‘You don’t understand?’
‘I think I do, but I’d like to know if my rationale seems logical to Americans.’
‘Ward was rather proud of himself: he, a married man, had what you’d call a mistress. Can you imagine what prestige that gave him with regard to his friends?’
‘He was willing to run the risk?’
‘He wasn’t thinking of the risk, only of impressing them. You’ll remember that at a certain point he became worried and tried to keep Bessie from drinking.’
‘He didn’t seem to be jealous of anyone but Mullins.’
‘He wasn’t that far wrong. He saw Mullins as the handsome guy who attracts women. He wasn’t so worried about the other two, who were a head shorter than he is, still less about Wo Lee, who’s only a child.’
‘You admit that it’s some sort of exhibitionism?’
‘I’ve heard that in Paris and elsewhere, at the opera or like places, the snootiest people proudly show off their wives or mistresses in very low-cut dresses.’
‘Do you think something happened in the car that made Bessie decide not to go on to Nogales?’
‘One explanation springs to mind, but I don’t know if it’s the right one. After bursting in to the kitchen, Ward became nervous and ill-tempered. He made Bessie change places and sit in the back of the car to get her away from Mullins. By the same token, he was moving her away from himself. It was a kind of sulk. She might well have sulked right back at him.’
‘What if something scared her?’
‘Some move made by O’Neil or Wo Lee, in a car carrying six people? Don’t forget, inspector, that everyone except Wo Lee was pretty drunk.’
‘Is that why their testimonies don’t match?’
‘And also because, I admit, they each feel more or less under suspicion. Besides, friendship is involved. O’Neil and Van Fleet are almost inseparable, and you’ve noticed that their depositions are almost identical. Wo Lee tries to deal tactfully with everyone, because he can’t bear to be a tattletale.’
‘Why did Ward claim that Bessie didn’t get back in the car after the first stop?’
‘Because he’s afraid. Don’t forget, this business puts him in trouble up to his neck. He’s got a wife and children. His wife will probably file for divorce.’
‘He stated that Bessie went off with Sergeant Mullins.’
‘What proves she didn’t?’
‘Your deputies contradict one another as well.’
‘Each of them is under oath and says what he believes to be the truth.’
‘The Southern Pacific inspector seems to know his job.’
‘He’s a good man.’
‘Conley?’
‘A fine fellow.’
‘Atwater?’
‘A complete jackass.’
He did not mince words in rating his subordinates.
‘And Schmider?’
‘A first-rate technician.’
‘You really hope to find the car that took the three men back to the base?’
‘I’d be surprised if it isn’t parked in front of my office tomorrow morning, because this afternoon we obtained the address of the garage that sold the set of tyres.’
‘That’s why the inquest was adjourned until tomorrow?’
‘That, and because the jurors will be more alert.’
‘You think they’ve understood some of it?’
‘They’ve been paying close attention. At this point, they’re probably a little lost. Tomorrow, it should be enough to present them with more evidence, if we have any.’
‘And if you don’t?’
‘They’ll decide according to their consciences.’
‘Doesn’t this system allow many guilty people to go free?’
‘That’s better than locking up the innocent, don’t you think?’
‘Why did you go back to the Penguin Bar yesterday?’
‘I’ll tell you. Bessie, who lived close by, went there almost every night. I wanted to make a list of all the men she was meeting there.’
‘Did the waitress give you some interesting information?’
‘She told me that Van Fleet and O’Neil had come by several times.’
‘With Ward?’
‘No.’
‘Did they ever go out with Bessie?’
‘No. Bessie didn’t like them.’
‘Does that mean Bessie couldn’t have made a date with them? O’Neil could have talked to her in the car and asked her to get rid of the others.’
‘I thought about that.’
‘She announces that she does not want to continue on to Nogales, picks a fight with Ward, refuses to get back in the car and waits for the other two in the desert. They leave their other friends when they get to Tucson, never suspecting that Ward and Mullins mean to go back to where they had been. They try to get rid of Wo Lee, who isn’t in on the plan, then take a taxi.’
‘And they kill her?’
‘I believe I would have had the two men’s underwear examined.’
‘That was done. The results were negative for Van Fleet, if I get what you mean. It was too late for O’Neil, as his underwear had already gone off to the laundry by then.’
‘Do you think Bessie was murdered?’
‘The thing is, chief inspector, here we never believe someone is guilty until we have proof. Every man is presumed innocent.’
Maigret shot back, half seriously, half in jest: ‘Every French person is presumed guilty. Nevertheless, I bet it was you who had those five locked up on a charge of inciting a minor to drink.’
‘Did they get her to drink, yes or no? Did they admit it?’
