Maigret

by Georges Simenon

The battle was lost before it had begun. The questioning had got off to a bad start. The inspector sounded as if he was trotting out a lesson. Audiat, sensing this, grew increasingly bold.

  ‘I didn’t meet up with any friends.’

  ‘And you didn’t even notice someone who is here in this room?’

  Audiat turned to Maigret and jerked his head in his direction.

  ‘That gentleman maybe. But I’m not sure. I didn’t take any notice of him.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘And then I left. The cinema gave me a headache, so I went for a stroll along the boulevards. As I was crossing the road, I was hit by a vehicle and I ended up sitting at the base of a tree, injured. That gentleman was there. He told me I’d been knocked down by a car. I asked him to take me home, but he refused and took me to a hotel room.’

  A door had opened to admit the chief of the Police Judiciaire, who stood silently, leaning against the wall.

  ‘What did you tell him?’

  ‘Nothing at all. He’s the one who did all the talking. He spoke of people I don’t know and he wanted me to come here and state that they were friends of mine.’

  A chubby blue pencil in his hand, Amadieu scribbled the occasional note on his blotting pad, while the secretary recorded the full statement.

  ‘Excuse me!’ broke in the chief. ‘This is all very well. But tell us what you were doing at three in the morning on Boulevard de La Chapelle.’

  ‘I had a headache.’

  ‘I wouldn’t try and be clever, if I were you. When you’ve got four convictions already—’

  ‘Excuse me! For the first two, I was granted an amnesty. You’re not allowed to mention them.’

  Maigret merely watched and listened. He smoked his pipe, the smell filling the office while the smoke curled upwards in the sunshine.

  ‘We’ll see about that in a few minutes.’

  Audiat was taken into a neighbouring room. Amadieu telephoned:

  ‘Bring in Eugène Berniard.’

  The latter entered, smiling and relaxed. He glanced quickly around the room to identify who was sitting where, and stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray.

  ‘What were you doing last night?’ repeated Amadieu listlessly.

  ‘Well, inspector, I had a toothache, so I had an early night. Why don’t you ask the night watchman from the Hôtel Alsina?’

  ‘What time did you go to bed?’

  ‘Midnight.’

  ‘And you didn’t drop in to the Tabac Fontaine?’

  ‘Where’s that?’

  ‘Just a moment! Do you know a certain Audiat?’

  ‘What does he look like? One meets so many people in Montmartre!’

  Maigret was finding it increasingly difficult to sit still.

  ‘Bring in Audiat!’ said Amadieu into the telephone.

  Audiat and Eugène stared at each other with curiosity.

  ‘Do you know each other?’

  ‘Never seen him before!’ grunted Eugène.

  ‘Pleased to meet you!’ joked Audiat.

  They barely bothered to put on an act. Their eyes were laughing, belying their words.

  ‘So you weren’t playing belote together last night at the Tabac Fontaine?’

  One stared wide-eyed, the other burst out laughing.

  ‘I’m afraid you’re mistaken, monsieur l’inspecteur.’

  The fellow from Marseille had just arrived, and was brought in to face the other two. He held out his hand to Eugène.

  ‘Do you know each other?’

  ‘Of course! We were together.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘At the Hôtel Alsina. Our rooms are next to each other.’

  The chief of the Police Judiciaire signalled to Maigret to follow him.

  They paced up and down one end of the corridor where Louis was still waiting, not far from Germain Cageot.

  ‘What do you intend to do?’ The chief shot his companion an anxious look.

  ‘Is it true they tried to kill you?’ he asked.

  Maigret did not answer. Unfazed, Cageot watched him with the same irony as Audiat and Eugène.

  ‘If only I could have questioned them myself,’ Maigret sighed at length.

  ‘You know that isn’t possible. But we’ll carry on with the face-to-face confrontations for as long as you wish.’

  ‘Thank you, chief.’

  Maigret knew that it would be pointless. The five men were in cahoots. They had taken precautions. And it wasn’t the questions that Amadieu was asking in his lugubrious tone that would force them to confess.

  ‘I don’t know whether you are right or wrong,’ the chief added.

