The Night at the Crossroads

by Georges Simenon

  ‘You think so? … I have no idea …’

  ‘Didn’t you spend the evening arguing with him?’

  She showed her perfect teeth in a big smile.

  ‘Who told you that? Did he? We sometimes squabble, but nicely. As a matter of fact, I scolded him yesterday for not receiving you properly. He’s so unsociable! And he was already like that as a boy …’

  ‘Did you live in Denmark?’

  ‘Yes. In a big castle beside the Baltic … A very dreary castle, all white amid dusty green foliage … Do you know the country? So gloomy! And yet, it is beautiful …’

  As her gaze grew distant with nostalgia, she felt a shiver of pleasure.

  ‘We were rich, but our parents were quite strict, like most Protestants. Personally, I pay no attention to religion, but Carl is still a believer … Less so than his father, who lost all his fortune through clinging stubbornly to his principles. We left Denmark, Carl and I …’

  ‘That was three years ago?’

  ‘Yes … Just imagine! My brother was destined to become an important dignitary of the Danish court – and here he is, forced to earn his living designing dreadful fabrics … In Paris, in the second- and third-class hotels where we had to stay, he was horribly unhappy. He had the same tutor as our crown prince! But he preferred to bury himself out here.’

  ‘And bury you at the same time.’

  ‘Yes … I’m used to it. I was a prisoner in our parents’ castle, too. I was kept away from all the girls who might have become my friends, supposedly because they weren’t my social equals.’

  Her expression changed with striking abruptness.

  ‘Do you think that Carl has become … I’m not sure how to put it … abnormal?’

  And she leaned forwards, as if to hear the inspector’s reply as quickly as possible.

  ‘You’re afraid of …?’ exclaimed Maigret in surprise.

  ‘I didn’t say that! I didn’t mean anything! Please excuse me … You’ve started me talking … I don’t know why I trust you like this … So …’

  ‘Does he behave oddly at times?’

  She shrugged wearily, crossed and uncrossed her legs, then stood up, uncovering for an instant a flash of skin between the folds of the peignoir.

  ‘What do you want me to say to you? I don’t know any more. Ever since that business with the car … Why would he have killed a man he didn’t know?’

  ‘You’re sure you have never seen Isaac Goldberg?’

  ‘Yes … As far as I know …’

  ‘You and your brother never went to Antwerp?’

  ‘We stayed there one night, three years ago, when we arrived from Copenhagen … No, Carl could not do such a thing! If he has become somewhat strange, I’m sure that his accident is more to blame than our financial ruin. He was handsome! He still is, when he wears his monocle. But otherwise … Can you see him kissing a woman without that bit of black glass? That staring eye in its red-rimmed socket …’

  She shuddered.

  ‘That has to be the main reason my brother hides himself away …’

  ‘But he’s keeping you hidden along with him!’

  ‘What difference does that make?’

  ‘You’re being sacrificed.’

  ‘That’s the lot of every woman, especially a sister. It isn’t quite the same thing here in France. In our country, as in England, only the eldest male counts in the family, the son who will carry on the name.’

  She was growing agitated, puffing hard on her cigarette. She paced up and down through the patterns of sunshine and shadow in the shuttered room.

  ‘No! Carl could not have killed him. That was all a mistake. Wasn’t it because you realized this that you let him go? … Unless …’

  ‘Unless?’

  ‘But you would never admit this! I know that when the police haven’t enough proof, they sometimes release a suspect so that they can catch him for good later on … That would be despicable!’

  She stubbed out her cigarette in the china bowl.

  ‘If only we hadn’t chosen this awful crossroads … Poor Carl, who wanted to be left alone … But we’re less on our own here, chief inspector, than in the most crowded neighbourhood in Paris! Across the way are those impossible, ridiculous, narrow-minded people who spy on us, especially her – with that white dust cap every morning and her crooked chignon in the afternoon … Then that garage, a little farther on … Three groups, three camps is more like it, and all at about the same distance from one another …’

  ‘Did you ever have any contact with the Michonnets?’

  ‘No! The man came once, peddling insurance. Carl showed him the door.’

  ‘And the garage owner?’

  ‘He has never set foot here.’

  ‘Was it your brother who wanted to make a run for it on Sunday morning?’

  She was quiet for a moment, hanging her head, her cheeks pink.

  ‘No,’ she sighed at last, almost inaudibly.

  ‘It was you?’

  ‘Yes, me … I hadn’t thought things through. The idea that Carl could have committed a crime almost drove me crazy. I’d seen him in such distress the day before … So I dragged him along after me …’

  ‘Didn’t he swear to you he was innocent?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You didn’t believe him?’

  ‘Not at first …’

  ‘And now?’

  She took her time, pronouncing each syllable distinctly.

  ‘I believe that, in spite of all his misfortunes, Carl is incapable of deliberately doing anything evil … But listen, chief inspector, he’ll probably be getting back home soon and if he finds you here, God knows what he’ll think!’

  And yet, there was something almost flirtatious, if not provocative, about her smile.

  ‘You will defend him, won’t you? You’ll get him out of all this? I would be so grateful!’

  She held out her hand to him and, as she did so, the peignoir fell slightly open once again.

