‘He followed the lady to the Folies-Bergère, then to a brasserie on Rue Royale, where she had dinner with a girlfriend. After that she went home on her own, and Janvier is still watching the building.’
Maigret shrugged. What was the point of any of it, when his adversary was always a step ahead? He gritted his teeth, thinking of Pozzo and his advice, of Luigi’s patronizing attitude. The message in both cases seemed to be:
‘You’re a good soul, inspector, and when you’re up against the second-rate criminals you get here in Paris, you’re one of the best. But this business isn’t for you. These guys play rough and they may hurt you. Just drop it! What concern is it of yours, anyway?’
He telephoned Hôtel-Dieu and had a difficult time being put through to a member of staff who could tell him what was going on.
‘They’re operating on him now,’ he was told.
‘Is it serious?’
‘Laparotomy.’
First they had taken Lognon to Saint-Germain forest, battered him about the face and knocked him unconscious with the butt of a pistol! Now they had shot Big Nicolas right in the stomach before he had even had time to move!
Which meant that, while he was following Maigret along Rue Grange-Batelière, the man was expecting a trap and had his gun in his hand, ready to shoot. It was a miracle that Danvers hadn’t been hit as well.
Judging by his silhouette, it was Charlie. And Charlie, who barely knew Paris and didn’t speak a word of French, had still nearly carried out a hit single-handed, right in the heart of town.
Mascarelli, or Sloppy Joe, as he was nicknamed, had left Montreal under a false name with a woman who was apparently not his lover.
The other two, Charlie and Cicero, had embarked in New York under their real names. They had made no attempt to hide, as though they had nothing to fear, then registered under their real names in a hotel in Rue de l’Étoile.
Did they already know what they were after? Probably. They also knew who to turn to for help.
Maigret would have sworn that a man like Bill Larner, who had never used strong-arm methods, wasn’t exactly happy to cooperate with them.
But, one way or another, they had collared him and sent him to a garage to hire a car.
Had they known Mascarelli’s address when they landed? It wasn’t definite, since they had waited nearly two weeks to attack him.
They didn’t do anything rashly, coldly stacking all the odds in their favour.
In the two weeks they had spent preparing, they had probably eaten regularly at Pozzo’s with Larner.
Had they also gone to the Manhattan? Possibly. Honest citizen though he was, Luigi wouldn’t have said anything to Maigret.
Hadn’t he made a point of talking about those American shopkeepers who would rather pay a ransom to the racketeers than take a bullet?
Meanwhile Sloppy Joe seemed to know what was up because for the last fortnight – in other words, ever since the other two had landed – he had taken twice as many precautions.
It was a poker game where lives were at stake, and everyone seemed to be able to see their opponent’s cards.
Knowing he was in danger, Sloppy Joe lay low in his hotel on Rue Richer, only venturing out for a few minutes in the evening in sunglasses, like a movie star.
Charlie and Cicero must have been watching him for several days, readying their trap. On Monday evening, in the car hired by Larner, they had lain in wait near the Hôtel de Bretagne.
It must have happened exactly as with Lognon: the car pulling up by the side of the road, the gun pointed at Mascarelli . . .
‘Get in!’
In the heart of town, when the streets were still busy.
Had they taken him out to the country before shooting him? Probably not. Chances were they had used a gun with a silencer. Moments later, they had tipped the body out on to the pavement of Rue Fléchier.
Maigret drew little figures on a piece of paper like a schoolboy doodling in the margins of his exercise book.
As the car was pulling away, either Charlie or Cicero had seen Lognon’s silhouette. No doubt it was too late to shoot. Besides, it didn’t matter at that point whether the body was found or not because the job was done.
Maigret was sure he was right about all of this. The car would have driven round the neighbourhood and come back down Rue Fléchier a few moments later, and the men would have seen that the body had been removed. The police couldn’t have done it; they would have taken longer and had formalities to observe. But there was no one in sight.
How were they going to find out who had taken it away?
‘They’re professionals,’ Luigi had stressed.
And that’s how they had behaved. Suspecting that the man they had glimpsed had taken down their licence number, they were waiting the following day outside the garage that had rented them the car. Then they had followed Lognon, probably expecting to find the dead or injured man at his home.
Charlie and Cicero, who didn’t speak a word of French, couldn’t question the concierge or Madame Lognon.
So they sent Larner instead.
Their faces must have been a picture when they discovered that the man in Rue Fléchier was none other than a police inspector. Talking of which, they must have thought: why wasn’t there anything in the newspapers about the affair either?
Obviously it was vital for them to find their victim, dead or alive. But equally, now that they knew that the police were on their trail, they had to drop out of sight.
Since then they seemed to have anticipated and thwarted Maigret’s every last move.
They left their various hotels and then, when Pozzo called, they abandoned their hiding place on Rue Brunel.
The three men’s photographs appeared in the newspapers.
Within a few hours, Sloppy Joe’s travelling companion had disappeared from her hotel. And when Maigret left that same hotel, he was tailed by Charlie Cinaglia, who had no compunction starting a Chicago-style shoot-out in Rue Grange-Batelière.
