Inspector Cadaver

by Georges Simenon

  “You carried him to the railway line,” Maigret interceded, to help him bring this sorry story more quickly to an end.

  “That’s right…”

  “All by yourself?”

  “Yes…”

  “And you returned home?”

  “My wife was standing behind the door that opens on to the road. She asked in a whisper:

  “‘What have you done?’

  “I tried to deny it all, but she knew. There was terror and pity in the look she gave me. I went to bed feeling somewhat feverish and she went through my clothes in turn in the bathroom to make sure that…”

  “I understand.”

  “You may or may not believe it, but neither my wife nor I have had the courage to broach the subject with our daughter. We’ve never talked about it or even referred to it together. That’s probably the hardest thing of all. It is sometimes unnerving. Our household routine is exactly the same as it was in the past and yet all three of us know…”

  “And Alban?”

  “I don’t know how to tell you. At first, I did not give him a thought. Then the next day I was surprised he didn’t turn up as usual as we were about to eat. I started to talk about him for the sake of something to say…I said: ‘I must give Alban a call.’

  “I did so, and his maid told me he wasn’t in…However, I was certain I heard his voice when the maid answered the phone…

  “It became an obsession with me…Why doesn’t Alban come? Does Alban suspect something?…Stupid as it may seem, I convinced myself that he constituted the only real threat, and four days later, when he still hadn’t looked in on us, I went over to his house.

  “I wanted to know the reason for his silence. I had no intention of confiding in him, but somehow I ended up telling him everything…

  “I needed him…You would understand why if you had been in my position. He used to tell me the local gossip…He also described the funeral.

  “I was well aware of what people were thinking from the outset and another idea took root in my mind. I felt I had to atone for what I had done and this thought never left me…Don’t laugh at me, I beg of you…”

  “I have seen so many men like you, Monsieur Naud!”

  “And did they behave as stupidly as I did? Did they, one fine day, go and see the victim’s mother like I did? In melodramatic fashion, I waited until it was dark one evening, and then paid her a visit after Groult had made sure there was no one on the road…I did not tell her the brutal truth…I said that it was a terrible misfortune to have befallen her, that as a widow she had lost her only source of support…

  “I am not sure whether it was a devil or an angel that prompted me, superintendent. I can still see her, white-faced and motionless, standing by the hearth with a shawl round her shoulders. I had twenty 1000 franc notes in two bundles in my pocket. I didn’t know how to go about putting them on the table. I was ashamed of myself. I was…yes, I was ashamed of her too…

  “And yet the notes passed from my pocket to the table.

  “‘Each year, madame, I will make it my duty to…’

  “And as she frowned, I hurriedly added: ‘Unless you would rather I give you a lump sum in your name which…’”

  He could not go on and had such difficulty in breathing that he had to pour himself another glass of armagnac.

  “There it is…I was wrong not to confess to everything at the beginning…It was too late afterwards…Nothing had changed at home, at least superficially…I don’t know how Geneviève has had the courage to go on living as if nothing had happened. There have been times when I have wondered if my imagination hasn’t been playing tricks on me…

  “When I realized that people in the village suspected me, when I began receiving anonymous letters and found out that more had been sent to the Department of Public Prosecutions, I wrote to my brother-in-law. It was stupid of me, for what could he do as I had not told him the truth? One so often hears it said that magistrates have the power to cover up a scandal that I vaguely imagined Bréjon would use his authority in the same way…

  “Instead, however, he sent you down here just when I had written to a private detective agency in Paris…Yes! I did that too! I picked an address at random from the newspaper advertisements! Unable to bring myself to confide in my brother-in-law, I told a total stranger everything that had happened. I simply had to be reassured…

  “He knew you were on your way, for when my brother-in-law told me you were arriving I immediately sent a telegram to Cavre’s agency…We arranged to meet in Fontenay the following day…

  “What else do you want to know, superintendent?…How you must despise me!…Yes, you do!…And I despise myself too, I assure you…Of all the criminals you have known, I bet you haven’t come across one as stupid, as…”

  Maigret smiled for the first time. Etienne Naud was sincere. There was nothing artificial about his despair. And yet, as with all criminals, to use the word he himself had just used, his attitude revealed a certain pride.

  It was annoying and humiliating to have bungled being a criminal!

  For a few seconds, or even a few minutes, Maigret sat quite still and stared down at the flames curling round the blackened logs. Etienne Naud was so disconcerted by this unexpected reaction on the part of the superintendent that he was at a loss what to do and stood hesitantly in the middle of the room, unsure of his next move.

  The fact of the matter was, that since he had confessed to everything, since he had chosen to abase himself, he had naturally supposed that the superintendent would show him more consideration and come morally to his assistance.

  Had he not sunk lower than the low? Had he not painted a pathetic picture of his own and his family’s plight?

  Earlier on, before confessing, Naud had sensed that Maigret was already sympathetic to his case and prepared to be more so. He had counted on this.

  And now, all trace of sympathy had vanished. The game was over and the superintendent was calmly smoking his pipe, his expression one of deep thought devoid of any sentimentality.

  “What would you do in my position?” ventured Naud once more.

