‘Why did he need two thousand francs?’
‘The landlord was threatening to throw them out.’
Carus turned to Maigret.
‘Is this true?’
‘It’s what he told me.’
‘Have you arrested him?’
‘No, why?’
‘I don’t know. Yes, that was a stupid question.’
‘Do you think he could have killed Sophie?’
The feet, always the feet! Their language could be followed under the table, while Nora’s face gave nothing away.
‘I can’t see him killing anyone. What was the weapon? The newspaper didn’t say. Or the radio.’
‘An automatic.’
‘Francis would never have had a firearm.’
‘Yes, he did,’ Nora’s dry, clipped voice interrupted. ‘You’ve seen it. And that night at his place, you were frightened, frankly. He’d drunk a lot, and he was acting out a hold-up scene.
‘He put one of Sophie’s stockings over his head, and ordered us to stand against the wall with our hands up. We all obeyed, since it was a game.
‘You were the only one who was worried and asked if the gun was loaded.’
‘You’re right. It comes back to me now. I didn’t pay much attention at the time. I’d had a few drinks myself.’
‘In the end he put the gun back into a drawer in the chest.’
‘Who was there that night?’ Maigret asked.
‘All the gang … Maki, Dramin, Pochon. Dramin came with a girl I’d never seen and I can’t remember much about her. She was ill, and spent almost an hour in the bathroom.’
‘Jacques was there too.’
‘With his new woman, yes. She’s already pregnant.’
‘Did anyone know that last year, probably, Sophie was pregnant too?’
Why did Nora turn abruptly towards Carus? He looked at her in surprise.
‘Did you know?’
‘No. If she had a child …’
‘No, she didn’t,’ Maigret clarified. ‘She got rid of it sometime between the third and fourth month.’
‘We didn’t realize …’
Maki in his corner was coughing significantly as if to get Maigret to move on. He had long finished eating and was getting impatient.
‘We’ve told you all we know, inspector. If you need to see me again, call in at my office.’
And did he really wink as he took a card from his wallet and handed it over?
Maigret had the feeling that Carus had plenty more to say, but that Nora’s presence was preventing him from doing so.
Back in his corner, Maigret was finally packing a pipe when Lapointe told him with a slight smile:
‘He’s still hesitating. But he’ll soon be over.’
He meant Maki. With his back to the room, Lapointe could not survey it, so had spent his time observing the sculptor, the only one in his field of vision.
‘At first, when you sat down at the Caruses’ table, he frowned, then he shrugged his shoulders. He had a carafe of red wine on the table. Less than five minutes later, he’d finished it and was making signs to the waiter to bring him another.
‘He didn’t miss one of your movements or expressions. You’d have thought he was trying to lip-read what you were all saying. He soon got impatient. At one point, he called the owner over and whispered something. They both looked towards you.
‘Then he half got up, after checking his watch. I thought he was going to leave, but he ordered an Armagnac and they brought him a shot glass. Here he comes now.’
Lapointe was not mistaken. Maki, vexed no doubt because Maigret was not troubling to see him, had decided to come over himself. He remained standing, a huge man, in front of the two policemen.
‘Excuse me,’ he said in a low voice, putting one hand to his temple in a kind of greeting. ‘I wanted to warn you that I’m about to leave.’
Maigret lit his pipe with a series of little puffs.
‘Sit down, Monsieur Maki. Is that your real name?’
Sitting down heavily, the man muttered:
‘No, of course not. My name’s Lecoeur. But that wouldn’t do for a sculptor, nobody would have taken me seriously.’
‘You knew I wanted to speak to you?’
‘Well, since I’m a pal of Francis …’
‘How did you hear the news?’
‘When I got here. I hadn’t read the evening paper, and I never listen to the radio.’
‘And did it give you a shock?’
‘I feel sorry for Francis.’
‘Not Sophie?’
He was not drunk, but his cheeks were flushed and his gestures a little too deliberate.
‘Sophie was a slut.’
He looked at them each in turn, as if challenging them to contradict him.
‘What did Monsieur Carus tell you?’
He emphasized ‘monsieur’ in an ironic way, as clowns do.
‘He doesn’t know anything, naturally. What about you?’
‘What kind of thing should I know?’
‘When did you see Francis Ricain and his wife for the last time?’
‘I saw him on Wednesday.’
‘Without her?’
‘He was alone.’
‘What time was that?’
‘About half past ten. He talked to me before going to find Bob. I’d finished my dinner, I was just sipping my Armagnac.’
‘And what did he say to you?’
‘He asked me if I knew where he might find Carus. I should say that I work for that gentleman too. Well, in a way … When he needed some kind of sculpture for a ridiculous film, a horror film, I provided him with something appropriate.’
‘Did he pay you?’
‘Half the agreed price. I’m still waiting for the other half.’
‘And did Francis tell you why he was looking for Carus?’
‘You know very well why. He needed two thousand smackers. I didn’t have that kind of money. I bought him a drink and he left.’
‘And you haven’t seen him since?’
‘Neither him, nor her. What did that Nora tell you?’
‘Nothing much. She didn’t seem particularly fond of Sophie.’
‘She isn’t fond of anyone … No wonder she’s flat-chested … I beg your pardon, that wasn’t very witty. But I can’t stand her. Or him either, with his smiles and handshakes … At first sight, they look badly matched, him all honey, her all vinegar, but deep down, they’re the same.
‘If someone can be useful to them, they squeeze them till the pips squeak, then chuck them away like orange peel.’
‘Is that what happened to you?’
‘What did they tell you about Francis? You didn’t answer my question.’
‘Carus appears to think highly of him.’
‘What about her?’
‘She doesn’t like him.’
‘Did they talk about Sophie?’
‘They told me some story about a bedroom, one night at the Hotel Raphaël, when everyone was drunk.’
‘I was there.’
‘And apparently nothing happened between him and Sophie.’
‘Like hell it didn’t!’
‘You saw them?’
‘I went through the bedroom twice to go to the toilet, without them seeing me. She tried it on with me too. She wanted me to make a sculpture of her, but I do abstracts. I ended up agreeing, to stop her pestering me.’
‘Were you her lover?’
‘I had to sleep with her, out of good manners. She’d have been angry with me if I hadn’t. I wasn’t too proud of myself, because of Francis. He didn’t deserve to marry a tramp.’
‘Did she talk to you about her idea of suicide, as well?’
‘Suicide? That girl? In the first place, when a woman talks about it you can be sure she’ll never do it. She was putting on an act. With everyone. And with a different part for everyone else to play.’
‘Did Francis know?’
Maigret was starting to
say Francis like the others, as if he was gradually becoming one of Ricain’s group of friends.
‘If you want my opinion, he suspected something. He turned a blind eye, but he was seething underneath. Did he really love her? Sometimes I wonder. He made it look that way. He had taken charge of her and didn’t want to let her down. She must have made him believe that she’d kill herself if he left her.’
‘Do you think he’s talented?’
‘It’s more than talent. Of all of us, he’s the only one who’ll do something really important. I’m not bad in my way, but I know my limits. Him, when he puts his mind to it one day …’
‘Thank you, Monsieur Maki.’
‘Just Maki. It’s a name that doesn’t go with monsieur.’
‘Goodnight, Maki.’
‘Goodnight, inspector. And this is one of your men? Goodnight to you too.’
He walked off with heavy steps, after nodding farewell to Bob.
Maigret mopped his brow.
‘There’s still Dramin left, the one with his nose in his screenplay. But I’ve had enough for tonight.’
He looked round for the waiter and called for the bill. Mandille hurried up.
‘Allow me to offer you …’
‘No, impossible,’ said Maigret with a sigh.
‘Will you at least accept a glass of special Armagnac?’
They could not refuse.
‘Did you get the information you wanted?’
‘I’m gradually getting to know the group.’
‘They’re not all here tonight. And the atmosphere is different every day. Some evenings it’s jolly, almost riotous. You didn’t speak to Gérard.’
He pointed at Dramin, who was heading for the door, his papers in his hand.
‘Hey, Gérard. Let me introduce Detective Chief Inspector Maigret and one of his inspectors. Will you have a drink with us?’
Apparently very short-sighted, the other man wore thick spectacles and poked his head forwards.
‘Pleased to meet you. I beg your pardon. I’ve got some work to finish. But tell me, has Francis been arrested?’
‘No. Why?’
‘I don’t know. Excuse me.’
He took down his hat from the hook and opened the door, disappearing down the road.
‘Don’t pay too much attention, He’s always like that. I think it’s a pose, a way of making himself seem important. He’s playing the absent-minded genius, the lone wolf. Perhaps he’s annoyed that you didn’t approach him. I’m pretty sure he didn’t read a line all evening.’
‘Your very good health!’ murmured Maigret. ‘And now, as far as I’m concerned, I need to get home to bed …’
Nevertheless he called in, with Lapointe, at Rue Saint-Charles and knocked at the Ricains’ door. Lourtie opened it. He had taken his jacket off and his hair was tousled after sleeping in the armchair. The room was lit only by a faint nightlight and a smell of disinfectant lingered in the air.
‘Nobody came?’
‘Two journalists. I didn’t tell them anything, except that they should inquire at Quai des Orfèvres.’
‘No phone calls?’
‘Someone called twice.’
‘Who?’
‘I don’t know. I heard it ring, picked up and said “Hello”. I could hear breathing at the other end of the line, but they didn’t speak, and hung up on me after a bit.’
‘Both times?’
‘Yes, both times.’
‘When was this?’
‘The first call was at about ten past eight, and the second just a few moments ago.’
Within minutes, Maigret was dozing off in the small black police car taking him home.
‘I’m exhausted,’ he admitted to his wife as he started to undress.
‘I hope you had a good dinner.’
‘Too good. I must take you to that restaurant sometime. It’s run by a former operetta singer who’s taken up cooking. She made a dish called a chaudrée that was simply …’
‘What time in the morning?’
‘Seven.’
‘So early?’
Yes indeed, so early, since it was suddenly seven o’clock, without any transition. Maigret did not even feel he had been asleep when the smell of coffee reached him, as his wife tapped his shoulder before drawing the curtains.
