Maigret Enjoys Himself

by Georges Simenon

Our reporter shadowed him (if we might put it like that) all the way to Orly airport, where Inspector Janvier dashed on board the flight to Nice just a few moments before it took off.

  We immediately contacted our correspondent on the Côte d’Azur, and that is how we have managed to stay abreast of the latest developments in the case.

  As we have already said, Mademoiselle Jusserand had refused to make any comment, and the nearest the reporters could get to her was spotting her in the garden of the villa with the child.

  The villa, which had been rented for six weeks by Doctor Jave, is situated a little way out of town, halfway up the Californie area. It is a yellow-painted building built around the turn of the century in the then-popular rococo style. The sizeable garden is planted with eucalyptus trees and umbrella pines.

  For the last three days the local journalists as well as their photographers have been kicking their heels outside the gate, which was only opened to give access to deliveries.

  On his arrival, Inspector Janvier was received along with an inspector from Cannes, and their interview with Mademoiselle Jusserand lasted more than three hours.

  Mademoiselle Jusserand is a woman of around fifty, maybe older, with a severe bearing and a pale, somewhat expressionless face. Her manner is rather offputting. She worked for a long time as a nurse in a private clinic; it was there, it seems, that Doctor Jave took her on when his child was born.

  She is unmarried, and from the sight of her it is difficult to imagine her ever having had a man in her life.

  Our correspondent has provided us with a few details about the life the Jave family led in Cannes in the run-up to the dramatic events.

  They had a large grey Pontiac with them in which they had driven down from Paris. It seems that Éveline Jave has never been at the wheel of it.

  The doctor used it every morning to drive his wife, the nurse and the child to the beach. He never stayed there himself, but rather went straight off to a nearby tennis court, where he practised for two hours with an instructor.

  On the beach, Éveline Jave didn’t meet with anyone. She bathed with the child, then lay on the sand, always under a parasol, never exposing herself to the sun, while the nurse took care of her daughter.

  The doctor came back to pick them up around midday, and they all returned to the Villa Marie-Thérèse.

  Our correspondent was able to chat to the cook they had hired locally for the duration of the holiday and he asked her:

  ‘Were they a harmonious household?’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’

  ‘Did they ever have rows?’

  ‘I never heard any.’

  ‘Did you ever walk in on them kissing?’

  ‘Oh, monsieur ...!’

  The doctor spent his afternoons either reading medical works at the bottom of the garden or going for walks on the Croisette, where he always had an aperitif in the bar at the Majestic.

  On leaving the Villa Marie-Thérèse, Inspector Janvier looked concerned. He refused to make an announcement and headed back to the airport. But this morning in Paris, probably after consulting Examining Magistrate Coméliau, he decided to meet with journalists and gave them a few hints about what he had found out on his trip.

  It was a bit like one of those famous White House press conferences, only on a smaller scale, of course, with every­one asking questions. The inspector didn’t answer all of them.

  First of all, in a few words, here is how Jave and his wife spent the few hours before the latter’s death. This is according to the account of Mademoiselle Jusserand.

  On Friday, around nine in the evening, while her husband was out taking a walk in the neighbourhood, Éveline Jave called Paris and had quite a long conversation.

  Inspector Janvier did not conceal the fact that they had traced the number that was requested, and it turned out to be that of Doctor Négrel’s lodgings in Rue des Saints-Pères.

  A little later, Madame Jave told her nurse:

  ‘I’ll be away all day tomorrow. I’ll be seeing a friend in Saint-Tropez.’

  And she gave her a few instructions to do with the house.

  She probably told her husband the same thing. She had to catch the railcar that left Cannes at 8.10 and ordered a taxi to take her to the station.

  At this point we encounter a complete reversal of the situation. It had been stated earlier that Jave set off on his wife’s trail and that he missed the 9.15 flight from Nice and then took a flight to London in order to catch up with her as soon as possible.

