Maigret at the Coroner's

by Georges Simenon

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘O’Neil’s.’

  ‘What was he saying?’

  ‘It was hard to tell. I think he was calling Van Fleet.’

  ‘He called out that name?’

  ‘No, sir. He called him Pinky, the way he usually did. Someone started to run. I thought I heard quiet talking. That’s when I noticed a car coming from Nogales and stepped out into the highway to signal to it.’

  ‘You knew that your friends would rejoin you?’

  ‘I thought that when they heard the car stop, they would come.’

  ‘Any questions, counsellor?’

  The attorney shook his head.

  ‘Members of the jury?’

  They said no as well.

  ‘Recess!’

  9. The Sergeant’s Hip Flask

  Maigret tried in vain to stop O’Rourke as he went by. Preoccupied, the chief deputy sheriff had gone quickly past and shut himself up in what must have been his office, on the ground floor. The window there was open because of the heat, and an endless stream of people could be seen filing through during the recess.

  Pinky was there, sitting in a chair near some green filing cabinets. He had been given a drink to calm him down.

  O’Rourke and one of his men were talking to him gently, in a friendly way, and the corporal managed to smile wanly a few times.

  Escorted by her brothers and sisters, the black woman was still walking up and down the corridors, her baby in her arms, and when the jurors were summoned, she was the first spectator to return to her seat.

  In the end, the business had been conducted more or less as in France, except that there, the interrogations would have taken place in one of the offices of the Police Judiciaire, behind closed doors, instead of in public.

  The jurors seemed more solemn, as if they could feel the hour of their greatest responsibility drawing nigh.

  If the black juror had not asked his question, would the inquest have taken the same turn? Would O’Rourke have taken charge of the proceedings?

  ‘Corporal Van Fleet.’

  Now he looked like a boxer who has taken a real beating in the earlier rounds and who advances towards his adversary for the knock-out punch, so people watched him with some compassion.

  They knew that he knew, and everyone wanted to learn the truth at last. At the same time, they were a little ashamed about the state to which he had necessarily been reduced.

  The coroner left the job of polishing him off to the attorney, who rose once more to approach the witness, his pencil in hand.

  ‘About ten minutes before the car arrived that would take all three of you back to the base, something happened on the railway tracks, and some noise was heard by Wo Lee from the highway. Did you hear anything?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Did you see something?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Exactly what happened?’

  He had clearly decided to tell all. He was trying to find the right words and almost seemed on the verge of asking for help.

  ‘Ted had already been lying with Bessie for a while …’

  It was strange to hear him, at that precise moment, call O’Neil by his first name.

  ‘I suppose I must have made some noise without meaning to.’

  ‘How far away were you from the couple?’

  ‘Five or six yards.’

  ‘O’Neil knew you were there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It had been arranged between you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who bought the hip flask, and when?’

  ‘It was a little before the Penguin Bar closed for the night.’

  ‘Was it bought along with the other bottles?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Whose idea was it?’

  ‘Ours.’

  ‘You mean you and O’Neil.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘With what intention did you purchase a bottle that could be slipped into a pocket, when you had been drinking all evening and would keep on drinking at the musician’s place?’

  ‘We wanted to get Bessie drunk, and Sergeant Ward wasn’t letting her drink as much as she wanted.’

  ‘Did you have any specific intentions as of that moment?’

  ‘Maybe not specific ones.’

  ‘You knew someone would suggest finishing up the night in Nogales?’

  ‘There or elsewhere, it always happens in the same way.’

  ‘In short, before you left the Penguin, which means before one in the morning, you knew what you wanted?’

  ‘We were saying that we might have an opportunity.’

  ‘Was Bessie aware of this?’

  ‘She knew that Ted had gone to the Penguin several times to meet her.’

  ‘Had you let Wo Lee in on the secret?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Who had the flask in his pocket?’

  ‘O’Neil.’

  ‘Who paid for it?’

  ‘Both of us. I gave him two one-dollar bills. He put in the rest.’

  ‘There was already another bottle in the car.’

  ‘We didn’t know beforehand if it would be left there. And besides, it was too big a bottle to hide.’

  ‘When you left for Nogales and O’Neil wound up in the back with Bessie, did he try to take advantage of that?’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘Did he give her anything to drink?’

  ‘It’s possible. I didn’t ask him about it.’

  ‘If I understand correctly, it had suited you both perfectly to abandon Bessie in the desert.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Did the two of you discuss it?’

  ‘We didn’t need to, we understood each other.’

  ‘Did you decide at that time to get rid of Wo Lee?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘You did not anticipate that Ward and Mullins would go back out into the desert?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Did you assume that Bessie would go along with this?’

  ‘She’d already had a lot to drink.’

  ‘And you planned to have her drink more?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Having come this far, he would now answer even the most awkward and embarrassing questions.

