Maigret and the Dead Girl

by Georges Simenon

  She hesitated. ‘I wasn’t sure,’ she lied. ‘The first photograph they published, you know …’

  ‘Did Madame Crêmieux come and see you?’

  She blushed. ‘She came in on her way back from shopping. She told me the police were paid well enough for people not to try to do their jobs for them. I saw what she meant. But ever since I saw the second photograph, this one, I’ve been thinking about calling you. Anyway, all things considered, I’m pleased you came. It’s taken quite a weight off my shoulders.’

  There was a lift. Maigret and Janvier took it to the second floor. Behind the door on the right, the voices of children could be heard, then another voice, which Maigret recognized, crying:

  ‘Jean-Paul! Jean-Paul! Will you leave your little sister alone!’

  It was at the door on the left that he rang the bell. There were light, furtive steps inside. Someone asked through the door:

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Madame Crêmieux?’

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Police.’

  Quite a long silence, and finally a murmur:

  ‘One moment …’

  She moved away, doubtless to tidy herself up a bit. When she returned to the door, the noise of her steps was no longer the same: she must have swapped her slippers for shoes. She opened reluctantly and looked at the two of them with sharp little eyes.

  ‘Please come in. I haven’t finished my housework.’

  All the same, she was wearing a fairly smart black dress, and her hair was neatly done. She was between sixty-five and seventy, short, thin and surprisingly vigorous for her age.

  ‘Do you have any identification?’

  Maigret showed her his badge, which she examined attentively.

  ‘So you’re Inspector Maigret?’

  She led them into a living room, which was very large but so cluttered with furniture and knick-knacks that there was barely room to move.

  ‘Please sit down. What can I do for you?’

  She herself sat down, her manner quite dignified, although she was unable to stop her fingers from tensing nervously.

  ‘It’s about your lodger.’

  ‘I don’t have a lodger. I do sometimes take someone in and offer them accommodation.’

  ‘We know all about it, Madame Crêmieux.’

  She did not lose her composure but threw Maigret a searching look.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘About everything. We don’t belong to the Ministry of Finance, and how you declare your income is no concern of ours.’

  There was no newspaper in the room. Maigret took one of the photographs of the unknown girl from his pocket.

  ‘Do you recognize her?’

  ‘She stayed with me for a few days.’

  ‘A few days?’

  ‘Let’s say a few weeks.’

  ‘Or shall we say two and a half months?’

  ‘It’s possible. At my age, time matters so little! You can’t imagine how quickly the days go by.’

  ‘What’s her name?’

  ‘Louise Laboine.’

  ‘Is that the name on her identity card?’

  ‘I never saw her identity card. It’s the name she gave me when she first arrived.’

  ‘And you don’t know if it’s her real name?’

  ‘I had no reason to suppose it wasn’t.’

  ‘Did she read your ad?’

  ‘Has the concierge talked to you?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter, Madame Crêmieux. Let’s not waste time. And please let me ask the questions.’

  In her dignified manner, she said:

  ‘All right, go ahead.’

  ‘Did Louise Laboine answer your ad?’

  ‘She phoned me to ask the price. I told her. She wanted to know if I couldn’t make it a little cheaper, and I advised her to come and see me.’

  ‘Did you agree to a reduction?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I always get taken in.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘When they come here, they all seem very respectable, they’re humble and considerate. I asked her if she went out a lot in the evening, and she said no.’

  ‘Do you know where she worked?’

  ‘In an office, apparently, but I don’t know where. It was only after a few days that I realized the kind of girl she was.’

  ‘What kind is that?’

  ‘A withdrawn girl who, when she’d made up her mind to say nothing …’

  ‘So you don’t know anything about her? She didn’t talk to you?’

  ‘As little as possible. She must have thought she was in a hotel. In the morning, she’d dress and go out. She’d mutter hello if she saw me.’

  ‘Did she always leave at the same time?’

