‘So you were planning to launch her career?’
‘Let’s say I was thinking about it.’
‘And you spoke to her about it?’
‘Not in so many words. I sounded her out discreetly.’
‘And where did these conversations happen?’
‘That’s an awkward question, but I’m obliged to reply, I suppose?’
‘Particularly since I’d find out sooner or later.’
‘All right. Well, I’ve rented a small furnished apartment, quite pretty and comfortable, in Rue François-Ier. To be more precise, it’s in the big building on the corner of Avenue Georges-V. Just three hundred metres or so from here.’
‘Wait a moment. This apartment was intended exclusively for your meetings with Sophie, or was it used for other rendezvous?’
‘In theory, it was for Sophie. It was difficult to find anywhere private here, and I couldn’t go to her place.’
‘Did you ever go there when her husband was absent?’
‘Once or twice.’
‘Recently?’
‘The last time was about a fortnight ago. She hadn’t telephoned me as she usually did, and I didn’t find her in Rue François-Ier. I called her at home and she said she wasn’t feeling good.’
‘She was ill?’
‘Discouraged. Francis was getting increasingly depressed. Sometimes he even got violent. She was at the end of her tether. She wanted to run away anywhere, work as a shop assistant in the first store that would hire her.’
‘But you advised her not to do anything of the kind?’
‘I gave her the address of one of my lawyers, so that she could consult him about a possible divorce. That would have been the best thing for both of them.’
‘And had she decided on that?’
‘She was hesitating. She felt sorry for Francis. She thought it was her duty to stay with him until he had some success.’
‘Did she talk to him about it?’
‘Certainly not.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘Because there would have been a violent reaction.’
‘I’d like to ask you a question, Monsieur Carus. Think before you reply, because I won’t conceal from you that it’s important. Did you know that about a year ago, Sophie was pregnant?’
He went crimson, and nervously crushed out his cigar in the crystal ashtray.
‘Yes, I did know,’ he murmured, sitting down again. ‘But let me tell you right away, and I’ll swear this on all that’s most precious to me, the child was not mine. At the relevant time, we didn’t have intimate relations.
‘I should add that it was on that account that she started confiding in me. I noticed that she was sad and preoccupied. I got a confession out of her. She admitted that she was expecting a child, and that Francis would be furious.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it would have been one more burden, one more obstacle in the way of his career. He was already quite unable to make ends meet. With a child … In short, she was sure he would never forgive her and she asked me for the address of some doctor or midwife willing to help.’
‘And you gave her one?’
‘I have to admit I broke the law.’
‘It’s a bit late now to deny it.’
‘I was doing her a favour.’
‘And Francis never knew?’
‘No, he’s too wrapped up in himself to be interested in what’s going on round him, even if it concerns his wife.’
Carus stood up hesitantly and, no doubt to hide his embarrassment, went to fetch some bottles of cooled beer from the bar.
People called him Monsieur Gaston, with respectful familiarity, since he was a serious and dignified man, fully conscious of the responsibilities weighing on the shoulders of a concierge in a grand hotel. He had spotted Maigret before the inspector had even come through the revolving door, and had frowned, as the faces of guests likely to occasion a visit from the police flashed through his mind.
‘Wait a moment, Lapointe.’
He waited in turn, as an old lady in front of him checked the time of arrival of a plane from Buenos Aires. Then he discreetly shook hands with Monsieur Gaston.
‘Don’t worry. Nothing bad.’
‘When I see you come in, I always wonder …’
‘If I’m not mistaken, Monsieur Carus has an apartment here on the fourth floor?’
‘That’s right. With Madame Carus.’
‘She’s registered under that name?’
‘Well, it’s the one we address her by.’
Monsieur Gaston hardly had to smile to make himself understood.
‘Is she up there?’
A glance at the board carrying the room keys.
‘I don’t know why I looked. Just habit. At this time of day, she’s certainly having her breakfast.’
‘Monsieur Carus went away this week, I believe?’
‘Wednesday and Thursday. Yes.’
‘Alone?’
‘His chauffeur drove him to Orly Airport at five o’clock. I think he was taking a plane to Frankfurt.’
‘And when did he get back?’
‘Yesterday afternoon, from London.’
‘And although you are not on duty at night, would you perhaps be able to tell me whether Madame Carus went out on Wednesday evening, and what time she came back?’
‘Yes, that’s simple.’
He leafed through the pages of a large black-bound ledger.
‘When they come in at night, our guests usually stop for a moment to tell the night porter what time they wish to be woken, and give their order for breakfast.
‘Madame Carus always does that. We don’t make a note of the time, but from the position of names on the page, it’s possible to know roughly when it was.
‘So let me see … Only about ten names on Wednesday before hers. Miss Trevor, an elderly unmarried lady, goes to bed early, always in by ten … The Maxwells … At a guess, I’d say she was in by midnight, let’s say between ten and midnight. At any rate, before people come out of the theatres. This evening I can ask my colleague the night porter to confirm that.’
‘Thank you. Would you call to let her know I’m coming up?’