‘Vacher!’
‘Yes, chief . . .’
‘Will you make sure the Baron hasn’t gone home?’
This business with the Baron was making him increasingly anxious. The inspector had told him he was going to nose around a few bars that were popular with the racing fraternity.
Maigret didn’t underestimate his opponent. Baron might learn something, but while he was doing so, wouldn’t the others realize that he was on their trail? Wouldn’t he find himself in the same situation as Lognon?
‘Still no answer.’
‘You’re sure you’ve got the right number?’
‘I’ll check.’
Vacher called the switchboard operator and made sure he wasn’t mistaken.
‘What time is it?’
‘Five to two.’
It had just occurred to him that the Manhattan was one of the town’s real racing bars. Perhaps it was still open? If not, Luigi might still be cashing up.
As he had anticipated, Luigi answered the telephone.
‘Maigret here.’
‘Oh.’
‘Is your place still busy?’
‘I closed ten minutes ago. I’m alone in the bar. I was just about to leave.’
‘Tell me, Luigi, do you know an inspector who’s known as the Baron?’
‘The racing guy?’
‘Yes. I’d like to know if you’ve seen him this evening.’
‘I have.’
‘What time?’
‘Wait, there were still a lot of people in the bar. It must have been around eleven thirty. It was just after the theatres came out.’
‘Did he talk to you?’
‘Not personally.’
‘Do you know who he talked to?’
There was a silence at the end of the line.
‘Listen, Luigi. You’re a decent guy, and there’s never been anything against you.’
‘So?’
‘One of my inspectors has just been shot in the stom
ach.’
‘Is he dead?’
‘They’re operating on him at the moment. A woman has been abducted from her hotel room.’
‘Do you know who she is?’
‘Sloppy Joe’s girl.’
Another silence.
‘The Baron didn’t go to your place just to have a drink.’
‘I’m listening.’
‘Charlie shot my inspector.’
‘Have you arrested him?’
‘He managed to get away, but he was hit.’
‘What do you want to know?’
‘I haven’t heard from the Baron and I need to find him.’
‘How am I supposed to know where he’s gone?’
‘Perhaps if you tell me who he talked to this evening, that will give me a lead.’
Another silence, longer than before.
‘Listen, inspector. I think you’d better come and have a chat with me. I’m not sure it will really be worth it, because I don’t know very much. Actually, thinking about it, it’s best we don’t meet here. You never know.’
‘Will you come by my office?’
‘Not there either, but thanks. Wait a moment – if you want to go to La Coupole on Boulevard Montparnasse and make sure you’re not followed, I’ll meet you there in the bar.’
‘How soon?’
‘The time it takes to lock up and get there. My car’s at the door.’
Before he left, Maigret telephoned the hospital again.
‘There’s a chance we can save him,’ he was told.
Then he got Bonfils on the telephone.
‘Did you catch him?’
‘No. Half an hour ago they came to tell us that a car had been stolen on Rue de la Victoire. I’ve circulated its licence number.’
Always the same methods.
‘By the way, Bonfils, did you have a look at the other car that was dumped on Faubourg Montmartre?’
‘I had the same thought. It was in the country today because it’s still streaked with wet mud. I telephoned its owner, who told me that it was clean this morning.’
Downstairs Maigret took a Préfecture car, whose driver he had to wake up.
‘La Coupole.’
Luigi, who had got there before him, was having a couple of sausages and a glass of beer at a little table by the bar. The place was virtually empty.
‘Were you followed?’
‘No.’
‘Take a seat. What are you having?’
‘The same.’
This was the first time Maigret had seen Luigi outside his establishment. He was serious, worried. He started speaking in a low voice without taking his eyes off the door.
‘I don’t like – and I mean, I really don’t like – getting involved in things like this. But then again, if I don’t, I’ll have you on my back.’
‘You will,’ Maigret said coldly.
‘I tried to warn you this morning. Now it looks as if it’s too late.’
‘The curtain’s gone up, that’s right, and it won’t come down until the show’s over. What do you know?’
‘Nothing definite. It may get you somewhere, though. Any other evening, I probably wouldn’t have paid any attention to the Baron. But I noticed him tonight because that made it the second . . .’
He seemed to be trying to bite his tongue, so Maigret muttered:
‘. . . the second cop of the day.’
He added:
‘Had the Baron been drinking?’
‘He wasn’t on water.’
It was one of the inspector’s failings, but he rarely lost his head.
‘He sat on his own in a corner for quite a long time, watching the customers, then he went to talk to someone called Loris, who used to be a trainer for one of the Rothschilds. I don’t know what they talked about. Loris likes a drink. It cost him his job, in fact. They were at the far end of the bar, by the wall. Then I saw them go over to one of the tables at the back, where Loris introduced the Baron to Bob.’
‘Who’s Bob?’
‘A jockey.’
‘American?’
‘He lived in Los Angeles for a long time, but I don’t think he’s American.’
‘Does he live in Paris?’
‘Maisons-Laffitte.’
‘Is that all?’
‘Bob went to make a couple of telephone calls. They can’t have been local calls, because he asked me for a fair few tokens.’
