He didn’t like to say no, but he had just drunk a glass of white wine.
‘No offence.’
After some difficulty finding a taxi, he headed for the Bar du Levant.
‘A skinny little guy, sad-looking, eyes red as if he’d been crying’ was what he was told.
It was certainly Alfred Jussiaume, whose eyes were often red-rimmed.
‘He was speaking on the telephone for a long time. He drank two coffees without sugar and then headed for the station, looking around him, as if he was worried he was being followed. What’s he done?’
It was ten o’clock before Maigret climbed the stairs at the Police Judiciaire, where the sun illuminated what seemed like a fog of dust. Contrary to his normal habit, he didn’t glance sideways through the windows of the waiting room but went through the inspectors’ room, which was almost empty.
‘Is Janvier here yet?’
‘He came in about eight then went again. He’s left a note on your desk.
The note read:
The woman’s name is Maria Van Aerts. She is fifty years old and comes from Sneek in Friesland. I’m on my way to Neuilly, where she lived in a family boarding house on Rue de Longchamp. Haven’t found the taxi yet. Vacher’s checking out the station.
Joseph, the office clerk, opened the door.
‘I didn’t see you come in, Monsieur Maigret. There is a woman who has been waiting for you for half an hour.’
He handed him a piece of paper, on which old Madame Serre had written her name in her tiny, spidery handwriting.
‘Shall I bring her in?’
Maigret put on the jacket he had just removed, went to open the window, filled a pipe and sat down.
‘Show her in, yes.’
He wondered what she would be like away from her familiar domestic setting. To his surprise, she didn’t look out of place at all. She wasn’t dressed in black, as on the previous evening; she was wearing a white dress with a dark printed pattern and a sensible hat. She came towards him with a measured step.
‘I think you might have been half-expecting my visit, inspector?’
He hadn’t, in fact, but didn’t tell her so.
‘Sit down, madame.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Does the smoke bother you?’
‘My son smokes cigars all day long. I was so upset yesterday by the way he treated you! I tried to signal to you not to persist, because I know what he’s like.’
She showed no signs of nervousness and spoke slowly and deliberately, now and then giving Maigret what appeared to be a conspiratorial smile.
‘I think I must have brought him up badly. You see, he is my only child, and he was just seventeen when my husband died. I spoiled him. Guillaume was the only man in the house. If you have children . . .’
Maigret looked at her and tried to figure her out, but didn’t manage it. For some reason he then asked:
‘Were you born in Paris?’
‘In the house you visited yesterday.’
It was a coincidence to find two people in the same inquiry who were born in Paris. Almost always, the people he had dealings with had some sort of connection with the provinces.
‘And your husband?’
‘His father was also a lawyer, based in Rue de Tocqueville in the seventeenth arrondissement.’
That made three! All this despite the distinctly provincial ambience of the house in Rue de la Ferme.
‘It has almost always been just the two of us, my son and me. I guess that is what has made him somewhat unsociable.’
‘I thought he had been married once before.’
‘He was. His wife didn’t live long.’
‘How long was it after they were married that she died?’
She opened her mouth to speak. He could see that a sudden thought made her hesitate. He even thought he could see a hint of red rising to her cheeks.
‘Two years,’ she said finally. ‘Odd, isn’t it? It has only just struck me. He was with Maria two years too.’
‘Who was his first wife?’
‘A girl from an excellent family, Jeanne Devoisin, whom we met one summer in Dieppe. We used to go there every year in those days.’
‘Was she younger than him?’
‘Let’s see. He was thirty-two. She was more or less the same age. She was a widow.’
‘Did she have any children?’
‘No. I didn’t know of any family, other than a sister living in Indochina.’
‘What did she die of?’
‘A heart attack. She had a weak heart and seemed to spend half her life visiting doctors.’
She smiled again.
‘I haven’t yet told you why I came here. I almost rang you yesterday, when my son was out on his daily walk, then I thought that it would be more proper to come and see you in person. I really must apologize for Guillaume’s behaviour towards you and to assure you that it is nothing personal. He can be very anti-social.’
‘I noticed.’
‘Just the mere thought that you might be suspecting him of having done something wrong . . . He was like this even as a child . . .’
‘He lied to me.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
The old woman’s face displayed genuine shock.
‘Why would he lie to you? I don’t understand. It’s not as if you asked any questions. And it is precisely to respond to those that you wished to ask yesterday that I have come to see you. We have nothing to hide. I don’t know what chain of events has led you to our door. It must be some misunderstanding, or a neighbour with a grudge.’
‘When was the windowpane broken?’
‘I told you, or my son told you, I can’t quite remember: the night of the storm last week. I was upstairs and hadn’t had time to close all the windows when I heard the crash of breaking glass.’
‘Was it still light?’
‘It must have been around six in the evening.’
‘So your cleaning lady, Eugénie, was no longer in the house?’
‘She leaves at five; I thought I had told you that. I didn’t tell my son that I was coming to see you. I thought that you would like to visit the house, and it would be a lot easier without him around.’
