‘No.’
‘Didn’t Nahour love his wife?’
‘You should have asked him that.’
‘It’s a bit late now. How long have you known that Madame Nahour has a lover?’
‘Is that something I’m supposed to know?’
If he thought he was riling Maigret, he was wasting his time. Maigret had rarely been as self-possessed.
‘I’m sure you know that relations between the couple, which weren’t particularly close to start with, had been getting worse for two years. You must also know how insistently Madame Nahour was requesting a divorce. Did you follow her and tell your employer about her affair with Alvaredo?’
An even more contemptuous smile.
‘He saw them himself as they were coming out of a restaurant in Palais-Royal. They weren’t trying to hide.’
‘Was Nahour furious?’
‘I never saw him furious.’
‘And yet, even though he was no longer sleeping with his wife and knew she was in love with someone else, he forced her to live under his roof. Wasn’t that a sort of revenge?’
‘Perhaps.’
‘And wasn’t it after he found out about the affair that he took her children away from her and sent them to the Riviera?’
‘I’m not like you, I don’t read people’s minds, whether alive or dead.’
‘I am convinced, Monsieur Ouéni, that Madame Nahour isn’t lying when she says you were with her husband on Friday evening. I would even be inclined to believe that you were aware of her trip and knew the date.’
‘You’re free to think what you like.’
‘Her husband hated her.’
‘Didn’t she hate him?’
‘Let’s say they both hated each other. She had decided to regain her independence no matter what.’
‘No matter what, exactly.’
‘Are you accusing Madame Nahour of killing her husband?’
‘No.’
‘Are you accusing yourself?’
‘No.’
‘So?’
With deliberate slowness, Ouéni declared:
‘There’s an interested party in all this.’
‘Alvaredo?’
‘Where was he?’
‘In his car outside.’
It was Fouad’s turn to conduct the interrogation, ask the questions.
‘Do you believe that?’
‘Until it’s proved otherwise.’
‘He’s a young man who’s very in love, isn’t he?’
Maigret let him talk, curious to see what he was driving at.
‘Probably.’
‘He’s very passionate, isn’t he? Didn’t you say that he has been Madame Nahour’s lover for two years? His parents will hardly welcome a divorcee with two children. The fact he’s running risk implies what’s called a great love, doesn’t it?’
His eyes became cruel suddenly, his mouth sarcastic.
‘He knew how decisive that evening would be,’ he went on, sunk in his chair, as motionless as ever. ‘Wouldn’t you say?’
‘Yes.’
‘Tell me, Monsieur Maigret, if you were him, in his state of mind on Friday evening, would you have let your mistress confront her stubborn husband on her own? Do you really think he would have waited outside for almost an hour without worrying about what was going on in the house?’
‘Did you see him?’
‘Don’t set me such crude traps. I didn’t see anything because I wasn’t there. I am just demonstrating that that man’s presence in the studio is much more plausible than mine.’
Maigret got up, suddenly relaxed, as if they had finally got to the point.
‘There were at least two people in the room,’ he said in a lighter tone. ‘Nahour and his wife. That would suppose that Madame Nahour was armed with a large-calibre pistol, which would have been difficult to conceal in her handbag. Nahour would also have had to fire first, and then her kill him afterwards.’
‘Not necessarily. She could have fired first while her husband was holding the gun in self-defence, and it’s not out of the question that he instinctively pulled the trigger as he slumped forward, which would explain the lack of accuracy …’
‘It doesn’t matter who fired first for the moment. Let’s suppose you were there. Madame Nahour takes a pistol out of her bag, and, to defend your employer, you shoot in her direction, since you’re standing near the drawer containing the 6.35.’
‘Which would mean that then, instead of firing at me, who’s armed and so can shoot her again, she fires at her husband?’
‘Let’s assume for the moment you loathed the man you call Monsieur Félix …’
‘Why?’
‘You’ve been something like a poor relation for twenty years, without even being related by blood. You have no job title but see to everything, including serving the boiled eggs in the morning. You aren’t paid. You’re given small amounts – pocket money, in fact – when you need it.
‘I don’t know if the difference of religion plays a part or not. The fact remains that there’s something humiliating about your situation, and nothing breeds hatred like humiliation.
‘So then the opportunity for you to avenge yourself presents itself. Nahour shoots at his wife as she’s heading out of the door for the last time. You fire in your turn, not at her but at him, knowing that she or her lover will be accused. Then you just have to create an alibi for yourself at the Saint-Michel.
‘We have a way, Monsieur Fouad, of working out if this is true in an hour. I’m going to call Moers, one of the best technicians at Criminal Records. If he’s not at headquarters, I’ll find him at home. He’ll bring what’s needed to carry out a paraffin test, which we’ve already performed on Monsieur Nahour, and we’ll know from that if you’ve used a firearm.’
Ouéni didn’t flinch. On the contrary, his smile became more sarcastic than ever. He stopped Maigret as he headed for the telephone.
‘There’s no point.’
‘Are you confessing?’