‘Yes, but …’
‘So they broke the law, and that works out for me, because it simplifies my task to have them in jail. I don’t have that many men at my disposal. I would have had to keep them all under surveillance. And I think you now know about as much as I do regarding all this. If you have any more questions, I’m still available.’
‘Was it just after learning of his sister’s death that Mitchell claimed she’d been murdered?’
‘That was his first reaction. Don’t forget that he knew she had had sex with Mullins in the kitchen and that Ward had almost caught them at it.’
‘No!’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Mitchell has never suspected Ward. Anyway, it’s not Ward he suspects at the moment.’
‘He told you so?’
‘That’s what he gave me to understand.’
‘Then you know more than I do, and perhaps I’d best have a talk with him. Be that as it may, I have to get to the office now. Are you staying with the inspector, Harry?’
Maigret wound up on the street with Cole, whose car, as usual, was not far off.
‘Where do you feel like going, Julius?’
‘To bed.’
‘You don’t think this might be the moment for a nightcap?’
That was the thing: they had just left a pleasant club where every kind of drink in the world had been on offer. Cole knew everyone there. They could have talked and imbibed their fill.
Yet, once outside, Cole wanted to go and prop up some anonymous bar.
Perhaps it had something to do with the attractive power of sin?
Maigret almost left his companion and returned to the hotel, because he really did want to go to bed. A kind of cowardice led him to stay with Cole, who pulled up a little later, naturally, across the street from the Penguin.
It was almost deserted, that evening. Music was coming from the jukebox, its lights gleaming in the habitually dim interior.
Two couples were sitting at a table near the jukebox: Harold Mitchell with Erna Bolton and the musician with Maggie.
Seeing Maigret enter with the FBI man, Mitchell raised an eyebrow and began talking quietly with his companions.
‘Are you married?’ Maigret asked Cole.
‘And the father of three. They’re off in New England, since I’m posted here for only a few months.’
There was a hint of homesickness in his eyes, and he downed his drink in one go.
‘What do you think of the club?’ he asked in turn.
‘I did not expect it to be so luxurious.’
‘There are better ones. At the Country Club, for example, they have golf, several tennis courts, a magnificent swimming pool.’
After signalling the barman for a refill, Cole continued.
‘A person can eat much better and for less money than in the restaurants. Everything is of good quality. Except that, you have to admit … There’s no word in English. I think that in French you’d say, it’s emmerdant, right?’
Such strange people! They saddled themselves with strict rules. And they tried conscientiously to follow them for so many hours per day, or days per week, or weeks per year.
Did they all feel the need to escape from them at some point?
It was much later, near closing time, that Cole – who had drunk a great deal and who that day was aggressive only towards himself – confessed his secret.
‘You see, Julius, for the world to go around, it’s essential that people live in a certain way. You have a comfortable house, electric appliances, a luxurious car, a well-dressed woman who gives you beautiful children and keeps them clean. You belong to your parish and your club. You earn money and work each year to increase the amount. Isn’t that the way it is all over the world?’
‘Perhaps your country has perfected this system.’
‘Because we’re richer. Here we have poor people with their own cars. The blacks who pick cotton almost all have an old car. We have reduced the down-and-outers to a minimum. We are a great people, Julius.’
And when Maigret replied, ‘I am convinced of that,’ he was not simply being polite.
‘Still, there are moments when the comfortable house, the smiling wife, the well-scrubbed children, the car, the club, the office and bank account are not enough. Does that happen back in your country, too?’
‘I believe that happens to everybody.’
‘Well, Julius, I’m going to give you my remedy, which a few million of us know and use. You walk into a bar like this one, which one doesn’t matter, for they are all alike. The barman calls you by your first name or some other first name if he doesn’t know you, it’s not important. He pushes a glass towards you and fills it whenever he sees it empty.
‘Sooner or later, someone you don’t know will tap you on the shoulder and tell you the story of his life. Most of the time, he shows a snapshot of his wife and kids and finally confesses to you what a fucking pig he is.
‘Sometimes a fellow who gets gloomy on the booze looks at you funny and, for no apparent reason, punches you in the face.
‘It doesn’t matter. At any rate, you’ll be ushered outside at one in the morning because it’s the law, and the law is still the law.
‘You try to get home without knocking over any lampposts, because you risk going to prison if you drive drunk.
‘And the next morning, you hit the little blue bottle that you know. You have a few good belches smelling of whiskey. A hot bath, then an icy shower, and the world is nice and clean again. You’re happy as can be to find yourself back in your tidy house, the streets swept, the car riding quietly, the office air-conditioned. And life is beautiful, Julius!’
Maigret was looking at the two couples over in the corner, near the jukebox, who were looking back at them.
In short, it was so that life could be beautiful that Bessie was dead!
