“Your mother sets great store by her sisters’ good opinion, doesn’t she?”
“Keeping up with them is the sole object of her existence.”
“Did you believe your father, when he told you he was selling insurance?”
“At the time I did.”
“And later?”
“I began to wonder.”
“Why?”
“First of all, because he was making too much money.”
“As much as all that?”
“I don’t know what you mean by ‘as much as all that!’ After a few months, he announced that he had been promoted to assistant manager, at an increased salary, still at Kaplan’s, of course. I remember they had words about that. Mother wanted him to change the entry under ‘Occupation’ on his identity card. She had always felt humiliated by the title of storekeeper. He said it wasn’t worth the trouble, it was such a trivial matter.”
“I daresay you and your father exchanged knowing glances at that point.”
“When he was sure my mother wasn’t looking, he winked at me. From time to time, in the morning, he would slip a banknote into my bag.”
“In order to buy your silence?”
“No, it gave him pleasure to be able to give me money.”
“You mentioned that you and he sometimes met for lunch.”
“That’s right. He used to arrange to meet me, in whispers, in the entrance lobby at home. In the restaurant he’d always make me have the most expensive dishes, and would offer to take me to a cinema afterwards.”
“Did you ever see him wearing light brown shoes?”
“Once. It was then that I asked him where he went to change his shoes, and he told me that, for business reasons, he had had to rent a room in town.”
“Did he give you the address?”
“Not at first. All this took place over a long period of time.”
“Had you a boyfriend then?”
“No.”
“When did you first make the acquaintance of Albert Jorisse?”
She neither blushed nor stammered. This was another question she had been expecting.
“Four or five months ago.”
“Are you in love with him?”
“We’re planning to go away together.”
“To get married?”
“Not until he’s of age. He’s only nineteen. He can’t marry without his parents’ consent.”
“Would they refuse to give their consent?”
“I’m quite sure they would.”
“Why?”
“Because he has his way to make in the world. That’s all his parents ever think of. Just like my mother.”
“Where were you planning to go?”
“South America. I’ve already applied for a passport.”
“Have you any money?”
“A little. I’m allowed to keep part of what I earn.”
“When did you first ask your father to let you have the money?”
She stared at him for a moment, then said, with a sigh:
“So you know that too!”
Then, without hesitation:
“I thought you might. That’s why I’m telling you the truth. I’m sure you wouldn’t be such a louse as to repeat all this to my mother. Unless, of course, you and she are two of a kind.”
“I have no intention of discussing your affairs with your mother.”
“Even if you did, it wouldn’t make the slightest difference!”
“You mean you’d go anyway?”
“In my own good time, yes.”
“How did you find out the address of your father’s lodgings?”
This time, she seemed on the point of telling a lie.
“I got it from Albert.”
“How did he find out? Did he follow him?”
“Yes. We were both curious as to how he earned his money. We decided that the best way to find out was for Albert to follow him.”
“What business was it of yours?”
“Albert was sure that whatever my father was up to, it was something illegal.”
“And supposing it was, what was to be gained by pursuing your investigations?”
“Whatever it was, it must have been very lucrative.”
“Did you intend to ask for a share of the money?”
“We expected that he would at least pay our fares.”
“Blackmail, in other words.”
“It’s only natural for a father…”
“The long and short of it is that your friend Albert set about spying on your father.”
“He followed him for three days.”
“What did he find out?”
“What have you found out?”
“I asked you a question.”
“First, that my father had taken a room in the Rue d’Angoulême. Next, that he was not connected in any way with insurance, but that he spent most of his time loafing about on the Grands Boulevards, and sitting on benches. And finally…”
“Finally?”
“That he had a mistress.”
“What effect did this discovery have on you?”
“I wouldn’t have minded so much if she had been young and attractive. In fact she was very like Mother.”
“Have you seen her?”
“Albert pointed out the place where they were in the habit of meeting.”
“In the Rue Saint-Antoine?”
“Yes. It was a little café. I strolled past, as if I were there just by chance, and looked in. I didn’t have time to get a good look at her, but I could see the sort of woman she was. It can’t have been much more fun for him being with her than with my mother.”
“And then you went to see him in the Rue d’Angoulême?”
“Yes.”
“Did your father give you money?”
“Yes.”
“Did you use threats?”
“No. I told him I’d lost the envelope containing the money I had collected for my firm that afternoon, and that, unless I made it up to them, I’d be out on my ear. I also said that they would prosecute me for theft.”
“How did he react to that?”
“He looked embarrassed. Then I noticed a photograph of a woman on the bedside table. I snatched it up, and exclaimed:
“‘Who’s that?’”
“What was his answer?”
“That she was just a childhood friend, whom he happened to have run into again recently.”
“Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?”
“I was only acting in self-defense.”
“Against whom?”
“Against the whole world. I am determined not to end up like my mother, slowly stifling to death in some caricature of a house.”
“Did Albert go and see your father as well?”
“I’ve no idea.”
“My dear child, that’s a plain lie.”
She looked at him thoughtfully, then said:
“Yes.”
“Why did you choose to lie about that, in particular?”
“Because, ever since I found out that my father had been murdered, I have realized that Albert was in for trouble.”
“You know that he’s disappeared?”
“He telephoned me.”
“When?”
“Before he disappeared, as you put it. Two days ago.”
“Did he tell you where he was going?”
“No. He was terribly distressed. He was convinced that he was going to be charged with murder.”
“What put that idea into his head?”
“Because he had been to the Rue d’Angoulême.”
“When did you find out that we were on his track?”
“After your inspector had questioned that old sour-puss, Mademoiselle Blanche. She hates me. Afterwards, she boasted that she’d said enough to make sure, as she put it, that my goose was well and truly cooked. I tried to calm Albert down. I told him that he was behaving like an idiot, because nothing was more likely to arouse the suspici
ons of the police than that he should go into hiding.”
“But you couldn’t make him see reason?”
“No. He was in such a state that he was scarcely coherent on the telephone.”
“What makes you so sure he didn’t kill your father?”
“What possible motive could he have had?”
Very calmly, to show that she had thought it all out, like the rational being she was, she added:
“We could have asked my father for as much money as we wanted.”
“What if he had refused?”
“He couldn’t have done that. Albert had only to threaten to tell my mother all he knew. I know what you’re thinking. You think I’m a bitch, you almost said as much, but if you had wasted the best years of your life, as they say, in a hole like Juvisy…”
“Did you see your father on the day of his death?”
“No.”
“What about Albert?”
“I’m almost sure he didn’t. We hadn’t planned anything for that particular day. We had lunch together, as usual, and he never mentioned my father.”
“Do you know where your father kept his money? As I understand it, your mother was in the habit of going through his pockets and his wallet every evening, when he got home.”
“She always did.”
“Why?”
“Because on one occasion, ten years ago or more, she found a handkerchief with lipstick on it. My mother doesn’t use lipstick, you see.”
“You must have been very young at the time.”
“I was ten or twelve years old. All the same, I’ll never forget it. They’d forgotten I was there. My father’s story was that one of the women in the packing room had fainted on account of the heat, and that he’d poured alcohol on to his handkerchief and held it under her nose until she came round.”
“He was probably telling the truth.”
“My mother didn’t believe him.”
“To return to my question, your father couldn’t come home with more money in his pocket than could be accounted for by his so-called salary.”
“He kept it in his room.”
“On top of the glass-fronted wardrobe?”
“How did you know?”
“How did you?”
“Once, when I went to see him to ask for some money, he climbed up on a chair and took a buff envelope from the top of the wardrobe. It was stuffed with thousand-franc notes.”
“A lot?”
“A thick bundle.”
“Did Albert know about it too?”
“That’s no reason for killing him. I’m certain he didn’t do it. And besides, he would never have used a knife.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I’ve seen him near to passing out when he’s pricked his finger with a penknife. The sight of blood makes him ill.”
“Do you go to bed with him?”
Once again she shrugged, then said:
“What a question!”
“Where?”
“Anywhere. There are enough hotels in Paris which exist solely for that purpose. You’re surely not suggesting that the police don’t know about them?”
“Be that as it may, let us return to a more interesting topic. You and Albert were blackmailing your father, intending, as soon as you had squeezed enough money out of him, to elope to South America?”
For all the feeling she showed, she might not have heard him.
“Furthermore, I gather, for all your spying on him, you were not able to find out how your father got his money.”
“We didn’t try all that hard.”
“I see. All that mattered was that he had the money, not how he made it.”
From time to time, Maigret had the feeling that she was looking at him with a kind of pitying indulgence. She must have been thinking that he, chief superintendent of the Crime Squad, was proving to be almost as naïve as her mother and her aunts and uncles.
“Now you know everything,” she said, making as if to get up. “You’ll have noticed, I hope, that I haven’t pretended to be anything but what I am. As to what you may think of me, I couldn’t care less.”
All the same, she was uneasy about something.
“Can I have your assurance that you won’t say anything to my mother?”
“Why should you care? You’ll be out of it soon anyway.”
“For one thing, it will take time to make all the arrangements, and for another, I’d prefer to avoid a scene.”
“I understand.”
“Albert is still a minor, and his parents might…”
“I should very much like to have a talk with Albert.”
