Inspector Cadaver

by Georges Simenon

  And Maigret deliberately made light of his next, ominous statement, a tactic which misled all three men.

  “The drama in question was enacted by gentlemen, all well-bred people. There were rumors abroad, admittedly. Two or three unpleasant pieces of evidence gave cause for concern but the diplomacy of our friend Cavre and Naud’s money, combined with the liking of certain individuals for liquor, averted any possible danger. And as for the cap, which in any case would not have constituted sufficient proof, I presume Cavre took the precaution of destroying it. Isn’t that right, Justin?”

  Cavre jumped on hearing himself addressed by his Christian name. Everybody turned to look at him but he said nothing.

  “That, in a nutshell, is the position at present, or rather our host’s position. Anonymous letters are in circulation. The Director of Prosecutions and the gendarmerie have received some of them. There may be an official inquiry into the case. What have you advised your client, Cavre?”

  “I am not a barrister.”

  “How modest you are! If you want to know what I think, and this is my own personal view and not a professional opinion, for I am not a barrister either, in a few days’ time, Naud will feel the need to depart with his family. He is rich enough to sell his estate and retire elsewhere, possibly abroad…”

  Naud let out a sigh in the form of a sob at the thought of leaving what had been his whole life up until now.

  “That leaves our friend Alban…What do you propose to do, Monsieur Alban Groult-Cotelle?”

  “You don’t have to answer,” Cavre hurriedly interjected on seeing him open his mouth. “I would also like to say that we are under no obligation to put up with this interrogation, which in any case is phoney. If you knew the superintendent as well as I do, you would realize he is taking us for a real ride, as they would say at the Quai des Orfèvres. I don’t know whether you have confessed, Monsieur Naud, or how the superintendent got the truth out of you, but of one thing I am sure, and that is that my former colleague has a purpose in mind. I do not know what that purpose is, but I am telling you to be on your guard.”

  “Well said, Justin!”

  “I did not ask for your opinion.”

  “Well, I am giving it all the same.”

  And suddenly his tone changed. For the past quarter of an hour he had been waiting for something and had been forced into all this play-acting as a result, but now that something had finally happened. It was not without good reason that he had kept on pacing up and down, going from the hall door to the door opening into the dining room.

  Nor was it hunger or greed earlier on that had caused him to go into the kitchen for some bread and a hunk of chicken. He needed to know if there was another staircase besides the one leading down into the hall. And indeed there was a second staircase for the staff near the kitchen.

  When he telephoned Groult-Cotelle he had talked in a very loud voice, as though unaware of the fact that two women were supposed to be sleeping in the house.

  Now, there was someone behind the half-open dining-room door.

  “You are right, Cavre. You are no fool, even though you are rather a sad character…I have one purpose in mind and that is, let me declare it immediately, to prove that Naud is not the real culprit…”

  This statement by the superintendent stupefied Etienne Naud more than anyone else, for he had to restrain himself from crying out. As for Alban, he had turned deadly pale and small red blotches which Maigret had not noticed before appeared on his forehead, as if he were prey to a sudden attack of urticaria—a clear proof of his inner collapse.

  When he saw the rash, the superintendent remembered how a certain, more or less notorious murderer, after a twenty-eight hour interrogation during which he had defended himself step by step, had suddenly wet his pants like a frightened child. Maigret and Lucas had been conducting the interrogation and they had sniffed, looked at each other and realized they had the upper hand.

  Alban Groult-Cotelle’s nettle-rash was a similar symptom of guilt and the superintendent had difficulty in suppressing a smile.

  “Tell me, Monsieur Groult, would you rather tell us the truth yourself, or would you like me to do it for you? Take your time before answering. Naturally, you have my permission to consult your lawyer…I mean Justin Cavre. Go off into a corner, if you like, and work something out between you…”

  “I have nothing to say…”

  “So it is my job to tell Monsieur Naud, who still does not know, why Albert Retailleau was killed, is it? For, strange as it might seem, even though Etienne Naud knows the young man was killed, he has absolutely no idea why…What were you going to say, Alban?”

  “You’re a liar!”

  “How can you say I am a liar when I haven’t said anything yet? Come now! I will put the question a different way and it will still come to the same thing. Will you tell us why, on a certain, carefully chosen day, you suddenly felt the need to go to La Roche-sur-Yon and bring back your hotel bill with meticulous care?”

  Etienne Naud still did not understand and looked anxiously at Maigret, convinced that this line of attack would prove the superintendent’s undoing. At first he had been impressed by Maigret’s manner but now he was rapidly going down in Naud’s estimation. His animosity towards Groult-Cotelle was pointless and beginning to be thoroughly obnoxious.

  It had reached the point when Naud felt he had to intervene. He was an honest fellow who disliked seeing an innocent man accused, and as host of the house, he would not allow one of his guests to be hauled over the coals.

  “I assure you, superintendent, you are barking up the wrong tree…”

  “My dear fellow, I am sorry to have to disillusion you, and even sorrier that what you are about to learn is extremely unpleasant. Isn’t that so, Groult?”