8. The Black Man Speaks Up
All five of them were there, in the blue prison uniforms, out in the second-storey colonnade. The much-laundered clothing had turned the same blue as sardine nets, the same blue as the morning sky you see each day as pure as ever.
In a shady recess there still lingered a little coolness from the night and the dawn, but crossing the line of light meant entering burning waves that seared the skin.
Soon, when the sun would be at its zenith in the sky, one of the five men might stand accused of manslaughter or murder.
Were they thinking about that? And were those of them who knew themselves to be innocent wondering who among them had killed? Or did they know and had they remained silent only through friendship or solidarity?
What was striking was their isolation.
They belonged to the same base, the same unit. They had gone out drinking, had fun together and called one another by their first names.
Yet at their first appearance before the coroner, invisible walls had divided them and made them strangers.
Most of the time, they avoided looking at one another, and when they happened to do so the look in their eyes was grave and heavy with bitterness or suspicion.
Sometimes they brushed up against one another, elbow to elbow, yet without making any real contact.
Among these men, however, there still existed bonds that Maigret had sensed from the first day and was now beginning to understand.
For example, they divided into two distinct groups, not only when out on leave, but back in the barracks as well.
Sergeant Ward and Dan Mullins formed one of these groups. They were the oldest – it was tempting to call them the grown-ups – and next to them the other three looked like rookies, in the junior class.
Like new pupils, those three had an aura of clumsiness, indecision, and they looked at their colleagues with envious admiration.
Yet the thickest and most impenetrable wall was between Ward and Mullins. Could Ward forget that Mullins had possessed Bessie almost before his eyes, in the musician’s kitchen, and that this was doubtless the last embrace she had known?
To have her, it was he who had paid the price. He had promised to get a divorce, which meant he would be cut off from his children. He had wagered everything in the game, while his friend had simply gazed at her with his bedroom eyes.
Did Ward not have more serious suspicions about Mullins? Was it not believable that he had spoken in good faith about having secretly been drugged?
He had fallen abruptly asleep, and his pride as a drinking man kept him from admitting that the cause was alcohol. He did not know how long he had slept. Maigret had made an amusing observation on this point. Whenever the coroner or the attorney had asked the men to be more specific about the time, they had wound up saying, ‘I didn’t have a watch on.’
That had reminded Maigret of his military service, back when soldiers earned a pittance and when, after a few weeks, every watch in the regiment was in a pawnshop.
What proved to Ward that Mullins had remained sitting next to him in the car?
Maigret had put the matter to Cole, who knew about such things because of his job.
‘Couldn’t the musician have had marijuana cigarettes at his place?’
‘First of all, I’m fairly certain he did not. Secondly, had he had some, they would not have plunged Ward into the deep sleep he described. On the contrary, he would have felt abnormally energized.’
And didn’t Mullins, for his part, suspect Ward of having sl
ipped off while he was asleep to go up to the railway tracks?
No look of hatred or reproach was ever observed between them, however. Each of them, frowning hard, seemed stubbornly to be trying to solve the problem on his own.
In the junior class, Van Fleet was the most nervous. That morning, he had the eyes of someone who has not slept all night or who has been crying for a long time.
His gaze was fixed and anxious. He seemed to sense an imminent misfortune, and his nails were bitten to the quick. He kept chewing on them at times without thinking, would stop abruptly when he realized it, then try to compose himself.
O’Neil, stubborn and sullen, still resembled a good student who has been unjustly punished, and he was the only one of the five awkwardly wearing a prison uniform too big for him.
As for Wo Lee, there was something pure in his attitude, his eyes, his delicate features, that made you want to treat him like a child.
‘Last day!’ a joyous voice exclaimed at Maigret’s ear, making him jump.
It was a juror, the oldest one, who looked like an etching: his eyes, surrounded by a thousand fine, deep wrinkles, sparkled with both kindness and mischief. He had seen Maigret attend the inquest so faithfully and with such passionate interest that he must have thought him disappointed that it was ending already.
‘The last day, yes.’
Did the old man, who seemed so carefree, already have his own opinion of the case? Van Fleet, who was the closest suspect and had overheard him, began to chew his nails again, while Sergeant Ward stared sombrely at the heavy man with the foreign accent who seemed to take an interest in him, God knows why.
They were all freshly shaven. Ward had even had his hair cut: it had been left shorter than usual around the nape and ears, so that the white skin there stood out against his suntan.
Something unusual was going on. It was twenty to ten, and Ezekiel had not yet summoned the jurors to the hearing.
He was not out in the arcade but downstairs, in the shade, near the lawn, smoking his pipe in front of a closed door.
Maigret at the Coroner's Page 12