‘As if he was ringing Maisons-Laffitte?’
‘Pretty much.’
‘Did they leave together?’
‘No. I lost sight of them for a while because, as I said, it was the rush after the theatres came out. When I looked at their table again, Bob and your friend were on their own.’
Maigret couldn’t remotely see where this was getting them. Luigi signalled to the waiter to bring them two more glasses of beer.
‘There was a customer at the bar who was watching them,’ Luigi then said.
‘Who?’
‘A lad who’s been dropping in for the odd whiskey for the past few days. Actually he was in this morning when you were at the bar.’
‘A tall guy with blond hair?’
‘He told me to call him Harry. All I know is that he’s from St Louis.’
‘Like Charlie and Cicero,’ muttered Maigret.
‘Exactly.’
‘Did he talk to you about them?’
‘He didn’t ask me any questions. The first day he stopped for a moment in front of the photo of Charlie in his boxing days and there was a strange smile on his face.’
‘Could he hear what Bob and the Baron were saying?’
‘No. He just watched them.’
‘Did he follow them when they left?’
‘We haven’t got to that yet. Don’t forget that I’m only telling you what I saw, I’m not drawing any conclusions. It’s still far too much, though, I’m sorry to say, and I’d be much happier if Charlie was dead rather than just wounded. Bob came to ask me if I’d seen Billy Fast.’
‘Who’s Billy Fast?’
‘A sort of bookmaker who also lives somewhere in Maisons-Laffitte. He was in the basement. I don’t know if you’ve been down there before. Below the bar there’s a sort of little lounge where the regulars go.’
‘I know it.’
‘Bob went down first on his own. Then he came and got your inspector, and I didn’t see them for a long time. Finally, at twelve fifteen at least, the Baron came through the bar, heading for the door.’
‘On his own?’
‘On his own. He was drunk.’
‘Very?’
‘No, but enough.’
‘What about your customer from the bar, the tall guy with blond hair from St Louis?’
‘That’s just it. He left straight after him.’
Maigret thought that was his lot and stared gloomily at his glass. It obviously meant something, what he had just heard, but it was going to be a hell of a job working out what.
‘Is that truthfully all you know?’
Luigi looked him in the face for a long time before replying:
‘Do you realize I could be risking my neck?’
Maigret thought it best to keep quiet and wait.
‘Of course it’s understood that I haven’t told you anything, that I didn’t see you this evening, and that you are never, under any circumstances, going to call on my evidence.’
‘I promise.’
‘Billy Fast doesn’t live in Maisons-Laffitte itself, but more often than not in a guesthouse in the forest. I’ve heard him talk about it once or twice. As far as I can tell it’s a place where a certain type of person goes to rest up from time to time. It’s called Au Bon Vivant.’
‘Is it run by an American?’
‘By an American woman who used to be in a showgirl troupe and has got a soft spot for Billy.’
As Maigret went to take his wallet out of his pocket, Luigi waved him away and, with a scowling attempt at a smile, said:
‘
No, this is on me! Next thing they’ll be saying I let the police stand me a drink. How much is it, waiter?’
They were each as worried as the other.
7.
In which it’s Maigret’s turn to go on the attack and he risks getting into some serious trouble
When Vacher saw Maigret come into his office, he knew immediately that there had been a new development, but realized that now wasn’t the time to ask questions.
‘Bonfils telephoned a few minutes ago,’ he said. ‘The man got through the roadblocks. A trader from Les Halles says she saw him hiding behind a stack of baskets and that he threatened her with his gun so she’d keep her mouth shut. This rings true because we found traces of blood on one of the baskets. In Rue Rambuteau, he bumped into a prostitute. According to her, he had one shoulder higher than the other. Bonfils thinks that rather than try to leave the area immediately, he stayed there for a while, changing places to keep ahead of the police. We’re still patrolling round there.’
Maigret, who appeared not to be listening, had taken an automatic pistol out of his drawer and was checking the magazine.
‘Do you know if Torrence is armed?’
‘Probably not, unless you told him specially.’
Torrence liked to say his fists were a match for any weapon.
‘Get me Lucas on the telephone.’
‘You only sent him home to bed two hours ago.’
‘I remember.’
Maigret’s stare was hard, and he spoke in a drawl as if he was tired.
‘Is that you, Lucas? Sorry to wake you, my friend. I thought you wouldn’t be happy if we saw it through tonight and you weren’t around.’
‘I’m coming, chief.’
‘Not here. You’ll save time if you jump in a car and get it to drive you to Avenue de la Grande-Armée, on the corner of Rue Brunel. I’ve got to pick up Torrence from there. By the way, bring your gun.’
After a pause, Lucas objected:
‘What about Janvier?’
There were only a few people in the Police Judiciaire who would have understood this question. Even before the chief mentioned a gun, Lucas had realized this was serious. Maigret was ringing him in person, and he was going to relieve Torrence from his stakeout so he could take him along too. So Lucas automatically thought of Janvier, the other trusted member of the inner circle, as if an expedition without him made no sense.
Maigret, Lognon and the Gangsters Page 10