The sun shone bright and warm. It was wonderful to open the window as soon as he woke up and hear the sparrows cheeping.
‘I suppose I shouldn’t count on you at midday?’
‘No, I probably won’t have time to get home for lunch. This is a strange case. Strange people. I’m in the world of cinema and, just like at the cinema, it all started with a stunt, the theft of my wallet.’
‘Do you think it was him that killed her?’
Madame Maigret, who knew about the case only through the newspapers and the radio, immediately regretted her question.
‘I’m sorry …’
‘I wouldn’t know what to answer, anyway.’
‘You’re not taking your lightweight coat?’
‘No. The weather’s the same as yesterday, and I wasn’t cold even coming back at night.’
He didn’t wait for the bus, but hailed a taxi to take him to the Ile Saint-Louis. Opposite the Hotel des Cigognes was a little café with a zinc counter surrounded by piles of logs and sacks of coal. Torrence, his face sagging with fatigue, was drinking a coffee there when Maigret arrived.
‘How was the night?’
‘As usual with a surveillance job. Nothing happened, except that I know now what time they all put their lights out. Must be someone ill on the fourth floor, right-hand side, because there was a light in the window until six a.m.
‘Your Ricain didn’t go out. Some of the guests came back. A taxi brought a couple of travelling salesmen. A dog attached itself to me and followed me almost all night as I walked up and down. And that’s all.’
‘You can go home to bed.’
‘What about my report?’
‘You can write it up tomorrow.’
Maigret went inside the hotel. He had known the owner for thirty years. It was a modest establishment, frequented almost entirely by regulars, largely from eastern France, since the proprietor was himself Alsatian.
‘Has my guest woken up?’
‘He rang ten minutes ago, to ask if someone could bring him a cup of coffee and some croissants. They’ve just taken it all up.’
‘What did he eat last night?’
‘Nothing. He must have gone straight off to sleep, because when we knocked at his door at seven, there was no reply. Who is he? An important witness? A suspect …?’
There was no lift. Maigret climbed the four floors on foot, reached the landing out of breath, and waited a moment standing there before knocking on the door of Room 43.
‘Who is it?’
‘Maigret.’
‘Come in.’
Pushing his tray away from him on the coverlet, Francis sat up straighter in bed, thin and bare-chested, a bluish shadow on his chin, his eyes feverish. He was still holding a croissant in his hand.
‘Excuse me for not getting up, but I don’t have any pyjamas.’
‘Did you sleep well?’
‘As if I’d been knocked out. I slept so soundly my head’s still ringing. What time is it?’
‘A quarter past eight.’
The bedroom, small and meagrely furnished, looked out on to a courtyard and rooftops. Through the open window, voices from the nearby houses could be heard as well as cries of children in a school playground.
‘Have you found anything out?’
‘I had dinner at the Vieux-Pressoir.’
Ricain observed him keenly, already on the defensive, and it was visible that he suspected everyone of lying to him.
‘Were they there?’
‘The Caruses were there.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He swears you’re some kind of genius.’
‘I dare say Nora took care to te
ll him that I’m just an idiot.’
‘More or less. She certainly doesn’t like you as much as he does.’
‘And she liked Sophie even less!’
‘Maki was there too.’
‘Was he drunk?’
‘Just at the end of the evening, he got a bit unsteady.’
‘He’s a good man.’
‘He is also sure that one day you’ll be somebody.’
‘Meaning that I’m a nobody right now.’
He didn’t finish his croissant. It was as though Maigret’s arrival had taken away his appetite.
‘What do they think about what happened? That I killed Sophie?’
‘To tell the truth, no one believes you’re guilty. But some of them supposed that the police would see things differently, so they all asked me if you were under arrest.’
‘What did you tell them?’
‘The truth.’
‘Which is?’
‘That you are free.’
‘You think that’s really the truth? What am I doing here, then? Admit it, you’ve had a man on duty all night outside the hotel.’
‘Did you see him?’
‘No, but I know that’s how things work. What’s going to happen to me now?’
Maigret was asking himself the same question. He had no wish to let Ricain run about freely all over Paris, but on the other hand he had insufficient cause to arrest him.
‘First of all, I’ll ask you to come with me to Quai des Orfèvres.’
‘Again?’
‘I might have a few questions to ask you. And, by then, the divers from the River Squad may have found your pistol.’
‘Whether they find it or not, what would that change?’
‘You’ve got a razor and soap here. There’s a shower room along the corridor. I’ll wait for you downstairs or outside.’
A new day was starting, as bright and mild as the previous two, but it was too soon to know how it would turn out.
François Ricain intrigued Maigret, and the opinions he had collected the night before inclined the inspector to take a favourable view of him.
Ricain was at all events an unusual young man, and Carus had been impressed by his potential. But then, didn’t Carus get enthusiastic every time an artist was introduced to him, only to drop him or her a few months or weeks later?
Maigret needed to go and see him in his office, where the producer had given him an enigmatic rendezvous. He had something to tell him, something he didn’t want to say in front of Nora. She had sensed that and the inspector wondered whether Carus would be at Rue de Bassano that morning, or whether his mistress might have prevented him going there.
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