‘You know as well as I do, Monsieur Maigret, that the test can reveal powder residues on the skin up to five days after a shot has been fired.’
‘Your knowledge is as varied as it is extensive.’
‘On Thursday I went, as I often do, to the shooting range in the basement of a gunsmith’s called Boutelleau et Fils on Rue de Rennes.’
‘With your pistol?’
‘No. I have another, identical one that I keep there, as many of the regulars do. It’s likely therefore that you’ll find powder residues on my right hand.’
‘Why do you practise shooting?’
Maigret was irritated.
‘Because I belong to a tribe that is armed all year round and claims to have produced the best shots in the world. Boys start firing rifles when they’re ten.’
Maigret slowly looked up.
‘What if we don’t find powder marks on Alvaredo’s or Madame Nahour’s hands?’
‘Alvaredo had come in from outside, where it was 12 below zero. It’s safe to assume that he was wearing gloves – pretty thick ones probably – isn’t it? Haven’t you checked?’
He was trying to be insulting.
‘I’m sorry to have to do your job for you. Madame Nahour was setting off on a journey. I assume she was wearing a coat, and it seems likely she would have already put on her gloves.’
‘Is that your defence?’
‘I didn’t think I needed a defence until I was charged by the examining magistrate.’
‘Please be at Quai des Orfèvres tomorrow morning at ten, where you will be interrogated officially. The examining magistrate you refer to may want to question you afterwards.’
‘And until then?’
‘You are not to leave the house, and one of my inspectors will continue to watch you.’
‘I am very patient, Monsieur Maigret.’
‘So am I, Monsieur Ouéni.’
Maigret’s cheeks were flushed all the same as he came out of t
he room, although it may have been because of the heat. In the corridor, he gave a friendly nod to Torrence, who was perched on an uncomfortably hard chair, reading a magazine, then knocked on the studio door.
‘Come in, Monsieur Maigret.’
The two men stood up. The older one, who was smoking a cigar, walked towards Maigret and held out a lean, strong hand.
‘I would have preferred to meet you under other circumstances, Monsieur Maigret.’
‘May I offer my condolences? I didn’t want to leave the house without assuring you that the Police Judiciaire and the prosecutor’s office are doing everything in their power to find your son’s murderer.’
‘Do you have any leads?’
‘I wouldn’t go as far as that, but the role of everyone involved is becoming clearer.’
‘Do you think Félix fired at that woman?’
‘That seems indisputable, either because he voluntarily pressed the trigger, or because he did so instinctively when he was hit himself.’
The father and son looked at one another in surprise.
‘Do you think that that woman, after causing him so much suffering, ended up …’
‘I am not in a position to accuse anyone yet. Good evening, gentlemen.’
‘Shall I stay?’ Torrence asked moments later in the corridor.
‘Fouad isn’t to leave. I’d rather have you on the first floor and know of any telephone calls he makes. I don’t know who’ll be relieving you yet.’
The taxi-driver muttered:
‘I thought you were only staying a few minutes.’
‘Hôtel du Louvre.’
‘Honestly, I’m not waiting for you there. I started my shift at eleven and I haven’t had time to grab a bite yet.’
It was growing dark. The driver must have left his engine running from time to time because the air inside the taxi was hot.
Slumped down in the back seat, Maigret looked vaguely out at the black, chilly figures slipping along by the walls. When it came down to it, he wasn’t really sure how satisfied he was with himself.
Lucas was dozing with his hands on his stomach in one of the mammoth armchairs in the lobby. Spying Maigret coming towards him through half-closed eyelids, he jumped up and asked, rubbing his eyes:
‘Everything OK, chief?’
‘Yes … No … Has Alvaredo shown up?’
‘Not yet. None of the women has gone out. One of them, the friend, came down to the lobby to buy newspapers and magazines.’
Maigret hesitated, then grunted:
‘Are you thirsty?’
‘I had a glass of beer a quarter of an hour ago.’
Maigret headed to the bar on his own, left his coat, hat and scarf at the cloakroom and perched on one of the high stools. There was no one near him apart from a stand-in barman who was listening to a football match report on the radio.
‘A whisky,’ he ended up ordering.
He needed one before the task he had set himself. Where had he read the maxim: always attack at the point of least resistance?
It had occurred to him in the taxi. Four people knew the truth – or part of the truth – about the Nahour case. He had questioned all four of them, some twice. They had all lied, at least on one score, if not several.
Who of the four was likely to offer the least resistance?
At one moment he had thought of Nelly Velthuis, whose ingenuousness couldn’t be entirely put on, but the fact that she didn’t realize the seriousness of her lies meant there was no limit to what she might tell him.
Alvaredo was a likeable soul really. He was a passionate man. His love for Lina seemed sincere, even fervent, so he wouldn’t say anything that might be damaging for the young woman.
Maigret had just left Ouéni, who was smart enough to anticipate and elude every trap.
That left Lina, about whom he still hadn’t made up his mind. On first impression, she was a child struggling in a grown-up world, not knowing where to turn.
Starting out as a humble typist in Amsterdam, she had been attracted by the cachet of modelling before impulsively signing up for a beauty contest.
Then the miracle had happened, and overnight the young girl had found herself in a totally alien world.
A rich man, who played for high stakes every night and was fawned over by the casino staff, had sent her flowers and invited her to dinner in the best restaurants without asking for anything in return.
He took her to Biarritz, as discreetly as ever, and when he finally dared to go into her room one night, he immediately proposed marriage.
How was she supposed to understand the psychology of a man like Nahour?
Let alone Fouad Ouéni, who accompanied the couple everywhere for no obvious reason.
When she had wanted to have a Dutch maid with her, it was like a cry for help and she had chosen – from a photograph? – the most straightforward, most cheerful candidate.
She had had her pick of dresses, jewels, furs, but at Deauville, Cannes, Evian – all the places she was taken without being consulted – she was always alone and occasionally would go off to Amsterdam for heart-to-hearts with Anna Keegel, like in the old days, when the two girls shared the apartment on Lomanstraat.
She had had a child. Was she prepared for motherhood? Had Nahour brought in a nanny in case the responsibility would be too much for her?
Was that the moment she started having lovers, affairs?
The years had passed, and her features had remained as youthful, her skin as clear and smooth as ever. But what about her mind? Had she learned anything?
Another child, a son, finally satisfied her husband, who had only fleetingly tried to be close to her.
She met Alvaredo … Her life suddenly assumed a different complexion.
Maigret was all set to pity her, then reminded himself:
‘The little girl with the innocent eyes is still the one who brought things to a head.’
And behaved surprisingly calmly since Friday evening.
He almost ordered another whisky, then decided against it and moments later took the lift up to the fourth floor. Nelly opened the door of the sitting room.
‘Is Madame Nahour sleeping?’
‘No. She’s drinking tea.’
‘Will you tell her that I want to see her.’
He found her sitting on her bed, a white silk bed jacket draped over her shoulders, leafing through an English or American magazine. The tea and cake were on the bedside table. Anna Keegel, who must have been lying on the second bed when Maigret had arrived, was smoothing down her hair and striking an attitude.
‘I’d like to speak to you in private, Madame Nahour.’
‘Can’t Anna stay? I’ve never hidden anything from her, and …’
‘Let’s say her presence would make me awkward.’
It was almost true. After the door closed, Maigret moved a chair between the beds and awkwardly sat down.
‘Have you seen Vicente? He’s not too worried about me, is he?’
‘I reassured him about your health, as you did yourself on the telephone. I imagine you’re expecting him, are you?’
‘In half an hour. I said I’d see him at five thirty because I was going to sleep longer. How do you think he is?’
‘He seemed very in love. My first question, in fact, is about him, Madame Nahour. I realize you’re doing your utmost to keep him out of this business and prevent his name being mentioned, which would complicate his and your relations with his parents in the future.
‘For my part, I will spare him publicity as far as possible.
‘But there is one thing that bothers me. You told me that on Friday evening he remained in the car all the time you were in the house, an hour or so.
‘He knew what you’d decided. He was aware your husband refused to hear of a divorce. He had every reason therefore to think it would be a stormy, dramatic encounter. Given all that, how could he have failed to take responsibility and left you on your own?’
Sh
e was chewing her lower lip as he talked.
‘It’s the truth,’ she merely replied.
‘Ouéni thinks differently.’
‘What did he tell you?’
‘That Alvaredo went into the studio at the same time as you, and he added that your friend was wearing thick winter gloves. Ouéni also maintains that when your husband fired, Alvaredo took a pistol out of his pocket and fired back.’
‘Ouéni is lying.’
‘I would be tempted to believe that you and your husband had a bitter argument at first while Alvaredo waited discreetly by the door. When Nahour realized your decision was final, he grabbed the 6.35 from the drawer and threatened you. Your friend, thinking he was going to shoot, fired first to protect you, and Nahour pulled the trigger as he fell.’
‘That’s not what happened.’
‘Put me right.’
‘I already have. First, Vicente stayed in the car because I insisted. I even threatened not to leave with him if he set foot in the house.’
‘Was your husband sitting at his desk?’
‘Yes.’
‘What about Ouéni?’
‘He was standing to his right.’
‘In front of the drawer with the revolver, then.’
‘I think so.’
‘You think or you’re sure?’
‘I’m sure.’
‘Didn’t Ouéni make to leave the room?’
‘He started to but he didn’t leave.’
‘Where did he move to?’
‘Into the middle of the room.’
‘Before or after you started talking?’
‘After.’
‘You’ve admitted that you don’t like him. Why didn’t you ask your husband to send him out?’
‘Félix would have refused. Besides, by then I didn’t care any more.’
‘How did you start?’
‘I said:
‘ “That’s it! I have made up my mind and it is final. I am leaving …” ’
‘Did you speak in French?’
‘English. I learned it when I was very young; I only started speaking French much later.’
‘What did your husband say?’
‘ “With your lover? Is that him waiting in the car?” ’
Maigret and the Nahour Case Page 11
