too, and long.’ Hmm, I wonder if this is the man we’ve been looking for, Granny thought. But Celia was now in full flow.

  ‘He says strange stuff over her, almost like prayers, but in a language she can’t understand. And it’s not a proper language, anyway. He makes her drink stuff too, which she doesn’t like because it tastes awful, and he waves smelly bits of… stuff over her in a thing like you sometimes see in church.’

  ‘Do you mean the brass thing that holds the incense that the vicar wafts arou
nd on special occasions?’

  ‘Yes, like that! But I know what incense smells like; it’s nice even if it makes my eyes water. What he uses smells absolutely foul, Genevieve said. And he’s given her this charm thing which he says she has to wear around her neck all the time. She doesn’t like any of it. But her father believes that the man will make her better again.’

  ‘And is she getting better?’

  ‘No, she feels worse. But the man says that’s normal: she has to get worse before she can better.’

  ‘And how long is that supposed to take?’

  ‘No one really knows. He says she’ll get better “after the storm” but… ’

  ‘What storm – when?’

  Celia shrugged, ‘don’t know.’

  ‘Have you seen the charm, Celia?’ her Granny asked, trying a new approach.

  ‘Yes. I told you – she has to wear it all the time. I saw it today.’

  ‘What does it look like? Could you draw it for me?’

  ‘Well, I suppose I could try,’ she said, taking a piece of paper and a pencil from her desk. ‘But I’m not very good at drawing animals so… ’

  ‘It’s an animal?’ her Granny interrupted.

  ‘Yes, it’s inside a silver circle, maybe two or three centimetres wide, with a triangle inside of it pointing downwards. See, like this. And then, in the middle of the triangle, there’s this big head of a goat, sort of stuck into the silver. Oh, and on the circle there are things that Izzy said were signs of the zodiac.’

  Granny took the piece of paper, and studied it. ‘I haven’t a clue what this means,’ she said. ‘Is it on a chain?’

  ‘No, it’s on a thin black leather cord.’ What to do, Granny Meg thought. What does all this mean?

  ‘Celia, I need to make a phone call now. But I also need you to promise that you won’t go to Genevieve’s house, tomorrow. Will you do that? And really, really, promise?’

  ‘But I can’t, Granny. We promised her that we’d come – and we wanted to take her some more flowers. She loves flowers.’

  ‘I tell you what I’ll do. In the morning I’ll arrange for some flowers to be delivered to her from that posh florist shop in Dulwich. Roses, maybe, and sweet peas – anything with a lovely smell – and I’ll make sure there’s a card inside that says something like “with love from your school friends”. How about… ’

  ‘But you’re not listening, Granny,’ Celia said impatiently, ‘we said we’d come! Why don’t you want us to visit her again when she was so happy to see us?’

  ‘I can’t tell you at the moment. It’s something that Jacques is working on. But I can tell you that it’s very important that none of you goes to Genevieve’s house again. At least not for a day or two; after that, it will probably be fine. Why don’t you send her a text now, explaining that you can’t come tomorrow, but that you’ll see her soon?’

  ‘You’re being very mysterious, Granny. And it’s actually very annoying.’

  ‘Sorry, sweetie, but it can’t be helped. And now I really must make that phone call,’ she said as she hurried out of the door and down the hallway to her room. Then she closed the door and picked up her phone.

  The Reverend David Wainwright, of St Luke’s church in Little Venice, London W9, listened intently as she related her conversation with Celia, and did not interrupt. But Megan heard his long, drawn-out sigh as she finished speaking.

  ‘Therefore, rejoice O heavens and you who dwell in them! But woe to you, O earth and sea, for the devil has come down to you in great wrath, because he knows that his time is short,’5 he said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Megan, dear heart,’ he said quietly. ‘What I just said was from the Book of Revelation, chapter 12, verse 12. What, in the name of all the blessed Saints, have you got yourself into now?’

  ‘Well, that’s just it, David. I don’t really know.’

  ‘Then let me tell you that you’ve made every nerve in my body stand on end: the Pentagram with the goat’s head – or the Goat of Mendes – is one of the most powerful symbols of Satanism. And witchcraft too, for that matter.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘And,’ David continued, ‘that’s because it is said that Satan is able to change form. Sometimes he looks human; perhaps even like a handsome man. Then other times he can look like an animal, especially a goat.’

  ‘Surely you don’t believe in an actual person called Satan, David?’

  ‘Why not: don’t you believe in an actual person called God?’

  ‘Well, not exactly actual. But I believe in an eternal ethereal Being whom we know as God.’

  ‘Then what about an actual person called Jesus Christ? Do you believe he ever walked on this earth of ours?’

  ‘Yes, of course I do. I’m a Christian.’

