Inspector Cadaver

by Georges Simenon

  “Ah!”

  “It must have been put into safe-keeping by now…”

  “Maybe…I don’t know…May I remind you that this office is not a police station and we believe in minding our own business…”

  This unpleasant-smelling, silly individual could not have spoken more plainly and was obviously delighted he had given a Parisian such short shrift.

  A few moments later, Maigret was back in the street, no further on with his investigation than he had been before, but by now convinced that no one was going to help him find out the truth.

  And since no one wanted to know the truth, what was the point of his being here? Would it not be more sensible to go back to Paris and say to Bréjon:

  “Look…Your brother-in-law doesn’t want there to be a proper investigation into all this…No one down there likes the idea…I have come back…They gave a wonderful dinner for me…”

  Maigret passed a large house built of gray stone and saw from the bright yellow plaque on the wall that it belonged to the notary. This, then, was the house that Bréjon’s father and sister had once occupied and in the gray, watery light it had the same air of timelessness and inscrutability as the rest of the town.

  He walked a little further on until he came to the Lion d’Or. Inside, he could see someone talking to the woman who ran the inn and he had the distinct impression that they were talking about him and standing by the window in order to get a better view.

  A man on a bicycle came into sight. Maigret recognized the rider as he approached but did not have time to turn away. Alban Groult-Cotelle was on his way home from the Nauds’ and he jumped off his bicycle as soon as he saw Maigret.

  “It’s good to see you again…We’re only a stone’s throw away from my house…Will you do me the honor of coming in for a drink?…I insist!…My house is very modest but I’ve a few bottles of vintage port…”

  Maigret followed him. He did not expect much to come of the visit but the prospect was infinitely preferable to wandering alone through the hostile town.

  It was a huge, solid house which looked very appealing from a distance. Its squat shape, black railings and high slate roof gave it the air of a bourgeois fortress.

  Inside, everything looked shabby and neglected. The surly-faced maid looked a real slut and yet it was obvious to Maigret from certain looks they gave each other that Groult-Cotelle was sleeping with her.

  “I am sorry everything is so untidy…I’m a bachelor and live alone…I’m only interested in books, so…”

  So…the wallpaper was peeling off the walls which were covered in damp patches, the curtains were gray with dust, and one had to try three or four chairs before finding one that did not wobble. Only one room on the first floor was heated, no doubt to save wood, and this served as a sitting room, dining room and library. There was even a divan in one corner which Maigret suspected his host slept on most of the time.

  “Do sit down…It really is a pity you didn’t come in the summer as it is rather more attractive round here then…How do you like my friends the Nauds?…What a nice family they are! I know them well…You would not find a better man than Naud anywhere…He may not be a very deep thinker, he may be a tiny bit arrogant, but he is so unaffected and sincere…He is very rich, you know.”

  “And Geneviève Naud?”

  “A charming girl…Without any…Yes, charming is how I’d describe her…”

  “I presume I’ll have the opportunity to meet her…She’ll soon be better, I hope?”

  “Of course she will…of course…She’s just like any other young girl of her age…Cheers…”

  “Did you know Retailleau?”

  “By sight…His mother seems to be well thought of…I would show you around if you were here for longer as there are some interesting people scattered here and there in the villages roundabout…My uncle, the general, frequently used to say that it is in country districts and especially here in La Vendée that…”

  Pure waffle! If Maigret gave Groult-Cotelle the chance he would start telling him the history of every family in the neighborhood all over again.

  “I am afraid I must go now…”

  “Oh yes! Your investigations!…How are you getting on? Are you optimistic?…If you want my opinion, the answer is to get hold of whoever is responsible for all these false rumors…”

  “Have you any idea who it might be?”

  “Me? Of course not. Don’t start thinking I have any bright ideas on the subject, please…I’ll probably see you this evening, as Etienne has asked me to dinner and unless I’m too busy…”

  Busy doing what, pray? Anyone would think that words in this particular neighborhood took on a completely different meaning.

  “Have you heard the rumor about the cap?”

  “What cap? Oh, yes…I was lost for a moment…I did hear some vague story…But is it true? Has it really been found? That’s the key to it all, isn’t it?”

  No, that was not the key to it all. The young girl’s confession, for example, was just as important as the discovery of the cap. But would Maigret be able to keep to himself what he knew much longer?

  Five minutes later, Maigret rang the doctor’s bell. A little maid answered the door and started to explain that the surgery was closed until one o’clock. He must have persisted for he was shown into the garage where a tall, strapping fellow with a cheerful face was repairing a motorbike.

  It was the same old story:

  “Superintendent Maigret of the Police Judiciaire…I’m here in an unofficial capacity…”

  “I’ll show you into my office, if I may, and then when I’ve washed my hands…”

  Maigret waited near the folding table which was used to examine the patients. It was covered with an oilcloth.

  “So you’re the famous Superintendent Maigret? I’ve heard quite a lot about you…I’ve a friend who pores over the miscellaneous news items in the papers…He lives thirty-five kilometers away, but if he knew you were in Saint-Aubin he’d be over here like a shot…You solved the Landru case, didn’t you?”

