‘What day is it?’
He had probably meant to ask, ‘What time is it?’ because he was looking around for the alarm clock which had fallen on the floor. Its ticking was audible from under the bed.
‘Do you want a glass of water?’
Maigret went to fetch one from the kitchen and when he came back, he found the inspector looking morose and anxious in equal measure.
‘I’m sorry . . . Thank you . . . I’m ill . . . If you only knew how sick I feel . . .’
‘Maybe I should make you a strong coffee?’
‘I feel ashamed . . . I swear that . . .’
‘Stay lying down for a moment.’
The apartment looked more like a spinster’s than a bachelor’s, and it was easy to imagine the Baron, after a day’s work, donning an apron to do the housework.
When he came back in this time, Maigret found the inspector sitting on the edge of the bed, a look of despair in his eyes.
‘Drink this . . . You’ll feel better afterwards . . .’
He had poured himself a cup of coffee too. Taking off his overcoat, he sat down on a chair. A terrible stench of alcohol filled the room. The inspector’s clothes were dirty and crumpled, as if he had spent the night under a bridge.
‘It’s terrible,’ he sighed.
‘What’s terrible?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve got important things to tell you. Crucial things.’
‘Yes?’
‘I’m trying to remember. What’s happened?’
‘We’ve arrested Charlie and Cicero.’
‘You’ve arrested them?’
His whole face betrayed effort.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever been as drunk in my whole life. I really feel ill. It’s something to do with them. Hang on, I remember that we’re not supposed to arrest them.’
‘Why?’
‘Harry told me . . .’
The name had just come back to him, which he considered a victory.
‘He’s called Harry . . . Wait . . .’
‘I’ll help you. You were at the Manhattan, Rue des Capucines. You talked to several people and you drank a lot . . .’
‘Not at Luigi’s. At Luigi’s I had hardly anything to drink. It was afterwards . . .’
‘Did they make you drink on purpose?’
‘I don’t know. I’m sure that it will all come back to me bit by bit. He told me that we mustn’t arrest them because it might . . . For crying out loud! It’s so difficult . . .’
‘It might what? You left Luigi’s very late. Your car was at the door. You got into it, presumably intending to go to Maisons-Laffitte.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Someone during the evening, probably Lope or Teddy . . . Brown.’
‘Damn, how do you know all this? I did talk to them, I remember now. You put me on to it. I’d already been to quite a few bars.’
‘Where you’d had a drink.’
‘A glass here, a glass there. You can’t do it any other way. I can’t feel my head any more.’
‘Wait.’
Maigret went into the bathroom and came back out with a towel soaked in cold water, which he put on the Baron’s forehead.
‘They told you about Helen Donahue and her guesthouse in the forest, Au Bon Vivant.’
The Baron stared at him wide-eyed.
‘What time is it?’
‘Five thirty in the morning.’
‘How did you find out?’
‘It doesn’t matter. When you left Luigi’s and got into your car, someone followed you, a man with blond hair, very tall, youngish. He must have approached you.’
‘That’s right. He’s called Harry.’
‘Harry who?’
‘He told me. I’m sure he told me, I’m even sure it’s a one-syllable name. A singer’s name.’
‘Is he a singer?’
‘No, but he’s got a singer’s name. Before I had time to shut the door, he sat down next to me saying, “Don’t be afraid.”’
‘In French?’
‘He spoke French with a heavy accent and made lots of mistakes, but you could understand what he was saying.’
‘American?’
‘Yes. Wait. Then he said: “I’m sort of police. Don’t stay here. Drive. Wherever you like.”
‘Then, as soon as I’d started the engine, he explained that he was an assistant district attorney. A district attorney is apparently a sort of examining magistrate and public prosecutor rolled into one. In the big cities they have several assistants.’
‘I know.’
‘That’s right, you’ve been there. He asked me to stop so he could show me his passport. When it’s an important case, the district attorney and his assistants conduct the investigation themselves. Is that right?’
‘Correct.’
‘He knew where I was heading when I left Luigi’s bar. “You mustn’t go to Maisons-Lafitte tonight. Nothing good will come of it. I need to talk to you first.”’
‘Did he?’
‘We chatted for at least two hours, but that’s the hard bit for me to remember. First we carried on driving aimlessly round the streets, and he gave me a cigar. Maybe it was the cigar that made me want to throw up? I got thirsty. I didn’t know where we were but I saw a bistro open. I think it was near Gare du Nord.’
‘You didn’t tell him to come and see me at headquarters?’
‘I did. He didn’t want to.’
‘Why not?’
‘It’s complicated. If only my head didn’t hurt so badly! Do you think a glass of beer would do me any good?’
‘Have you got some beer?’
‘There’s some on the windowsill outside the kitchen.’
Maigret had some as well. Baron, disgusted by the mess in his bedroom, had dragged himself into the dining room.
‘I remember some details very clearly. There are whole sentences I could repeat but, in between, complete blanks.’
‘What did you drink?’
‘Everything.’
‘Him too?’
‘He went through the bottles behind the bar and chose.’
‘Are you sure he drank as much as you?’