  ‘How come it took you about half an hour to find Bessie Mitchell?’

  ‘We must have stopped the taxi too soon. We’d been drinking, too. It’s hard at night to recognize a particular place along the highway.’

  ‘Both of you tried again to send Wo Lee back. And when you all turned around, you two were both walking in the desert.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Were you together?’

  ‘O’Neil was on my right, about twenty yards off. I could hear his footsteps. Now and then he’d whistle softly to let me know where he was.’

  ‘Did he find Bessie on the railway tracks?’

  ‘No, sir. Close by.’

  ‘Was she sleeping?’

  ‘I don’t know. I guess so.’

  ‘Exactly what happened then?’

  ‘I heard him talking softly to her and I realized that he was lying on the ground with her. At first she thought it was Sergeant Ward. Then she burst out laughing.’

  ‘Did he give her some alcohol?’

  ‘He must have, because I heard the sound of the empty bottle falling on pebbles, probably on the railbed.’

  ‘What were you doing meanwhile?’


  ‘I was going closer as quietly as possible.’

  ‘Did O’Neil know this?’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘Was this the agreement you both had?’

  ‘More or less.’

  ‘And that’s when something unexpected happened?’

  ‘Yes, sir. I must have been caught by a thorn bush, and that made some noise. Then Bessie started fighting and got furious. She shouted that now she understood, that we were dirty scum, that we took her for a whore, but that we were wrong. O’Neil tried to make her be quiet, because he was afraid that Corporal Wo Lee might hear her.’

  ‘Did you go any closer?’

  ‘No, sir. I didn’t move. But she could see my outline. She was cursing us, promising to tell Ward, who’d punch us right in the face.’

  He spoke in a monotone, amid absolute silence.

  ‘Was O’Neil holding her around the torso?’

  ‘She ordered him to let go of her, she was struggling. She finally fought free and started to run.’

  ‘On the railway tracks?’

  ‘Yes, sir. O’Neil ran after her. She could hardly stay on her feet and was weaving around. She tripped a couple of times on the wooden ties. She fell down.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘O’Neil shouted, “Are you there, Pinky?”

  ‘I went towards him and heard him grousing, “That bitch!”

  ‘He asked me to go and see if she was hurt. I told him to go himself because I didn’t have the courage. I felt sick. I heard a car coming along the highway. Wo Lee called to us.’

  ‘No one went to see what state Bessie was in?’

  ‘O’Neil finally went over. He merely bent down towards her. He put his hand out but didn’t touch her.’

  ‘What did he say when he came back?’

  ‘He said, “That’s a dirty trick she’s playing on us. She isn’t moving.”’

  ‘Did you conclude that she was dead?’

  ‘I don’t know. I couldn’t ask him any more questions. The car was waiting for us. We could see its headlights. We could hear the driver’s voice.’

  ‘You never thought about the train?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘O’Neil didn’t bring that up?’

  ‘We didn’t talk at all.’

  ‘And back at the base?’

  ‘No. We went to bed without saying a thing.’

  ‘Any questions, members of the jury?’

  No one moved.

  ‘Sergeant O’Neil.’

  The two men crossed paths near the witness stand without looking at each other.

  ‘When did you see Bessie Mitchell for the last time?’

  ‘When she fell on the tracks.’

  ‘Did you bend down over her?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Was she hurt?’

  ‘I thought I saw blood on one temple.’

  ‘Did you conclude from this that she was dead?’

  ‘I don’t know, sir.’

  ‘It never occurred to you to move her somewhere else?’

  ‘I didn’t have time, sir. The car was waiting.’

  ‘You never thought about the train?’

  For a moment, he hesitated.

  ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘When you’d found her near the tracks, was she sleeping?’

  ‘Yes, sir. She woke up almost immediately.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I gave her something to drink.’

  ‘Did you have sex with her?’

  ‘I started to, sir.’

  ‘What interrupted you?’

  ‘She heard a noise. When she saw the vague shape of Corporal Van Fleet, she figured things out and began struggling, yelling abuse at me. I was afraid Wo Lee might hear. I tried to make her be quiet.’

  ‘Did you hit her?’

  ‘I don’t think so. She was drunk. She was clawing at me, I was trying to make her listen to reason.’

  ‘Did you intend to kill her to make her be quiet?’

  ‘No, sir. She got away from me and started to run.’

  ‘You’ve seen these shoes: do they belong to you?’

  ‘Yes, sir. The next day I thought someone might find footprints in the sand, so I threw them away.’

  ‘Any more questions?’

  After O’Neil had left the stand, the coroner called out: ‘Mr O’Rourke.’

  He simply stood up without leaving his spot.

  ‘I have nothing to add,’ he said. ‘Unless anyone has questions to ask me.’

  His expression was modest, almost astonished, as if he’d had nothing to do with what had just happened, and Maigret muttered between his teeth.

