Inspector Cadaver

by Georges Simenon

  “It’s me!”

  He went into a kitchen where four or five children were sitting round the table having their lunch.

  “What is it, Louis?” asked his mother, looking uncomfortably at Maigret.

  “Wait here…I’ll be back in a minute, monsieur…”

  Louis rushed up the stairs which led down to the kitchen itself and went into a room. Maigret heard the sound of a drawer being pulled open, of someone walking about and knocking over a chair. Downstairs, meanwhile, Louis’s mother shut the kitchen door but did not really know whether or not to make Maigret welcome.

  Louis came downstairs, pale and worried-looking.

  “Someone’s stolen it!” he declared, with a stony expression on his face.

  And then, turning to his mother, he said in a harsh voice:

  “Someone’s been here…Who was it?…Who came here this morning?”

  “Look, Louis…”

  “Who? Tell me who it was! Who stole the cap?”

  “I don’t even know what cap you’re talking about…”

  “Someone went up to my room…”

  He was in such an excited state that he looked as if he was about to hit his mother.

  “Will you please calm down! Can’t you see how rude you’re being, speaking to me in that tone of voice?”

  “Have you been in the house all morning?”

  “I went out to the butcher’s and the baker’s…”

  “And what about the little ones?”

  “I took the two youngest boys next door, as usual. The two that are not yet at school.”

  “Forgive me, superintendent. I just don’t understand. The cap was in my drawer this morning. I am positive it was. I saw it…”

  “But what cap do you mean? Will you answer me that? Anyone would think you’ve taken leave of your senses! You’d do better to sit down and have your lunch…As for this gentleman you’ve left standing…”

  But Louis gave his mother a pointed look, full of suspicion, and pulled Maigret outside.

  “Come with me…I have something else to say…I swear, over my father’s dead body, that the cap…”

  4

  THE THEFT OF THE CAP

  The impatient youngster walked quickly up the street, his neck taut and his body bent forward as he pulled the reluctant Maigret along with him. Here he was, being guided almost by force towards unknown delights by a glib and persuasive younger man, and the situation made him extremely uneasy. Such equivocal circumstances reminded him of a common enough scene in Montmartre, where one would see the doormen of dubious-looking clubs push an intimidated gentleman through the doors, against his will.

  Louis’s mother stood on the doorstep and shouted as they were going round the corner of the little street:

  “Aren’t you going to have your lunch, Louis?”

  Was Maigret the only one who heard? He was spurred on by strong feelings. He had promised this gentleman from Paris he would do something and now he was unable to keep his word because an unexpected occurrence had complicated matters. Would he not be taken for an impostor? Was he not endangering the cause he had all too hastily championed?

  “I want Désiré to tell you himself. The cap was in my bedroom. I wonder if my mother was telling the truth.”

  Maigret was wondering the same thing and at the same time thought of Inspector Cavre, whom he could picture vividly wheedling information out of the woman with six children.

  “What time is it?”

  “Ten past twelve.”

  “Désiré will still be at the dairy. Let’s go this way. It’s quicker.”

  Again, Louis led Maigret through little alleyways, past small, shabby houses which the superintendent had never seen before; once, a sow covered in mud rushed at their legs.

  “One evening, the evening of the funeral, in fact, old Désiré came into the Lion d’Or and threw a cap on the table. Speaking in patois, he asked whose it was. I recognized it straightaway as I was with Albert when he bought it in Niort. I remembered having a discussion with him about what color he should get.”

  “What is your trade?” asked Maigret.

  “I’m a carpenter. The largest of the men you saw just now in the Trois Mules is my boss. Well, Désiré was drunk that evening. There were at least six people in the café. I asked him where he found the cap. Désiré collects the milk from the little farms in the marshland, you see, and as you can’t get to them by road in a truck, he does his rounds by boat…

  “‘I found it in the reeds,’ he said, ‘very near the dead poplar.’

