‘See you tomorrow, boys.’
‘See you tomorrow, chief.’
He walked through the crowd to Châtelet and joined the queue to wait for his bus.
As soon as she saw him, Madame Maigret knew that he was out of sorts, and she looked quizzically at him in spite of herself.
‘An irritating business,’ he growled, going to the bathroom to wash his hands.
Then he took off his jacket and loosened his tie a little.
‘A former schoolmate who’s up to his neck in an impossible situation. Not to mention the fact that no one is going to feel remotely sympathetic to him.’
‘A murder?’
‘Gunshot. The woman is dead.’
‘Jealousy?’
‘No. He wasn’t the one who fired the gun.’
‘They’re not sure it was him?’
‘Let’s eat,’ he sighed, as if he had talked about the case too much already.
All the windows were open, the light gilded by the setting sun. Madame Maigret had made the chicken with tarragon that she cooked so well and served it with asparagus tips.
She was wearing a cotton dress with little flowers of the kind that she liked to wear when she stayed indoors, and that added an extra feeling of intimacy to the dinner.
‘Do you have to go out tonight?’
‘I don’t think so. I’m waiting for a call from Janvier.’
The phone rang just as he was about to plunge his spoon into his melon.
‘Hello, yes … I’m listening, Janvier … Are you back at the office? … Have you dug up anything?’
‘Hardly anything, chief. First of all, I questioned the two shopkeepers on the ground floor. On the left there’s a lingerie shop, Chez Éliane. The kind of lingerie that you can only get in Montmartre. Apparently the tourists are wild about it.
‘The two girls, one fair and one dark, follow the comings and goings in the building more or less closely. They immediately recognized my description of Florentin and the dead woman. She was a customer, even though she didn’t care for fancy lingerie.
‘Apparently she was a charming woman, calm and with a ready smile, like a nice, neatly dressed, respectable housewife.
‘They knew that Florentin lived with her and they liked him too. They even thought he seemed aristocratic. An aristocrat who had come down in the world, as they say.
‘They were a bit cross with Josée for deceiving him, because they’d once seen her coming out with the Wednesday gentleman.’
‘François Paré? The one at the Ministry of Public Works?’
‘I suppose so. That’s how they knew who he was visiting every week, almost always at the same time. He drives a black Citroën and he always has trouble finding a parking space. He always brings a box of pastries.’
‘Do they also know the other lovers?’
‘Only the Thursday one, the oldest one. He’s been coming to Rue Notre-Dame-de-Lorette for years, and they think he lived in the apartment for several weeks a very long time ago. They call him Fatty. He has a babyish face, round and pink, with bright, sensitive eyes.
‘Almost every week he would go out with her to have dinner in town, and then probably to go to a show. He must have slept at the apartment afterwards, because he didn’t leave again until late morning.’
Maigret consulted his notes.
‘That’s Fernand Courcel, from Rouen. He has offices in Paris, Boulevard Voltaire … The others?’
‘They didn’t tell me anything about the others, and they’re sure it was Florentin who was being deceived.’
‘And then?’
‘The shop on the right is occupied by Martin’s Shoes. It’s dark in there, and the shop is set back. The window display keeps you from seeing what’s happening in the street, unless you stand behind the glass door.’
‘Go on.’
‘On the first floor on the left, a dentist. He doesn’t know anything. He’s been treating Josée for four years. Three visits for a filling. On the right, an old couple who hardly go out any more. The husband worked at the Banque de France, I don’t know in what position. Their daughter is married and comes to see them every Sunday with her husband and their two children.
‘The apartment overlooking the courtyard: no one at the moment. The tenants have been in Italy for a month. The husband and wife work in catering.
‘Second floor. The lady who makes made-to-measure corsets. Two girls work with her. They aren’t even aware of Joséphine Papet’s existence.
‘On the other side of the landing, a woman with three children, the oldest of them only five. Loud voice. Then again you have to shout to be heard above the squealing of the children.
‘“It’s disgusting,” she said to me. “I’ve written to the owner. My husband didn’t want me to, but I did anyway. He’s always worried about attracting trouble. You don’t practise that profession in a respectable household where there are children. There was one almost every day, and I recognized them by their ring on the doorbell. The one with the limp came early on Saturday, immediately after lunch. It was easy to recognize his footstep. And he also rang the bell in rhythm: ta, ta, ta, ta … ta, ta! Poor fool! Maybe he thought he was the only one.”’
‘You haven’t found out anything else about him?’
‘Only that he’s a man in his fifties and that he comes in a taxi.’
‘The redhead?’
‘He’s new. He’s only been visiting the house for a few weeks. He’s younger than the others, between thirty and thirty-five, and he climbs the stairs four at a time.’
‘Has he got a key?’
‘No. No one has a key except Florentin, whom the tenant on the second floor calls a distinguished pimp.
‘“I prefer the ones near Place Pigalle,” she says. “At least they’re taking a risk. And they wouldn’t be good for anything else. While a man who must be of good family and who probably has an education …”’
Maigret couldn’t suppress a smile, sorry not to have questioned the whole household himself.
