‘What did he tell you?’
‘That Kaplan’s had been bought out and he had found himself out of work; that he didn’t want to say anything to Mama, so as not to worry her, as he was sure that he would find a new job quickly.’
‘Was he wearing yellow shoes?’
‘Not that day. He went on to say that it had proved to be harder than he had expected, but now things were going well, he was working in insurance and his job left him with plenty of free time.’
‘Why didn’t he mention this at home?’
‘Because of my mother again. She despises door-to-door salesmen, whether they are selling vacuum cleaners or insurance. She calls them good-for-nothings and beggars. If she had found out that her own husband was doing that job she would have felt so humiliated and she would have made his life hell. Especially with her sisters.’
‘Your mother sets great store by her sisters’ opinion, doesn’t she?’
‘She tries to keep up with them.’
‘Did you believe what your father told you about the insurance job?’
‘At the time, yes.’
‘And later?’
‘I was less sure.’
‘Why?’
‘First of all, because he was earning too much money.’
‘As much as that?’
‘I don’t know what you mean by “as much as that”. After a few months he announced that he had been made a deputy manager, still at Kaplan’s, and had been given another pay-rise. I remember the conversation about this. Mama wanted him to change his profession on his identity card. She had always been humiliated by the word “warehouseman”. He replied that it wasn’t worth the effort for something so trifling.’
‘I assume you and your father exchanged knowing glances at this?’
‘When he was sure that my mother couldn’t see me, he gave me a wink. Some mornings he slipped a banknote into my handbag.’
‘To buy your silence?’
‘Because he liked giving me money.’
‘You told me that you occasionally met him for lunch.’
‘That’s right. He’d whisper the name of the restaurant to me in the hallway on the way out. In the restaurant he encouraged me to order the most expensive dishes and offered to take me to the cinema.’
‘Did he wear his yellow shoes?’
‘Once. That’s when I asked him where he changed his shoes, and he told me that, for business purposes, he had to rent a room in town.’
‘Did he give you the address?’
‘Not straight away. This all happened over a long period of time.’
‘Did you have a boyfriend?’
‘No.’
‘When did you make the acquaintance of Albert Jorisse?’
She didn’t blush, didn’t stammer. She was expecting this question too.
‘Four or five months ago.’
‘Do you love him?’
‘We intend to go away together.’
‘To get married?’
‘Once he is old enough. He is only nineteen and can only get married with his parents’ permission.’
‘And they won’t give it?’
‘I’m sure they would never agree.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because he has no position. That’s all they think about. Just like my mother.’
‘Where were you planning to go?’
‘South America. I’ve already applied for my passport.’
‘Do you have any money?’
‘A little. I’m allowed to keep a portion of what I earn.’
‘When was the first time you went to your father for money?’
She looked him straight in the eyes for a moment, then sighed:
‘You know that too!’
Then, without hesitation:
‘I thought as much. That’s why I’m telling you the truth. I don’t believe you would be mean enough to repeat all this to my mother. Unless you and she are one of a kind!’
‘I haven’t the slightest intention of telling your mother about your business.’
‘It wouldn’t change anything anyway.’
‘You mean you’d leave whatever happened?’
‘One day or another, yes.’
‘How did you know your father’s address in Paris?’
This time, she was on the point of lying.
‘Albert found it.’
‘By following him?’
‘Yes. We were both wondering what it was he did to earn his money. We decided that Albert would follow him.’
‘What business was it of yours?’
‘Albert thought my father might be up to something illegal.’
‘If that was the case, what were you hoping to gain from finding out?’
‘He was earning a lot of money.’
‘Were you thinking of asking him for some of it?’
‘At least enough to cover the boat tickets.’
‘By blackmailing him?’
‘It’s only natural for a father to . . .’
‘In short, your friend Albert started spying on your father.’
‘He followed him for three days.’
‘What did he find out?’
‘Have you found out anything?’
‘I asked you a question.’
‘First of all, that my father had a room in Rue d’Angoulême. Then, that he wasn’t working in insurance at all but spent the best part of the day traipsing round the Grands Boulevards and sitting on benches. Finally . . .’
‘Finally?’
‘That he had a mistress.’
‘How did you react to this discovery?’
‘I’d have been happier if she had been young and pretty, but she looked just like Mama.’
‘You’ve seen her?’
‘Albert told me about the place where they usually met.’
‘Rue Saint-Antoine?’
‘Yes. In a small café. I went past there as if by chance and had a look. I didn’t have time to take her in properly, but I got a general impression. It can’t be much more fun with her than with my mother.’
‘Did you go to Rue d’Angoulême afterwards?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did your father give you any money?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you threaten him?’
‘No. I pretended that I had lost the envelope containing the cash I had collected that afternoon and if I didn’t replace the money I would be out of a job. I also said that they would prosecute me as a thief.’