  “I repeat, there were at least six people who heard him say this. Everyone here knows that the dead poplar is between the Nauds’ house and the spot where Albert’s body was found…

  “This way…We’re going to the dairy. You can see the chimney stack over there, on the left.”

  They had left the village behind them. Dark hedges enclosed tiny gardens. A little further on, the dairy came into view. The low buildings were painted white and the tall chimney stack stood straight up against the sky.

  “I don’t know why I decided to shove the cap into my pocket…I already had the feeling that too many people were keen to hush up this whole affair…

  “‘It’s young Retailleau’s cap,’ someone said.

  “And Désiré, drunk as he was, frowned, for he suddenly realized that he was not supposed to have found it where he did.

  “‘Désiré, are you sure it was near the dead poplar?’

  “Well, superintendent, the very next day, he didn’t want to admit to anything. When he was asked exactly where he had found it, he would say:

  “‘Over there…I don’t really know exactly! Just leave me alone, will you! I’m sick of this cap business…’”

  Flat-bottomed boats filled with pitchers of milk were tied up beside the dairy.

  “I say, Philippe…Has old Désiré gone home?”

  “He can’t have gone home, seeing as he never set out…He must have got plastered yesterday as he didn’t do his round this morning.”

  An idea flashed through Maigret’s mind.

  “Would the manager be around at this time of day, do you think?” he asked his companion.

  “He’ll probably be in his office…The little door at the side…”

  “Wait here a minute…”

  Oscar Drouhet, the manager of the dairy, was in fact on the telephone when Maigret walked in. The superintendent introduced himself. Drouhet had the serious, steadfast manner of any local craftsman turned small businessman. Pulling on his pipe with short, sharp puffs, he observed Maigret and let him speak, trying all the while to size him up.

  “Albert Retailleau’s father was once in your employment, I believe? I’ve been told he was the victim of an accident at the dairy…”

  “One of the boilers exploded.”

  “I understand his widow receives a considerable income from you?”

  He was an intelligent man, for he realized immediately that Maigret’s question was loaded with innuendoes.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Did his widow take you to court, or did you yourself…”

  “Don’t try to complicate the issue. It was my fault the accident happened. Retailleau had been saying for at least two months that the boiler needed a complete overhaul and even that it should be replaced. It was the busiest time of the year and I kept putting it off.”

  “Were your workmen insured?”

  “Nowhere near adequately…”

  “Forgive me. Let me ask you whether you were the one who didn’t think they were adequately insured, or if…”

  Once more, they both understood each other perfectly, and Maigret did not have to finish his sentence.

  “His widow lodged a complaint against us, as she was entitled to do,” Oscar Drouhet admitted.

  “I am sure,” the superintendent went on, smiling slightly, “she did not approach you merely to ask you to go into the question of compensation pay. She sent lawyer
s to investigate…”

  “Is that so unusual? A woman knows nothing of these things, would you not agree? I acknowledged the validity of her claim and in addition to the pension she received from the insurance company, I elected to give her a further sum which I pay out of my own pocket. On top of this, I paid for her son’s education and took him on here as soon as he was old enough to work. My kindness was rewarded, what’s more, for he was a hard-working, honest lad. Albert was a clever boy and quite capable of running the dairy in my absence…”

  “Thank you…Or rather, just one more question: Albert’s mother hasn’t called on you since the death of her son, has she?”

  Drouhet managed not to smile, but his brown eyes flickered briefly.

  “No,” he said, “she hasn’t come to see me yet.”

  Maigret had been right, then, in this respect. Madame Retailleau was indeed a woman who knew how to defend herself and attack, if need be. She was undoubtedly the sort of person who would never lose sight of her interests.

  “It seems that Désiré, your milk collector, did not come to work this morning?”

  “That often happens…On the days he is more drunk than usual…”

  Maigret went back to the pock-marked youth, who was terrified he would no longer be taken seriously.