  ‘Actually, that’s what surprised me. The first two or three days, she left the house at eight thirty, and I assumed she began work at nine. Then, several times in a row, she didn’t leave until nine fifteen, and I asked her if she’d changed jobs.’

  ‘What did she reply?’

  ‘She didn’t. That was her style. When she was embarrassed, she pretended not to hear. In the evening, she’d try to avoid me.’

  ‘But she must have had to come through the living room in order to get to her bedroom?’

  ‘Yes. This is where I spend most of my time. I’d invite her to sit down and have a cup of coffee or herbal tea with me. Just once, she condescended to keep me company, and I’m sure she didn’t say five sentences in an hour.’

  ‘What did you talk about?’

  ‘Everything. I was trying to find out.’

  ‘Find out what?’

  ‘Who she was, where she came from, where she’d lived before.’

  ‘Did you manage to get anything out of her?’

  ‘All I know is that she’s familiar with the South. I mentioned Nice, where my husband and I used to spend two weeks every year, and I could see she’d been there, too. When I asked her about her father and mother, she put on this vacant look. If you’d seen her when she had that look, it would have driven you mad, too.’

  ‘Where did she have her meals?’

  ‘She ate out, supposedly. I don’t allow them to cook in their room because of the dangers of fire. If they bring their own spirit stove, you don’t know what might happen, not to mention that all I have here is old furniture, furniture of value that’s been handed down through my family. She tried to hide it, but I found breadcrumbs, and she sometimes burned scrap paper that must have been used to wrap cold meats.’

  ‘Did she spend her evenings alone in her room?’

  ‘Most of the time. She only went out two or three times a week.’

  ‘Did she dress up to go out?’

  ‘How could she have dressed up, when the only things she owned were a dress and a coat? Last month, what I’d thought would happen happened.’

  ‘What had you thought?’

  ‘That eventually she wouldn’t have enough money to pay her rent.’

  ‘She couldn’t pay?’

  ‘She gave me a hundred francs on account and promised I’d get the rest at the end of the week. When the end of the week came, she tried to avoid me. I intercepted her. She told me she’d have money in a day or two. Don’t think I’m stingy, or that I only think about money. Of course, I need it like anybody else. But if only she’d behaved like a human being, I’d have been more patient.’

  ‘Did you tell her she had to leave?’

  ‘Three days ago, the day before she disappeared. I simply told her that I was expecting a relative from the provinces and that I needed the room.’

  ‘What was her reaction?’

  ‘She said, “All right!” ’

  ‘Will you take us to her room?’

  The old lady stood up, still dignified.

  ‘Come this way. You’ll see, she wouldn’t have found a room like that anywhere else.’

  It was true that the room was vast, with large windows.
Like the living room, it was furnished in the style of the previous century. The bed was of solid mahogany, and between the windows was an Empire desk that must have been Monsieur Crêmieux’s desk and for which no other place had been found. Heavy velvet curtains framed the windows, and on the walls hung old family photographs in black or gold frames.

  ‘The only small bother is that you have to share the bathroom. I always waited for her to go in first and never went in without knocking.’

  ‘I assume you haven’t removed anything since she left?’

  ‘Certainly not.’

  ‘When she didn’t come back, did you look through her things?’

  ‘There’s not much to look through. I only came in to see if she had taken her things with her.’

  ‘And had she?’

  ‘No. You can see for yourself.’

  On the chest of drawers lay a comb, a hairbrush, a cheap manicure set and a powder compact of a common brand. There was also a tube of aspirin and another tube containing sleeping pills.

  Maigret opened the drawers. All he found in them was a little underwear and an electric iron rolled up inside an artificial silk slip.

  ‘What did I tell you?’ Madame Crêmieux exclaimed.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’d also told her I didn’t allow washing and ironing of clothes. So that’s what she did when she shut herself up for an hour in the bathroom of an evening! And why she locked her door, too.’