‘You mean during his evening walk?’
‘Yes. You will see that we have nothing to hide. We could have cleared everything up yesterday, but for Guillaume’s attitude.’
‘For the record, Madame Serre, it was you who decided to come here.’
‘Of course.’
‘And it was you who requested me to ask you some questions.’
She nodded her head.
‘So we will begin with the final meal that you had together, you, your son and your daughter-in-law. Your daughter-in-law’s bags were already packed. Where in the house were they?’
‘In the hallway.’
‘Who carried them downstairs?’
‘Eugénie carried the cases, and my son took the trunk, which was too heavy for her.’
‘Is it a very big trunk?’
‘It’s what they call a wardrobe trunk. Before they were married, Maria travelled a lot. She has lived in Italy and Egypt.’
‘What did you have to eat?’
The question seemed to amuse her and take her by surprise.
‘Let me see. I take care of the meals; I will remember. Vegetable soup to start. We always have a vegetable soup, it’s healthy. Then we had grilled mackerel and potato purée.’
‘For dessert?’
‘Chocolate mousse. Yes. My son has always adored chocolate mousse.’
‘And you didn’t discuss anything at the dinner table? What time did the meal finish?’
‘About seven thirty. I put the dishes in the sink and went upstairs.’
‘So you weren’t there when your daughter-in-law left?’
‘I didn’t really want to be there. I knew it would be painful and I prefer to avoid emotional scenes. I said goodbye to her in the living room downstairs. I don�
��t resent her. Everyone is different and—’
‘Where was your son during this time?’
‘In his study, I believe.’
‘Do you know whether he had a farewell conversation with his wife?’
‘It’s unlikely. She came back upstairs. I heard her in her bedroom getting ready.’
‘Your house is solidly built, like most old houses. I would guess that, when you are upstairs, it is difficult to hear any sounds from downstairs.’
‘Not for me,’ she said with a pout.
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘I have acute hearing. If a floorboard creaks in any room I will hear it.’
‘Who went to fetch a taxi?’
‘Maria, I told you yesterday.’
‘Was she outside long?’
‘Quite a long time. There aren’t any railway stations nearby, so you have to hope to catch a passing cab.’
‘Did you go to the window?’
A slight hesitation.
‘Yes.’
‘Who carried the trunk to the taxi?’
‘The driver.’
‘Do you know which company the taxi belonged to?’
‘How would I know?’
‘What colour was it?’
‘A reddish brown, with a crest on the door.’
‘Do you remember the driver?’
‘Not really. He was short and somewhat fat.’
‘How was your daughter-in-law dressed?’
‘She was wearing a mauve dress.’
‘No coat?’
‘She was carrying it over her arm.’
‘Was your son still in his study?’
‘Yes.’
‘What happened next? Did you come downstairs?’
‘No.’
‘You didn’t go to your son?’
‘It was he who came upstairs.’
‘Straight away?’
‘A short while after the taxi left.’
‘Was he upset?’
‘He was as you found him. He is of a sombre disposition. I have explained to you that he is in fact sensitive and easily affected by the smallest thing.’
‘Did he know that his wife wasn’t coming back?’
‘He guessed that was the case.’
‘Had she told him so?’
‘Not exactly. She had let it be understood. She talked about needing a change, to see her own country again. Once there, you see . . .’
‘What did you do next?’
‘I arranged my hair for bed.’
‘Was your son with you in your room?’
‘Yes.’
‘He didn’t leave the house?’
‘No. Why?’
‘Where does he park his car?’
‘A hundred metres down the street – some former stables have been converted into private garages. Guillaume rents one of the garages.’
‘Is he able to take his car out and put it back without being seen?’
‘Why would he want to hide?’
‘Did he go back downstairs?’
‘I don’t know. I think so. I go to bed early, and he tends to stay up reading until eleven o’clock or midnight.’
‘In his study?’
‘Or in his bedroom.’
‘Is his bedroom near yours?’
‘Next to mine. We have a bathroom between us.’
‘Did you hear him go to bed?’
‘I did.’
‘At what time?’
‘I didn’t turn on the light to check.’
‘Did you hear any noise later?’
‘No.’
‘I presume you are always first to come down in the morning?’
‘In summer I get up at six thirty.’
‘Did you look round all the rooms?’
‘I went to the kitchen first of all to put some water on to boil, then I opened the windows, because the air is still cool at that time of day.’
‘So you went into the study?’
‘Probably.’
‘You don’t remember?’
‘Almost certainly.’
‘The broken pane had already been replaced?’
‘I think so . . . yes . . .’
‘You didn’t notice whether anything had been disturbed in the room?’
‘Nothing, just the cigar ends in the ashtray, as usual, maybe a book or two not put back on the shelves. I don’t know what this is about, inspector. As you see, I am giving honest answers to your questions. I came here with that express purpose.’
‘Because you’re worried?’