  “What did he say? He’s a good sort, but he’s really on the other side…”

  “Whose side?”

  “Monsieur Naud’s, the doctor’s, the mayor’s…He couldn’t have said anything against me…”

  “Of course not…”

  “We’ve got to find old Désiré…We could go around to his house, if you like…It’s not far…”

  They set off again, both forgetting it was lunchtime, and eventually came to a house on the fringe of the little town. Louis knocked on a glass door, pushed it open and shouted into the semi-darkness:

  “Désiré! Hey! Désiré!”

  But only a cat emerged and rubbed itself against the boy’s legs. Meanwhile, Maigret came upon a kind of den which consisted of a bed without a cover or a pillow where Désiré obviously slept with all his clothes on, a small, cracked iron stove, a bundle of rags, empty bottles and old bones.

  “He must have gone off drinking somewhere. Come on…”

  Still the same concern he would not be taken seriously.

  “He worked on Etienne Naud’s farm, you see…He’s still on good terms with them, even though he was sacked. He’s the sort of person who wants to be on good terms with everyone, and that is why he put on an act when people started asking him questions about the cap the day after he found it.

  “‘What cap? Ah, yes! The tattered one I picked up somewhere or other, I’ve forgotten where…I’ve no idea what’s happened to it…’

  “Well, monsieur, I for one can tell you that there were blood stains on the cap. And I wrote and told the Director of Prosecutions…”

  “So it was you who wrote the anonymous letters?”

  “I wrote three, so if there were more, someone else must have written them. I wrote about the cap and then about Albert’s relationship with Geneviève Naud…Wait, perhaps Désiré is in here…”

  Louis had darted into a grocer’s shop, but through the windows Maigret could see there were bottles at the end of the counter and two tables at the back of the shop for customers’ use. The youngster looked crestfallen as he came out again.

  “He was here early this morning. He must have done the rounds…”

  Maigret had only been into two cafés: the Lion d’Or and the Trois Mules. In less than half an hour, he came to know a dozen or more, not cafés in the true sense of the word, but premises the average passer-by would not have suspected were licensed. The harnessmaker had a kind of bar next to his workshop and the farrier had a similar arrangement. Old Désiré had been seen in almost every bar they visited.

  “How was he?”

  “He was well enough.”

  And they knew what that meant.

  “He was in a hurry when he left, as he had to go to the post office…”

  “The post office is shut,” Louis said. “But I know the postmistress, and she’ll open up if I tap on her window.”

  “Especially when she knows I’ve a call to make,” said Maigret.

  And sure enough, as soon as the boy tapped on the pane, the window opened.

  “Is that you, Louis? What do you want?”

  “It’s the gentleman from Paris. He wants to make a call.”

  “I’ll open up right away…”

  Maigret asked to be put through to the Nauds.

  “Hello! Who is it speaking?”

  He did not recognize the voice, a man’s voice.

  “Hello! Who did you say? Ah! Forgive me…Alban, yes…I hadn’t realized…Maigret, here…Could you tell Madame Naud I shan’t be coming back for lunch? Give her my apologies. No, it’s nothing important…I don’t know when I’ll be back…”

  As he left the booth, he saw from the look on his young companion’s face that he had something interesting to tell him.

  “How much do I owe you, mademoiselle?…Thank you…I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

  Back in the street once more, Louis informed Maigret excitedly:

  “I told you something was afoot. Old Désiré came in on the dot of eleven. Do you know what he posted? He sent a money order for five hundred francs to his son in Morocco…His son’s up to no good. He left home without any warning. He and his father used to quarrel and fight every day…Désiré’s never been known to be anything other than drunk, as it were…And now his son writes to him from time to time, either complaining or asking for money…But all his money goes on drink, you see…The old man never has a sou…Sometimes he sends a money order for ten or twenty francs at the beginning of the month…I wonder…Wait a minute…If you still have time, we’ll go and see his stepsister…”

  The streets, the houses they had been walking past all morning, were now becoming familiar to the superintendent. He was beginning to recognize people’s faces and the names painted above the shops. Rather than brighten up, the sky had clouded over again and the air was heavy with moisture. Soon there would be fog.

