Maigret and the Good People of Montparnasse

by Georges Simenon

  ‘Where was your husband at that time?’

  ‘I telephoned home immediately and Germaine, our maid, told me he wasn’t back yet.’

  ‘Did it not occur to you to inform the police?’

  ‘I don’t know … Mother and I didn’t know what to do … We didn’t understand … We needed someone to advise us and it was my idea to call Doctor Larue … He’s both a friend and Papa’s physician.’

  ‘Weren’t you surprised by your husband’s absence?’

  ‘At first I told myself he must have been called out to an emergency … Then, when Doctor Larue was here, I telephoned the hospital … That’s where I managed to get hold of him.’

  ‘How did he react?’

  ‘He said he’d come straight away … Doctor Larue had already called the police … I’m not sure I’m telling you all this in the right order … At the same time, I was looking after mother, who seemed not to know where she was.’

  ‘How old is she?’

  ‘Fifty-one. She’s a lot younger than father, who married late, at thirty-five—’

  ‘Would you send your husband in to see me?’

  Through the open door, Maigret could hear voices in the drawing room, those of the deputy public prosecutor, Mercier, and Étienne Gossard, a young examining magistrate who, like the others, had been dragged from his bed. The forensics team from Criminal Records would soon be taking over the room.

  ‘Did you want to see me?’

  The man was young, thin and anxious. His wife had come back in with him and asked timidly:

  ‘May I stay?’

  Maigret nodded.

  ‘I’m told, doctor, that you arrived here at around nine thirty.’

  ‘A little later, not much.’

  ‘Had you finished for the day?’

  ‘I thought I had, but in my profession you can never be certain.’

  ‘I presume that when you leave your apartment, you give your maid an address where you can be contacted?’

  ‘Germaine knew I was here.’

  ‘Is she your maid?’

  ‘Yes. She also looks after the children when my wife isn’t there.’

  ‘How did your father-in-law seem?’

  ‘The same as usual. He was watching television. The programme was of no interest and he suggested a game of chess. We started playing. At around ten fifteen, the telephone rang.’

  ‘Was it for you?’

  ‘Yes. Germaine told me that I was needed urgently at 28, Rue Julie … That’s in my neighbourhood … Germaine hadn’t caught the name, Lesage or Lechat, or perhaps Lachat … The person who called sounded distraught.’

  ‘Did you leave immediately?’

  ‘Yes. I told my father-in-law that I’d be back if my patient didn’t take up too much time, otherwise I’d go straight home … That was my intention … I get up very early, because of the hospital.’

  ‘How long did you stay with your patient?’

  ‘There was no patient. I asked a concierge, who looked at me in surprise and said that no one with the name Lesage or Lachat lived there, and that she was not aware of any sick child.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I asked permission to telephone home and I questioned Germaine again … She repeated that it was definitely number 28 … Just in case, I rang at 18 and 38, with no success … Since I was out anyway, I decided to drop in at the hospital to see a young patient I was concerned about—’

  ‘What time was that?’

  ‘I don’t know … I spent about half an hour at the child’s bedside and after that went on a ward round with one of the nurses … Then I was told that my wife was on the phone …’

  ‘You are the last person to have seen your father-in-law alive … Did he seem worried at all?’

  ‘Not in the least … On showing me out, he told me he was going to finish the game on his own … I heard him putting the chain on the door.’

  ‘Are you certain?’

  ‘I heard the rattle of the chain … I’d swear I did.’

  ‘So he must have got up to open the door to his murderer … Tell me, madame, when you arrived with your mother, I presume the chain was not on?’

  ‘How would we have got in?’

  The doctor was puffing rapidly on his cigarette, lighting another one before he had stubbed out the first, staring worriedly at the rug and then at Maigret. He looked like a man desperately grappling with a problem, and his wife was just as agitated as he was.

  ‘Tomorrow I’ll have to go over these questions in detail, I’m sorry,’ said Maigret.

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘Now I must get back to the gentlemen from the prosecutor’s office.’

  ‘Are they going to remove the body?’

  ‘They have to …’

  No one used the word autopsy, but it was clear that the young woman was thinking it.

  ‘Go back to Madame Josselin. I’ll speak to her briefly later and I’ll be as quick as I can.’

  In the drawing room, Maigret automatically shook hands and greeted his colleagues from Criminal Records, who were setting up their equipment.

  Troubled, the examining magistrate asked:

  ‘What do you think, Maigret?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Don’t you find it strange that the son-in-law should be called out to a non-existent patient that evening? How well did he get on with his father-in-law?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  He hated being asked these questions when they had all just intruded on a family’s privacy.

  The inspector he had glimpsed in the concierge’s lodge came into the room, notebook in hand, and walked over to Maigret and Saint-Hubert.

  ‘The concierge is positive,’ he said. ‘I’ve been questioning her for nearly an hour. She’s a bright young woman whose husband is a police officer. He’s on duty tonight.’

  ‘What does she say?’

  ‘She opened the door to Doctor Fabre at nine thirty-five. She’s certain of the time because she was about to go to bed and was winding up the alarm-clock. She tends to retire early because her baby, who’s only three months old, wakes her very early in the morning for his first feed.

  ‘She was asleep at ten fifteen, when the bell rang. Doctor Fabre said his name as he went past and she recognized his voice.’

  ‘How many people came in and went out afterwards?’

  ‘Wait. She tried to go back to sleep. She was just dozing off when the bell rang again, from the street this time. The person who came in said their name: Aresco. That’s a South American family who live on the first floor. Almost immediately afterwards, the baby woke up. She couldn’t get him back to sleep so she heated up some sugar water. No one came in and no one went out until Madame Josselin and her daughter returned.’

  The magistrates, who had been listening, exchanged grave looks.

  ‘In other words,’ said the examining magistrate, ‘Doctor Fabre is the last person to have left the building?’

  ‘Madame Bonnet – that’s the name of the concierge – is certain. Had she slept, she wouldn’t have been so categorical. But because of the baby, she was up the entire time.’

  ‘Was she still up when the two ladies returned? Did the child stay awake for two hours?’

  ‘Apparently. She was even worried about him and wished she’d seen Doctor Fabre so she could have asked his advice.’

  They looked questioningly at Maigret, who had an irritable expression.

  ‘Have you found the cartridges?’ he asked, turning to one of the forensics experts.

  ‘Two cartridges … 6.35 … Can we remove the body?’

  The men in white coats were waiting with their stretcher. As René Josselin was taken out of his front door under a sheet, his daughter entered the room noiselessly. Her gaze met that of Maigret, who went over to her.

  ‘Why are you here?’

  She didn’t answer right away. She watched the stretcher bearers. Only once the door had closed behind
them did she whisper, a little like someone speaking in a dream:

  ‘An idea occurred to me … Wait …’

  She went over to an antique chest of drawers between two windows and opened the top drawer.

  ‘What are you looking for?’

  Her lips trembled, and she looked intently at Maigret.

  ‘The revolver …’

  ‘Was there a revolver in that drawer?’

  ‘For years … That’s why, when I was little, the drawer was always locked.’

  ‘What kind of revolver?’

  ‘A very flat automatic, blue-coloured, a Belgian make.’

  ‘A Browning 6.35?’

  ‘I think so … I’m not sure … It was engraved with the word Herstal and some numbers.’

  The men exchanged more looks, because the description was that of a 6.35 automatic.

  ‘When was the last time you saw it?’

  ‘A while ago … Weeks … Maybe even months … Probably one evening when we were playing cards, because the cards were in the same drawer … They’re still there … Here, things stay in the same place for a long time.’

  ‘But the automatic isn’t there now?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So the person who used it knew where to find it?’

  ‘Perhaps it was my father who took it to defend himself.’

  They could read the fear in her eyes.

  ‘Your parents don’t have any servants?’

  ‘They used to have a maid, who got married around six months ago. Since then, they’ve tried two others. Mother wasn’t satisfied and decided to hire a cleaner instead, Madame Manu. She comes at seven in the morning and leaves at eight o’clock at night.’

  All this was normal, natural, except that this quiet man, who had recently retired, had been murdered in his armchair.

  There was something that didn’t quite add up about the tragedy, something incongruous.

  ‘How is your mother?’

  ‘Doctor Larue made her go to bed. She won’t say a word and stares fixedly, as if she had lost consciousness. She hasn’t cried. She seems vacant … The doctor requests your permission to give her a sedative … He’d rather she slept … May he?’

  Why not? It wasn’t by asking Madame Josselin a few questions that Maigret would find out the truth.

  ‘He may,’ he replied.

  The forensics team worked with their usual quiet meticulousness. The deputy public prosecutor took his leave.

  ‘Are you coming, Gossard? Have you got your car?’

  ‘No. I came by taxi.’

  ‘I’ll drive you back, if you like.’

  Saint-Hubert left too, muttering to Maigret on his way out:

  ‘Was I right to call you?’

  Maigret nodded and went and sat down in an armchair.

  ‘Open the window,’ he said to Lapointe.

  It was warm in the room and suddenly he was surprised that despite the summery temperature, Josselin had spent the evening with all the windows shut.

  ‘Call the son-in-law.’

  ‘Right away, chief.’

  Fabre soon arrived, looking exhausted.

  ‘Tell me, doctor, when you left your father-in-law, were the windows open or closed?’

  He thought, and looked at the two windows, whose curtains were drawn.

  ‘Wait … I don’t know … I’m trying to remember … I was sitting here … I believe I could see lights … Yes … I could almost swear that the left-hand window was open … I could distinctly hear the sounds of the city.’

  ‘And you didn’t close it before leaving?’

  ‘Why would I have done that?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘No … It didn’t occur to me … You forget that this is not my home.’

  ‘Did you often come here?’

  ‘About once a week … Véronique visited her father and her mother more frequently … Tell me … My wife is going to sleep here tonight, but I would rather sleep at home … We never leave the children alone with the maid at night … Besides, I have to be at the hospital at seven tomorrow morning.’

  ‘What’s stopping you from leaving?’

  He was surprised by this question, as if he considered himself a suspect.

  ‘Thank you.’

  He could be heard talking to his wife in the next room, then he walked across the drawing room, bareheaded, holding his bag, and said goodbye with an embarrassed air.

  2.

  Once the three men had left the building, only Madame Josselin and her daughter remained in the apartment. After a restless night the concierge’s baby must have fallen asleep because the lodge was in darkness, and Maigret’s finger hovered over the bell.

  ‘How about going for a drink, doctor?’

  Lapointe, about to open the door of the black car, froze before gripping the handle. Doctor Larue looked at his watch, as if it would decide for him.

  ‘I’d be delighted to have a cup of coffee,’ he said in the deep, mellifluous voice that he used with his patients. ‘There must be a bar that’s still open on the corner of Boulevard Montparnasse.’

  It was not yet daybreak. The streets were almost empty. Maigret glanced up at the third floor and saw the lights go off in the drawing room, where one of the windows was still open.

  Would Véronique Fabre get undressed and go to bed in her old room? Or would she stay at the bedside of her mother, who had been knocked out by the doctor’s jab? What were her thoughts in the now empty rooms where so many strangers had been going about their work earlier?

  ‘Bring the car,’ Maigret said to Lapointe.

  They only had to go down Rue Vavin. Larue and Maigret walked along the street. The doctor was a shortish, plump man with broad shoulders who probably never lost his air of calm, his dignity or his mild manner. Maigret could tell he was used to a well-heeled clientele, whose manner and ways he had adopted, not without exaggerating them somewhat.

  Although he was around fifty, there was still a great deal of innocence in his blue eyes, a certain fear too of upsetting people, and later Maigret would learn that each year he exhibited at the Doctor-Painters’ art show.

  ‘Have you known the Josselins long?’

  ‘Since I moved to this neighbourhood, which was around twenty years ago. Véronique was still a little girl and, if my memory serves me correctly, the first time they called me out was for her, when she had measles.’

  It was the chill, slightly damp hour. The gas lamps were haloed with a soft glow. Several cars were parked on the corner of Boulevard Raspail outside a cabaret which was still open; the liveried doorman standing at the entrance took the two men for potential clients. He opened the door, letting out gusts of music.

  Lapointe kept abreast of them in the little car, and drew up alongside the kerb.

  The Montparnasse night was not entirely over. A couple were arguing in hushed tones against a wall, close to a hotel. In the still-lit bar, as the doctor had anticipated, a few shapes could be seen and an elderly flower-seller at the bar was drinking a coffee and rum that gave off a strong smell of alcohol.

  ‘A brandy and water for me,’ said Maigret.

  The doctor hesitated.

  ‘I think I’ll have the same, dammit!’

  ‘What about you, Lapointe?’

  ‘Same for me, chief.’

  ‘Three brandies and water.’

  They sat down at a pedestal table near the window and began talking quietly while the nocturnal wheeling and dealing carried on around them. Larue stated with conviction:

  ‘They’re good people. We quickly became friends, and my wife and I are often invited there for dinner.’

  ‘Are they wealthy?’

  ‘It all depends what you mean by wealthy. They are certainly very well-off. René Josselin’s father already owned a little packaging business in Rue du Saint-Gothard, a simple glazed workshop at the far end of a courtyard, which employed around ten women. When he inherited it, René bought modern equipment. He
was a man of taste, who was not lacking in ideas, and he soon built up a clientele of famous perfumers and other luxury goods houses.’

  ‘I understand he married late, at around thirty-five?’

  ‘That’s correct. He carried on living above the workshops in Rue du Saint-Gothard with his mother, who had always been an invalid. He did not conceal from me that she was the reason he hadn’t married sooner. On the one hand, he didn’t want to leave her on her own, and on the other, he didn’t feel he had the right to impose his sick mother on a young wife. He worked very hard, and lived solely for his business.’

  ‘To your health.’

  ‘To yours.’

  Lapointe, his eyes a little bloodshot from tiredness, didn’t miss a word of the conversation.

  ‘He got married after his mother died, and moved to Rue Notre-Dame-des-Champs.’

  ‘Who was his wife?’

  ‘Francine de Lancieux, the daughter of a former colonel. I think they lived close by, in Rue du Saint-Gothard or Rue Dareau, and that was how Josselin met her. She must have been twenty-two at the time.’

  ‘Did they get along well?’

  ‘They were one of the closest couples I have ever known. Almost immediately, they had a daughter, Véronique, whom you met this evening. Later, they hoped to have a son, but a rather serious operation put an end to their hopes.’

  Good people, Saint-Hubert had said, and now the doctor. People who lived a quiet, uneventful life, in calm, well-to-do surroundings.

  ‘They came back from La Baule last week … They bought a house there when Véronique was still a little girl, and they continued to go there every year. Now that Véronique has become a mother too, they take her children there.’

  ‘What about the husband?’

  ‘Doctor Fabre? I don’t know whether he took a holiday, probably no longer than a week if he did. Perhaps he joined them a couple of times from Saturday to Sunday evening. He’s a man who is entirely dedicated to medicine and to his patients, a sort of secular saint. When he met Véronique, he was a junior doctor at the Hospital for Sick Children and, if he weren’t married, he would probably have been content with a hospital career, without taking on private patients.’

  ‘Do you think his wife insisted he have a private practice?’

  ‘I won’t be breaking patient confidentiality in answering that question. Fabre makes no secret of it. If he’d devoted himself solely to the hospital, he would have struggled to support a family. His father-in-law wanted him to take over a practice and lent him the money. You have seen him. He isn’t bothered about his appearance, or about comfort. He generally wears crumpled clothes and, left to his own devices, I suspect he’d forget to change his underwear …’