  One look made him wonder if he had gone too far. Perhaps he had overstepped the mark like a child who is forgiven for misbehaving and as a result of such lenient treatment becomes more demanding and tiresome than ever.

  What was Maigret thinking? Naud began to suspect that his manner had merely been part of a trap. He expected him to rise to his feet, take a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket and say the sacred words:

  “In the name of the law…”

  “I am wondering…”

  It was Maigret who hesitated, still puffing at his pipe as he crossed and uncrossed his legs.

  “I am wondering…yes…I am wondering if we couldn’t telephone your friend, Alban…What time is it?…Ten minutes past midnight…The postmistress will probably still be up and will put us through…Yes, indeed…If you’re not too tired, Monsieur Naud, I think it would be best if we got everything over with tonight so that I can catch my train tomorrow…”

  “But…”

  He could not find the right words, or rather dared not say what was on the tip of his tongue:

  “But isn’t it all over?”

  “Will you excuse me?”

  Maigret walked across the drawing-room into the hall and turned the handle of the telephone.

  “Hello…I am sorry to bother you, dear mademoiselle…Yes, it’s me…Did you recognize my voice?…Of course not…No problem at all…Could you very kindly put me through to Monsieur Groult-Cotelle, please?…Let it ring loud and clear in case he’s a heavy sleeper.”

  Through the half-open door, he saw a bewildered Etienne Naud take a large gulp of armagnac, as though resigned to his fate. The poor man was in a terrible state and seemed to have lost all his strength and nerve.

  “Monsieur Groult-Cotelle?…How are you?…You had gone to bed…What’s that?…You were reading in bed?…Yes, Superintendent Maigret here…Y
es, I’m with your friend…We’ve been having a chat…What?…You’ve got a cold?…That’s most unfortunate…Anyone would think you have guessed what I was going to say…We would like you to pop over here…Yes, I know it is foggy…You haven’t any clothes on?…Well, in that case we’ll come to you…We’ll be round in a jiffy if we take the car…What?…You’d rather come over here?…No…Nothing in particular…I am leaving tomorrow…I have important business to see to in Paris…”

  Poor Naud understood less and less what was in Maigret’s mind and stared up at the ceiling, thinking to himself no doubt that his wife could hear everything and must be thoroughly alarmed. Should he go upstairs to reassure her? But was he really in a position to do so? Maigret’s behavior now made him uneasy and he was beginning to regret having admitted to the crime.

  “What did you say?…A quarter of an hour?…That’s too long…Be as quick as you can…See you in a minute…Thank you…”

  Perhaps the superintendent was play-acting to a certain extent. Perhaps he was not really angry? Perhaps he did not want to be alone with Etienne Naud and have to wait ten minutes or a quarter of an hour in the drawing room with him?

  “He is coming over,” he announced. “He’s very worried. You cannot imagine what a state my telephone call has put him in…”

  “But he’s got no reason to…”

  “Is that what you think?” asked Maigret simply.

  Naud was more and more perplexed.

  “Do you mind if I go and get a bite to eat in the kitchen…Stay where you are…I’ll find the light switch…I know where the fridge is…”

  He switched on the light in the kitchen. The stove had gone out. He found a chicken leg glazed with sauce. He cut and buttered a thick slice of bread.

  “Tell me…”

  He came back into the drawing room smiling.

  “Have you got any beer?”

  “Wouldn’t you rather have a glass of Burgundy?”

  “I’d prefer beer, but if you haven’t got any…”

  “There must be some in the cellar…I always have one or two crates brought in but as we don’t drink beer very often, I don’t know if…”

  Just as, during the saddest of deathbed scenes, the family will cease weeping for a moment in the middle of the night and have a little something to eat, so the two men, after an hour of high drama, went matter-of-factly down to the cellar.

  “No…This is lemonade…Wait a minute…The beer must be underneath the stairs…”

  He was right. They went back upstairs with bottles of beer under their arms and then set about finding two large glasses. Maigret went on munching the chicken leg which he held between his fingers and got the sauce all over his chin.

  “I wonder,” he said casually, “if your friend Alban will come alone.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing. I’m willing to bet that…”

  There was no time to finish the wager, for someone was tapping on the front door. Etienne Naud rushed to open it. Maigret meanwhile stood calmly waiting in the middle of the drawing room with his glass of beer in one hand and the chicken and bread in the other.

  He heard low voices:

  “I have taken the liberty of bringing this gentleman with me. I met him on the way over here and he…”

  For a second, Maigret’s eyes hardened and then, with no warning, they suddenly flickered mischievously as he shouted to the man outside:

  “Come in, Cavre! I was expecting you…”

  9

  NOISE BEHIND THE DOOR

  An impression of a dream can remain within us for a long time, sometimes all our lives, whereas the dream itself, so we are told, only lasts a few seconds. Thus, for a moment, the three men entering the room seemed to Maigret to bear no resemblance to the kind of men they actually were, or at any rate considered themselves to be, and it was this new image of them that was to remain so vividly in his mind in the years to come.

  They were all more or less the same age, Maigret included. And as he observed them each in turn he felt rather as if he was looking on at a gathering of schoolboys in their last year.

  Etienne Naud was probably just as plump and podgy when he took his bachot as he was now. He would have had the same sturdy physique, the same soft look about him, and would undoubtedly have been very well-brought-up and rather shy.

  The superintendent had met Cavre not long after he had left school and even then he had been a loner, and an ill-tempered one at that. However hard he tried—for he took a pride in his appearance then—clothes simply did not sit as well on him as on other people. He always looked shabby and badly dressed. He was a sad figure. When he was a little boy his mother must have been forever saying to him:

  “Run along and play with the others, Justin.”

  And no doubt she would confide to her neighbors:

  “My son never plays. It worries me a bit from the health point of view. He’s too clever. He never stops thinking…”

  As for Alban, his looks had changed remarkably little since he was a young man: the long, thin legs, the elongated, rather aristocratic-looking face, the long, pale hands covered with reddish hairs, the upper-class elegance…He would have copied his friends’ compositions, borrowed cigarettes from them and told them dirty jokes in corners!

  And now they were struggling with utmost seriousness over an affair which could send one of them to jail for life. They were mature men. Two children somewhere bore the name of Groult-Cotelle, children who had perhaps already inherited some of their father’s vices. In the house were a wife and daughter who would probably not sleep that night. As for Cavre, he was doubtless fuming at the thought his wife might be making the most of his absence.

  Something rather curious was happening. Whereas, shortly before, Etienne had confessed his crime to Maigret without a trace of shame and had laid bare, man to man, his innermost fears, now he blushed to the very roots of his hair as he ushered the visitors into the drawing room, trying in vain to look unconcerned.

  Was it not, in fact, rather a childish fancy that caused him to blush so violently? For a few seconds, Maigret became the headmaster or teacher. Naud had remained behind with him to be questioned about some misdeed and be given a wigging. His friends were now coming back into the classroom and looking at him searchingly as if to say:

  “How did you get on?”

  Well, he had not got on at all well. He had not defended himself. He had wept. He wondered if there were still traces of tears on his cheeks and eyelids.

  He would like to have boasted and made them think that everything had gone smoothly. Instead, he bustled about, went into the dining room to get some glasses out of the sideboard and then poured out the armagnac.

  Did these glimpses of a time of life when our actions and conduct are as yet unimportant inspire the superintendent? He waited until everyone was seated, then positioned himself in the middle of the room and, looking at Cavre and Alban in turn, said squarely:

  “Well, gentlemen, the game’s up!”

  Only at this point, and for the first time since he had become involved in this case, did he play Maigret, as was said of inspectors at the Police Judiciaire who tried to imitate the great man. With his pipe between his teeth, his hands in his pockets and his back to the fire, he talked, growled, poked at the logs with the end of the tongs and moved with a bearlike gait from one suspect to the other, either firing questions at them or suddenly breaking off so that a disturbing silence fell over the room.

  “Monsieur Naud and I have just had a long and friendly chat. I announced my intention of returning to Paris tomorrow. It was far better, was it not, before taking leave of each other, to come out with the truth, and this is what we did. Why do you jump, Monsieur Groult-Cotelle? In fact, Cavre, I must apologize for having made you come out just when you were going to bed. Yes indeed! I am the guilty one. I knew perfectly well when I rang our friend Alban that he wouldn’t have the guts to come here alone. I wonder why he considered my invit
ation to come round for a chat a threat…He had a detective to hand and as there was no lawyer around, he brought along the detective…Isn’t that right, Groult?”

  “It wasn’t me who sent to Paris for him!” replied the bogus country gentleman, now stripped of his importance.

  “I know. It wasn’t you who beat the unfortunate Retailleau to death, as you just happened to be in La Roche for the night. It wasn’t you who left your wife as she was the one who left you…It wasn’t you who…In fact you’re a somewhat negative character altogether, aren’t you…You have never done a good deed in your life…”

  Alarmed at being reprimanded like this, Groult-Cotelle called Cavre to his aid, but the detective, his leather briefcase on his lap, was looking at Maigret in a somewhat anxious fashion.

  He was sufficiently well-acquainted with the police, and with the patron in particular, to know that this little scene was being staged for a definite purpose and that when the meeting was over, the case would be closed.

  Etienne Naud had not protested when the superintendent had declared:

  “The game’s up!”

  What more did Maigret want? He walked up and down, stood in front of one of the portraits, went from one door to the other, all the time keeping up a steady flow of words. It was almost as if he were improvising and now and again Cavre began to wonder if he might not be playing for time and waiting for something to happen which he knew would happen but was taking a long time to do so.

  “I am leaving tomorrow, then, as you all wish me to do, and while I am about it, I could reproach you, especially you, Cavre, as you know me, for not having had more confidence in me. You knew quite well, damn it, that I was just a guest and treated as well as ever a guest could be.

  “What happened in this house before I arrived does not concern me. At most you could have asked my advice. After all, what is Naud’s position? He did something most unfortunate, very unfortunate, even. But did anyone come forward and complain?

  “No! The young man’s mother declares herself satisfied. If I may say so…”