‘But you knew Fumal was dead?’
‘I knew that it would turn out like this.’
‘That what would turn out like this?’
‘That it would all be pinned on me.’
‘Did you sleep at Boulevard de Courcelles?’
It was clearly a struggle for him to follow Maigret’s, and his own, train of thought. He must have had a terrible hangover, and his forehead was beaded with sweat.
‘I don’t suppose you’d give me anything to drink? Not much … You know, just something to pick me up …’
It was true that in his condition a small glass of alcohol would be steadying, for a while at least. He’d reached the same stage in his drinking as hardened junkies who go through agony when it’s time for their fix.
Maigret opened his cupboard and poured a little cognac in a glass while Lentin watched him with stunned gratitude. It must have been the first time in his life that the police had given him anything to drink.
‘Now, you’re going to try and give detailed answers to my questions.’
‘Cross my heart!’ he said, already sitting more comfortably in his chair.
‘You spent the night, or part of the night, in your sister’s apartment, as you often do.’
‘Whenever I’m in the neighbourhood.’
‘What time did you leave Boulevard de Courcelles?’
He looked intently at Maigret again, seemingly in two minds, struggling to weigh up the pros and cons.
‘I suppose I’d better tell the truth?’
‘Correct.’
‘It was a little after one in the morning, maybe two. I had gone there in the late afternoon. I went to sleep on the couch because I was very tired.’
‘Were you drunk?’
‘Maybe. I’d definitely been drinking.’
‘Then what happened?’
‘At some point, Jeanne, my sister, brought me something to eat, some cold chicken. She hardly ever has her meals with her husband. They take up her lunch and dinner on a tray. When I’m there, she usually asks for cold cuts – ham, chicken, things like that – and shares them with me.’
‘Do you know what time it was?’
‘No. I haven’t had a watch for ages.’
‘Did you and your sister chat?’
‘What would we have said to each other?’
That was one of the most tragic things Maigret had ever heard. Exactly what would they have had to say to each other? They were both almost equally far gone. They were long past the point where people still go over old memories, vent their grievances.
‘I asked her for a drink.’
‘How did your sister get alcohol? Did her husband keep her stocked up?’
‘He never gave her enough. I’d go and buy it for her.’
‘Did she have money?’
He sighed and looked at the cupboard. Maigret didn’t offer him another glass.
‘It’s so complicated …’
‘What’s complicated?’
‘Everything … That whole set-up … I knew people wouldn’t understand and that’s why I left …’
‘Wait a moment, Lentin. Let’s take it one step at a time. Your sister brought you some food. You asked her for a drink. You don’t know what time it was, but it was already dark, is that right?’
‘Definitely.’
‘Did you have a drink together?’
‘Only one or two. She wasn’t feeling well. She has trouble breathing sometimes. She went to bed.’
‘Then what?’
‘I lay on the couch and smoked some cigarettes. I wondered what time it was. I listened to the sounds from the boulevard, where only the odd car went past. Without putting on my shoes, I went out on to the landing and saw the house was dark.’
‘What were you intending to do?’
‘I didn’t have a sou. Not even a ten-franc coin. Jeanne didn’t have any money either. Fumal didn’t give her any, and she often had to borrow from the maids.’
‘Did you want to ask your brother-in-law for money?’
He almost laughed.
‘Of course not! All right, I’ve got to make a clean breast of it all … Here you go! Has anyone told you how suspicious he was? He didn’t trust a soul, that man. Every bit of furniture in the house was locked. But I’d made a discovery. His secretary, Mademoiselle Louise, always kept some money in her drawer. Not much. Never more than five or six thousand francs, mainly in change and small notes, for buying stamps, sending letters by registered post, giving tips. Petty cash, they called it.
‘So from time to time when I was cleaned out, I’d go down to the office and take a few hundred franc coins …’
‘Fumal never caught you?’
‘No. If I could I’d pick a night when he was out. But once or twice he’d gone to sleep and he didn’t hear anything. I walk like a cat.’
‘Wasn’t he asleep yesterday?’
‘Not in his bed, at least.’
‘What did he say to you?’
‘He didn’t say anything to me for the very good reason that he was dead, stretched out full length on the carpet.’
‘Did you take some money anyway?’
‘I almost took his wallet. There, I’m being straight with you, aren’t I? I thought I’d be accused, sooner or later, and that it’d be a good while before I could go back to the house.’
‘Were there any lights on in the office?’
‘If there had been I would have seen them under the door and I wouldn’t have gone in.’
‘Did you turn on the switch?’
‘No. I had a torch.’
‘What did you touch?’
‘I touched his hand first, which was cold. So he was dead. Then I opened the drawer of his secretary’s desk.’
‘Were you wearing gloves?’
‘No.’
It would be easy to check. The specialists had gone over both offices for fingerprints and were sorting through them upstairs. If Lentin was telling the truth they would find his prints on Mademoiselle Bourges’ desk.