  Groult-Cotelle had shot to his feet and for a moment looked as if he was going to rush at his tormentor. He had the greatest possible difficulty in restraining himself. He clenched his fists and his whole body quivered. Finally, he made as if for the door, but Maigret stopped him in his tracks by simply asking in the most natural tone:

  “Are you going upstairs?”

  Who would have thought, on seeing the stubborn and stolid Maigret, that he was as warm as his victim? His shirt was sticking to his back. He was listening carefully. And the truth of the matter was, he was frightened.

  A few minutes before, he’d become convinced that Geneviève was behind the door, as he hoped. He had been thinking of her when he had telephoned Groult-Cotelle earlier on and had consequently talked in a loud voice in the hall.

  “If I am right,” he was thinking then, “she’ll come down…”

  And she had come down. At all events, he had heard a faint rustling sound behind the double doors into the dining room and one side of them had moved.

  It was on Geneviève’s account, too, that he had addressed Groult-Cotelle in such a way a moment ago. Now he was wondering if she was still there, for he could not hear a sound. It had crossed his mind that she might have fainted, but presumably he would have heard her fall.

  He was longing to look behind the half-open door and began thinking of how he could do so.

  “Are you going upstairs?” he had flung at Alban.

  And Alban, who seemed no longer to care, retraced his steps and positioned himself a few inches away from his enemy.

  “Just what are you insinuating? Out with it! What other slanders have you got up your sleeve? There’s not a word of truth in what you are going to say, do you hear?”

  “Take a look at your lawyer.”

  Cavre looked pitiful, indeed, for he realized that Maigret was on the right track and that his client was caught in his own web of lies.

  “I don’t need anyone to advise me. I don’t know what you might have been told or who could have fabricated such stories, but before you say anything, I would like to state that they are untrue. If a few bright sparks have succeeded in…”

  “You are vile, Groult.”

/>   “What?”

  “I say that you are a repugnant character. I say and I repeat that you are the real cause of Albert Retailleau’s death, and that if the laws created by men were perfect, life imprisonment would not be a harsh enough punishment for you. In fact it would give me great personal pleasure, though I don’t often feel like this, to accompany you to the foot of the guillotine…”

  “Gentlemen, I call you to witness…”

  “Not only did you kill Retailleau, but others too…”

  “I killed Retailleau?…I?…You’re mad, superintendent!…He’s mad!…He’s stark-raving mad, I swear to you!…Where are these people I’ve killed?…Show them to me, then, if you please…Well, we’re waiting, Monsieur Sherlock Holmes…”

  He was sneering. His agitation had reached its peak.

  “There is one of them…” Maigret calmly replied, pointing to Etienne Naud, who was looking increasingly bewildered.

  “It seems to me he’s a dead man in very good health, as the saying goes, and if all my victims…”

  Alban had moved closer to Maigret in such an arrogant manner that the superintendent’s hand automatically jerked up and came down on Alban’s pale cheek with a thud.

  Perhaps they were going to come to blows, grip each other by the waist and roll about on the carpet as befitted the schoolboys the superintendent had visualized a short while before. But the sound of a hysterical voice shrieking from the top of the stairs stopped them in their tracks.

  “Etienne!…Etienne!…Superintendent!…Quick!…Geneviève…”

  Madame Naud came down a few more steps, amazed no one appeared to have heard her, for she had already been shouting for a good few seconds.

  “Hurry…” Maigret said to Naud. “Go up to your daughter…”

  And he turned to face Cavre and said in a tone which invited no reply:

  “Just make sure he doesn’t escape…Do you hear?”

  He followed Etienne Naud up the stairs and went with him into the young girl’s bedroom.

  “Look…” moaned Madame Naud, distraught.

  Geneviève was lying across her bed with her clothes on. Her eyes were half-open but had the glazed look of a sleepwalker. A phial of veronal lay broken on the carpet where she had dropped it.

  “Help me, madame…”

  The opiate was only now beginning to take effect and the young girl was still half-conscious. She drew back, terrified, as the superintendent bent down and, gripping her hard, forced open her mouth.

  “Bring me some water, a lot of water, warm if possible…”

  “You go, Etienne…In the boiler…”

  Poor Etienne bumped his way down the corridor and backstairs like a giddy goose.

  “Don’t be afraid, madame…We are acting in time…It’s my fault…I didn’t think she would react like this…Get me a handkerchief, a towel, anything will do…”

  Less than two minutes later, the young girl had vomited violently. She sat dejectedly on the edge of her bed obediently drinking down all the water the superintendent gave her, which made her sick all over again.

  “You can telephone the doctor. He won’t do much more, but to be on the safe side…”

  Geneviève suddenly broke down and began to cry, softly, but with such weariness that the tears seemed to lull her to sleep.

  “I’ll leave you to look after her, madame…I think it is best if she rests before the doctor comes…In my opinion—and unfortunately I’ve seen rather a lot of cases like this, believe me—the danger is over…”

  They could hear Naud on the telephone downstairs:

  “Immediately, yes…It’s my daughter…I’ll explain when you get here…No…Come as you are, in your dressing-gown if you like, it doesn’t matter…”

  As he passed Naud in the hall, Maigret took the letter he was holding in his hand. He had noticed it lying on Geneviève’s bedside table but had not had a moment to pick it up.