  He had hit on one of the very few cases Maigret had had nothing to do with.

  “And to what do we owe the honor of your presence in Saint-Aubin? For it is, indeed, an honor…I am sure you would like something to drink…I’m looking after a sick child at the moment and I’ve left him in the sitting room as it’s warmer there, so I have had to bring you in here…Will you have a brandy?”

  And that was all. Maigret just drank his brandy.

  “Retailleau? A charming boy…I believe he was a good son to his mother…She never complained about him, at any rate…She’s one of my patients…a strange woman whom life ought to have treated better. She came from a good family, too. Everyone was amazed when she married Joseph Retailleau, a commoner who worked in the dairy.

  “Etienne Naud? He’s a real character…We go shooting together…He’s a crack shot…Groult-Cotelle? No, you could hardly call him a good shot, but that’s because he is very short-sighted…

  “So, you have met everyone already…Have you seen Tine, too?…You haven’t seen Tine yet?…Note that I mention her name with great respect, like everyone else in Saint-Aubin…Tine is Madame Naud’s mother…Madame Bréjon, if you prefer…Her son is an examining magistrate in Paris…Yes, that’s right…he’s the one you must know…His mother was a La Noue, one of the great families in La Vendée…She does not want to be a bother to her daughter and son-in-law and she lives alone, near the church…at the age of eighty-two, she’s still sound of wind and limb and she’s one of my worst patients…

  “You’re staying in Saint-Aubin for a few days, are you?

  “What? The cap? Oh, yes…No, I haven’t heard anything about that myself…Well, I did hear one or two rumors…

  “All this was discovered rather late in the day, you see…If I had known at the time, I would have carried out an autopsy…But put yourself in my position…I was told the poor boy had been run over by a train…It was patently o
bvious to me he had been run over by a train and naturally, I wrote my report along those lines…”

  Maigret scowled, for he could have sworn that they were all in league with one another, that whether peevish or merry like the doctor, they had passed around the story as they might pass around a ball, giving each other knowing looks as they did so.

  The sky was almost bright, now. Reflections shone in all the puddles and patches of mud glistened in places.

  The superintendent walked up the main street once more. He had not looked to see what it was called but it was most probably the Rue de la République. He decided to go into the Trois Mules, opposite the Lion d’Or, where he had received such a cold welcome that morning.

  The bar was brighter than that of the Lion d’Or, with framed prints and a photograph of a president who had held office some thirty or forty years earlier hanging on the whitewashed walls. Behind the bar was another room, deserted and gloomy-looking; this was evidently where the locals came to dance on Sundays, for there was a platform at one end and the room was festooned with paper chains.

  Four men were seated at a table, enjoying a bottle of full-bodied wine. One of them coughed affectedly when the superintendent came in, as if to say to the others:

  “There he is…”

  Maigret sat down on one of the benches at the other end of the table. This time, he felt the atmosphere was different, for the men had stopped talking and he knew full well that before he came in, they would certainly not have been drinking and looking at each other in silence as they sat at the table.

  They looked just like characters in a dumb show as they sat together in a huddle, their elbows and shoulders touching. Eventually, the oldest of the four men, a plowman by the look of the whip beside him, spat on the floor, whereupon the others burst out laughing.

  Was that long stream of spittle meant for Maigret?

  “What can I get you?” inquired a young woman, tilting her hips in order to hold her grubby-looking baby.

  “I’d like some of your vin rosé.”

  “A jug?”

  “All right…”

  Maigret puffed furiously at his pipe. Up until now the townsfolk had concealed or at any rate disguised their hostility towards him, but now they were sneering at him, indeed, deliberately provoking him.

  “Even the dirtiest jobs have got to be done, if you ask me, sonny boy,” said the plowman after a long silence, no one having asked him for his opinion in the first place.

  His cronies roared with laughter at this, as if that simple pronouncement had some extraordinary significance for them. One man, however, did not laugh, a young lad of eighteen or nineteen with pale gray eyes and a pock-marked face. Leaning on one elbow, he looked Maigret straight in the eye, as if he wanted him to feel the full force of his hatred or contempt.

  “Some people have no pride!” growled another man.

  “If you’ve got the cash, pride doesn’t often come into it…”

  Perhaps their remarks did not amount to anything very much, but Maigret got the message, nonetheless. He had finally clashed with the opposition party, to describe the situation in political terms.

  Who could know for sure? Undoubtedly, all the rumors flying about had originated in the Trois Mules. And if the townspeople laid the blame at Maigret’s door, they obviously thought Etienne Naud was paying him to hush up the truth.

  “Tell me, gentlemen…”

  Maigret rose to his feet and walked towards them. Although not timid by nature, he felt the blood rushing to his ears.

  He was greeted in total silence. Only the young boy went on glowering at the superintendent, while the others, looking rather awkward, turned their heads away.

  “Those of you who live around here may be able to help me in the course of justice.”

  They were suspicious, the rascals. Maigret’s words had certainly stirred them up, but they still would not give in. The old man muttered crossly, looking at his spittle on the floor:

  “Justice for who? For Naud?”

  The superintendent ignored the remark and went on talking. Meanwhile, the patronne hovered in the kitchen doorway, standing there with the child in her arms.

  “In order for justice to be carried out, I need to discover two things in particular. Firstly, I need to find one of Retailleau’s friends, a real friend and if possible someone who was with him on that last evening…”

  Maigret realized that the person in question was the youngest of the four men, for the other three glanced in his direction.

  “Secondly, I need to find the cap. You know what I’m talking about.”

  “Go on, Louis!” growled the plowman, as he rolled a cigarette. But the young man was still not convinced.

  “Who’s sent you?”

  It was certainly the first time Maigret’s authority had been questioned by a young country lad. And yet it was essential that he explained himself, for he was determined to gain the lad’s confidence.

  “Superintendent Maigret, Police Judiciaire…”

  Who knows? Perhaps luck would have it that the boy had heard of him. But alas, this was not the case.

  “Why are you staying with the Nauds?”

  “Because he was told I was coming and was at the station to meet me. And as I didn’t know the neighborhood…”

  “There are inns…”

  “I didn’t know that when I arrived…”

  “Who’s the man in the inn across the road?”

  It was Maigret who was being interrogated!

  “A private detective…”

  “Who’s he working for?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Why is there still no proper inquiry into the affair? Albert died three weeks ago…”

  “That’s the stuff, my boy! Go on!” the three men seemed to be saying to the youngster, rigid in front of them with a grim look on his face in an effort to combat his shyness.

  “No one lodged a complaint.”

  “So you can kill anyone, and so long as no one lodges a complaint…”

  “The doctor concluded it was an accident.”

  “Was he there when it happened?”

  “As soon as I have enough evidence, the inquiry will be made official…”

  “What do you mean by evidence?”

  “Well, if we could prove that the cap was discovered between Naud’s house and the place where the body was found, for example…”

  “We’ll have to take him to Désiré,” said the stoutest of the men, who was wearing a carpenter’s overall. “Give us another one, Mélie…Bring us another glass…”

  Even now, it was a victory for Maigret.

  “What time did Retailleau leave the café that night?”

  “About half past eleven…”

  “Were there many people in the café?”

  “Four…We played coinchée…”

  “Did you all leave together?”

  “The two other men took the road to the left…I went part of the way with Albert.”

  “In which direction?”

  “Towards Naud’s house.”

  “Did Albert confide in you?”

  “No.”

  The young lad’s face darkened. He said no reluctantly, for he obviously wanted to be scrupulously honest.

  “He didn’t say why he was going to the Nauds’?”

  “No. He was very angry.”

  “Who with?”

  “With her.”

  “You mean Mademoiselle Naud? Had he told you about her before?”

  “Yes…”

  “What did he tell you?”

  “Everything and nothing…Not in words…He used to go there nearly every night…”

  “Did he brag about it?”

  “No.” He gave Maigret a look of reproach. “He was in love and everyone could see he was. He couldn’t hide it.”

  “And he was angry with her on that last day?”

  “Yes. Something was on his mind the whole evening, for he kept on lo
oking at his watch as we played cards. Just as we parted company on the road…”

  “Where exactly?”

  “Five hundred yards from the Nauds’ house…”

  “The place, then, where he was found dead?”

  “More or less…I had gone half way with him…”

  “And you are sure he went on along the road?”

  “Yes…He squeezed my hands and said with tears in his eyes: ‘It’s all over, Louis, old chap…’”

  “What was all over?”

  “It was all over between him and Geneviève…That’s what I assumed…He meant he was going to see her for the last time.”

  “But did he go?”

  “There was a moon that night…It was freezing…I could still see him when he was only about a hundred yards from the house.”

  “And the cap?”

  Young Louis got up and looked at the others, his mind made up.

  “Come with me…”

  “Can you trust him, Louis?” asked one of the older men. “Be careful, son.”

  But Louis was at the age when one is prepared to risk all to win all. He looked Maigret in the eye as if to say: “You’re a real blackguard if you let me down!”

  “Follow me…I live very near here…”

  “Your glass…Yours, superintendent…And you can believe everything the lad says, I promise…He’s as honest as they come, that boy…”

  “Your good health, gentlemen…”

  Maigret had no choice but to drink a toast with the four men. The large glasses made a tinkling sound as they clinked them together. He then followed Louis out of the room, completely forgetting to pay for his jug of wine.

  As they came outside, Maigret saw old Cadaver on the opposite side of the road. He had his briefcase under his arm and was about to go into the Lion d’Or. Was Maigret mistaken? It seemed to him that his former colleague had a sardonic smile on his face, although he only caught a glimpse of him sideways on.

  “Come with me…This way…”

  They made their way along narrow lanes which were quite unknown to Maigret and which linked up with the three or four streets in the village. They came to a row of cottages, each with its own tiny fenced-in front garden. Louis pushed open a small gate with a bell attached to it and called out: