Maigret and the Lazy Burglar

by Georges Simenon

  For the past eight days, Maigret had felt as if he were floundering. This time, they had spent three entire weeks at Meung-sur-Loire without once hearing from the Police Judiciaire, without Maigret being summoned back to Paris on an urgent case, as had happened in previous years.

  They’d carried on doing up the house and working on the garden. Maigret had gone fishing and played belote with the locals and now he was finding it hard to get back to normal.

  So was Paris, it seemed. It was not raining; nor was there the usual post-holiday coolness. The big tourist buses continued to ferry foreigners in loud shirts through the streets and, although a lot of Parisians were back, others were still leaving the city by the trainload.

  The Police Judiciaire and the office appeared a little unreal, and Maigret sometimes wondered what he was doing there, as if real life was back on the banks of the Loire.

  It was probably this unease that was the cause of his dream, the details of which he was trying in vain to recollect. Madame Maigret came back from the kitchen with a cup of scalding coffee and immediately grasped that, far from being furious at being woken up so brutally, he was pleased.

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘In Montparnasse … Rue Notre-Dame-des-Champs.’

  He had put on his shirt and trousers and was lacing up his shoes when the telephone rang again. This time, it was the Police Judiciaire.

  ‘Torrence here, chief … We’ve just been informed that—’

  ‘That a man has been killed in Rue Notre-Dame-des-Champs.’

  ‘You know? Are you going over there?’

  ‘Who’s in the office?’

  ‘There’s Dupeu, who’s in the middle of questioning a suspect in the jewellery heist case, then Vacher … Hold on … Lapointe’s just come in—’

  ‘Tell him to go there and wait for me.’

  Janvier was on holiday. Lucas, back the previous day, hadn’t yet returned to work.

  ‘Shall I phone for a taxi?’ asked Madame Maigret a little later.

  In the street, he found a driver who knew him, and for once he was pleased.

  ‘Where to, inspector?’

  He gave the address and filled a fresh pipe. On arrival in Rue Notre-Dame-des-Champs, he spotted a little Police Judiciaire car and Lapointe standing on the pavement, smoking a cigarette and chatting with a police officer.

  ‘Third floor on the left,’ said the policeman.

  Maigret and Lapointe entered the well-maintained middle-class apartment building. There was a light in the lodge, and through the net curtain Maigret thought he recognized an inspector from the 6th arrondissement questioning the concierge.

  As soon as the lift stopped, a door opened and Saint-Hubert stepped forward to greet them.

  ‘The public prosecutor won’t be here for another half an hour … Come in … You will understand why I insisted on telephoning you …’

  They entered a spacious hallway, then Saint-Hubert pushed a half-open door and they found themselves in a peaceful drawing room where there was no one except for the body of a man slumped in a leather armchair. Tallish, quite portly, he was hunched up, his head lolling to one side and his eyes open.

  ‘I asked the family to withdraw to another room … Madame Josselin is being attended to by the family physician, Doctor Larue, who happens to be a friend of mine.’

  ‘Was she injured?’

  ‘No. She wasn’t here when the tragedy occurred. I’ll quickly put you in the picture.’

  ‘Who lives in the apartment? How many people?’

  ‘Two.’

  ‘You mentioned the family …’

  ‘You’ll see … Monsieur and Madame Josselin have lived here on their own since their daughter got married. She married a young doctor, a paediatrician, Doctor Fabre, who is assistant to Professor Baron at the Hospital for Sick Children.’

  Lapointe took notes.

  ‘This evening, Madame Josselin and her daughter went to the Théâtre de la Madeleine—’

  ‘What about the husbands?’

  ‘René Josselin stayed on his own for a while.’

  ‘Didn’t he like the theatre?’

  ‘I don’t know. I think rather that he didn’t like going out in the evening.’

  ‘What was his occupation?’

  ‘For the past two years, he had none. He used to own a cardboard factory, in Rue du Saint-Gothard. He made cardboard boxes, especially luxury packaging for perfumers, for example. He sold his business, for health reasons …’

  ‘How old?’

  Sixty-five or sixty-six … So last night, he stayed in on his own … Then his son-in-law joined him, I don’t know at what time, and the two men played chess.’

  There was a chess board on a little table with the pieces positioned as if a game had been interrupted.

  Saint-Hubert spoke quietly, and people could be heard coming and going in other rooms whose doors were not fully closed.

  ‘When the two women came back from the theatre—’

  ‘At what time?’

  ‘A quarter past midnight … As I was saying, when they came back, they found René Josselin just as you see him in here—’

  ‘How many bullets?’

  ‘Two … Both close to the heart.’

  ‘Didn’t the other residents hear anything?’

  ‘The next-door neighbours are still on holiday.’

  ‘Were you called straight away?’