‘More. He was really drunk. At one point he fell off his chair.’
‘You haven’t explained why he refused to get in touch with me.’
‘He knows you, actually, and he admires you.’
‘Really.’
‘He even met you at a cocktail party that was given for you in St Louis and he remembers a sort of talk you gave. He came to France to look for Sloppy Joe.’
‘Did he pick him up in Rue Fléchier?’
‘Yes.’
‘What did he do with him?’
‘He took him to a doctor. Wait, don’t say anything! A whole chunk’s coming back to me. To do with the doctor. He told me how he got to know this doctor. It was immediately after the liberation. Harry, who was in the American army, belonged to some service or other that was stationed in Paris for over a year. He had a whale of a time. One of the people he met was a doctor. That’s it! It was through a girl who was afraid she was pregnant and . . .’
‘Abortion?’
‘Yes. He couldn’t even say the word. He is very prudish. I understood anyway. It was a young doctor, just starting out, lives near Boulevard Saint-Michel.’
‘Did Harry get Sloppy Joe treated there?’
‘Yes. I had the feeling he was telling me the truth. He kept saying. “Tell Maigret this . . . And this.”’
‘It would have been easier coming here.’
‘He didn’t want to have any official contact with the French police.’
‘Why?’
‘It seemed very straightforward last night. I remember agreeing with him. Now it’s not so simple. Ah, that’s it. First because you would have had to question the wounded man, and it would have been in the papers.’
‘Does Harry know that Cinaglia and Cicero are in Paris?’
‘He knows everything. He
knows them inside out. He found out they were hiding at the Bon Vivant before I did.’
‘Does he know Bill Larner?’
‘Yes. I think I’m beginning to piece the story together. You see, we were both drunk. He kept repeating himself as if he thought that, being French, I wouldn’t understand.’
‘I know just what you mean.’
Like Pozzo! Like Luigi!
‘There’s a big investigation going on in St Louis. One of their periodic attempts to purge the city of its gangsters. Harry is more or less in charge. Everyone knows the man running the rackets, he told me his name, someone with influence – he looks just like a respectable citizen and is friends with the politicians and heads of police.’
‘The usual story.’
‘That’s what he told me. Except that they have different laws over there, and it’s difficult to get someone convicted. Is that true?’
‘It is.’
‘No one dares give evidence against the guy because anyone who opens his mouth has got less than forty-eight hours to live.’
The Baron was very pleased. He had just remembered a good stretch in one go.
‘Can I have another glass of beer? It’s doing me good. Do you want one?’
He was still looking pasty, with bags under his eyes, but a little spark was starting to flicker in his pupils.
‘We went somewhere else because our bistro shut. I don’t remember where – in Montmartre probably. A little nightclub where there were three or four dancers. A little brunette gave him the eye and sat on his knee the whole time. We were the only ones there.’
‘Did he talk about Sloppy Joe?’
‘That’s what I’m trying to remember. Sloppy Joe is a sad case, in the last stages of TB. He has spent his whole life racketeering but he’s just a stooge. Two months ago a man was murdered in St Louis outside a nightclub. If only I could remember names! Everyone is convinced it’s the guy I told you about just now who killed him. There were only two witnesses to the murder, one being the nightclub doorman, who was found dead the next morning in his bedroom. That was when Sloppy Joe went on the run, because he was the second witness, and that is always a risky thing to be.’
‘In Canada?’
‘In Montreal, yes. On the one hand, the district attorney’s office was trying to get their hands on him to make him talk; on the other, the gangsters were anxious to find him to make sure he didn’t.’
‘I understand.’
‘I don’t. Apparently Sloppy Joe really represents millions. If he talks, a whole criminal organization and a powerful political machine will collapse. I can still hear Harry telling me: “You don’t have those things here. You don’t have these wide-ranging criminal conspiracies, organized like corporations. You’ve got it easy . . .”’
Maigret thought he could hear him too. It was becoming a familiar refrain.
‘In Montreal, Sloppy Joe didn’t feel there was enough distance between him and his fellow countrymen. He managed to get a fake passport. As the passport was in the name of a couple, he arranged for a woman to accompany him, thinking that would throw the people looking for him even more off the scent. He persuaded a cigarette seller in a nightclub to go with him. She had dreamed of seeing Paris all her life . . . Excuse me for a moment.’
Baron dragged himself to the bathroom, then came back with two aspirins.
‘Sloppy Joe didn’t have much money. He understood that, even in Paris, they’d get him in the end. So one day he sent a long letter to the district attorney saying that if they promised to protect him, if they came and got him here and if they gave him a certain sum, he would agree to testify. I might be muddling some of it up, but that’s the general gist.’
‘Did Harry tell you to explain all this to me?’
‘Yes. He almost called you. He would have done this morning, if he hadn’t realized yesterday that I had discovered the killers’ hideout. Because these are real killers, especially Charlie.’
‘How did Charlie and Cicero pick up Sloppy Joe’s trail?’
‘In Montreal. Through the girl Mascarelli took with him. She has a mother there and she was stupid enough to write to her from Paris.’
‘Giving an address?’