  ‘Well, you sly old faker!’

  Then, like a man at the end of his tether, the coroner read a formula placing the jury in the care of Ezekiel, who swore to prevent the jury from communicating with anyone whomsoever during the term of their deliberations.

  The coroner then explained a few things to the five men and one woman, whom everyone watched disappear into another room as the oaken door closed behind them.

  Out in the arcade, there again were the white shirts, the cigars and cigarettes, the bottles of Coca-Cola.

  ‘I think you have plenty of time to go and have lunch,’ announced O’Rourke to Maigret. ‘Unless I’m much mistaken, they’ll be at it for an hour or two.’

  ‘Did you get my note?’

  ‘Forgive me, I’d clean forgotten it …’

  He drew the envelope from his pocket, tore it open and read a single word: O’Neil.

  For an instant, his usual gently mocking smile faded as he considered his colleague.

  ‘Had you also understood that he had not done it on purpose?’

  Instead of answering, Maigret asked him a question.

  ‘What will happen to him?’

  ‘I wonder whether he can be accused of rape, since in the beginning, at least, the girl was willing. He did not hit her at all. There still remains, in any case, the charge of perjury.’

  ‘The penalty for which is something like ten years?’

  ‘Right. They’re kids, damn kids, aren’t they?’

  They were both probably thinking about Pinky and his breakdown. All five young men were not far away. Sergeant Ward and Mullins were sneaking glances at each other, as if each one was angry with himself for having suspected the other.

  Were they going to make peace, become friends again as before? Would they draw a curtain over that business in the kitchen?

  After hesitating a moment, Ward accepted the cigarette that Mullins offered him, but did not speak to him right away.

  Wo Lee had done what he could to reply honestly to the questions without incriminating his comrades. He stood by himself, leaning against a column, drinking a Coca-Cola someone had fetched for him.

  Van Fleet was speaking in a low voice with Deputy Conley, as if he still felt the need to explain himself, while O’Neil, all alone, his face closed up tight, stared savagely at the patio, where the sprinklers were refreshing the lawn.

  ‘Damn kids!’ O’Rourke had called them. The chief deputy sheriff was now eager to begin a new investigation.

  As if he could not see any way out of it, he suggested to Maigret, ‘Shall we have a quick one?’

  What was preventing the two of them from reestablishing their cordiality and good humour of the previous evening? They went off to the corner bar, where they found several faithful spectators from the first two days of the inque
st. No one was discussing the case. Each of them was drinking alone.

  On the shelves behind the bar, sunlight played along the bottles of all colours. Someone had slipped a nickel into the jukebox. A ceiling fan rumbled above the bar; cars drove by outside, sleek and gleaming.

  ‘Sometimes,’ began Maigret in a hesitant voice, ‘a person can feel constricted in ready-made clothes that are too tight in the armholes. Sometimes, even, that tightness becomes unbearable and the person wants to tear everything off.’

  He emptied his glass in one go, ordered another one. He remembered what Harry Cole had confided to him, and thought of the thousands, the hundreds of thousands of men in the thousands of bars, who, all at the same time, were methodically drowning the same nostalgia, the same impossible need, and who the next morning, with the help of a shower and the stomach-settling blue bottle, would once again become decent men untrammelled by ghosts.

  ‘Accidents are inevitable,’ sighed O’Rourke, carefully cutting the tip of a cigar.

  If Bessie hadn’t heard any noise … If she hadn’t raved drunkenly that they were treating her like a whore …

  Five men and a woman – a few elderly folks, a black fellow, an Indian with a wooden leg – had come together under the watchful eye of Ezekiel and were trying, in the name of conscientious and organized society, to render a fair verdict.

  ‘I’ve been looking for you for the past thirty minutes!’ exclaimed Cole. ‘How long would it take you, Julius, to pack your bags?’

  ‘I don’t know, why?’

  ‘My colleague in Los Angeles is impatient to see you. One of the most famous gangsters in the West was shot down a few hours ago, just as he was leaving a Hollywood nightclub. My colleague is convinced that this will interest you. You have a direct flight in one hour.’

  • • •

  Maigret never saw Cole again, or O’Rourke, or the five Air Force men. He never learned the verdict. He did not even have time to buy the postcards with pictures of cacti flowering in the desert that he’d promised himself to send to his wife.

  In the plane, he wrote to her on a pad of paper laid across his lap.

  My dear Madame Maigret,

  I’m having a wonderful trip, and my colleagues here are very kind to me. I think that Americans are nice to everyone. As for describing the country to you, it’s rather difficult, but just imagine: for ten days now I have not worn a suit jacket, and I have a cowboy belt around my waist. Luckily, I did not let myself be pushed around, otherwise I’d be wearing boots and a broad-brimmed hat like the ones in Westerns.