  Another drawer contained a box of ordinary writing paper, two or three pencils and a pen.

  In the wardrobe, a cotton dressing gown was hanging. In a corner stood a suitcase made of blue fabric. It was locked, and there was no key to be seen. Maigret snapped the lock open with the tip of his penknife while the old woman came closer. The suitcase was empty.

  ‘Did anybody ever come asking for her?’

  ‘No, nobody.’

  ‘Did you ever get the impression that someone had come into the apartment in your absence?’

  ‘I would have noticed. I know exactly where everything is!’

  ‘Did she ever get any telephone calls?’

  ‘Only once.’

  ‘When was that?’

  ‘About two weeks ago. No. Longer than that. Perhaps a month. One evening, about eight o’clock, when she was in her room, someone asked to speak to her.’

  ‘A man?’

  ‘A woman.’

  ‘Can you remember the exact words?’

  ‘They said, “Is Mademoiselle Laboine in?” I replied that I thought she was. I went and knocked on her door. “Telephone, Mademoiselle Louise!” “For me?” she said, surprised. “For you, yes.” “I’m coming.” That was the time I had the impression she’d been crying.’

  ‘Before or after the telephone call?’

  ‘Before, when she came out of her room.’

  ‘Was she fully dressed?’

  ‘No. She was in her dressing gown, and her feet were bare.’

  ‘Did you hear what she said?’

  ‘She said hardly anything. Only: “Yes … yes … All right … Who? … Maybe …” And finally: “See you in a while.” ’

  ‘Did she go out?’

  ‘Ten minutes later.’

  ‘What time did she come back that evening?’

  ‘She didn’t come back all night. It wasn’t until six in the morning that I saw her come in. I’d been waiting for her, determined to throw her out. She told me she’d had to spend the night with a sick relative. She didn’t look like someone who’d been enjoying herself. She went to bed and didn’t leave her room for two days. I was the one who brought her food and bought her the aspirin. She complained that she had ’flu.’

  Did she suspect that every phrase was forming an image in Maigret’s mind? He seemed barely to be listening to her. Gradually, he was reconstructing the life of the two women in the dark, cluttered apartment. For one of them at least, it was simple: he had her there in front of him. What was harder to imagine were the girl’s attitudes, her voice, her gestures, let alone what she might have been thinking.

  At least he now knew her name, assuming it was her real name. He knew where she had slept for the last two months, where she had spent part of her evenings.

  He also knew that she had twice gone to Rue de Douai to rent or borrow an evening gown. The first time, she had paid. The second, she only had two or three hundred francs in her pocket, barely enough for a taxi ride or a frugal meal.

  Was the first time she had gone to see Mademoiselle Irène just after that phone call? It seemed unlikely. That time, it hadn’t been quite that late when she had arrived at the shop.

  Plus, she had got back to Rue de Clichy at six in the morning, dressed in her usual dress and coat. She wouldn’t have had time to give the blue satin gown back to Mademoiselle Irène, who got up late.

  The thing that emerged from all of this was that two months earlier, around the beginning of January, she hadn’t yet been at the end of her tether, since she had rented a room. She didn’t have much money. She had bargained to obtain a reduction in the rent. She would leave in the morning at more or less regular hours, first about eight o’clock, then after nine.

  What did she do with her days? Or the evenings she didn’t spend in her room?

  She didn’t read. There were no books in the room, no magazines. If she sewed, it was only to mend her clothes and underwear: in a drawer, he found just three reels of cotton, a thimble, a pair of scissors, beige silk for the stockings and a few needles in a case.

  According to Dr Paul, she was about twenty.

  ‘I swear this is the last time I sub-let!’

  ‘I assume she cleaned her room herself?’

  ‘What do you think I am, her maid? One of them tried, and believe me, she didn’t get very far.’

  ‘How did she spend her Sundays?’