  “His stepsister knits for a living. She’s an old spinster and used to work for our last priest. This is her house…”

  He went up three steps to the blue-painted front door, knocked and then opened it.

  “Désiré’s not here, is he?”

  He then beckoned Maigret to come inside.

  “Hello, Désiré…I’m sorry to barge in like this, Mademoiselle Jeanne…There’s a gentleman from Paris who’d like to have a few words with your stepbrother…”

  The tiny room was very clean. The table stood near a mahogany bed covered with an enormous red eider-down. Maigret glanced round and saw a crucifix with a sprig of boxwood behind it, a figure of the Virgin Mary in a glass case on the chest of drawers, and two cutlets on a plate with writing round the picture on it.

  Désiré tried to stand up but knew he was in danger of falling off his chair. He maintained a dignified pose and muttering thickly, his tongue not being able to articulate the words, he said:

  “What can I do for you?”

  For he was polite. He was always anxious to make that clear.

  “I may have drunk too much…Yes, maybe I’ve had a good few drinks, but I am polite, monsieur…Everyone’ll tell you that Désiré is polite to one and all…”

  “Look, Désiré, the gentleman wants to know exactly where you found the cap…You know, Albert’s cap…”

  These few words were enough. The drunkard’s face hardened and assumed a totally blank expression. His watery eyes became even more glaucous.

  “Don’t play the fool, Désiré…I’ve got the cap…You remember, when you threw it on the table at François’s place, that evening, and said you’d found it by the dead poplar…”

  The old monkey was not satisfied with a simple denial. He smirked with delight and went on with more gusto than was nece
ssary:

  “Do you understand what he’s saying, m’sieur? Why should I have thrown a cap on the table, I’d like to know? I’ve never worn a cap…Jeanne! Where’s my hat? Show this gentleman my hat…These youngsters have no respect for their elders…”

  “Désiré…”

  “Désiré, indeed?…Désiré may be drunk, but he’s polite and would be obliged if you’d call him Monsieur Désiré…Do you hear, you troublemaker, you bastard!”

  “Have you heard from your son recently?” interrupted Maigret suddenly.

  “So, it’s my son, now, eh? You want to know what my son’s been up to? Well, just let me tell you, he’s a soldier! He’s a brave fellow, my son!”

  “That’s what I thought. He’ll certainly be pleased with the money order.”

  “Soon I won’t be allowed to send my son a money order, is that it? Hey, Jeanne! Do you hear? And maybe I won’t be allowed to come and have a bite to eat with my stepsister either!”

  At the beginning, he had probably been frightened, but now he was really enjoying himself. He made himself a laughing-stock in the end, and when Maigret got up to go he followed him out to the front doorstep, staggering all the way, and would have followed him into the street if Jeanne had not stopped him.

  “Désiré’s polite…Do you hear, you rascal? And if anyone tells you, Monsieur Parisian, that Désiré’s son is not a fine fellow…”

  Doors opened. Maigret wanted to get away.

  With tears in his eyes and his teeth clenched, Louis said emphatically:

  “I swear to you, superintendent…”

  “It’s all right, lad, I believe you…”

  “It’s that man staying at the Lion d’Or, isn’t it?”

  “I think so. I’d like to have proof, though. Do you know anyone who was at the Lion d’Or last night?”

  “I’m sure Liboureau’s son was there. He goes in every evening.”

  “Right! I’ll wait at the Trois Mules while you go and ask him if he saw Désiré. Find out if the old man got into conversation with our visitor from Paris…Wait…We can eat at the Trois Mules, can’t we? We’ll have a bite of something together…Off you go, be quick…”