Maigret and Monsieur Charles

by Georges Simenon

  ‘A lover? … The lover of one of the women he picked up in a nightclub …?’

  ‘Those people aren’t jealous of paying customers … At worst one of them would have attempted to blackmail him …’

  Maigret glanced again at the photograph of the young couple with the bottle of champagne in front of them and drained his glass of port.

  ‘Another?’

  ‘No thank you, excellent as it is …’

  He had learned a number of things about Nathalie’s past, but where was it all leading him?

  He went home for lunch and Madame Maigret was surprised, but it had no significance. Her husband was still as withdrawn, still as grumpy.

  He barely noticed what he was eating, even though he usually adored her pot-au-feu served with poor-man’s sauce.

  ‘A large cup of coffee …’

  That meant his morning cup, which held a good third of a litre. He skimmed the papers featuring interviews with the concierge and one of the law firm’s employees. Vito had also been questioned, but he had given only evasive replies.

  On arrival at his office, Maigret found the phone-tapping report.

  Nathalie hadn’t made a single call since her line had been tapped, but she had received an extremely brief one that same morning.

  ‘Is that you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I have to see you …’

  She had hung up at once, without saying anything. On the same line but from a different telephone, most likely, the cook had called the butcher to order a veal roast which Vito would collect later.

  The office, on the other hand, had received an avalanche of telephone calls from anxious clients. Lecureur tried to reassure them and gave them the information they requested.

  Maigret went up to see the examining magistrate, but in all honesty, he had little news for him. Good old Coindet wasn’t in any hurry. Sitting at his desk, he was slowly puffing away on an old pipe and flicking through a file.

  ‘Take a seat, Maigret.’

  ‘I have almost nothing to tell you. I expect you’ve received the autopsy report …’

  ‘Yes, this morning … The murderer won’t be able to claim that he had no intention of killing … You have no idea where the crime was committed?’

  ‘So far, no … The forensic experts from Criminal Records are studying every seam of his clothing and his shoes. Given the amount of time the body was in the water, there’s not much chance of obtaining any results …’

  Maigret passed his tobacco pouch to the magistrate and lit the pipe he’d just filled.

  ‘There’s only one area in which I’ve made some progress. Madame Sabin-Levesque claimed that, when she met her future husband, she was secretary to a lawyer in Rue de Rivoli. But that lawyer has been dead for ten years, so he can’t contradict her.

  ‘In one of the dead man’s drawers, which contained a number of photographs, I came across a snapshot of Nathalie when she was much younger, and there was a name on the back: Trika.

  ‘A pseudonym, obviously. Knowing Sabin-Levesque’s tastes, I went looking around the nightclubs and I learned that she’d been a hostess, not a secretary. I even found out where she met Sabin-Levesque …’

  The magistrate sat there, looking pensive, his gaze following the smoke from his pipe.

  ‘Did she ever return to those places?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘No, not as far as I know … Once she became Madame Sabin-Levesque, she must have had nothing but contempt for that scene, where she felt humiliated …

  ‘This morning, she received a telephone call. It was a man’s voice, but we didn’t have time to locate the caller. The man said:

  ‘“I have to see you …”

  ‘She hung up without a word. I have the feeling that she knows a lot more than she’s letting on. That’s why I’m subjecting her to a sort of harassment. I’m going to see her again, without any particular reason.’

  The two men smoked for a while in silence, then they shook hands and Maigret went back to his office.

  Walking into the adjacent room, he asked Janvier:

  ‘Who’s on duty at Boulevard Saint-Germain?’

  ‘Inspector Baron …’

  Turning to Lapointe, who was waiting for a signal, Maigret muttered:

  ‘I’m going there on my own … It’s an experiment … She’ll be less intimidated and perhaps …’

  He didn’t finish his sentence but gave a dismissive gesture that meant that he didn’t have high hopes.

  He took a taxi which dropped him off opposite the building. A man was pacing up and down on the other side of the boulevard and Maigret went up to him.

  ‘Has she come out?’

  ‘No. Nothing to report. Only the chauffeur drove out this morning in the Fiat and I presume he was going to the shops because he was back soon afterwards …’

  The concierge was such a decent man, had been so proud to shake Maigret’s hand, that the latter dropped in to say hello.

  ‘Apparently she hasn’t left the building?’

  ‘No. The people who came in were all for the doctor on the third floor.’

  ‘How long have you worked here?’

  ‘Sixteen years. I have sensitive feet and being on traffic duty was no good for me.’

  ‘When you started, was Sabin-Levesque still a bachelor?’

  ‘He got married six months after I arrived.’

  ‘Did he still sometimes go off for several days at a time?’

  ‘Except the last two or three weeks before the wedding.’

  ‘Was that while his father was still alive?’

  ‘Yes. A fine figure of a man, every inch the lawyer. He had a young face, but his hair was completely white.’

  ‘Did he get on well with his son?’