‘You want to see her? Do you know her?’
‘I had coffee last night with her and her husband. This is just a courtesy call.’
‘Room 403, please … Hello? … Madame Carus? … The concierge here … Detective Chief Inspector Maigret is asking if he may come up … Yes … All right … I’ll tell him.’
And to Maigret:
‘She asks if you would give her about ten minutes.’
Would that be in order to complete her terrifying and sophisticated make-up, or to telephone to Rue de Bassano?
Maigret rejoined Lapointe and they both wandered about without speaking, looking at the display cases and admiring the jewels on show from the principal Paris jewellers, along with the fur coats and the lingerie.
‘Not thirsty, are you?’
‘No thanks.’
They had the unpleasant feeling that people were watching them, and it was a relief when the ten minutes were up, and they could take the lift.
‘Fourth floor, please.’
Nora, who came to open the door to them herself, was wearing a pale green satin peignoir, matching her eyes, and her hair looked even more bleached than the night before, almost white.
The sitting room was vast, lit by two large bay windows, one of them opening on to a balcony.
‘I wasn’t expecting your visit. I’ve only just got up.’
‘I hope we weren’t interrupting your breakfast.’
The tray was not in here, but no doubt in the bedroom beyond.
‘Was it my husband you wanted to see? He went to the office some time ago.’
‘No, I’d just like to ask you a few questions while we’re here. Of course, you are not under any obligation to reply. First of all – and it’s an entirely routine question I’m putti
ng to everyone who knew Sophie Ricain – don’t take it as in any way threatening: Where were you on Wednesday evening?’
She did not flinch, but sat down in a white armchair and asked:
‘At what time?’
‘Where did you have dinner?’
‘Wait a moment … Wednesday … Yesterday, we were with you … Thursday, I dined alone at Fouquet’s, not upstairs, where I go with Carus, but at a little table on the ground floor … Wednesday … Wednesday, oh, I didn’t eat dinner at all, it’s quite simple.
‘I should say that apart from a light breakfast, I usually only eat one proper meal a day. If I have lunch I don’t dine, and if I dine, it’s because I haven’t had lunch. On Wednesday we lunched at the Berkeley with some friends.
‘Then in the afternoon, I went to a fitting, just nearby. Then I had a drink at Jean’s, Rue Marbeuf. And I must have got back here at about nine o’clock.’
‘And then you came straight upstairs?’
‘That’s right. I read a book until one in the morning, because I can’t get to sleep earlier. And before that I watched television.’
There was a TV set in a corner of the room.
‘Don’t ask me what the programme was called. All I know is there were a lot of young singers, men and women. Will that do? Should I call the porter on this floor? It’s true it might not be the same one. But this evening, you could ask the night porter.’
‘Did you order anything from him?’
‘A quarter-bottle of champagne.’
‘What time was that?’
‘I don’t know. Not long before I got ready for bed. Do you suspect me of having gone to Rue Saint-Charles and killed poor Sophie?’
‘I don’t suspect anyone. I’m just doing my job, and trying not to be too indiscreet. Last night, you spoke of Sophie in a way that suggested there was no love lost between you.’
‘I didn’t try to hide it.’
‘There was mention of one evening here, when you discovered her in your husband’s arms.’
‘I shouldn’t have mentioned it. It was just to let you know she’d throw herself at any man. She was neither the little innocent nor the besotted wife of Francis that other people may have told you about.’
‘Who do you mean?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. Men tend to be taken in by that kind of performance. Most of the people in our circle probably think of me as a cold, calculating and ambitious female. Admit it!’
‘No one has described you in such terms to me.’
‘I’m sure it’s what they all think. Even someone like Bob, who must have plenty of experience. Little Sophie, by contrast, sweet and resigned, is seen as a misunderstood and lovelorn girl. Well, think what you like. I’ve told you the truth.’
‘Was Carus her lover?’
‘Who says so?’
‘Well, you told me yourself you had surprised them.’
‘I said she’d fallen into his arms, and was snivelling in order to get his sympathy, but I didn’t claim Carus was her lover …’
‘But the other men all were, is that it? That’s what you’re getting at?’
‘Ask them. See if they dare to lie to you.’
‘What about Ricain? Did he know?’
‘You’re putting me in a difficult position. It’s not up to me to pass judgement on people we meet who are not necessarily our friends. Did I say that Francis knew all about it? I may have done. I don’t remember. I tend to speak impulsively, on the spur of the moment.
‘Carus has taken a real shine to that boy, predicting he has a fantastic future ahead of him. I think he’s a cunning young man pretending to be an artist. Take your pick.’
Maigret was getting up, taking his pipe from his pocket.
‘Well, that’s all I wanted to ask you. Oh, just one more minor point. Sophie was a few months pregnant about a year ago.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘She told you?’
‘She was about two or three months gone, I forget which. Francis didn’t want children, because of his career. So she asked me if I knew any addresses. People had told her she could go to Switzerland, but she was hesitating about taking the trip.’
‘Were you able to help her?’
