Maigret and Monsieur Charles

by Georges Simenon

  ‘“She crossed the big drawing room, the dining room, and went into her husband’s apartment …

  ‘“‘What are you doing, madame? You must go back to bed … You know what the doctor said …’

  ‘“Her mouth was contorted in a sort of twisted smile.

  ‘“‘You are a good girl, Claire …’”’

  The doctor added:

  ‘Don’t forget that at that point, the lights weren’t on, other than in the boudoir. The scene must have been frightening, but the girl didn’t lose her head.

  ‘“‘Give me a drink.’

  ‘“‘I don’t think I should.’

  ‘“‘In that case, I’m going to get the bottle …’”

  ‘Claire thought it best to pour her one. She got her mistress back into bed, then telephoned me. I was playing bridge with friends and came racing over. The wound is deep and I had to apply three staples …

  ‘She didn’t say anything to me. She stared at me, her face blank, or rather, indifferent.’

  ‘Does she know that you called me?’ asked Maigret.

  ‘No. I phoned from the study … I thought you might like to talk to her before I send her into a deeper sleep.

  ‘This woman is extraordinarily resilient.’

  ‘I’ll go in and see her.’

  Maigret made his way back through the apartment and entered the boudoir, where the camp bed still bore the imprint of a body.

  ‘You see what you’ve done?’ said Claire, without anger but in a sad voice.

  ‘How is she?’

  ‘She’s lying absolutely still, gazing at the ceiling, and she won’t answer when I talk to her. Please just be kind to her …’

  Maigret felt awkward entering the bedroom. The covers were drawn up to Nathalie’s chin, and her bandaged arm lay on top of the sheet.

  ‘I thought they’d call you …’

  She spoke listlessly.

  ‘I really wanted to die … It’s the only solution, isn’t it …?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I no longer have any reason to live.’

  Maigret was struck by the words, because they didn’t seem to chime with reality. There was no love, not even the semblance of a friendship, between her and her husband.

  So he had never been her reason for living.

  ‘I know you were only doing your job, but you were cruel …’

  ‘Do you have something to tell me?’

  She didn’t reply straight away.

  ‘Pass me the bottle … Once the doctor’s given me the injection, it will be too late …’

  He hesitated and then picked up the bottle from the chest of drawers.

  ‘No glass. My hand’s shaking too much and I’ll knock it over …’

  She drank from the bottle and it was a sorry sight, in that bedroom where everything was luxury and sophistication.

  She nearly dropped it on the bedside rug and Maigret caught it.

  ‘What are you going to do with me?’

  Was she in full possession of her faculties? Her words, which she spoke in a dull, choked voice, could be interpreted in different ways.

  ‘What do you hope for?’

  ‘Nothing. I have nothing left to hope for. I don’t want to be alone in this huge apartment any more …’

  ‘It’s yours now …’

  Her mouth contorted again.

  ‘Yes … It’s mine … Everything’s mine …’

  There was a painful irony in those words.

  ‘Just think if someone had predicted that when I was a little hostess …’

  Maigret said nothing and didn’t even think of taking his pipe out of his pocket.

  ‘I am Madame Sabin-Levesque!’

  She tried to laugh but only managed a sort of strangled sob.

  ‘You can leave me now. I promise I won’t try to kill myself again … Go home to your wife … Because you’re not alone, are you …?’

  She turned her head a fraction to look at him.

  ‘You have chosen a nasty profession, but it’s probably not your fault …’

  ‘Have a good night …’

  ‘Don’t be afraid. This time Doctor Bloy is going to increase the dose and goodness knows when I’ll wake up …’

  ‘Goodnight, madame …’

  Maigret tiptoed out, rather as if leaving a death chamber. Claire was waiting for him in the boudoir.

  ‘Did she talk to you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did she tell you any secrets?’

  ‘No. Is the doctor still in the study?’

  ‘I think so.’

  Maigret joined him.

  ‘Over to you … I’ll wait here …’

  Maigret filled his pipe and sank into the armchair. A few moments later, Claire came into the room. She seemed less antagonistic towards him.

  ‘Why are you so harsh with her?’

  ‘Because I am convinced she knows who killed her husband.’

  ‘Do you have proof?’

  ‘No, I don’t have proof. If I did, I would already have arrested her.’

  Strangely, the girl did not protest.

  ‘She’s an unhappy woman.’

  ‘I am aware of that.’

  ‘Everyone in the household hates her, except me.’

  ‘I am aware of that too.’

  ‘When Monsieur Gérard married her, it was as if she’d stolen someone else’s place.’

  ‘Did you ever accompany her on her outings?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you know where she went?’

  ‘To the cinema.’

  ‘Did you find cinema tickets in her bag or in her pockets …?’

  It was obvious that she had never asked herself the question.

  ‘No,’ she replied at last, after thinking for a moment.

  ‘Did she spend a lot of money?’

  ‘Monsieur Gérard gave her everything she wanted. She would tell me to prepare one handbag or another and to put a certain sum of money in it …’

  ‘How much, for instance?’

  ‘Sometimes a few hundred francs, sometimes two or three thousand …’

  She bit her lip.

  ‘I shouldn’t have told you that.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘You know better than I do … She hardly bought anything from the shops … She had the tradesmen come here … She only went to the hairdresser’s in person …’

  The doctor came into the study and spoke to the maid:

  ‘This time, I think you can sleep soundly … I gave her a dose that is used in sleep treatments … Don’t worry if she doesn’t wake up tomorrow morning … I’ll drop by just before midday.’

  ‘Thank you, doctor.’

  She left the room and the doctor sat down, crossing his legs.

  ‘Did she tell you anything of interest? In the state she’s in, people sometimes say more than they intend to …’

  ‘She asked me, among other things, what I planned to do with her.’

  ‘She’s just asked me the same question.’

  ‘I think she knows a lot about her husband’s death.’

  ‘In any case, she’s fiercely hiding something. That’s why she’s in the state she’s in. I’m surprised she hasn’t become hysterical …’

  ‘She asked me for a drink and she was so insistent that I passed her the bottle.’

  ‘You did the right thing … Given the point she’s reached …’

  ‘Medically, what’s going to happen to her?’

  ‘She will increasingly lose control of herself.’

  ‘You mean she’ll go mad?’

  ‘I’m not a psychiatrist. As a matter of fact, in a day or two, I’d like a psychiatrist to examine
her … In any case, if she carries on drinking as she does, she won’t last long … She can’t stay here where I don’t have the necessary facilities to treat her … She needs to be in hospital … Not necessarily a psychiatric hospital … We’ll get her sober and give her the rest she needs …’

  He sighed.

  ‘I don’t like looking after this sort of patient … By the way, do you know when the funeral will be?’

  ‘I haven’t dared talk to her about it …’

  ‘Do you think she’ll want a chapel of rest?’

  ‘The chief clerk will probably take care of it. She’s in no state to do so.’

  ‘The less disruption to the household, the better for her. I can’t imagine a bier in the entrance hall or in the big drawing room …’

  They both rose and said goodnight once out in the street. Maigret went home to bed. He slept badly, had nightmares. When his wife woke him with his cup of coffee, he ached all over as if he’d been making a great physical effort.

  ‘Lapointe?’ he asked on the telephone. ‘Is he there yet?’

  ‘He’s just come in.’

  ‘Put him on, Lucas.’

  ‘Yes, chief?’ said Lapointe.

  ‘Come and pick me up at my place. But first of all, check whether there’s any news.’

  He washed, shaved, dressed and swallowed two aspirin tablets, because he had a pounding headache. He barely touched his breakfast.

  ‘I’ll be glad when this case is over,’ muttered Madame Maigret. ‘You’re taking it so much to heart that you’ll end up making yourself ill …’

  He looked at her sullenly and tried to give her a smile.

  ‘The newspapers are hardly mentioning it any more … Why’s that?’

  ‘Because there’s nothing to say about it at present …’

  He found Lapointe at the wheel of the little police car and slid in beside him.

  ‘Nothing on my desk?’

  ‘A report from forensics … The wool fibres found in the vehicle match those of the dead man’s jacket.’

  ‘What about the men I sent into the nightclubs?’

  ‘Monsieur Charles was known to nearly all of them and he was thought of as a decent fellow …’

  ‘The 18th?’

  ‘None of the bartenders, maître d’s or hostesses remember that night in particular. Jamin might have come across something. An elderly flower-seller, who goes from club to club in the area. For her, the 18th of February is important because it’s her daughter’s birthday. She states that Monsieur Charles, who always bought flowers from her, was at the Cric-Crac, in Rue Clément-Marot, that night …’

  ‘Did she say anything else?’

  ‘He was with Zoé, and he gave her red carnations.’

  ‘Did they get her address?’

  ‘Jamin wrote it down. She insists on coming to see you because she met you in the past, when you were in Traffic …’

  They had reached the entrance which Maigret was beginning to know well.

  ‘Shall I wait for you?’

  ‘No. Come with me.’

  He greeted the concierge in passing and went into the office waiting room. The receptionist let him through and he crossed Sabin-Levesque’s office to enter Lecureur’s. The latter stopped dictating, signalled to his secretary to leave the room and stood up to shake Maigret’s hand.

  ‘I hear she tried to commit suicide and that the doctor came last night?’

  ‘Nothing serious. She’s asleep …’

  ‘Why do you think she did that?’

  ‘If I knew, the investigation would quickly be over. What arrangements have you made as regards the formalities?’

  ‘The will is going to be read this afternoon at three o’clock. I more or less know the content since I signed it as a witness. Madame Sabin-Levesque inherits his fortune, the villa in Cannes and the profits from the firm … The Chamber of Notaries will give a ruling on my case. Sabin-Levesque has expressed his wish for me to succeed him …’

  ‘There is another urgent matter to settle: that of the funeral.’

  ‘The family has a vault in Montparnasse Cemetery.’