  Mademoiselle Jusserand’s statement demolishes this theory and reveals the doctor from Boulevard Haussmann in a new light.

  Jave did indeed leave the Villa Marie-Thérèse shortly after his wife as if he had been waiting for the coast to be clear. He drove to the airport in his car, where he missed the Paris flight by a mere two or three minutes.

  He didn’t ask anyone at the airport about his wife. According to the nurse, he was at this point completely unaware that his wife was on the plane and really believed that she was seeing a friend in Saint-Tropez.

  So in fact it was he who was taking advantage of his wife’s absence to go off on an escapade.

  And escapade is the right word, as the police were able subsequently to verify.

  Maigret had to turn the page of his paper and as he did so he mechanically watched a hand of the card game. On the third page there was another headline:

  THE SECRET LIFE OF DOCTOR JAVE

  We can’t do better than reproduce some of the questions and replies from the press conference Inspector Janvier held in his office, or rather the office of Detective Chief Inspector Maigret, in which he has installed himself.

  Maigret gave an involuntary flinch.

  ‘Was Mademoiselle Jusserand willing to talk?’

  ‘No. In fact, getting her to respond was like pulling teeth.’

  ‘Did she strike you as someone who was devoted to her employers?’

  ‘I got the feeling she hated all men.’

  ‘What was her relationship with Madame Jave like?’

  ‘I don’t think she liked her.’

  ‘In short, she didn’t like anyone?’

  ‘Just the child, whom she thought belonged to her in a way, and herself. She has a very high opinion of herself.’

  ‘Is she the sort of woman who listens at keyholes?’

  At this point Janvier had come out with a tendentious comment that would annoy millions of female readers.

  ‘Don’t all women listen at doors?’

  ‘Is her evidence trustworthy?’

  ‘Up until now we have been able to verify everything she said, or almost.’

  ‘Was the doctor having an affair in Paris?’

  ‘Yes. More than an affair, in fact. You might even call it a grand passion.’

  ‘Did his wife know about it?’

  ‘Officially, no.’

  ‘But Mademoiselle Jusserand was in the know?’

  ‘Apparently.’

  ‘Anyone else?’

  ‘Josépha.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because Jave’s lover was Antoinette, her daughter, who lives in Rue Washington, just a short distance from the apartment in Boulevard Haussmann.’

  ‘And Josépha was happy to go along with this?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Inspector Janvier then filled in the whole sorry tale. About two years ago, Antoinette Chauvet, Josépha’s daughter, who was working as a shop assistant on the Grands Boulevards, started showing symptoms of tuberculosis, and Doctor Jave offered to take her in his care.

  It is worth mentioning in passing that the girl has a strong physical resemblance to Madame Jave: like her, she is rather thin, with a tired-looking face and fearful eyes.

  Jave got into the habit of going to see her at Rue Washington. As she needed complete rest he helped to support her and even sent her off for two months in the country.

  When she returned, the visits continued, and two years later they are still happen
ing.

  Because of this situation certain people have described her as a girl of loose morals. Indeed, after she was cured, she didn’t go back to work, and whenever he had a spare moment between visits, Doctor Jave dashed over to Rue Washington.

  ‘Even when Josépha was there?’

  ‘Even when Josépha was there. As far as she is concerned, Jave is some sort of demi­god who is entitled to whatever he likes.’

  ‘So on Saturday it was Antoinette Chauvet he was rushing to see?’

  ‘The concierge in Rue Washington has confirmed it, as she saw him arrive no more than three-quarters of an hour after the plane from London landed at Orly.’

  ‘How long did he stay?’

  ‘Wait a minute. Josépha wasn’t there at the time, so we only have Antoinette’s evidence to go on. According to her, Jave didn’t set off from Rue Washington until seven o’clock in the evening, leaving just enough time, given how much traffic there was at that hour, to catch the 7.55 train at Gare de Lyon.’