‘What was his reaction?’
‘He seemed embarrassed. I noticed a photo of a woman on the side table and picked it up and said: “Who’s this?”’
‘What did he reply?’
‘That she was a childhood friend whom he had bumped into by chance.’
‘You’re a nasty piece of work, aren’t you?’
‘I was just protecting myself.’
‘Against whom?’
‘Against everyone. I don’t want to end up like my mother, in some ridiculous little house where I’ll suffocate.’
‘Did Albert go to see your father too?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You’re lying, my dear.’
She gave him a serious look, then finally admitted:
‘Yes.’
‘Why lie about this in particular?’
‘Because as soon as my father was killed, I knew Albert would be in trouble.’
‘Do you know that he has disappeared?’
‘He telephoned me.’
‘When?’
‘Before he disappeared, as you call it. Two days ago.’
‘Did he tell you where he was going?’
‘No. He was very agitated. He is convinced that he is going to be accused of murder.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he went to Rue d’Angoulême.’
‘When did you find out that we were on your trail?’
‘When your inspector interrogated that cow Mademoise
lle Blanche. She hates me. She was boasting afterwards that she’d said enough to take me down a peg or two, as she put it. I tried to reassure Albert. I told him he was being an idiot trying to hide, because he was just drawing suspicion on himself.’
‘But he wouldn’t listen to reason?’
‘No. He was so worked up he could hardly talk to me on the phone.’
‘How can you be sure that he didn’t kill your father?’
‘Why would he?’
Then, quite calmly, as one reasonable person to another, she said:
‘We could have asked him for all the money we needed.’
‘And if your father had refused?’
‘He wouldn’t have been able to. Albert simply had to threaten to tell my mother everything. I know what you’re thinking. You think I’m a nasty piece of work. You said so. But if you had spent the best years of your life stuck in that house in Juvisy—’
‘Did you see your father the day he died?’
‘No.’
‘What about Albert?’
‘I’m almost sure he didn’t. We hadn’t arranged anything for that day. We had lunch together, as usual, and we didn’t talk about anything in particular.’
‘Do you know where your father kept his money? As I understand it, your mother was in the habit of going through his pockets and his wallet every evening.’
‘She’s always done that.’
‘Why?’
‘Because once, more than ten years ago, she found lipstick on his handkerchief. My mother doesn’t use lipstick.’
‘You were quite young then.’
‘I was about ten or twelve. But I can still remember it. They weren’t paying any attention to me. My father swore that one of the women in the warehouse had passed out because of the heat and he had revived her by pouring some alcohol on his handkerchief and holding it to her lips.’
‘It was probably true.’
‘My mother didn’t believe it.’
‘To get back to my question: your father couldn’t come home with more money in his pocket than he was supposed to earn.’
‘He kept it in his room.’
‘On top of the wardrobe?’
‘How did you know?’
‘What about you?’
‘One time when I asked him for some money he climbed on to a chair and retrieved a yellow envelope from the top of the wardrobe which contained some thousand-franc notes.’
‘A lot?’
‘A fat wad.’
‘Did Albert know about it?’
‘It wasn’t a reason to kill him. I’m sure he didn’t do it. Besides, he would never have used a knife.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘I’ve seen him almost faint just when he cut his finger with a penknife. The sight of blood makes him ill.’
‘Do you sleep with him?’
Once again, she shrugged her shoulders.
‘What sort of question is that?’ she said.
‘Where?’
‘Anywhere. There are plenty of hotels in Paris set up for that. You’re not going to tell me that the police don’t know about them!’
‘So, to sum up this interesting conversation, you and Albert blackmailed your father with the intention of escaping to South America once you had accumulated enough funds?’
She didn’t flinch.
‘I also gather that, in spite of following him around, you weren’t able to establish how he got hold of his money.’
‘We didn’t look all that hard.’
‘All you cared about was that the money was there.’
Maigret occasionally got the feeling that she was looking at him with a certain condescension. She must have been thinking that, for a detective chief inspector of the Police Judiciaire, he was just as naive as her mother, her aunts and her uncles.
‘So now you know everything,’ she murmured, making to stand up. ‘You can see that I haven’t claimed to be anything different than what I am. As for what you think about me, I couldn’t care less.’
However, there was something bothering her.
‘You’re sure you won’t say anything to my mother?’
‘What does it matter, since you’re leaving anyway?’
‘Firstly, that’s going to take some time. Secondly, I really want to avoid a scene.’
‘I understand.’
‘Albert is still a minor, and his parents could—’
‘I would very much like to talk to Albert.’
‘If it were up to me, he’d be here this morning. He is a fool. I’m sure he’s hiding away somewhere, trembling with fear.’
‘You don’t seem to have a very high opinion of him.’