  Naud tried to get the letter back as soon as he had put down the receiver.

  “What are you doing?” he exclaimed in astonishment. “It’s for her mother and me…”

  “I will give it back to you in a moment…Go upstairs and sit with her…”

  “But…”

  “It’s the best place for you to be, I promise you.”

  And Maigret went back into the drawing-room, carefully closing the door behind him. He held the letter in his hand and was obviously reluctant to open it.

  “Well? Groult?”

  “You have no right to arrest me.”

  “I know…”

  “I have done nothing illegal…”

  This momentous word almost made Maigret think he deserved to be slapped again, but he would have had to cross the room to do so and he did not feel up to it.

  He toyed with the letter and hesitated before finally slitting open the mauve envelope.

  “Is that letter addressed to you?” protested Groult-Cotelle.

  “No, and it’s not addressed to you either…Geneviève wrote it before taking the overdose…Would you like me to return it to her parents?”

  Dear Mommy, dear Daddy,

  I love you dearly. I beg you to believe me. But I must put an end to my life. I cannot go on living any longer. Do not try to find out why, and above all, don’t ask Alban to the house any more. He…

  “Tell me, Cavre, did he tell you the whole story while we were upstairs?”

  Maigret was convinced that in his agitated state, Alban had confessed because of a desperate need to cling to someone, a man who could defend him, whose job it was to do so provided he was paid for his services.

  As Cavre lowered his head, Maigret added:

  “Well, what have you got to say?”

  And Groult-Cotelle, whose cowardice knew no limits, chipped in:

  “She began it…”

  “And she, no doubt, gave you nasty little pornographic books to read?”

  “I never gave her any…”

  “And you never showed her certain pictures I saw in your library?”

  “She came across them when my back was turned…”

  “And no doubt you felt the need to explain them to her?”

  “I am not the first man of my age to take a young girl for a mistress…I didn’t force her…She was very much in love…”

  Maigret laughed abusively as he looked Alban up and down.

  “And it was her idea, too, to call in Retailleau?”

  “If she took another lover, that is certainly no affair of mine, you must admit. I think you have got an absolute nerve to blame me! Me! In front of my friend Naud, just now…”

  “What was that?”

  “In front of Naud, then. I didn’t dare answer and you had the upper hand…”

  A car pulled up in front of the steps. Maigret went out of the room to open the front door and said, just as if he were master of the house:

  “Go straight up to Geneviève’s room. Hurry…”

  Then he went back into the drawing-room, still holding Geneviève’s letter in his hand.

  “It was you, Groult, who panicked when she told you she was pregnant. You’re a coward and always have been. You are so afraid of life that you dare not live by your own effort and so you clutch at other people’s lives…

  “He was going to foist that child on some poor idiot who would then become its father…

  “It was such a practical solution!…Geneviève was to ensnare a young man who would think he was sincerely loved…He would be told one fine day that his ardor had resulted in a pregnancy…He only had to go to her father, ask to be forgiven on bended knees and declare himself willing to make amends…

  “And you would have gone on being her lover, wouldn’t you! You bastard!”

  It was young Louis who had put him on the trail when he had said:

  “Albert was angry…He had several brandies before going off to meet her…”

  And Albert’s behavior toward Geneviève’s father? He had been insolent. He had u
sed the most foul language when speaking of Geneviève.

  “How did he find out?” demanded Maigret.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Would you rather I go and ask Geneviève?”

  Groult-Cotelle shrugged his shoulders. What difference did it make, after all? Maigret could not pin a charge on him.

  “Every morning Retailleau used to go to the post office to collect his employers’ post as it was being sorted…He would go behind the counter and sometimes helped to sort the letters…He recognized Geneviève’s handwriting on an envelope which was addressed to me. She had not been able to see me alone for several days and so…”

  “I see…”

  “If that hadn’t happened, everything would have gone according to plan…And if you hadn’t meddled…”

  Of course Albert had been angry that night, when for the last time he went to see the girl who had used him so shamefully with the incriminating letter in his pocket! Moreover, everyone had conspired to make a fool of him, her parents included, why should he think otherwise?

  He had been led a fine dance, and they were still deceiving him. The father was even pretending to have caught him in the act in order to make him marry his daughter…

  “How did you know he had intercepted the letter?”

  “I went to the post office shortly afterwards…The postmistress said: ‘Wait a minute! I thought there was a letter for you…’

  “She hunted high and low…I rang Geneviève…I asked the postmistress who had been there when they were sorting the post and then I realized, I…”

  “You realized that things had taken a turn for the worse and you decided to go and see your friend, the préfet’s private secretary, in La Roche…”

  “That’s my affair…”

  “What do you think, Justin?”

  But Cavre put off replying. Heavy footsteps were heard on the stairs. The door opened. Etienne Naud came in looking downcast and dejected, his large eyes full of questions he sought in vain to answer. At that very moment, Maigret dropped the letter he was holding in his hand in so clumsy a fashion that it fell on top of the logs and flared up immediately.

  “What have you done?”