  ‘And Josépha?’

  ‘She still maintains that she left Boulevard Haussmann shortly after Doctor Négrel, at around six o’clock, and went to see her daughter.’

  ‘Where she found Jave?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And she stayed with the pair of them until seven o’clock?’

  ‘That’s what she says.’

  ‘So Jave has an alibi?’

  Inspector Janvier wasn’t so certain. Given how devoted both Antoinette and her mother were towards the doctor, their evidence can surely be regarded as suspect. On the other hand, the concierge, who saw Jave arrive, didn’t see him leave. However, around this time she was out at a local grocer’s, and her lodge was empty for about fifteen to twenty minutes.

  Assuming Philippe Jave left Rue Washington around seven o’clock, did that leave him enough time to run to Boulevard Haussmann, kill his wife, lock her in a cupboard and dash off to Gare de Lyon?

  It’s unlikely, but a reconstruction is due to take place today that will throw light on this.

  Maigret was worried. There was something here that just didn’t add up. Hadn’t Pardon said that Jave was up to his ears in debt and living close to his limit?

  Antoinette, in her small apartment in Rue Washington, couldn’t be that expensive to maintain.

  He also felt a bit jealous, jealous of Janvier, not because of his success, but for a silly reason. Every time an investigation at the Police Judiciaire incurred certain costs, such as travel, they had to fight a battle with the accountants, who went through every expense claim with a fine-tooth comb.

  How had Janvier managed to swing a flight to Cannes? They must be attaching a singular importance to this case, that they should have loosened the purse strings so much.

  THE WIFE’S JEWELS

  Occasionally one of the card players would watch him, and one even leaned over to have a glance at what he was reading.

  ‘Is it Jave?’

  ‘They don’t know yet.’

  ‘My money’s on him.’

  If he had read the rest of the article, he might not have been so sure.

  Inspector Janvier’s trip to Cannes brought to light another piece of information no less surprising than the first.

  For several days the rumour has been circulating that the Javes, despite their apparent affluence, were in financial dire straits and that Doctor Jave was in debt.

  The first thought that came to mind was that Jave was leading a double life, probably with an expensive mistress, since he didn’t gamble and didn’t speculate on the stock market.

  What was the pit into which Madame Jave’s considerable income as well as his own respectable fees were disappearing?

  Once again, Madame Jusserand held the key to the enigma.

  Did she do it out of female vengefulness or quite innocently? That’s not for us to judge. The fact is that, as Inspector Janvier was taking his leave, she asked him:

  ‘Would you mind taking the jewellery case back with you? I’m here on my own with the child and the cook and I don’t want to be responsible for it.’

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘In madame’s room. She always takes it with her when she travels, and I am surprised she left it here.’

  It was more like a small trunk, made by a well-known saddler in Faubourg Saint-Honoré. As you might expect, the case was locked.

  ‘I know where to find the key,’ Mademoiselle Jusserand declared. Clearly she knows a lot of things.

  She pointed him to a drawer in a chest, where the key had been slid under a pile of underwear.

  Inspector Janvier made no secret of his surprise at the sight of the jewels in the case. They have not been valued, but at first sight there appeared to be around 30 million francs’ worth: rings, necklaces, bracelets, clips and earrings, all from the best establishments in Rue de la Paix.

  And now you will realize why we talked earlier of a reversal of the situation.

  The expectation was that Doctor Jave, whose wife appeared so simple and modest on the surface, would turn out to have a mistress with expensive tastes.

  But now all of a sudden it seems that it was his wife who was the drain on their budget, while his mistress was happy to live in quiet obscurity.

  We managed to put in a phone call to the brother of the victim, Yves Le Guérec. He was still at the Hôtel Scribe and he made no secret of the reason for his extended stay in Paris.

  He intended to take his sister’s remains to Concarneau for burial in the family vault.

  But as Jave was her husband, the decision was his to make.

