‘A small piece … Please! Do it for me …’
And Maigret, with his mouth full, spoke to Madame Peeters:
‘I could tell you if I was in charge of the inquiry, which isn’t the case … Don’t forget that it’s your daughter who asked me to come here to try and prove your innocence …’
Van de Weert was restless in his chair, like a man who wants to speak and who isn’t allowed to get a word in edgeways.
‘But in the end …’
‘Inspector Machère remains master of the situation.’
‘But in the end, detective chief inspector, there is a hierarchy … He’s just an inspector and you are …’
‘Here I’m nothing … Look! If I were to question one of you, you would have the right not to reply. I went on board the barge because the bargeman wanted me to … It was chance that led me to discover the crime weapon, as well as the little coat that the victim wore …’
‘But …’
‘But nothing! We’re going to try to arrest the man. It may even have happened by now! Except that he’s capable of defending himself. For example, he might say that he found that piece of clothing and that hammer, and that he kept them without knowing what they represented … He might also say that he fled because he was frightened. He’s already had some run-ins with the law. He knows it’ll be harder for him to be believed than it will for someone else …’
‘That doesn’t hold water!’
‘An accusation hardly ever holds water, any more than the defence. Other people might be accused … Do you know what I found out this afternoon? That Gérard, Germaine’s brother, hasn’t known for a month how he’ll get out of the fix he finds himself in … He has debts everywhere … Worse than that! He was persuaded to take money from the till and, until the sum has been paid back, half his wages are being held back every month …’
‘Really?’
‘But to go from there to saying that he had his sister killed to get the damages …’
‘It would be appalling!’ sighed Madame Peeters, who was put off her food by the conversation.
‘You knew him quite well, didn’t you?’ said Maigret turning towards Joseph.
‘I used to spend a bit of time with him a long time ago …’
‘Before the birth of the child, isn’t that right? You went on outings together a number of times … If I’m not mistaken, your sister even went with you to the caves at …’
‘Really?’ said Madame Peeters with astonishment, turning towards her daughter. ‘I didn’t know that.’
‘I don’t remember!’ said Anna, who had gone on eating, and whose eyes were fixed on the inspector.
‘It doesn’t matter, anyway … But what was I saying? Would you please pass me a slice of tart, Mademoiselle Anna? No, not with fruit … I’m staying true to your magnificent rice tart … Did you make it yourself?’
‘She did!’ her mother asserted hastily.
And silence fell suddenly, because Maigret wasn’t saying anything, and no one dared to speak. The sound of chewing could be heard. The inspector dropped his fork on the ground and had to bend down to pick it up. As he did so, he saw that Marguerite’s finely shod foot was resting on Joseph’s.
‘Inspector Machère is a resourceful chap!’
‘He doesn’t seem very clever!’ Anna articulated slowly.
And Maigret gave her a complicit smile.
‘So few people look intelligent! For example, if I’m in the presence of a possible culprit, I make a point of acting like an imbecile …’
It was the first time that Maigret had spoken in a way that might have seemed confidential.
‘Your forehead can’t change!’ Doctor Van de Weert hurried to declare politely. ‘And, for someone who’s done a little phrenology … For example, I’m sure you have a terrible temper …’
Lunch was coming to an end at last. The inspector was the first to push his chair back. He then picked up his pipe, which he set about filling.
‘Do you know what you should do, Mademoiselle Marguerite? Sit down at the piano and play us “Solveig’s Song” …’
She hesitated and looked at Joseph, seeking his advice, while Madame Peeters murmured:
‘She plays so well! And she sings!’
‘There’s only one thing I regret: it’s that Mademoiselle Maria’s sprain stops her from being with us … For my last day …’
Anna quickly turned her head in his direction.
‘Are you leaving soon?’
‘This evening … I’m not a man of leisure … Besides, I’m married, and my wife’s getting impatient …’
‘And Inspector Machère?’
‘I don’t know what he’ll decide … I suppose …’
The shop bell rang. There were hurried steps, then knocking at the door.
It was Machère himself, very agitated.
‘Is the detective chief inspector here?’
He hadn’t seen him straight away, surprised to find himself in the middle of a family reunion.
‘What is it?’
‘I need to talk to you.’
‘Will you excuse me?’
And he went with Machère to the shop, where he leaned on the counter.
‘How I loathe those people!’
Machère, on edge, jutted his chin towards the dining-room door.
‘Just the smell of their coffee and their tart …’
‘Is that what you wanted to tell me?’
‘No! I’ve got news from Brussels … The train arrived on time …’
‘But the bargeman wasn’t on it!’
‘You knew that?’
‘I suspected as much! Did you think he was an idiot? I didn’t. He must have got off at a little station somewhere and caught another train and then another … Tonight he could be in Germany, perhaps in Amsterdam, perhaps even in Paris …’
But Machère looked at him with a chuckle.
‘If he had any money!’
‘What do you mean?’
‘That I’ve made my inquiries. The man’s name is Cassin. Yesterday morning he couldn’t settle his bill in the bistro, and they refused to serve him … Better than that! He owed money to everybody … To the point that the shopkeepers had decided not to let him leave on his boat …’
Maigret looked at his companion with total indifference.
‘And?’
‘I didn’t stop there. And it was hard, because it’s Sunday, and most people aren’t at home … I went all the way to the cinema to question certain people …’
Maigret, smoking his pipe, was amusing himself by putting weights on both trays of the scales, trying to make them balance.
‘I discovered that Gerard Piedboeuf borrowed 2,000 francs, yesterday, giving as guarantee his father’s signature, because no one wanted his …’
‘Did they meet?’
‘Indeed! A customs man saw Gérard Piedboeuf and Cassin walking along the bank together, over by Belgian customs …’
‘What time was it?’
‘Just after two …’
‘That’s perfect!’
‘What’s perfect? If Piedboeuf gave money to the bargeman …’
‘Beware of leaping to conclusions, Machère! It’s very dangerous to try to conclude …’
‘Nevertheless, the man, who hadn’t a penny to his name in the morning, left by train in the afternoon, with money in his pocket. I went to the station. He bought his ticket with a thousand-franc note … Apparently he had more …’
‘Or one more?’
‘Maybe more, maybe one more … What would you do in my position?’
‘Me?’
‘Yes.’
Maigret sighed, knocked his pipe against his heel to empty it and pointed to the dining-room door:
‘I’d come and get a good glass of genever … Particularly if someone was going to play us a piece on the piano!’
‘That’s all that …’
‘Let’s go! Come on … You have nothing more t
o do in town at this hour of day … Where’s Gérard Piedboeuf?’
‘At the Scala cinema, with a girl from the factory.’
‘I bet they’ve taken a box!’
And Maigret, with a silent laugh, pushed his colleague towards the drawing room, where dusk was beginning to blur the outlines of things. A wisp of smoke rose slowly from Van de Weert’s armchair. Madame Peeters was in the kitchen, doing the washing-up. Marguerite, at the piano, was nonchalantly moving her fingers back and forth on the keys.
‘You really want me to play?’
‘I’d love you to … Sit here, Machère …’
Joseph was standing up, his elbow resting on the mantelpiece, his eye fixed on the grimy window.
Winter may flee
Beloved spring
May pass
The autumn leaves
And the fruits of summer
Everything may pass …
Her voice lacked firmness. Marguerite struggled to reach the top notes. Twice she missed her chords.
But you will return to me,
O my handsome betrothed,
Never again to leave me …
Anna wasn’t there any more. She wasn’t in the kitchen, where Madame Peeters could be heard coming and going, making as little noise as possible out of respect for the music.
… I gave you my heart …
Marguerite couldn’t see the gloomy figure of Joseph, who had let his cigarette go out.
Now that night was falling, the coal-nut fire cast a purple glow on the room, particularly the painted feet of the table.
To the great amazement of Machère, who didn’t dare move, Maigret left so discreetly that no one noticed. He climbed the stairs without making a single step creak and found himself in front of two closed doors.
The landing was already in almost complete darkness. Only the doorknobs, being made of porcelain, appeared as two milky patches.
At last the chief inspector put his pipe, still lit, in his pocket, turned one of the doorknobs, went inside and closed the door behind him.
Anna was there. Because of the curtains, the room was darker than the dining room. There was a kind of grey dust floating in the air, denser in the corners.
Anna didn’t move. Hadn’t she heard anything?
She was at the window, against the light, her face turned towards the twilit landscape of the Meuse. On the opposite shore, lights had been lit, which cast bright rays into the chiaroscuro.
From behind, it looked as if Anna was crying. She was tall. She looked more vigorous, more of a ‘statue’ than ever.
And her grey dress actually seemed to fade into the background.
A floorboard, just one, creaked when Maigret was no more than a foot from the girl, but it didn’t make her start.
Then he put his hand on her shoulder, with surprising gentleness, sighing like a man who can finally allow himself to speak in confidence:
‘So here we are!’
She turned towards him, all at once. She was calm. Not a wrinkle broke the severe harmony of her features.
Nothing but her throat, which swelled slightly, slowly, under a mysterious inner pressure …
The notes of the piano reached them clearly, and they could hear all the syllables of ‘Solveig’s Song’.
May God in his great goodness
Protect you still …
And two clear eyes sought Maigret’s eyes, while lips that had almost parted in a sob stiffened like the rest of Anna’s body.
10. Solveig’s Song
‘What are you doing here?’
Strangely, the tone wasn’t aggressive. Anna looked at Maigret with annoyance, perhaps with horror, but not with hatred.
‘You heard what I said just now. I’m leaving this evening. We have been living in very close proximity for some days.’
And he looked around at the two girls’ bed, the polar-bear skin that they used as a rug, the wallpaper with little pink flowers, the mirrored wardrobe that now reflected only the shadows of night.