  ‘No. First of all they telephoned Doctor Larue. He lives around the corner in Rue d’Assas and Josselin was in his care. That took a while and it was only at ten past one that I received a call from my station, which had just been informed. I quickly got dressed and made my way here … I only asked a few questions because it was difficult, given the state Madame Josselin is in—’

  ‘The son-in-law?’

  ‘He arrived shortly before you did.’

  ‘What does he say?’

  ‘It was hard to reach him, but he was eventually found at the hospital where he had gone to see a sick child, a case of encephalitis, I believe—’

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘In there.’

  Saint-Hubert pointed to one of the doors. They could hear whispering.

  ‘From the little I gleaned, nothing has been stolen and we found no signs of a break-in. The Josselins are not aware of having any enemies … They are good people, who live an uneventful life.’

  There was a knock at the door. It was Ledent, a young forensic pathologist whom Maigret knew. He shook hands all round then set his bag down on a chest of drawers and opened it.

  ‘I received a phone call from the prosecutor’s office,’ he said. ‘The deputy public prosecutor’s on his way.’

  ‘I’d like to ask the young lady some questions,’ muttered Maigret whose eyes had swept the room several times.

  He understood Saint-Hubert’s feelings. The setting was not only elegant and comfortable, it exuded peace and quiet and family life. It was not a formal drawing room; it was a room that was pleasant to be in and where each piece of furniture had a purpose and a history.

  The huge tan leather armchair, for example, was obviously the one that René Josselin was in the habit of sitting in every evening, and, facing it, on the other side of the room, the television set was just within his field of vision.

  The grand piano had been played for years by a little girl whose portrait was on the wall and, next to another armchair not as deep as that of the paterfamilias, was a pretty, finely wrought Louis XV table.

  ‘Do you want me to call her in?’

  ‘I’d rather talk to her in another room.’

  Saint-Hubert knocked on a door, vanished for a moment, and came back to fetch Maigret, who caught a glimpse of a bedroom, and a man leaning over a woman lying on the bed.

  Another woman, younger, came over to Maigret and murmured:

  ‘If you’d like to follow me into my former bedroom …’

  A bedroom that was still that of a little girl, full o
f mementos, knick-knacks and photographs, as if her parents had wanted her, once married, to be able to come back and find her childhood room.

  ‘You are Detective Chief Inspector Maigret, aren’t you?’

  He nodded.

  ‘You may smoke your pipe … My husband smokes cigarettes all day long, except at the bedsides of his young patients, of course.’

  She was wearing an elegant dress and had had her hair done before going to the theatre. Her hands plucked at a handkerchief.

  ‘Would you rather remain standing?’

  ‘Yes … You would too, wouldn’t you?’

  Unable to keep still, she paced up and down, not knowing where to rest her gaze.

  ‘I don’t know whether you can imagine the effect on us … You hear about murders every day through the papers, the wireless, but you don’t imagine for one minute that it can happen to you … Poor Papa!’

  ‘Were you very close to your father?’

  ‘He was an exceptionally generous man … I meant the world to him … I am his only child … You must find out what happened, Monsieur Maigret, and tell us … I can’t get out of my head that it is all a terrible mistake.’

  ‘Do you think the murderer could have come to the wrong floor?’

  She looked at him like someone grasping a lifeline but immediately shook her head.

  ‘It’s not possible … The lock wasn’t forced … My father must have opened the door …’

  Maigret called out:

  ‘Lapointe! … You can come in.’

  He introduced him and Lapointe blushed at finding himself in a girl’s room.

  ‘May I ask you a few questions? Whose idea was it to go to the theatre, yours or your mother’s?’

  ‘It’s hard to say. I think it was mother’s. She’s always the one who insists that I should go out. I have two children, the eldest is three, the baby ten months. When my husband isn’t at his surgery, where I don’t see him, he’s out and about, at the hospital or visiting his patients. He’s a man who devotes himself entirely to his work. So, occasionally, two or three times a month, mother telephones to invite me to go out with her.

  ‘This evening there was a play I wanted to see at—’

  ‘Was your husband not free?’

  ‘Not before nine thirty. That was too late. Besides, he doesn’t like the theatre.’

  ‘What time did you come here?’

  ‘At around eight thirty.’

  ‘Where do you live?’

  ‘Boulevard Brune, near the Cité Universitaire.’

  ‘Did you take a taxi?’

  ‘No. My husband drove me here in his car. He had a gap between appointments.’

  ‘Did he come up?’

  ‘He dropped me off outside.’

  ‘Was he planning to pick you up afterwards?’

  ‘It was almost always the same when my mother and I went out. Paul – that’s my husband – would join my father as soon as he finished his visits and the pair of them played chess or watched television until our return.’

  ‘Is that what happened last night?’

  ‘From what he has just told me, yes. He arrived just after nine thirty. They started a game. Then my husband received a telephone call—’

  ‘At what time?’

  ‘He hasn’t had the chance to tell me. He left, and when mother and I came upstairs later, we were met with the scene that you saw …’

  ‘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.