‘I told her I didn’t know anyone. I didn’t want Carus and myself to get mixed up in something like that.’
‘How did it end?’
‘From her point of view, it must have ended all right, because she didn’t mention it again and she never had a child.’
‘Thank you for your time.’
‘You haven’t been to Carus’ office?’
Maigret replied to her question with another question:
‘He hasn’t phoned you?’
He was sure, after this, that once she was alone, the young woman would put a call through to Rue de Bassano.
‘Thank you, Gaston,’ he said, as he went past the concierge.
On the pavement he took a deep breath.
‘If we end up having a general confrontation, it looks as if fur will fly.’
As if to rinse out his mouth, he went into the nearest bar and drank a glass of white wine. He’d been longing for one all morning, ever since his visit to Rue Saint-Louis-en-l’Ile, and Carus’ beer hadn’t taken the desire away.
‘Now back to headquarters, young Lapointe, I’m curious to find out what state we’ll find our Francis in.’
He wasn’t in the glass-panelled cage, where there was no one except an old woman accompanying a youth with a broken nose. In his office, Maigret found Janvier, who pointed to Ricain: the young man was sitting on a chair looking furious.
‘I had to bring him in here, chief. He was making a terrible row in the corridor, wanting the usher to take him straight to the chief of police, threatening to call the newspapers.’
‘It’s my right!’ Ricain burst out angrily. ‘I’ve had enough of being treated like an imbecile or a criminal! My wife’s been killed and I’m being kept under observation as if I might run away. I’m not left a moment’s peace, and—’
‘Do you want a lawyer?’
Francis looked him in the eye, hesitating, his expression full of hate.
‘You … You …’
His rage prevented him finding the words.
‘You act like you’re so fatherly. You must be very pleased with yourself for being so kind, so patient, so understanding. And I fell for it too. But now I can see that all the stuff they wrote about you is rubbish.’
He was stammering, the words were tumbling out faster and faster.
‘How much do you pay the journalists to make them sing your praises? What a fool I was! When I saw your name in the wallet, I thought I was saved, that at last I’d found someone who would understand.
‘So I called you. Because without my phone call, you’d never have found me. I could have used your money to … When I think that I didn’t even keep enough to get a bite to eat.
‘And what’s the result? You lock me up in some cheap hotel, with an inspector on the pavement outside.
‘Then you shut me in your rat-trap and your men come and peer at me all the time through the glass. I’ve counted at least twelve of them who’ve been along to take a good look.
‘And all this because my wife was killed in my absence, and the police are incapable of protecting citizens. Because, instead of looking for the real killer, they pick on the obvious suspect, the husband, who’s had the misfortune of having panicked.’
Maigret drew slowly on his pipe, facing Francis, who was beside himself and on his feet now in the middle of the room, waving his arms about with clenched fists.
‘Have you finished?’
He put the question in a calm voice, without impatience or irony.
‘Do you still want to have a lawyer?’
‘I can defend myself. You’ll have to recognize at some point that you’ve made a mistake, and let me go—’
‘You’re free.’
‘You mean …?’
H
is rage suddenly subsided and he stood there, arms hanging down, looking at Maigret incredulously.
‘You’ve been free all along, you know that quite well. If I arranged a place for you to stay last night, it was because you didn’t have any money, and I supposed you didn’t want to go back to sleep in the apartment in Rue Saint-Charles.’
Maigret had pulled his wallet from his pocket, the same wallet that Francis had stolen from him on the platform of the bus. He took out two ten-franc notes.
‘Here’s something to get a bite to eat and take you back to the Grenelle neighbourhood. One of your friends will certainly lend you some money for your immediate needs. I should tell you I have sent a telegram to your wife’s parents in Concarneau, and her father will be arriving in Paris this evening. I don’t know whether he will contact you. I didn’t speak to him myself, but I understand he would like to take his daughter’s body back to Brittany.’
Ricain was not talking about leaving now. He was trying to understand.
‘Of course, as her husband, you must be the one to decide.’
‘What would you advise?’
‘Funerals are expensive. And I don’t imagine you would often have time to visit the cemetery. So if that’s what the family wants …’
‘I’ll have to think about it.’
Maigret had opened the door of his cupboard, where he always kept a bottle of cognac and glasses, a precaution which had often proved useful.
He filled only one glass and passed it to the young man.
‘Drink up.’
‘What about you?’
‘No thanks.’
Francis drank the cognac in a single gulp.
‘Why are you giving me alcohol?’
‘To get you back on your feet.’
‘I suppose I’ll be followed?’
‘No, we won’t even do that. Provided you let me know where I can reach you. Will you go back to Rue Saint-Charles?’
‘Where else could I go?’
‘One of my inspectors is there at the moment. By the way, last night your phone rang twice. He picked it up and both times nobody spoke at the other end.’
‘Well, it couldn’t have been me, because …’
‘I’m not asking if it was you. Someone else called your number. Perhaps someone who hadn’t seen the papers. What I’m wondering is whether this man or woman was expecting to hear your voice or your wife’s.’
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