‘I didn’t want to leave without having one last conversation with you …’
The rectangle of the window formed something like a screen on which the figure of Anna appeared, less resolute with each passing minute. And Maigret spotted a detail that he hadn’t noticed before. An hour before, he couldn’t have said how her hair was done. He knew now. Her long hair, tightly braided, rested against the back of her neck in a heavy coil.
‘Anna!’ cried Madame Peeters’ voice in the corridor below.
The piano had fallen silent. The disappearance of the two people had been noticed.
‘Yes! I’m here …’
‘Have you seen Inspector Maigret?’
‘Yes! We’re coming down …’
To answer, she had walked towards the door. She came back towards her companion, very serious, her expression dramatically steadfast.
‘What do you have to say to me?’
‘You know!’
She didn’t look away. She went on looking at him ardently, her hands folded over her belly in a pose that was already that of an old woman.
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I told you: go back to Paris …’
Then, however, her voice thickened.
‘What about me?’
It was the first time he had ever been aware of an emotion in her. She was aware of it herself. And, probably to help herself overcome her unease, she walked to the light switch and turned it on.
The light had a yellow silk shade and lit only a circle two metres in diameter on the floor.
‘First of all I have to ask you a question!’ said Maigret. ‘Who provided the money? You had to move fast, didn’t you, to put funds together in a few minutes. The bank was shut. I’m sure you don’t keep large amounts of money in the house. You haven’t got a telephone …’
It was slow. The silence around them was unusually intense.
And Maigret went on breathing in that quiet, lower-middle-class atmosphere. There was a faint murmur of voices below, Dr Van de Weert stretching his short legs towards the stove, Joseph and Marguerite looking at each other in silence. Machère, who must have been getting impatient, and Madame Peeters picking up some embroidery or filling glasses of genever.
But Maigret kept finding Anna’s clear eyes, and she finally spoke:
‘It’s Marguerite …’
‘Did she have money at her house?’
‘Money and shares. She herself takes care of the share of the fortune left to her by her mother.’
And Anna repeated:
‘What are you going to do?’
As she said that her eyes moistened, but it was so brief that Maigret thought he might have been mistaken.
‘And you?’
The fact that this question constantly came back proved that they were both afraid of broaching the main topic.
‘How did you lure Germaine Piedboeuf into your room? Wait! Don’t tell me straight away … She came of her own accord that evening, to ask about Joseph and claim the child’s money … Your mother let her in … You came into the shop as well … Did you know that you were going to kill her?’
‘Yes!’
No more emotion, panic. A clear voice.
‘For how long?’
‘About a month.’
And Maigret sat down on the edge of the bed, the girls’ bed, Anna and Maria’s bed, ran his hand over his forehead as he looked at the wallpaper that served as a backdrop to his adversary.
Now she looked as if she was proud of what she had done. She claimed all responsibility for it. She was proclaiming her premeditation.
‘You love your brother as much as that?’
He knew. And it wasn’t just Anna. Was it because old Peeters had ceased to be part of the family a long time ago? The three women, at any rate, his mother and his two sisters, held the young man in the same adoration, which almost assumed a certain ambiguity in Anna’s case.
He wasn’t handsome. He was t
hin. His features were irregular. His lanky build, his big nose, his eyes with their weary pupils emanated boredom.
He was still a god! And it was as a god that Marguerite loved him!
It was like a case of collective suggestion, and it was easy to imagine the two sisters, the mother and the cousin, spending whole afternoons talking about him …
‘I didn’t want him to kill himself!’
Suddenly, Maigret almost got angry. He leaped to his feet and paced back and forth in the room.
‘He said that?’
‘If he had had to marry Germaine, he would have killed himself on the evening of their wedding …’
He didn’t laugh, but he gave a terrible shrug. He remembered Joseph’s confidences the other evening! Joseph, who didn’t even know who he loved any more! Joseph, who was almost as afraid of Marguerite as he was of Germaine Piedboeuf!
Only, to flatter his sisters, to keep their admiration, he assumed the attitudes of a romantic hero.
‘His life was broken …’
Good heavens! It all sat very well with ‘Solveig’s Song’!
But you will return to me,
O my handsome betrothed …
And they had all bought into it! They had been drugged by music, poetry and confidences.
But what a fine fellow he was, the handsome betrothed, with his ill-cut jackets and short-sighted eyes!
‘Did you talk about your plan to anyone?’
‘No one!’
‘Not even him?’
‘Especially not him!’
‘And you had had the hammer in your room for a month? Wait! I’m starting to understand!’
He was also starting to breathe violently, because he was being drawn in by both the tragedy and the meanness of the whole affair.
He barely dared to look again at Anna, who didn’t move.
‘It was important that you weren’t caught, isn’t that right? Because then Joseph wouldn’t have dared to marry Marguerite! You thought of every possible weapon! A revolver would have made too much noise! Since Germaine never ate here, you couldn’t use poison … If your hands had been strong enough, you would probably have strangled her …’
‘I thought about it.’
‘Shut up, for God’s sake! You went and took the hammer from some building site or other, because you aren’t stupid enough to take a tool that belonged to the house … On what pretext did you persuade Germaine to follow you?’
The Flemish House Page 10