  ‘I don’t think he was all that proud of him, but he was resigned …’

  Maigret went up to the first floor and rang the bell.

  Claire, the maid, opened the door and gave him a scornful look.

  ‘Madame Sabin-Levesque has gone out.’

  ‘Are you certain?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What time did she leave?’

  ‘At around two o’clock …’

  It was now ten past three.

  ‘Did she take one of the cars?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  Maigret knew Baron well enough to be certain that nothing could distract him from his task of watching the building. The concierge too would have seen Nathalie go past.

  He went in and shut the door behind him.

  ‘What do you want to do?’

  ‘Nothing. Don’t take any notice of me. If you’re worried I’ll pinch her trinkets, you can follow me …’

  He began with the left wing, inspecting the rooms occupied by the young woman. He even went to the trouble of looking in the closets, which made Claire smile.

  ‘Why do you think she’d hide in a cupboard?’

  ‘It’s as good a place as any.’

  ‘She has no reason to hide.’

  ‘Nor did she have any reason not to go out of the main entrance …’

  He wandered around the drawing room, examined one by one the portraits of stern-faced ancestors and thought about the life their descendant had led. Outside their portrait gravitas, might they not have done likewise?

  ‘Where is the back entrance?’

  ‘I may as well tell you, because it’s hardly a secret.’

  ‘Via the courtyard?’

  ‘No. To the right of the lift there’s a little glazed door that leads to a flight of steps down to the garden. Across the garden there’s a gate in the wall which opens directly on to Rue Saint-Simon.’

  ‘And this gate isn’t locked?’

  ‘It is. But as Monsieur and Madam
e Sabin-Levesque are the owners, they have the key.’

  ‘Where is this key?’

  ‘I don’t know …’

  That was an interesting question. Was it Gérard or his wife who had the key? And, if it was him, when had she taken it?

  He went into the lawyer’s small study and sat down in a comfortable leather armchair.

  ‘Do you plan to stay here for long?’

  ‘Until your employer comes back.’

  ‘She won’t be happy.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because you’re not supposed to be here in her absence.’

  ‘You’re very devoted to her, aren’t you?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

  ‘Does she treat you well?’

  ‘She can sometimes be very nasty, unfair and aggressive, but I don’t hold it against her.’

  ‘Do you feel she is not responsible for her actions?’

  ‘At those times, yes.’

  ‘Do you think she is ill?’

  ‘She can’t help it if the only solace she was given was alcohol.’

  ‘If she were to ask you to lie for her, to commit perjury, would you?’

  ‘Without hesitation.’

  ‘It can’t be very pleasant when she vomits in her bed at night …’

  ‘Nurses have worse than that to deal with.’

  Maigret thought he heard a noise coming from the hallway. He didn’t move, however, and the maid appeared not to have noticed.

  ‘What would you say if I were to start screaming and accused you of trying to rape me?’

  Maigret couldn’t help laughing.

  ‘It’s an experiment worth trying … Let’s hear you …’

  She shrugged and walked off in the direction of the large drawing room and the other wing. She did not return; it was Nathalie who came teetering across the room.

  She was ashen, with dark circles under her eyes, making her lipstick appear even more vivid, like a wound. She nearly fell over as she entered and Maigret rose to assist her.

  ‘Don’t worry about me. I can still stand up straight …’

  She sank into the armchair that matched the one in which Maigret was sitting. She looked at him with a sort of stupefaction.

  ‘Who told you …?’

  She shook her head, as if to erase the words she had just spoken.

  ‘Press the button by the door to the drawing room.’

  He did so. That button must ring a bell in the pantry.

  ‘It’s hot …’

  Without getting up, she took off her brown tweed jacket.

  ‘Aren’t you hot?’

  ‘Not for the time being. You probably walked too fast.’

  ‘How do you know I was on foot?’

  ‘Because you knew that I’d have traced the driver of your taxi and found out where you went …’

  Still looking dumbfounded, she did not appear to be fully herself.

  ‘You’re clever … But you’re horrible …’

  He had rarely seen a woman so distraught, reduced to such a state as this. Claire knew why she’d been summoned because she was carrying a tray with a bottle of brandy, a glass and a packet of cigarettes … She filled the glass herself and held it out to her employer, who nearly knocked it over.

  ‘You don’t want one, do you? You’re not an alcoholic yet …’

  She could barely form the word, and repeated it.

  ‘Has your doctor ever advised you to seek treatment?’

  ‘Him! If I were to listen to him, I’d have been put away in a psychiatric hospital a long time ago … Which would have suited my husband … You see how unpredictable life is—’

  She stopped abruptly, as if she’d lost her train of thought.

  ‘Unpredictable … unpredictable,’ she repeated, her eyes vacant. ‘Oh yes … Life … My husband’s the one who’s dead and I’m the one who’s alive …’

  She looked about her and turned towards the drawing room. Her face suddenly lit up with a sort of satisfaction. Then she drank, and said, in a mournful voice:

  ‘This is mine.’