“If it was up to me, he’d be here now. He’s a fool. I can just see him, huddling out of sight somewhere, shaking from head to foot.”
“You don’t seem to have a very high opinion of him.”
“I haven’t a high opinion of anyone.”
“Except yourself.”
“I don’t think much of myself either. I’m only looking after my own interests.”
What was the use of arguing with her?
“Have you told my employers that I was being brought here?”
“I telephoned them, and said we needed you here in connection with certain legal formalities.”
“What time are they expecting me back?”
“I didn’t say any particular time.”
“Can I go?”
“I’m not stopping you.”
“Will I still be followed around by one of your inspectors?”
He felt like laughing, but managed to keep a straight face.
“Possibly.”
“He’ll be wasting his time.”
“Thank you for your assistance.”
Maigret did, in fact, have her followed, though he was convinced that nothing would come of it. It was Janvier, who happened to be free at the moment, who took over the assignment.
As for the chief superintendent, he sat for ten minutes or more with his elbows on his desk and his pipe clenched between his teeth, gazing absently at the window. In the end, he had to shake himself back to consciousness, like someone waking from a deep sleep. He got up, grumbling to himself under his breath:
“Silly little fool!”
Feeling somewhat at a loose end, he went into the Inspectors’ Duty Room.
“Still no news of the boy?”
Albert must be itching to get in touch with Monique. But how could he manage it without risk of arrest? There was one question that Maigret had neglected to ask. And yet it was a matter of some importance. Which of the two of them was actually in possession of the money that they had amassed, in order to finance their journey to South America? If it was Albert, he was probably still carrying it in his pocket. If it was not, presumably he had barely enough to buy food.
For a few minutes more he paced restlessly between the two rooms, then he telephoned the offices of Geber et Bachelier.
“May I speak to Mademoiselle Monique Thouret, please?”
“One moment. I think she’s just coming in.”
“Hello!” It was Monique’s voice.
“I hope you’re not too disappointed. It’s not Albert, only the chief superintendent. There’s just one thing I forgot to ask you. Which of you has the money?”
She was quick to grasp his meaning.
“I have.”
“Where is it?”
“Here. I keep it locked in one of the drawers of my desk.”
“Has he any money of his own?”
“Very little, I should think.”
“Thanks. That’s all I wanted to know.”
Lucas was making signs to him, indicating that he was wanted on another line. It was Lapointe.
“Are you speaking from the Rue d’Angoulême?” asked Maigret, in surprise.
“Not from the house. From the bistro on the corner.”
“What’s been happening?”
“I don’t know if it was done on purpose, but I thought you ought t
o be told. They’ve turned out the room and cleaned it thoroughly. The furniture and the floor are gleaming with wax polish, and there isn’t a speck of dust anywhere.”
“What about the top of the wardrobe?”
“That’s been dusted too. I could feel, from the way that woman looked at me, that she had put one across me. I asked her when the cleaning had been done. She said that her charwoman was there yesterday afternoon—she only goes in twice a week—so she thought she’d take advantage of her being there to give it a thorough turn-out.
“You had said nothing about leaving it as it was, she said, and as she’d have to let it again…”
Maigret had made a blunder. He ought to have foreseen this.
“Where is Moers?”
“He’s still up there, in the hope that one or two fingerprints at least may have been overlooked. He hasn’t found anything yet. If it really was done by the charwoman, she’s made a thorough job of it. Do you want me to go back to the Quai?”
“Not just yet. Find out the name and address of the charwoman, and go and see her. Ask her to tell you exactly what happened, what her instructions were, whether anyone else was in the room with her…”
“I get it.”
“Moers may as well give up. Just one more thing. Did you notice anyone from the Vice Squad watching the house?”
“Yes, Dumoncel. I’ve just had a word with him, as a matter of fact.”
“Tell him to ring Headquarters and ask for reinforcements. If any one of the women leaves the house, I want her followed.”
“They’re not ready to go out yet. One of them seems to have a mania for trailing up and down the stairs stark naked, another is having a bath. As for the third one, apparently no one has seen her for several days.”
Maigret decided to go and see the chief commissioner, not for any particular reason, but just because, as sometimes happened, he felt like an informal chat about the case and other matters. He liked the atmosphere of the chief’s office. He always stood near the window, to enjoy the view of the Pont Saint-Michel and the Quais.
“Tired, are you?”
“I feel as if I’ve been engaged in an endless game of patience. I’m itching to be everywhere at once, so I end up just pacing up and down in my office. This morning I had one of the most…”
He paused, groping for the right word to describe his interview with Monique, but it eluded him. He felt whacked, or perhaps drained would be a better word, as if he were suffering from a severe hangover.
Maigret and the Man on the Boulevard Page 11