  They walked past Cageot, who got to his feet and greeted the head of the Police Judiciaire.

  ‘Was it you who summoned me, sir?’

  It was midday. Most of the inspectors had gone to lunch or were on an assignment. The long corridor was almost empty. Pausing outside his door, the chief shook Maigret’s hand.

  ‘What more can I say? All I can do is wish you the best of luck.’

  He went to collect his coat and hat and headed for the stairs, shooting a parting glance at the office where the interrogation was still ongoing and giving Cageot a dirty look.

  Maigret’s nerves were on edge. Never had he felt so suffocated by a sense of helplessness. Sitting side by side, Cageot and Louis were patient and relaxed, both amused at his comings and goings.

  From Amadieu’s office came a calm murmur of voices. Questions and answers succeeded each other with no urgency. The inspector followed the plan outlined by Maigret as promised, but without adding anything, without taking any interest.

  Philippe was in prison! Madame Maigret was waiting impatiently for the postman.

  ‘Nice day, isn’t it?’ said Cageot suddenly to his neighbour Louis.

  ‘Very nice day. There’s an easterly wind, though,’ replied the latter.

  ‘Have you been summoned too?’

  This was for Maigret’s benefit, with the barefaced intention of making fun of him.

  ‘Yes. I think they need some information from me.’

  ‘Same here. Who called you?’

  ‘A certain Amadieu.’

  As Maigret brushed past him, Cageot half-opened his mouth in a snigger and suddenly there was a violent reflex, impossible to control. Maigret’s hand had smashed into Cageot’s cheek.

  That was a blunder! But it was the result of a sleepless night, and a whole string of humiliations.

  While Cageot was left stunned by the brutality of the attack, Louis jumped up and grabbed Maigret’s arm.

  ‘Are you mad?’

  Were they about to fight in the corridors of the Police Judiciaire?

  ‘What’s going on here?’

  It was Amadieu, who had just opened his door. On seeing the three breathless men, no one could fail to grasp the situation, but the detective chief inspector said calmly, as if he had no idea:

  ‘Would you step this way, Cageot?’

  Once again, the other witnesses had been taken into the neighbouring office.

  ‘Have a seat.’

  Maigret followed them in and stood against the door.

  ‘I asked you to come in because I need you to identify certain individuals.’

  Amadieu pressed a bell and Audiat was shown in.

  ‘Do you know this man?’

  Then Maigret stomped out, slamming the door and swearing loudly. He could have cried. This charade appalled him.

  Audiat did not know Cageot. Cageot did not know Audiat! Neither of them knew Eugène! And so it would go on ad nauseam! As for Louis, he knew no one!

  Amadieu, who was questioning them, scored a point with each new denial. Huh! So Maigret dared to disrupt his little habits! Huh! He was trying to teach him his job! He would remain polite to the end, because he was well brought-up, unlike some! But time would tell!

  Maigret descended the drab stairs, crossed the courtyard and walked past Eugène’s powerful car.

/>   The sun was shining on Paris, on the Seine, on the sparkling Pont-Neuf. The warm air abruptly turned chilly as soon as you stepped into a patch of shade.

  In a quarter of an hour, or in an hour, the interrogations would be over. Eugène would slide behind the wheel, next to his friend from Marseille. Cageot would flag down a taxi. They would go their separate ways after exchanging winks.

  ‘That damned fool Philippe.’

  Maigret was talking to himself. His feet pounded the cobblestones. He didn’t know where he was going. At one point, he had the impression that a woman he passed quickly looked away to avoid being recognized. He stopped and glimpsed Fernande, who hastened her step. A few metres further on, he caught up with her and grabbed her arm with unintended violence.

  ‘Where are you off to?’

  She looked alarmed, and did not answer.

  ‘When did they release you?’

  ‘Last night.’

  He realized that the trust that had existed between them was ruined. Fernande was afraid of him. All she wanted was to be on her way again as soon as possible.

  ‘Were you summoned?’ he asked, glancing towards the buildings of the Police Judiciaire.

  ‘No.’