  ‘Have you asked him?’

  ‘I haven’t been able either to see him or to speak to him on the telephone. I wrote to him, or rather, I had my lawyer write to him, because I want no contact with that man, and we haven’t yet received any reply.’

  Will the husband and the brother be locking horns over the corpse?

  When we got in contact with Le Guérec, he was not up to date with the discovery of the jewels. We asked him:

  ‘Was your sister a stylish dresser?’

  ‘Not enough so, in my opinion. Despite her wealth, she has always refused to wear fashions by the top designers, and she even made some of her clothes herself.’

  ‘Did she like jewels?’

  ‘She didn’t really wear them. When my mother died, the family jewels were divided up between her and my wife. They weren’t of any great value, mostly old-fashioned pieces. Éveline let my wife take her pick without being overly bothered.’

  ‘Yet she possessed jewellery to the value of 30 million francs.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I said 30 million francs.’

  ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘The jewels were found in Cannes.’

  At the other end of the line, Le Guérec’s tone of voice changed:

  ‘What are you getting at?’

  ‘Nothing. I just wondered whether you knew this, whether your sister had a passion for diamonds, rubies and emeralds when she was younger.’

  ‘Nothing wrong with that, is there?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘And I would like to point out that, with her share of the proceeds from the factory, she could afford it without having to ask her husband for anything. It was her money, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Sort of, yes ...’

  ‘In that case, I don’t see why anyone should be trying to find out what she did with it. If she chose to spend it on jewellery, that’s her business.’

  ‘Naturally.’

  And at this Yves Le Guérec abruptly put the phone down.

  Around midday we went over to Rue Washington, where the pavement was crammed with photographers.

  The building where Antoinette Chauvet has her apartment on the fourth floor is quite old, but in decent condition. The lift didn’t work, so we took the stairs, but when we were directed to her door and knocked, no one answered.

  A neighbour’s door opened, and an elderly
woman with grey hair, dressed in black, told us:

  ‘If you’re looking for Mademoiselle Chauvet, she’s not at home.’

  ‘Has she been out long?’

  ‘Two days.’

  ‘You haven’t seen her for two days?’

  ‘No. Only her mother has been here – twice – but she has a key.’

  ‘Do you know if the young lady had any bags with her when she left?’

  ‘You call that a lady? Someone who is visited by married men?’

  ‘Why do you say “men”? Was there more than one?’

  ‘If she received one she could have received others, that’s how I see it. And when a mother can go along with things like that, I reckon ...’

  We didn’t get to hear the full considered opinion of Josépha’s neighbour, because, choking with indignation, she had to beat a hasty retreat, slamming the door in our faces.

  Where is Antoinette Chauvet? Was she on the run from all the journalists and photographers?

  The police must know, since they have been able to question her, but when we telephoned Inspector Janvier to find out her current whereabouts, he told us that there was no reason to disturb her at the present time.

  So as you see, it is difficult to summarize the situation. The affair, instead of sorting itself out, is actually becoming more confused.

  There are a number of questions which are currently impossible to answer:

  Did Éveline Jave know about her husband’s affair?

  Why did she ring Doctor Négrel at his home on Friday evening? (It is worth noting that this telephone call would seem to confirm the statement of the concierge in Rue des Saints-Pères, who claimed to have seen the young woman visiting her tenant on at least two occasions.)

  Why, after pretending to visit a friend in Saint-Tropez, did Madame Jave take the plane to Paris?

  Did Éveline and Gilbert Négrel meet? Were Antoinette Chauvet and Josépha in collusion to protect Doctor Jave, and did he really not have enough time to get to Boulevard Haussmann before catching the night train?

  Finally, why had Éveline Jave, who had no interest in clothes and who didn’t wear jewellery, amassed a whole collection with an almost pathological frenzy?

  Maigret folded up the newspaper with a sigh and summoned the waiter to order another drink. His neighbour asked him: