Maigret overtook them and reached the foot of the steps before they did.
‘Who are you?’ Lina asked, frowning.
She had a very slight accent.
‘Detective Chief Inspector Maigret. I am investigating your husband’s death. May I follow you in …?’
She didn’t object but seemed more on edge, hugging her coat more tightly to her. The driver brought the luggage, which he left on the steps, and Anna Keegel opened her handbag to pay the fare.
The bulky figure of Torrence, who had taken the day shift, opened the door without a word. Lina looked at him with surprise more than concern.
It was obvious she didn’t know what to do or where to go, whether to go up to her room or into the studio.
‘Where’s the body?’ she asked Maigret.
‘At the Forensic Institute.’
Was she relieved it wasn’t in the house any more? She seemed to shudder but she was so tense that her movements were reflexes as much as anything.
Finally she put her hand on the studio’s door handle, and as she was about to turn it, the door was opened from inside and Pierre Nahour appeared, surprised to find four people in the corridor.
‘Hello, Pierre,’ she said, holding out her hand.
Did the Geneva banker really hesitate? Either way he held out his hand too.
‘Where did it happen?’
Pierre Nahour stepped back to let Lina, her friend and Maigret go in, while Torrence remained in the corridor.
‘Here … Behind the desk.’
She took a few tentative steps, saw the bloodstain and looked away.
‘How did they do it?’
‘They shot him.’
‘Did he die straight away?’
Pierre Nahour remained calm, cool even, observing his sister-in-law without any obvious emotion on his face.
‘We don’t know. The cleaner found him when she started work yesterday morning.’
Sensing that she was unsteady on her feet, Lina’s friend led her to a chair, where she sat down gingerly, presumably because her back was hurting. She motioned that she wanted a cigarette, and Anna Keegel lit one and passed it to her.
There was a pained silence. Maigret felt concerned about the young woman’s physical and, most likely, emotional state; her nerves must have been stretched to breaking point.
‘We don’t know if he suffered, do we?’
‘We don’t,’ Pierre Nahour said curtly.
‘What time did it … did it happen?’
‘Probably between midnight and one in the morning.’
‘Wasn’t there anyone in the house?’
‘Fouad was at the club, and Nelly was sleeping. She says she didn’t hear anything.’
‘Is it true that I have to go to a meeting at the lawyer’s?’
‘He rang me, yes. Tomorrow afternoon. My father arrived last night and he’s resting at the Hôtel Raspail.’
‘What am I going to do?’ she asked no one in particular.
After an even more unpleasant silence, her friend said something to her in Dutch.
‘Do you think?’ Lina asked in French. ‘Yes. That might be better. I wouldn’t be up to sleeping in this house.’
She looked around for Maigret.
‘I’m going to stay in a hotel with my friend and my maid.’
She wasn’t asking permission, like a suspect, just reporting what she had decided.
Then she turned back to her brother-in-law:
‘Is Nelly upstairs? Where’s Madame Bodin?’
‘She didn’t come today. Nelly is in her room.’
‘I’m going up to get some underwear and a change of clothes. Will you come and help, Anna?’
Left alone, the two men looked at one another in silence.
‘How did your father take it, Monsieur Nahour?’
‘Pretty badly. My sister came with him, and they’ve both gone to the hotel to have a rest. I insisted they shouldn’t stay here.’
‘Are you going to?’
‘I’d rather. Are you forming a sense of the murderer’s personality, Monsieur Maigret?’
‘Are you?’
‘I don’t know. Why didn’t you question my sister-in-law?’
‘I’m waiting for her to be settled in the hotel. She probably can’t take any more at the moment.’
Both of them were standing, and Pierre Nahour had a hard look on his face.
‘I’d like to ask you a question,’ Maigret said slowly. ‘You’ve read your brother’s correspondence and had a chance to talk to Ouéni. He doesn’t seem prepared to cooperate with us. Perhaps, with you …’
‘I tried to get something out of him last night, without much success.’
‘The number of possible suspects seems relatively limited, on one condition …’
‘What?’
‘Suppose that, contrary to your first assumption, your brother wasn’t just gambling for himself recently, that he was working for a syndicate, as he had done in the past.’
‘I see what you’re getting at but please, detective chief inspector, don’t waste your time on such theories. My brother was an honest man, like all the Nahours. He was scrupulous to the point of pernicketiness, in fact, as I’ve realized going through his correspondence.
‘The notion of him cheating a syndicate out of any money – even out of a centime – and then being killed in revenge is unthinkable.’
‘I’m glad to hear you say that. I’m sorry my job means I have to entertain every hypothesis. Maybe it was Ouéni’s presence in the house that gave me the idea.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Doesn’t Ouéni’s situation seem suspect to you? He’s not a secretary exactly, or a valet or driver, but nor is he an equal. So it’s not that far-fetched to think that he could have been the syndicate’s representative, keeping tabs on your brother.’
Nahour gave an ironic smile.
‘If anyone else said that to me I’d tell him he’d been reading too many crime novels. I told you how seriously the Lebanese take family. Well, family for them isn’t just relatives, close or otherwise. Old retainers can be part of the family, friends who live in the house on an equal footing …’
‘Would you have chosen Ouéni?’
‘No. For one thing because I don’t like the man, for another because I married young, and my wife is enough for me. Don’t forget that Félix remained a bachelor until he was thirty-five. The family was convinced he would never get married.’
‘If you’ll excuse me …’
Hearing footsteps on the stairs, Maigret went to open the door. Lina had changed her dress and was wearing her mink coat now. Nelly Velthuis followed behind, a faraway look in her eyes, carrying a suitcase, and Anna Keegel brought up the rear with more bags.
‘Do you mind calling me a taxi, Pierre? I shouldn’t have sent mine away.’
She gave Maigret a questioning look, and he asked:
‘Which hotel are you going to? The Ritz?’
‘Oh no, that would bring back too many memories. Wait, what’s that hotel on the corner of Rue de Rivoli called, near Place de la Vendôme?’
‘The Hôtel du Louvre?’
‘That’s it. We’re going to the Hôtel du Louvre.’
‘I’ll call in there soon, if I may, because I have to ask you some questions.’
‘The taxi’s on its way.’
It was almost midday. Janvier would be arriving at Orly, where he was going to wait for Alvaredo and then tail him.
‘Goodbye, Pierre. What time is the meeting tomorrow, and what lawyer’s is it at?’
‘Three, at Maître Leroy-Beaudieu’s on Boulevard Saint-Germain.’
‘You don’t need to write it down,’ Maigret put in. ‘I’ll give you the address at the hotel.’
It took a while to fit the luggage and the three passengers into the car. Lina was shaking visibly as she stood on the pavement, looking around as if she didn’t recognize the familiar surroundings.
&
nbsp; Pierre Nahour had shut the door of the house, and Maigret thought a curtain was moving in what must have been Ouéni’s window.
Taking his seat next to Lucas, he said:
‘Follow them. They’re going to the Hôtel du Louvre, but I’d like to be sure. I’m not convinced I’ve heard anyone say a word of truth in this business so far.’
The streets were as deserted as in August, without the coaches full of tourists. The taxi stopped outside the Hôtel du Louvre. Lina and her friend went in first, doubtless to check whether they had rooms free. A few moments later a porter came out to get the luggage while the maid looked at the meter and paid the fare.
‘Go and park the car somewhere and meet me in the bar. I’ve got to allow her time to get to her room and make herself comfortable.’
Besides, he was thirsty.
5.
The bar was dark and silent. Two Englishmen sitting on high stools were moving their lips, but he couldn’t hear what they were saying. The walls were oak-panelled, and the bronze wall lamps at intervals of four or five metres only shed a discreet light. A young woman was waiting in a corner, a reddish cocktail on the table in front of her. Four men in the opposite corner bent towards each other from time to time.
It was Sunday here too, a slack day removed from reality. Through the cream curtains he could just see a little dirty snow, some black trees, a head as someone walked past.
‘Cloakroom, sir?’
‘I’m sorry …’
His investigations more often took him to local cafés or noisy bars around the Champs-Élysées than luxury hotels. He took off his overcoat and gave a sigh of relief as he unwound his stifling scarf.
‘A beer,’ he ordered in a low voice from the barman, who was staring at him as if trying to remember where he had seen his face.
‘Carlsberg, Heineken?’
‘Any will do.’
The trusty Lucas was also stopped by the coat-check girl.
‘What are you having?’
‘What about you, chief?’
‘I ordered a beer.’
‘The same, then.’
The words ‘Grill Room’ were spelled out in discreet neon above an open door, through which came the quiet chink of plates.
‘Are you hungry?’
‘Not very.’
‘Do you know their room numbers?’
‘437, 438 and 439. Two bedrooms and a small sitting room.’
‘What about Nelly?’
‘She’s sleeping in one of the bedrooms. The other one, 437, is a big room with twin beds for Madame Nahour and her friend.’
‘I’ll be right back.’
Out in the huge marble corridor, Maigret headed towards a door marked ‘Telephone’.
‘Can you put me through to 437, please?’
‘One moment …’
‘Hello? Madame Nahour?’
‘Who’s calling?’
‘Detective Chief Inspector Maigret.’
‘This is Anna Keegel. Madame Nahour is in the bath.’
‘Ask her if she’d rather I came up in a quarter of an hour or after she has had lunch.’
He waited, hearing only a confused murmur of voices.
‘Hello? She’s not hungry because she ate on the plane, but she’d rather you left it for half an hour before coming up.’
A few minutes later Maigret and Lucas went into the grill, which was as hushed as the bar, with the same oak panelling and wall lights and little lamps on the tables. Only three or four tables were occupied, and everyone was whispering as if they were in church. The maître d’hôtel, headwaiters and waiters padded about in silence like officiants at a service.
Maigret shook his head as he was presented with a huge menu.
‘Cold cuts,’ he muttered.
‘Me too.’
‘Two charcuterie plates,’ the maître d’hôtel said, correcting them.
‘And some beer.’
‘I’ll send the wine waiter over.’
‘Will you ring headquarters to tell them we’re here? Someone needs to get word to Janvier, who’ll still be at Orly. Give him the number of the apartment.’
Maigret felt heavy suddenly, and Lucas, recognizing the signs, took care not to ask him superfluous questions.
They ate in virtual silence, watched by the maître d’hôtel and some waiters.
‘Will you be having coffee?’
A man in Turkish national dress served it with a great rigmarole.
‘You’d better come up with me.’
They took the lift to the fourth floor, found room 437 and knocked on the door, but it was the door to room 438 that opened.
‘This way,’ Anna Keegel said.
She must have had a bath or a shower too, because her hair was still slightly wet.
‘Come in. I’ll go and tell Lina.’
In the sitting room, which wasn’t large, everything was soft and smooth: pale-grey walls, chairs of an equally delicate blue, a table painted ivory. Someone could be heard moving around in the room on the left, probably Nelly Velthuis still unpacking.
They waited for quite a long time, awkwardly standing around, until finally the two women came in. Maigret was surprised because he had been expecting to find Lina Nahour in bed.
She had just done her hair and wasn’t wearing any make-up. She had put on a dusty-pink velours dressing gown.
She seemed frail, vulnerable. If it was an effort for her to see them, though, it didn’t show, and the morning’s tension had disappeared.
She was surprised to see two men rather than Maigret on his own, as she’d been expecting. She stood looking at Lucas for a moment, as if uncertain what to do.
‘One of my inspectors,’ explained Maigret.
‘Have a seat, gentlemen.’
She sat on the sofa herself, and her friend came and sat beside her.
‘I’m sorry to disturb you when you’ve only just got here but as I’m sure you’ll understand, madame, I have a few questions to ask you.’
She lit a cigarette, and the fingers holding the match trembled a little.
‘You can smoke,’ she said.
‘Thank you.’
He didn’t fill his pipe immediately.
‘May I ask where you were on Friday night?’
‘What time?’
‘I’d rather you told me your movements that night.’
‘I left the house around eight in the evening.’
‘Roughly at the same time as your husband, then.’
‘I don’t know where he was at that point.’
‘Were you in the habit of going out like that without telling him where you were going?’
‘We were both free to come and go as we pleased.’
‘Did you take your car?’
‘No. The roads were icy, and I didn’t want to drive.’
‘Did you call a taxi?’
‘Yes.’
‘From the telephone in your bedroom?’
‘Yes. Of course.’
She talked in the voice of a little girl reciting her homework, and her innocent eyes reminded Maigret of something. It was only after she had answered a few questions that he thought of the maid, her almost transparent pupils, her childlike expressions.
He recognized the same mannerisms in Lina, the same expressions, even down to a way of hurriedly batting her eyelids, which suggested one of the two women had copied the other.
‘Where did it take you?’
‘To a big restaurant on the Champs-Élysées, the Marignan.’
She hesitated before saying the last word.
‘Did you often eat at the Marignan?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘On your own?’
‘Mostly.’
‘Where were you sitting?’
‘In the main room.’
Which seated a hundred-odd customers, so her alibi couldn’t be checked.
‘Did anyone join you?’
‘No.’
‘You hadn’
t arranged to meet anyone?’
‘I was on my own the whole time.’
‘Until when?’
‘I don’t know. Ten, maybe.’
‘You didn’t go to the bar first?’
Another hesitation before she shook her head.
Now the more nervous of the two of them was her friend, Anna Keegel, who looked back and forth from Lina to Maigret, turning her head each time they said something.
‘And then?’
‘I went for a little walk along the Champs-Élysées to get some air.’
‘Even though the pavements were slippery?’
‘The pavements had been cleared. I got a taxi by the Lido, and it took me home.’
‘Again you didn’t see your husband, even though he got back around ten?’
‘I didn’t see him. I went up to my room, where Nelly was finishing packing my suitcase.’
‘Because you’d decided to go on a trip?’
‘A week ago,’ she replied with complete candour.
‘Where to?’
‘Um … Amsterdam of course.’
Then she said something to Anna Keegel in Dutch. Her friend stood up, went into the bedroom and promptly came back with a letter. Dated 6 January, it wasn’t written in French or English.
‘You can have that translated. I’m telling Anna I’ll be arriving on 15 January.’
‘Did you book your plane ticket?’
‘No. I thought I’d take the train at first. There’s one at eleven twelve.’
‘Weren’t you intending to take your maid?’
‘There isn’t any room for her in Anna’s apartment.’
Even though he wanted to let her tie herself completely in knots, Maigret couldn’t help feeling a sort of admiration for the quiet candour with which she reeled off her lies.
‘Didn’t you look in on the ground floor when you left?’
‘No. The taxi Nelly had called was already at the kerb.’
‘Didn’t you say goodbye to your husband?’
‘No. He knew what was happening.’
‘Did you ask to be taken to the Gare du Nord?’
‘We got there late because of the bad state of the roads. The train had left, so I got the taxi to drop me at Orly.’
‘By way of Boulevard Voltaire?’
She didn’t even start. Keegel blinked, however.
Maigret and the Nahour Case Page 8