  ‘That’s a good thing. We can’t, in all decency, collect the coffin from the Forensic Institute and drive it straight to the cemetery. Madame Sabin-Levesque is not in a state to deal with it. Nor can I see a chapel of rest in the apartment upstairs.’

  ‘Why not in the office?’

  ‘That’s what I was thinking. Would you make the necessary arrangements?’

  ‘I’ll telephone an undertaker’s immediately. And I think we should send out an announcement to all the clients.’

  ‘I think so too. Not to mention an obituary in the newspapers. By the way, have you been mobbed by the press?’

  ‘Around a dozen reporters came asking indiscreet questions, and I threw them out. Two of them asked me how much Sabin-Levesque’s fortune was worth …’

  ‘Keep me posted about the funeral, but don’t let anyone disturb Madame Sabin-Levesque.’

  ‘Won’t she go to the church?’

  ‘I don’t think so. It’s up to the doctor.’

  Since he was on the premises, Maigret went upstairs, followed by Lapointe. Claire opened the door to them.

  ‘I had business downstairs and I wanted to know if everything was all right.’

  ‘She’s asleep.’

  ‘Have you received any phone calls?’

  ‘No. Only from a journalist demanding an interview and who was very annoyed when I said that wasn’t possible.’

  She was clearly tired. She couldn’t have had much sleep.

  Maigret turned to Lapointe: ‘Drive me to Rue Clément-Marot …’

  Just to have a look. At night, the street was almost empty. The nightclub door was half open.

  Two cleaners were sweeping the floor strewn with streamers and confetti. The walls were covered in a brightly coloured fabric.

  ‘What do you want? If you’re looking for Monsieur Félix, he’s not here.’

  ‘Who is Monsieur Félix?’

  ‘The bartender …’

  A man came in, sure of himself.

  ‘Well, well! Inspector Maigret … We had one of your men here last night …’

  ‘What do you think of Louisa?’

  ‘She’s a former streetwalker who has virtually never left the neighbourhood. As she got older, she had to find a new job. Now she sells flowers in nightclubs …’

  ‘Can she be trusted?’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘She doesn’t have too vivid an imagination? You can believe what she says?’

  ‘Definitely. She can also keep a secret. Most of these girls have one, and she knows them all.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Why are you interested in her?’

  ‘Because she claims to have seen Monsieur Charles, here, with a hostess, on the night of the 18th of February.’

  ‘How come she remembers the date?’

  ‘Apparently it’s her daughter’s birthday.’

  ‘Then it must be true.’

  The riverbank wasn’t far away and a ramp led down to the river port.

  7.

  Maigret was having lunch with Lapointe in Place Dauphine again, but during the meal he barely said a word. He wasn’t exactly gloomy, but there was a leaden air about him that Lapointe knew well. He was withdrawn, wrapped up in his thoughts.

  When they arrived back at Quai des Orfèvres, they found an elderly woman sitting in the glass-walled waiting room and at first Maigret didn’t recognize her. But she recognized him, and smiled at him through the glass.

  It was old Louisa, as she was now called. He had known her when she was young and spry, one of the most beautiful ladies of the night on the Champs-Élysées.

  He showed
her into his office and removed his overcoat and hat.

  ‘It’s been a while, hasn’t it, inspector! You were a young whippersnapper in those days and, once you’d caught me, I thought you were going to take advantage.’

  ‘Have a seat, Louisa.’

  ‘You’ve come a long way, haven’t you! Mind you, I’m not doing so badly myself. And my daughter, even though she was brought up in the country, is now the wife of a debt collector for the Crédit Lyonnais … She has three children, which makes me three times a grandmother … It’s because of her, because of her birthday, that I remember the 18th of February clearly …

  ‘First of all, there was a black car, with a man inside, about a hundred metres from the Cric-Crac. Then, inside the club, I saw Monsieur Charles sitting at a table with Zoé, the sweetest little thing … When I came out, the car was still there and behind the wheel there was still a man smoking a cigarette … It made a little glowing dot in the darkness …’

  ‘Can you describe him?’

  ‘It was too dark … I carried on with my round … I have my routine and I know my customers … I came back at around three o’clock … The car had gone … So had Monsieur Charles, and Zoé was with a great hulk of an American …’

  ‘Do you know anything else?’

  ‘I came here mainly because I wanted to see you again … Men are lucky … They don’t age as quickly as us …’

  The telephone rang and Maigret picked it up.

  ‘Speaking … Yes … What? … A man killed, Rue Jean-Goujon? … Shot with five bullets in the chest? … I’m on my way … Inform the public prosecutor and Coindet, the examining magistrate …’

  And to the elderly flower-seller:

  ‘Thank you for coming. I have to go …’

  ‘That’s quite all right … I’ve seen you … That’s enough.’

  And, before leaving, she held out a timid hand.

  ‘Lapointe! We’re off again …’

  In Rue Jean-Goujon, less than two hundred metres from the Seine, two police officers standing guard respectfully saluted Maigret.

  ‘It’s on the top floor.’

  They took the lift. The door of one of the lodgings was ajar and Maigret shook hands with a local chief inspector who must have been a newcomer because Maigret didn’t know him.