‘You didn’t see the revolver?’
‘No. My first thought was to leave without telling my sister. Then I thought I’d better let her know, so I went back upstairs. I woke her up and said:
‘ “Your husband is dead … ”
‘She didn’t believe me. She went downstairs with me, in her nightie, and I shone my torch on the body while she looked in from the door.’
‘Did she touch anything?’
‘She didn’t even go into the room. She said:
‘ “It’s true, he does look dead. Finally!” ’
That would explain her lack of reaction when Maigret had told her about Fumal’s death that morning.
‘Then what?’
‘We went back upstairs and had a drink.’
‘To celebrate?’
‘More or less. After a while we were very merry, the two of us, and I’m pretty sure we started laughing. I can’t remember if it was her or me who said:
‘ “Dad hanged himself too soon …” ’
‘Didn’t it occur to you to tell the police?’
Lentin looked at him, dumbfounded. Why would they have told the police? Fumal was dead. That was all that mattered, as far as they were concerned.
‘In the end I thought I’d better clear out. If I was found in the house …’
‘What time was it?’
‘I don’t know. I walked to Place Clichy, and almost all the bars were shut. In fact, I think only one was open. I had a drink or two. Then I walked the boulevards to Pigalle, went into another bar and, in the end, I must have fallen asleep somewhere on a banquette, but I don’t know where. I was thrown out at daybreak and walked some more. I did come and have a look at the house from Boulevard des Batignolles, though.’
‘Why?’
‘To see what was happening. There were some cars outside and a policeman at the door. I didn’t go any nearer. I carried on walking …’
That word recurr
ed like a leitmotiv, and it was true, walking, like propping up a bar, was one of Lentin’s main occupations.
‘Don’t you ever work?’
‘Sometimes I muck in at Les Halles or on a building site.’
He must have opened car doors outside hotels as well, maybe done some petty shoplifting. Maigret would get Records upstairs to check if he had any convictions.
‘Do you have a revolver?’
‘If I had one I would have sold it a long time ago. And the police would have taken it off me a long time ago too, because I’ve given up counting the number of times they’ve brought me in and kept me overnight in the station.’
‘What about your sister?’
‘What about her?’
‘Does she have a gun?’
‘You don’t know her. I’m tired, detective chief inspector. I’ve been nice, come on, admit it; I’ve told you everything I know. If you’d only just give me another little drop …’
His gaze was humble, beseeching.
‘Just a tiny little drop!’ he repeated.
There was probably nothing more to be got out of him, and Maigret headed to the cupboard. Lentin’s face lit up.
Maigret suddenly switched to the familiar ‘tu’, as he had with Martine Gilloux:
‘Don’t you miss your wife and kids?’
The man hesitated, glass in hand, then drained it in one go and muttered reproachfully:
‘What are you bringing that up for? The kids are grown up, for a start. Two of them are married, and they wouldn’t give me a second look if they passed me in the street.’
‘Don’t you know who killed Fumal?’
‘If I knew, I’d go and say thank you. And if I’d had the guts, I would have done it myself. I’d sworn to when my father died. I told my sister. She said that the only thing that would come of it was that I’d spend the rest of my days in jail. Still, if I’d found a way to do it without getting caught …’
Had the man or woman who’d actually killed Fumal thought the same, waited for the chance to act safely?
‘Have you got any other questions for me?’
No. Maigret couldn’t think of anything else to ask him. He just said:
‘What are you going to do if I let you go?’
Lentin made a vague gesture encompassing the city which he would vanish back into.
‘I’m going to keep you in for a day or two.’
‘Without anything to drink?’
‘You’ll get a glass of wine tomorrow morning. You need to rest.’
The bench in the box room was hard. Maigret rang for an inspector.
‘Take him to the cells. Tell them to make sure he eats and sleeps.’
As he got up the man took a last look at the cupboard. He opened his mouth to ask again but didn’t dare. Instead he went out, stammering:
‘Thank you.’
Maigret called the inspector back.
‘Have his prints taken and give them to Moers.’
He added a brief explanation, while Madame Fumal’s brother stood vacantly in the middle of the deserted corridor, making no attempt to get away.
Maigret remained sitting at his desk for ten long minutes, staring straight ahead, smoking his pipe as if in a reverie. Finally, he peeled himself off his chair and headed towards the inspectors’ room. It was still almost empty. A murmur of voices could be heard in the next office. He went in and found everyone gathered there who had spent the day working in the Boulevard de Courcelles townhouse.
Only one man had been left on the premises, Inspector Neveu, who was going to be relieved at any moment.
As per Maigret’s orders, the officers were comparing the answers they had been given in the different interrogations.
Almost everybody had been questioned two or three times. Monsieur Joseph had been called back five times, returning after each session to wait on the landing with the Renaissance chairs and the two marble statues.
‘I suppose I have the right to go out and attend to my affairs?’ he had asked finally.
‘No.’
‘Not even to eat?’