  This morning she was wearing a blue suit that made her look like a respectable woman. Maigret was all the more impatient since he had no further reason to detain her.

  ‘Why are you going there?’

  He followed Fernande’s gaze, lighting on Eugène’s blue car.

  He understood. He felt offended, a pang of jealousy.

  ‘Do you know he tried to kill me last night?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Eugène.’

  She almost said something, but bit her lip.

  ‘What were you about to say?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  The sentry was watching them. Upstairs, behind the eighth window, Amadieu was still taking the witness statements cooked up by the five men. The car was parked outside, lithe and light as its owner, and Fernande, her face set, was waiting for the chance to make her escape.

  ‘Do you think it was me who had you locked up?’ Maigret pressed her.

  She said nothing and looked away.

  ‘Who told you that Eugène was here?’ he persisted in vain.

  She was in love! In love with Eugène, with whom she had slept to please Maigret!

  ‘Too bad,’ he grunted finally. ‘Off you go, dear!’

  He hoped that she would retrace her steps, but she hurried towards the car and stood by the door.

  The only person left on the pavement was Maigret. He filled his pipe, but was unable to light it, having tamped down the tobacco too hard.

  8.

  As he crossed the lobby of his hotel, Maigret tensed when a woman rose from a wicker armchair and started walking towards him. She kissed him on both cheeks with a sad smile and clasped his hand, keeping it in hers.

  ‘This is terrible,’ she moaned. ‘I got here this morning and I’ve been running around so much that I don’t know whether I’m coming or going.’

  Maigret looked at his sister-in-law, who had turned up from Alsace. He needed to adjust to the sight of her, such a contrast was she from the images of the last few days and the morning, from the unsavoury world in which he was immersed.

  Philippe’s mother looked like Madame Maigret, but there was something more provincial about her. She wasn’t plump but cuddly; she had a rosy complexion and carefully smoothed hair, and everything about her exuded cleanliness – her black and white outfit, her eyes, her smile.

  It was the atmosphere of the countryside that she brought with her and Maigret thought he caught a whiff of her house, with its cupboards filled with home-made jam, the aroma of the little delicacies and desserts which she loved cooking.

  ‘Do you think he’ll be able to find a job after all this?’

  Maigret picked up his sister-in-law’s luggage, which was even more provincial than she was.

  ‘Are you staying here?’ he asked.

  ‘If it’s not too expensive …’

  He showed her into the dining room, where he never set foot when he was alone, for it had an austere atmosphere and people only spoke in whispers.

  ‘How did you get hold of my address?’

  ‘I went to the Palais de Justice and I saw the examining magistrate. He wasn’t aware that you were handling the case.’

  Maigret said nothing but pulled a face. He could hear his sister-in-law’s voice imploring: You understand, sir. My son’s uncle, Divisional Chief Inspector Maigret—

  ‘Then what?’ he asked irritably.

  ‘He gave me the address of the lawyer in Rue de Grenelle. I went there too.’

  ‘You did all that carrying your suitcases?’

  ‘I put them in left-luggage.’

  It was astounding. She must have told the whole world her story.

  ‘I tell you, when the photograph appeared in the newspaper, Émile didn’t dare go to his office!’

  Émile was her husband. Philippe had inherited his myopic squint.

  ‘In our part of the world, it’s not like Paris. Prison is prison. People say that there’s no smoke without fire. Does he at least have a proper bed with blankets?’

  They ate sardines and rounds of beetroot, and drank a carafe of table wine. From time to time Maigret made an effort to steer the conversation away from the obsessive topic of Philippe.

  ‘You know Émile. He’s very angry with you. He blames you. He says it’s your fault that Philippe joined the police instead of looking for a good job in a bank. I told him that whatever will be, will be. By the way, how’s my sister? Not finding the animals too much work?’

  Luncheon lasted a good hour, for afterwards they had to have a coffee and Philippe’s mother wanted to know exactly how a prison is built and how the prisoners are treated. They were in the lounge when the doorman came to inform them that a gentleman wished to speak to Maigret.

  ‘Show him in!’

  He wondered who it could be and was more than astonished to see Inspector Amadieu, who greeted Madame Lauer awkwardly.