‘A poste restante, but she added that she lived just opposite a big music hall. When Harry decided to set off to collect Sloppy Joe and bring him back to St Louis, he learned that Cinaglia and Cicero had left forty-eight hours earlier.’
Maigret couldn’t help picturing poor Mascarelli’s existence since leaving St Louis – his life in Montreal, then in Paris, where he hardly dared to leave his hotel for a few minutes in the evening to get some fresh air.
Now he understood why Cicero and Charlie needed a hire car. For two or three days, they had probably been on the watch near the Folies-Bergère, waiting for the right moment to act. When it had finally arrived, the assistant district attorney was on their heels.
‘Harry described the scene, it was like something out of a movie. He was on foot. He had just turned the corner of Rue Richer when he saw Sloppy Joe getting into a car. He realized what was up. There was no taxi in sight, so he looked for an unlocked car in front of the theatre.’
It was pretty comical imagining the assistant district attorney in a stolen car! These people, whatever side of the fence they were on, behaved in Paris as if they were at home. The crowd in the streets on Monday had no idea they were witnessing a Chicago-style chase. And if it wasn’t for poor Lognon, huddled by the fence of Notre-Dame-de-Lorette, busy with a small-time cocaine dealer, no one would ever have known what they were doing.
‘Is Sloppy Joe dead?’
‘No. As Harry put it, his doctor is “patching him up”. He needed a transfusion, and Harry gave God knows how much of his own blood. He’s watching at his bedside like a brother, better than a brother in fact. Apparently his whole career depends on it. If he gets to St Louis with Sloppy Joe alive, if he can keep him breathing until the day of the trial and if the man then repeats his testimony without losing his nerve, Harry will be almost as famous as Dewey when he cleaned up New York’s gangland.’
‘What about the woman? Did Harry abduct her?’
‘Yes. He was angry with you when he saw the photograph of Charlie and Cicero in newspapers.’
These people were all equally serious, you had to give them that, the assistant district attorneys just as much as the killers. It had occurred to them all that Mascarelli’s companion might react when she saw the photographs and might decide to go to the police. Which she had in fact done by sending the express letter to Maigret. Charlie had left the Bon Vivant on his own to shut her up. But a few minutes before he got there Harry had collected her and taken her somewhere safe.
Nothing threw them! They just went about their business as if Paris was a sort of no man’s land where they could do whatever they pleased.
‘Is she at the doctor’s too?’
‘Yes.’
‘Isn’t Harry afraid Charlie will find out where he lives?’
‘He has taken precautions, apparently. When he goes there, he makes sure he’s not followed and he’s got someone guarding them.’
‘Who?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘All in all, what message exactly did he tell you to give me?’
‘He’s asking you not to do anything about Charlie and Cicero, at least for a few days. Sloppy Joe won’t be moveable for a week. Harry plans to take him to America by plane. It’s still dangerous until then.’
‘If I understand correctly, he’s telling me this is none of my business?’
‘More or less. He admires you a great deal and when this is all over he’s looking forward to talking to you here or in St Louis.’
‘He’s too kind! Where did you leave this individual?’
‘Outside his hotel.’
‘Do you remember the address?’
‘It’s somewhere around Rue de Rennes. I think if I was there I’d recognize the façade.’
&nbs
p; ‘Do you feel up to coming?’
‘Do you mind if I change?’
It would be light soon. People were coming and going in the building, and somewhere a radio was broadcasting the news. Maigret heard the inspector splashing about in the bathroom, and when he came back into the dining room, he looked like a picture in a fashion magazine, except for his complexion, which was still the colour of papier-mâché.
He seemed humiliated at the sight of his car up on the pavement.
‘Do you want me to drive?’
‘I’d rather take a taxi. But you can park your car properly.’
They walked to Boulevard des Batignolles, where they found a cab.
‘Left Bank. Go to Rue de Rennes first.’
‘What number?’
‘Drive along the whole street.’
They roamed around the neighbourhood for a good quarter of an hour while the Baron inspected the façades of all the hotels. Finally he said:
‘It’s here.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I recognize the brass plate by the door.’
They went in. A man was running a damp cloth over the lobby.
‘Is there anyone in the office?’
‘The owner only comes down at eight. I’m the night porter.’
‘Do you know the names of the guests?’
‘They are on the board.’
‘Is there an American, a tall, blond-haired guy, youngish, whose first name is Harry?’
‘Definitely not.’
‘You don’t want to check?’
‘No point. I know who you’re talking about.’
‘What?’
‘The guy who came in about four thirty this morning. He asked me what room Monsieur Durand was in. I told him we don’t have any Durands staying. “How about Dupont?” he said. I thought he was making fun of me so I gave him a filthy look, especially because he seemed totally drunk.’
Maigret and Baron exchanged glances.
‘He was standing where you are and didn’t seem in a hurry to leave. Then he rummaged around in his pocket and ended up giving me a thousand-franc note and explaining that it was a joke. A woman was after him, and he had come into the hotel to shake her off. He asked me to look in the street and check there weren’t any cars around. He stayed another few minutes, then he went off again.’
Maigret, Lognon and the Gangsters Page 13