‘I don’t have a high opinion of anyone.’
‘Except yourself.’
‘Not even myself. I protect myself, that’s all.’
There was no point in pursuing this.
‘Have you told my employers that I’m here?’
‘I rang them to tell them I needed you to take care of certain formalities.’
‘When are they expecting me?’
‘I didn’t specify a time.’
‘May I go?’
‘I’m not keeping you.’
‘Will I be followed by one of your inspectors?’
He almost burst out laughing, but just managed to restrain himself.
‘Maybe.’
‘He’ll be wasting his time.’
‘Thank you for your help.’
Maigret did in fact have her followed, even though he was sure it would lead to nothing. Janvier was free, so he was given the task.
Maigret himself sat there for a good ten minutes, his elbows on his desk, biting on his pipe, staring vaguely at the window. Finally, he shook himself like a sleeper trying to recover his wits and stood up, grumbling under his breath:
‘Stupid idiot.’
Not knowing quite what to do, he went into the inspectors’ room.
‘Still no news on the boy?’
Albert must be feeling the need to contact Monique, but how could he do it without getting himself arrested? Maigret had forgotten to ask one question, a not unimportant one. Which of the pair of them was in possession of the stash that they were amassing to pay for their trip to South America? If it was him, then he would probably have some money in his pocket. If it was the other way round, then he probably didn’t even have enough to buy himself food.
He spent a few more minutes wandering deep in thought from one room to the other, then he rang the offices of Geber and Bachelier.
‘I would like to speak to Mademoiselle Monique Thouret.’
‘One moment, please. I think she’s just come in.’
‘Hello,’ came the voice of Monique.
‘Don’t get too excited. It’s not Albert, it’s Detective Chief Inspector Maigret again. I forgot to ask you a question. Is it he or you who has the money?’
She understood what he meant.
‘Me.’
‘Where?’
‘Here. I have a desk I can lock.’
‘Does he have any money on him?’
‘I’m sure he won’t have very much.’
‘Thank you. That’s all.’
Lucas was signalling that he was needed on another phone. He recognized Lapointe’s voice.
‘Are you ringing from Rue d’Angoulême?’ Maigret asked, surprised.
‘Not from the house, but from the bar on the corner.’
‘What’s going on?’
‘I’m not sure if it was done deliberately, but I thought I should let you know. They’ve cleaned the room from top to bottom. The floor and the furniture have been polished, and everything has been dusted.’
‘Including the top of the wardrobe?’
‘Yes. I got the feeling the woman was secretly laughing at me. I asked her when the room had been cleaned. She replied that she had her cleaning lady round yesterday afternoon on one of her twice-weekly visits, so she took advantage of that to give the
room a thorough going-over.
‘“You didn’t leave any instructions, and as I need to rent out the room . . .”’
It was a blunder. Maigret should have seen it coming.
‘Where is Moers?’
‘Still up there. He’s checking to see if any prints survived the carnage, but he’s drawn a blank so far. If this was the work of a cleaning lady, then she’s done a really good job. Shall I come back to Quai des Orfèvres?’
‘Not straight away. Find out the name and address of the cleaner. Go and see her. Get her to tell you what happened, what instructions she was given, who was in the room while she was working . . .’
‘Got it.’
‘Moers can come back. One more thing. Is there anyone from Vice in the vicinity?’
‘Yes. Dumoncel. I’ve just spoken to him, in fact.’
‘Get him to call in reinforcements. If any one of the tenants of the building leaves, I want her followed.’
‘None of them are about to leave. There’s one who seems to have this urge to walk around the stairwell naked, another who’s taking a bath. And the third one doesn’t seem to have been home for several days.’
Maigret headed for the commissioner’s office, as he did from time to time, without any particular purpose, purely to chat about the current investigation. He liked the atmosphere in the chief’s office and always stood next to the same window, which looked out on Pont Saint-Michel and the embankment.
‘Tired?’
‘I feel like I’m playing a game of patience. I want to be everywhere at the same time and I end up going round and round in circles in my office. This morning I conducted an interrogation that was one of the most—’
He paused, unable to find the right word. He felt exhausted, completely drained, in the sort of state of despondency that often accompanies a hangover.
‘Yet she was a young woman, no more than a kid, really.’
‘The Thouret girl?’
The telephone rang. The chief answered it.
‘Yes, he’s here.’
To Maigret:
‘It’s for you. Neveu has brought someone in and is keen to show you his catch.’
‘See you later.’
In the waiting room he spotted Inspector Neveu on his feet, very agitated, and, sitting down next to him, a pale, sickly-looking man of indeterminate age whom he thought he’d seen somewhere before. In fact, he looked as familiar as the back of his hand, but Maigret was still unable to put a name to the face.
Maigret and the Man on the Bench Page 10