  ‘In the morning, she’d sleep late. Right from the first week, I noticed she didn’t go to mass. I asked her if she was a Catholic. She said she was. It was just to say something, don’t you see? Sometimes, she didn’t go out until after one in the afternoon. I assume she went to the cinema. I remember picking up a cinema ticket in her room.’

  ‘You don’t know what cinema it was?’

  ‘I didn’t pay attention. It was a pink ticket.’

  ‘Just one?’ All at once, Maigret gave the old woman a severe look, as if trying to prevent her from lying. ‘What was in her handbag?’

  ‘How should I—?’

  ‘Just answer the question. I’m sure you glanced inside whenever she left it lying around.’

  ‘She almost never left it lying around.’

  ‘It only took one time. Did you see her identity card?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Didn’t she have one?’

  ‘Not in her bag. At least it wasn’t there that time. It was only a week ago that I had the opportunity to look. I was starting to have my suspicions.’

  ‘Suspicions about what?’

  ‘If she’d had a regular job, she’d have been able to pay her rent. And it was the first time I’d seen a girl her age who owned only one dress. But there was no way to get any information from her about what she did, where she came from, where her family lived.’

  ‘What did you think?’

  ‘That … she might have run away from home. Or else …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I don’t know. I couldn’t place her, if you know what I mean. With some people, you know immediately who you’re dealing with. Not with her. She didn’t have an accent. She didn’t seem to have come from the country either. I think she was well-educated. Apart from the way she didn’t answer questions and always avoided me, she was quite polite. Yes, I think she’d had a decent upbringing.’

  ‘What was in her handbag?’

  ‘Lipstick, a powder compact, a handkerchief and some keys.’

  ‘What keys?’

  ‘The key to the apartment, which I’d given her, and the key to her suitcase. There was also
a worn wallet with money and a photograph.’

  ‘A photograph of a man or a woman?’

  ‘A man. But it’s not what you think. It was a photograph that was at least fifteen years old, all yellowed and torn, of a man in his forties.’

  ‘Can you describe him?’

  ‘A good-looking man, quite elegant. What struck me was that he was wearing a very light-coloured suit, probably linen, the kind I often saw in Nice. The reason I thought of Nice was because there was a palm tree behind him.’

  ‘Did you notice any resemblance?’

  ‘With her? No. I thought of that, too. If it was her father, she didn’t look like him.’

  ‘Would you recognize him if you met him?’

  ‘Provided he hasn’t changed too much.’

  ‘Did you mention it to the girl?’

  ‘How could I tell her I’d seen the photograph? By opening her bag? I only talked to her about Nice, the South …’

  ‘You can take it all away, Janvier,’ Maigret said, pointing to the drawers, the dressing gown in the wardrobe, the blue suitcase. The suitcase was big enough to hold everything, and, as the lock was broken, they had to ask the old lady for a piece of string to close it.

  ‘Do you think I’ll get into trouble?’

  ‘Not with us.’

  ‘With the tax authorities?’

  Maigret shrugged. ‘It’s none of our business,’ he grunted.

  4.

  In which there is mention of a girl on a bench and a bride in a nightclub

  Through the half-open door, which she had taken care not to close completely, the old woman had watched them walk, not to the lift or the stairs, but to the apartment opposite. When they came out, Maigret saw the door move and merely said to Janvier as they went downstairs:

  ‘She’s jealous.’

  Once, at the trial of a man he had arrested, someone who was following the court proceedings with him had murmured:

  ‘I wonder what he’s thinking about.’

  To which Maigret had replied:

  ‘He’s thinking about what the newspapers will say about him in their next edition.’

  He always claimed that murderers, at least until they are sentenced, are less concerned with their crimes, let alone the memory of their victims, than with the effect they have on the public. Overnight, they have become stars. They are besieged by reporters and photographers. Sometimes the public queue for hours to be allowed in to look at them. Isn’t it only natural that they start to enjoy being in the spotlight?