  ‘Philippe’s mother,’ said Maigret.

  And, to the detective chief inspector:

  ‘Shall we go up to my room?’

  They went upstairs in silence. Once inside the room, the inspector cleared his throat and put down his hat and the umbrella which never left his side.

  ‘I thought I’d see you after the interrogation this morning,’ he began. ‘But you left without saying a word.’

  Maigret watched him without speaking. He knew that Amadieu had come to make peace, but was not gallant enough to make things easier for him.

  ‘Those boys are very good, you know! I realized it when they were brought face to face with each other.’

  He sat down to give an impression of composure, and crossed his legs.

  ‘Look, Maigret, I’ve come to tell you that I’m beginning to share your opinion. You see that I’m being honest with you and that I bear no ill will.’

  But his voice did not sound entirely natural and Maigret sensed that this was a lesson learned and that Amadieu had not taken this step of his own accord. After that morning’s interrogations, there had been a meeting between the chief of the Police Judiciaire and Amadieu, and it was the chief who had been in favour of Maigret’s theory.

  ‘Now, I’m asking you: what should we do?’ said Amadieu solemnly.

  ‘I have no idea!’

  ‘Don’t you need my men?’

  Then, suddenly garrulous:

  ‘I’ll tell you what I believe. Because I thought long and hard while I was questioning those rogues. You know that when Pepito was killed, he’d been issued with a summons. We knew that there was a rather large drugs cache at the Floria. And it was to stop them from moving the drugs that I had posted an inspector there until the arrest, which was planned for dawn. Well, the stuff has vanished.’

  Maigret appeared not to be listening.

  ‘From
that, I deduce that when we lay our hands on it we’ll have the murderer too. I’ve a good mind to ask the magistrate for a search warrant and to pay a visit to our friend Cageot.’

  ‘There’s no point,’ sighed Maigret. ‘The man who masterminded this morning’s face-to-face confrontation wouldn’t have kept such a compromising package in his home. The stuff isn’t at Cageot’s, or Eugène’s, nor at the homes of any of the others. By the way, what did Louis have to say about his customers?’

  ‘He swears he’s never seen Eugène, even less played cards with him. He thinks Audiat might have come in a few times to buy cigarettes, but he has never spoken to him. As for Cageot, while the name rings a bell, like everyone in Montmartre, he didn’t know him personally.’

  ‘And they didn’t slip up, naturally?’

  ‘Not once. They even exchanged amused looks as if the interrogation was a farce. The chief was furious.’

  Maigret found it hard to repress a little smile, for Amadieu had admitted that his hunch was correct and that his own change of heart was thanks to the head of the Police Judiciaire.

  ‘We could always have an inspector tail Cageot,’ continued Amadieu, who found silences awkward. ‘But he’ll have no trouble shaking him off. Not to mention that he has protection and that he’s capable of filing a complaint against us.’

  Maigret pulled out his watch, which he gazed at insistently.

  ‘Do you have an appointment?’

  ‘Shortly, yes. If you don’t mind, we’ll go downstairs together.’

  As they passed the doorman, Maigret inquired after his sister-in-law.

  ‘The lady left a few minutes ago. She asked me which bus she should take to get to Rue Fontaine.’

  That was typical! She wanted to see for herself the place where her son was accused of having killed Pepito. And she would go inside! She’d tell her story to the waiters!

  ‘Shall we have a drink at the Chope on the way?’ suggested Maigret.

  They sat down in a corner and ordered a vintage Armagnac.

  ‘You have to admit,’ ventured Amadieu, tugging at his moustache, ‘that your method is impossible to apply in a case like this one. The chief and I were arguing about it earlier.’

  Well, well, the chief really was taking a close interest in the case!

  ‘What do you mean by my method?’

  ‘You know better than I do. Usually, you get involved in people’s lives; you try to understand their thinking and you take as much interest in things that happened to them twenty years earlier as you do in concrete clues. Here, we’re faced with a bunch about whom we know pretty much everything. They don’t even try to put us off the scent. And I’m not even sure that, in private, Cageot would even bother to deny having killed.’