  He was expecting her to slither to the floor, but, despite her drunken state, she maintained some grip on reality.

  ‘I never used to come in here …’

  Now, she was gazing at the walls of the study.

  ‘He only came in here to read.’

  ‘Do you remember Chez Mademoiselle?’

  She gave a start and her gaze became steely again.

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Madame Blanche, the owner of Chez Mademoiselle—’

  ‘Who told you?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. I have an excellent photograph of you and Gérard cracking open a bottle of champagne. It was before your marriage …’

  She sat absolutely still, on the defensive.

  ‘You never were a secretary. One of the places you worked in was a third-rate nightclub in Nice, and you were forced to go upstairs with the punters …’

  ‘You are a bastard, inspector.’

  And she drained her glass in one gulp.

  ‘I am now Madame Sabin-Levesque—’

  He corrected her:

  ‘Widow Sabin-Levesque …’

  She breathed haltingly.

  ‘I don’t suspect you of having killed your husband … Despite all your energy, you are not physically capable of it … Unless an accomplice—’

  ‘I didn’t even go out that evening …’

  ‘The 18th of February?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You remember it?’

  ‘You’re the one who mentioned that date …’

  ‘Who telephoned you this morning?’

  ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘Someone wanted to see you at all costs and told you it was vital …’

  ‘Probably a wrong number.’

  ‘You hung up, suspecting that the line was being tapped, but, as if by coincidence, you went out this afternoon … You didn’t use the main door but the little garden gate … By the way, which of you had the key?’

  ‘Me.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because he never went into the garden and sometimes, in the summer, I would go and sit there. I’d hidden the key in a crevice in the wall.’

  ‘And did you use it?’

  ‘To go and buy cigarettes over the road, yes … And even to go for a drink in a bar … They’ll tell you … I’m the neighbourhood drunk, aren’t I?’

  ‘Where did you go this afternoon?’

  ‘I walked.’

  ‘And where did you stop?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe in a bar.’

  ‘No.’

  She was wavering and in the end he felt sorry for her.

  He stood up.

  ‘I’m going to call your maid and she’ll help you into bed.’

  ‘I don’t want to go to bed.’

  The thought seemed to frighten her. She was living a nightmare which it was impossible to enter.

  ‘I’ll call her anyway …’

  ‘No … Stay here. I’d rather you were the one to stay with me … Aren’t you some kind of doctor?’

  ‘No …’

  ‘Give me your hand …’

  She placed it on her chest where her heart was pounding rapidly.

  ‘Do you think I’m going to die?’

  ‘No. What is the name of your doctor?’

  ‘I don’t want to see him either … He’ll have me put away … He’s a very bad man … A friend of Gérard’s …’

  He flicked through the phone book and found the name and address of the doctor, who lived round the corner in Rue de Lille.

  ‘Hello … Doctor Bloy …? Inspector Maigret here … I
am at the home of Madame Sabin-Levesque … She does not seem at all well and I think she needs you …’

  ‘Are you sure she’s not putting on an act?’

  ‘Is that what she usually does?’

  ‘Yes. Unless she’s blind drunk …’

  ‘I think it’s the latter, today …’

  ‘I’ll be right over.’

  ‘He’s going to give me another injection,’ she moaned. ‘He gives me one every time he comes … He’s an idiot who thinks he’s cleverer than everyone else … Don’t go. Don’t leave me alone with him … He’s a bad man. The world is full of bad people and I’m all alone … Do you hear me? … All alone …’

  She started to cry and tears rolled down her cheeks. Her nose was running.

  ‘Don’t you have a handkerchief?’

  She shook her head and Maigret gave her his, as if she were a child.

  ‘Whatever you do, don’t let him send me to hospital … I don’t want to go there under any circumstances …’

  It was impossible to stop her drinking. She would suddenly grab the glass, and next moment it would be empty.

  The doorbell rang, and then Claire showed in a very tall man, built like an athlete, who, Maigret would later learn, was a former rugby player.

  ‘Delighted to meet you,’ he said, shaking Maigret’s hand.

  He glanced at Nathalie with indifference. She did not move and stared at him in terror.

  ‘So, the same thing again? Let’s go into your bedroom …’

  She tried to protest, but he took her hand, his doctor’s bag in the other.

  ‘Monsieur Maigret … Don’t let him send me …’

  Claire followed them. Maigret didn’t know what to do with himself and he eventually sat down in one of the armchairs in the large drawing room, which the doctor would have to walk through.

  It took a lot less time than he had expected. The doctor came back, with the same detached expression on his face.

  ‘This must be the hundredth time,’ he said. ‘She should be in a private hospital, for some time at least.’

  ‘Was she already like that when Sabin-Levesque married her?’

  ‘Not as seriously. But she had a drinking habit and couldn’t go without. At first, there was a business with a dog that terrified her, and the fact was that the animal bared its teeth whenever she went near it or Gérard … She had the chauffeur fired and changed drivers two or three times, as she did her maids …’