‘No. Because I was concerned by the way in which Guillaume received you yesterday. And also because there was something mysterious about your visit. Women aren’t like men. When my husband was alive, for example, if there was a noise at night he wouldn’t stir from his bed, and it was I who went to have a look. Do you follow? It’s probably the same with your wife. Basically, I’m here for more or less the same reason. You spoke about a burglary. You seemed very interested in the subject of Maria.’
‘Have you received any news from her?’
‘I’m not expecting to hear from her. You are hiding certain facts, and that intrigues me. As when I hear a noise at night, I am telling myself that there is no mystery, that you just have to look at things squarely to establish the simple truth.’
She looked at him, very sure of herself, and Maigret had the feeling that she saw him as a child, like another Guillaume. She seemed to be saying:
‘Tell me your concerns. Don’t be afraid. You’ll see that everything will sort itself out.’
He stared her straight in the face too.
‘A man broke into your house that night.’
Her eyes widened in incredulity, with a hint of pity, as if he had said that he believed in werewolves.
‘To do what?’
‘To burgle your safe.’
‘Did he succeed?’
‘He got into the house by cutting out a pane of glass in order to open the window.’
‘The pane that had been damaged in the storm? Presumably he replaced it afterwards?’
She was still refusing to take what he said seriously.
‘What did he steal?’
‘He didn’t steal anything, because his electric torch revealed an object that he wasn’t expecting to find in the room.’
She smiled.
‘What object?’
‘The body of a middle-aged woman, which may well have been that of your daughter-in-law.’
‘He told you that?’
He looked at her hands in their white gloves. They were not trembling.
‘Why don’t you ask this man to come and repeat these accusations in front of me?’
‘He isn’t in Paris.’
‘Can’t you make him come?’
Maigret decided not to reply. He wasn’t too pleased with himself. He was beginning to wonder whether he too was succumbing to the influence of this woman, who was as serene and protective as a mother superior.
She didn’t stand up, didn’t get excited, didn’t get angry.
‘I don’t know what this is about and I won’t ask you to explain. No doubt you have your reasons for believing this man. He’s a burglar, you say? Whereas I am but an old woman of seventy-six who has never hurt a fly.
‘Permit me, now that I am in possession of this information, to invite you to return with me forthwith. I will open all our doors to you, show you anything you wish to see. And my son, once he has been put in the picture, will, I am sure, reply to all your questions too.
‘When will you come, Monsieur Maigret?’
This time she was on her feet, still completely at ease. There was no trace of aggression in her manner, perhaps the merest hint of hurt.
‘Maybe this afternoon. I’m not sure yet. Has your son used the car these past few days?’
‘Ask him yourself, if you would be so kind.’
‘Is he at home at the moment?’
‘Probably. He w
as there when I left.’
‘Eugénie too?’
‘I’m sure she is.’
‘Thank you.’
He showed her to the door. Just before leaving, she turned and said in a quiet voice:
‘I will ask you one favour. When I leave, please try to put yourself in my place for a moment, and try to forget that you have been dealing with criminals all your life. Imagine that someone has asked you all these questions that you have just put to me; imagine it is you who are suspected of having killed someone in cold blood.’
That was it. She simply added:
‘Until this afternoon, Monsieur Maigret.’
The door closed. He stood motionless next to the mantelpiece for a moment or two. Then he went to look out of the window and soon spotted the old woman walking with tiny steps in the bright sunlight in the direction of Pont Saint-Michel.
He picked up the phone.
‘Put me through to the police station at Neuilly.’
He was put through, not to the detective chief inspector, but to a junior inspector he knew.
‘Vanneau? Maigret here. I’m well, thank you. Listen, this is a delicate matter. Hop in a car and get down to 43a, Rue de la Ferme.’
‘The dentist’s house? Janvier mentioned it when he was here yesterday. It’s about a Dutch woman, is that right?’
‘That’s not important. Time is short. He’s a tricky customer, and I don’t want to ask for a warrant just yet. I need you to act quickly, before his mother gets home.’
‘Is she far off?’
‘At Pont Saint-Michel. She’ll probably take a taxi.’
‘What should I do with the man?’
‘Take him in on some pretext or other. Tell him whatever you like, that you need a witness statement . . .’
‘Then what?’
‘I’ll be there. I just need to go down and get a car.’
‘And if the dentist isn’t at home?’
‘Watch and wait then grab him before he goes back inside the house.’
‘Not exactly legal, then?’
‘Not in the slightest.’
As Vanneau was about to hang up, he added:
‘Take a man with you and post him outside the stables converted into garages further down the street. The dentist rents one of the garages.’
‘Got it.’
A moment later Maigret ran downstairs and picked out one of the police cars that were parked in the courtyard. As he turned out in the direction of Pont Neuf, he thought he caught a glimpse of Ernestine in her green hat. He couldn’t be sure and didn’t want to waste any time. If truth be told, he felt a certain resentment towards La Grande Perche.
Maigret and the Tall Woman Page 5