‘On the right, no one answered. On the fourth floor I found myself in the middle of a domestic.
‘“If you don’t tell me where you went and who you saw …” the husband was shouting.
‘“I can still go shopping without telling you the names of all the shops I went into, can’t I? Or do I need to bring you a shopkeepers’ certificate …?”
‘“You’re not going to tell me it takes you a whole afternoon to buy a pair of shoes. Answer my question. Who …?”
‘“Who what?”
‘“Who did you meet?”
‘I preferred to creep away,’ Janvier said by way of conclusion. ‘Opposite, an old woman. It’s crazy, the number of old women in that part of town. She doesn’t know anything. She’s half deaf, and her apartment smells of rancid butter.
‘On the off chance, I tried the concierge … She looked at me with her fish eyes, and I couldn’t get anything out of her.’
‘Neither did I, if that’s any consolation. Except that according to her nobody went upstairs between three and four.’
‘Is she sure about that?’
‘It’s what she claims. She also states that she didn’t leave her lodge, and no one could have got past her without her knowledge. She will stubbornly repeat as much, even in court.’
‘What do I do now?’
‘You go home. I’ll see you in the office tomorrow morning.’
‘Goodnight, chief.’
Maigret had only just hung up and was about to return to his melon, when the phone rang again. This time it was Lapointe. An excited voice.
‘I’ve been trying to get through to you for a quarter of an hour, but it was always engaged. Before that, I tried headquarters. I’m calling you from the bar on the corner. We’ve got some news, chief.’
‘Tell me.’
‘When we left the Police Judiciaire, he knew very well that I was following him, and as he went down the stairs he even turned round to glance at
me.
‘On the pavement I followed him at a distance of three or four metres. Once he reached Place Dauphine he seemed to hesitate, then made towards the Brasserie Dauphine. He looked as if he was waiting for me. Seeing that I didn’t approach him, he came towards me.
‘“Since I’m going to have a drink, there’s no reason why I shouldn’t invite you to have one too.”
‘He looked as if he was making fun of me. He’s a comedian, that man. I told him I never drank on duty, and he went in on his own. I saw him downing three or four brandies in a row, I don’t know precisely.
‘Then, after checking that I was still there and glancing at me again, he headed for Pont-Neuf. It was crowded at that time of day, and because the traffic was heavy, most of the drivers were honking their horns.
‘We were approaching Quai de la Mégisserie, one behind the other, when I saw him hoist himself on to the parapet and jump into the Seine. It happened so quickly that only a few passers-by, the ones closest to him, were aware of it.
‘I saw him emerge, less than three metres from a moored barge, and as the crowd grew denser, something almost comical happened. The boatman grabbed a long and heavy boat-hook and held out one end of it to Florentin, who seized the hook and allowed himself to be dragged from the water.
‘A policeman came running and leaned over the undrowned man … I had been able to break away and get to the shore and then to the boat.
‘There were onlookers everywhere, as if the event was important.
‘I preferred not to get involved and to follow things from a distance. Just in case there happened to be a journalist around, I didn’t want to tip them off … I don’t know if I did the right thing.’
‘You very much did the right thing. I can also tell you that Florentin wasn’t putting himself at risk, because when we went swimming in the Allier he was the best swimmer of all of us. What happened next?’
‘The kind boatman offered him a glass of rotgut, not suspecting that his drowned man had just gulped down three or four. Then the policeman took Florentin to the station in Les Halles.
‘I didn’t go in, for the reason I’ve already told you. They must have taken his name, his address, asked him a few questions. When he came out, he didn’t see me, because I was having a sandwich in the bar opposite. He looked quite pitiful, with the old blanket that the police had lent him wrapped around his shoulders.
‘He hailed a taxi and asked to be driven home. He changed his clothes. I could see him in the studio through the windows. He came out and noticed me. I was granted another glance, and a kind of grimace, and he walked to Place Blanche, where he went into a restaurant.
‘He came out half an hour ago, after buying a newspaper, and when I left the cul-de-sac he was busy reading it, lying on his bed.’
Maigret had listened to this story with a certain bewilderment.
‘Have you eaten?’
‘I had a sandwich. I can see some here on the counter and I’m going to have a couple more. Torrence is due to take over from me at two in the morning.’
‘Nice work,’ Maigret sighed.
‘Shall I call you if anything changes?’
‘Any time you like.’
He nearly forgot his melon. Dusk was invading the apartment, and he went and stood eating by the window while Madame Maigret cleared the table.
It was clear that Florentin hadn’t tried to commit suicide, because it was almost impossible for a good swimmer to drown in the Seine, in the middle of June, in front of hundreds of spectators. And a few metres from a barge!
Why had his former classmate jumped in the water? To make people think that the suspicions being heaped on him had left him in a state of despair?
‘Is Lapointe well?’
Maigret smiled. He could see what his wife was getting at. She never asked him direct questions about his work, but sometimes she did throw him a line.
‘He’s very well. He has a few more hours on the beat in a courtyard off Boulevard Rochechouart.’
‘Because of your school friend?’
‘Yes. He’s just given the passers-by on the Pont-Neuf a little show by suddenly throwing himself into the Seine.’
‘You don’t think he was trying to kill himself?’
‘I’m sure of the opposite.’
What interest did Florentin have in drawing attention to himself? Did he want his story to be told in the papers? It was unthinkable, and yet with him anything was possible.
‘Shall we get some air?’
The streetlights on Boulevard Richard-Lenoir were lit, even though it wasn’t yet completely dark. They weren’t the only ones walking along the pavement, peacefully, with no other aim than to taste the cool air after a hot day. They went to bed at eleven. The next morning the sun was in its place, and the air was already warm. A faint smell of tar was beginning to rise from the street, the smell of summer when the bitumen begins to soften.
Once he got to his office, Maigret had to deal with a large amount of mail, then attend the morning briefing. The papers mentioned the crime on Rue Notre-Dame-de-Lorette without many details, and he gave a brief summary of what he knew.
‘He didn’t confess?’
‘No.’
‘Do you have evidence against him?’
‘Some presumptions.’
He saw little point in adding that Florentin was an old schoolmate. When he got back to his office, he made a point of calling Janvier.
‘In fact, Joséphine Papet had four regular visitors. Two of them, François Paré and the man called Courcel, have been identified, and I will look into them this morning. You take care of the two others. Question the neighbours, the local shopkeepers, question whoever you like, but bring me their names and addresses.’
Janvier couldn’t help smiling, because Maigret himself was aware that the task was almost impossible.
‘I’m counting on you.’
‘Yes, chief.’
After which, Maigret called the pathologist. Sadly, it was no longer good old Dr Paul, who, when he dined in town, took a malicious pleasure in going into great detail about his autopsies.
‘Have you found the bullet, doctor?’
The pathologist had started by reading him the report that he was busy writing.
Joséphine Papet was a healthy woman, in the prime of life. All of her organs were in a good state, and she took great care with her appearance.
As to the gunshot, it had been fired from less than a metre but more than fifty centimetres away.
‘The bullet lodged at the base of the skull following a slightly rising trajectory …’
Maigret couldn’t help thinking of Florentin’s tall physique. Did that mean that he was sitting down when he fired the gun?
He asked the question.
‘Could someone sitting down …’
‘No. I’m not talking about an angle like that. I said slightly rising. I’ve sent the bullet to Gastinne-Renette for a specialist report. In my view, it wasn’t fired with an automatic, but with a barrel revolver of quite an old model.’
‘Was death instantaneous?’
‘Twenty to thirty seconds, in my view.’
‘So that no one could have saved her?’
‘Certainly not.’
‘Thank you, doctor.’
Torrence had come back to the office. A new officer called Dieudonné had gone to take over from him.
‘What’s he doing?’
‘He got up at seven thirty, shaved and, after washing perfunctorily, went in his slippers to have two coffees and some croissants at the bar on the corner. Then he went into the telephone cabin. He seemed to hesitate and came back out without using the phone.
‘Several times he turned round to look at me. I don’t know what he’s usually like, but he struck me as weary and discouraged.
‘At the kiosk on Place Blanche he bought the papers and looked through two or three of them, standing on the pavement.
‘In the end he went back home. Die
udonné arrived. I gave him his instructions and came to give you my report.’
‘Did he talk to anybody?’
‘No … Or rather he did, but you could hardly call it talking. While he was going to buy the papers, the painter from next door arrived. I don’t know where he sleeps, but it certainly isn’t in his studio. Florentin said to him:
‘“How are you?”
‘And the other man repeated exactly the same words, after which he studied me curiously. He must be wondering what we’re doing in the courtyard, one after the other. He showed the same curiosity when Dieudonné took my place.’
Maigret took his hat off the hook and went to the courtyard. He could have brought an inspector with him and taken one of the black cars lined up along the buildings.
He preferred to go on foot, to cross Pont Saint-Michel and head towards Boulevard Saint-Germain. He had never had the opportunity to step inside the Ministry of Public Works and he hesitated between the different staircases, each of which bore a different letter.
‘Are you looking for something?’
‘Navigable Waterways.’
‘Staircase C, right at the top.’
He saw no lift. The staircase was the same shade of grey as the one at Quai des Orfèvres. On each floor, black arrows were painted on the walls, with the names of the various offices to which the corridors led.
When he was on the third floor he found the right arrow and pushed open a door bearing the words: ‘Come in without knocking’.
Four male and two female clerks were working in the office, separated from the visitors by a balustrade. On the walls were yellowed maps, like the ones at the lycée in Moulins in the old days.
‘Can I help you?’
‘I’d like to speak to Monsieur Paré, please.’
‘Who shall I say it is?’
He hesitated. Not wishing to compromise the head of department, who might have been a decent man, he didn’t hand over his card.
‘My name is Maigret.’
The young clerk frowned, looked at him with greater attention and finally walked away shrugging his shoulders.
He was only gone for a few moments, and when he came back he opened a gate.
‘Monsieur Paré will see you immediately.’
Maigret's Childhood Friend Page 4