‘There’s a cook in the house.’
The kitchen was on the ground floor, behind Victor’s lodge. The cook was a fat, middle-aged woman, a widow, who seemed completely unaware of what went on in the house. A characteristic exchange went:
Question: What do you think about Monsieur Fumal?
Answer: What do you expect me to think? Do I know him?
She points to the dumbwaiter, her kitchen ceiling.
Answer: I work down here and he eats up there.
Question: Doesn’t he ever come down to see you?
Answer: He sends for me now and then to give me instructions and also, once a month, so I can give him my accounts.
Question: Was he careful with money?
Answer: What do you mean by careful with money?
Asked about Louise Bourges, she said:
Answer: Sleeping with someone is what you do at that age. Those days are over for me, more’s the pity!
Her view on Madame Fumal:
Answer: It takes all sorts.
How long had she been in the house?
Answer: Three months.
Question: Did you think there was a strange atmosphere?
Answer: If you’d seen what I’ve seen in well-to-do houses!
It is true that she has had dozens of different jobs in her life.
Question: Haven’t you felt at home anywhere?
Answer: I like change, I do.
Every few months she would reappear in the waiting area of the job exchange, where she was a sort of honorary member. She specialized in temporary cover and jobs for foreigners passing through Paris.
Question: Didn’t you see or hear anything?
Answer: When I sleep, I sleep.
Maigret had set his men the meticulous task they were sweating over because he still hoped that some revealing contradiction between different testimonies might come to light, even if only on a point of detail.
If Roger Gaillardin wasn’t the murderer – and it was more or less certain that he wasn’t – Fumal hadn’t been killed by an outsider.
Inspector Vacher, who had been watching the townhouse all evening, confirmed Victor’s account, almost to the minute.
So, shortly before eight o’clock, Fumal’s car had driven back into the courtyard. Félix, the chauffeur, was at the wheel. Fumal and his secretary were in the back.
Victor had closed the carriage gate behind them, and it hadn’t been opened again that night.
Victor went on to say that Louise Bourges had gone up to the first floor with her employer but had only stayed there for a few minutes and had then gone to the staff dining room next to the kitchen.
She ate her evening meal there. Germaine, the chambermaid, went up to serve Fumal while Noémi took a tray up to the second floor for Madame Fumal.
All this seemed well attested. Nothing in the testimonies suggested otherwise.
After dinner Louise Bourges had gone back up to the office, where she had stayed roughly half an hour. Around 9.30 she had crossed the courtyard and entered the staff quarters.
When questioned, Félix said:
Answer: I went up to her room, as I did most nights.
Question: Why did you sleep in her room and not yours?
Answer: Because hers is bigger.
Louise Bourges had unblushingly said the same.
Germaine, the chambermaid, took up the story:
Answer: I heard them at it for at least an hour. To look at, she seems a cold fish. But if you had to sleep next door to her with only a partition between you and her bed …
Question: What time did you go to sleep?
Answer: I wound up the alarm clock at ten thirty.
Question: Did you hear anything during the night?
Answer: No.
Question: Did you know about Émile Lentin’s visits to his sister?
Answer: Everybody does.
Answer: Noémi, the cook …
Question: How did the cook, who never goes up to the second floor, know?
Answer: Because I told her.
Question: Why?
Answer: So she’d give them double servings when he was there, of course!
Question: Did Victor know too?
Answer: I didn’t say anything to him about it. I’ve never trusted him. But he’s not the type of person you can hide things from.
Question: And the secretary?
Answer: Félix is bound to have told her.
Question: And how did Félix know?
Answer: Through Noémi.
So everyone in the house knew that Lentin regularly slept in the little room on the second floor – everyone, that is, except possibly Ferdinand Fumal …
… and Monsieur Joseph, who slept in the room directly overhead:
Question: Do you know Émile Lentin?
Answer: I did before he started drinking.
Question: Did his brother-in-law ruin him?
Answer: People who ruin themselves always blame other people.
Question: Do you mean he was reckless?
Answer: He thought he was smarter than he was.
Question: And he found himself up against someone really smart?
Answer: If you like. That’s business.
Question: Did he then try to borrow money from his brother-in-law?
Answer: Probably.
Question: Without luck?
Answer: Even if you’re very rich you can’t help all of life’s failures.
Question: Did you see him at Boulevard de Courcelles?
Answer: Years ago.
Question: Where?
Answer: In Monsieur Fumal’s office.
Question: What happened between them?
Answer: Monsieur Fumal threw him out.
Question: Have you seen him since?
Answer: Once, in the street, near Châtelet. He was drunk.
Question: Did he talk to you?
Answer: He told me to tell his brother-in-law that he was a bastard.
Question: Did you know that he sometimes slept in the house?
Answer: No.
Question: If you had known, would you have told your boss?
Answer: Probably.
Question: You’re not sure.
Answer: I haven’t thought about it.
Maigret's Failure Page 9