  ‘But do you believe he was a real flesh and blood person, looking pretty much like every other man living in Galilee at the time? Someone, for instance, who might get tired enough to fall asleep, even on a boat in the middle of a raging storm? Or whose hands would actually bleed if he cut them sometimes with one of his carpenter’s tools?’

  Megan thought carefully before she answered. ‘Yes, I believe all of that.’

  ‘I rest my case,’ David Wainwright said, preparing to end the conversation. Then he paused and said softly, ‘Maranatha.’6

  ‘Wait, Dave! Not so fast – what are you saying?’

  ‘I’m saying, my dear Megan, that if you believe in a flesh and blood Christ, then isn’t there almost an… obligation to believe in a flesh and blood anti-Christ too? It’s Yin and Yang; Good and Evil; positive and negative; action and reaction. Can it have escaped your notice what a fearful mess this world’s in? Who the hell do you think is currently running the show? Does it look like the kind, the generous, the gentle, and the meek are about to inherit this earth anytime soon?’

  ‘Surely you’re not saying it’s the devil, David?’

  ‘That’s exactly, what I’m saying, God help me. He and all his thousands upon thousands of deluded followers – most of whom are just ridiculous publicity seekers who are too stupid to realise that they’ve got a tiger by the tail. Boy, are they in for a surprise! But there’s another hard-core, inner circle who know exactly what they’re doing, and they are very much calling the tune. Make no mistake, that’s what we’re up against: and it’s going to be one hell of a battle when the whole thing finally kicks off! I only hope I’m still alive to see it!’

  ‘I’ve never known you to be a pessimist before… ’

  ‘Not a pessimist – a realist! A realist who is determined to play his part, against whatever odds, in his small corner of the Lord’s vineyard. Satan won’t win, of course: remember “he’s come down to earth in great anger because he knows his time is short”, but it’s going to be one huge bloody mess before he’s finally booted out for good. So what are you going to do about all this in your particular small corner, Megan?’

  ‘I don’t know! But I can tell you you’ve got me so fired up now that I’m determined to do something!’

  ‘Good,’ he said, ‘that’s exactly what I was aiming for!’

  ‘But what about this man that Genevieve’s father has brought into her life? Do you have any clues about him?’

  ‘One of Satan’s henchmen, I expect,’ David Wainwright said, suddenly sounding very tired. ‘Maybe even one of the hard-core, inner circle. They hang around on the fringes of places where people gather, trying get their hooks into them, by one way, or another. I’ve even had a run-in with a few of them myself at Speakers’ Corner on a Sunday. They prey on the vulnerable: the lonely, the sad, the mentally unstable, or maybe, those just desperate to help someone they love who’s in trouble. And then they tell them that they have all the answers to their particular problem, which actually means, give us what money you have, sell your soul to the devil, and everything will be peaches and cream from that moment on.’

  ‘Oh, David – I had no idea! Do you know the names of any of these people, so
I can pass them on to Scotland Yard?’ ‘What for, Megan? They’re not breaking the law: at least as long as they don’t actually defraud people out of their money. You can’t stop people following whatever hare-brained path they might choose. But as for names; well, let me see. There’s The Magician, The Tutor, The Finder – oh, and another one called The Recruiter. He could be the one you’re looking for! He’s a really nasty, sophisticated piece of work: good-looking, charming, smooth-talking. He’s almost enough to corrupt the blessed Archangel Michael himself!’

  ‘Does he dress completely in black?’

  ‘Yes, but that won’t be much help to you. They all dress entirely in black: it seems to be the colour of choice for the un-godly these days.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘But I repeat: what are you going to do about this… this… fight to the death, Megan?’

  And with that question hanging in the air, the Reverend David Wainwright abruptly ended the call.

  Chapter Twenty

  Megan immediately went downstairs, looking for Jacques. She found him, sitting alone on the patio, enjoying his glass of wine in the warm stillness of the evening.

  ‘You look so peaceful, Jacques, I hate to disturb you, but I’m afraid I must,’ she said, then she related her conversation with firstly, Celia, and then David Wainwright.

  ‘Marie Mère de Dieu,’ he said, slumping back in his chair. As soon as he could he made his excuses, said a polite “goodnight” to everyone, went upstairs to his room, phoned Chief Inspector Maigret, and told him everything.

  He related the entire story again the next morning, as he and Andy Gillespie walked to the small Dulwich gallery which had profited from James Evremond’s generosity.

  ‘Sacre-double-bleu,’ Andy said succinctly, when Jacques had finished speaking. ‘And now this gallery is having a big shindig at the London Eye.’

  ‘Yes, my friend. And since I recently found a photograph of the London Eye with a large amount of real money, I think we can put two and two together and come up with four.’

  ‘Or a hell of a big bang of some kind,’ Andy said.