  ‘Goodbye, chief inspector.’

  He picked up his hat and sidled from the room.

  ‘Could you lock the door again, so that he won’t notice anything?’

  A few moments later, Maigret was going downstairs, crossing the drawing room with its motley collection of furniture, stepping out on to the terrace bathed in sunshine that was already warm.

  Cars were humming along the road. The front gate did not creak when he locked it behind him.

  As he passed the garage, a mocking voice called out, ‘Good for you! You’re a brave one, that’s for sure!’

  It was Monsieur Oscar, in a jovial, man-of-the-people mood.

  ‘Come on!’ he added. ‘Take the plunge and have a drop with me! Those fellows from the prosecutor’s office have already left, so you can easily spare a minute …’

  The chief inspector hesitated, wincing as a mechanic scraped his file across a piece of steel clamped in a vice.

  ‘Ten litres!’ called a motorist waiting by one of the pumps. ‘Anyone around, in there?’

  Monsieur Michonnet, as yet unshaven and without his shirt collar, was standing in his tiny garden looking over the fence at the road.

  ‘Finally!’ exclaimed Monsieur Oscar when Maigret made a move to join him. ‘Plain and simple, that’s how I like folks. Not like that snob at the Three Widows!’

  5. The Abandoned Car

  ‘This way, inspector! … Nothing fancy, eh! This is just a working man’s home here …’

  He pushed open the door of the house behind the garage and they walked directly into a kitchen that must also have served as a dining room, for the breakfast dishes still sat upon the table.

  A woman in a pink housecoat of heavy crêpe stopped polishing a copper tap.

  ‘Come ove
r here, honey, and meet Detective Chief Inspector Maigret … My wife, inspector! She could afford her own maid, mind you … but then there’d be nothing left to do and she’d be bored!’

  The woman was neither ugly nor pretty. She was about thirty. Her housecoat was cheap-looking and unflattering, and she stood awkwardly before Maigret, watching her husband.

  ‘Well, go and fetch us an aperitif! … An Export Cassis, chief inspector? … You’d rather we went into the drawing room? No? That’s fine! I never stand on ceremony, myself. Right, honey? … No, not those ones – get some highball glasses!’

  He leaned back in his chair. He was wearing a pink shirt, no waistcoat, and he slipped his hands inside his belt, cradling his ample belly.

  ‘Exciting, isn’t she, the lady over at the Three Widows house … Mustn’t make a point of it in front of my wife, but between ourselves, she’s certainly easy on a man’s eyes. Only problem is, she has a brother … or so he says! A “knight of doleful countenance” that one is – and he spends his time spying on her … I’ve even heard it said around here that when he goes off for an hour, he locks her in – and does the same every night! That sound to you anything like a brother and sister, hmm? … Cheers! … Say, honey, go and tell Jojo not to forget he’s to fix the lorry for that fellow from Lardy.’

  Hearing a noise that sounded like a 5CV engine, Maigret turned towards the window.

  ‘’Tisn’t him, inspector! I can tell you exactly from here, blindfolded, what’s passing on the road. That old heap belongs to the power-house engineer. You’re waiting for our snob to come back?’

  According to an alarm clock on a shelf, it was eleven o’clock. Through an open door Maigret could see a telephone on the wall out in the corridor.

  ‘You haven’t touched your drink … Well, here’s to your investigation! Listen, don’t you find something comical in this whole affair? The idea of switching the cars, and especially the bit about pinching the six-cylinder beauty from that stuffed shirt across the way … Because that’s just what he is – a stuffed shirt! I swear to you, we’ve got the bottom of the barrel here for neighbours … But I’ve enjoyed watching you coming and going since you arrived yesterday. Particularly when you squint at people as though you suspect the whole lot of them … Mind you, I’ve a cousin on my wife’s side who was in the police, too. Gambling Squad. He spent every afternoon at the races, and the best part of the joke? He passed me tips! Well, down the hatch! … So, honey, all taken care of?’

  ‘Yes …’

  For a moment the young woman, who had just come in, stood wondering what she should do next.

  ‘Come on, have a drink with us. The chief inspector isn’t snooty, he won’t refuse to drink your health because you’ve got your hair in curlers …’

  ‘Would you mind if I make a phone call?’ said Maigret abruptly.

  ‘Be my guest! You turn the handle … If it’s for Paris, they’ll connect you right away.’

  The inspector looked in the directory for the number of Dumas and Son, the fabric manufacturers to whom Carl Andersen had gone to receive some money.

  The phone call was brief. The cash clerk who spoke to Maigret confirmed that Andersen had two thousand francs coming to him that day but had not yet shown up at the premises in Rue du Quatre-Septembre.

  When Maigret returned to the kitchen, Monsieur Oscar was rubbing his hands together with great relish.

  ‘You know, I’d rather come right out and say how much fun I’m having. Because I know the score! Something happens at the crossroads … there are just three households here … it’s only natural to suspect us all. Oh yes you do! Don’t pretend otherwise. I saw how you were looking at me and how you didn’t want to come and have a drink here! … Three houses! The insurance agent seems too big a fool to be capable of committing a crime. The snob is an imposing gentleman … And that leaves yours truly, a poor working guy who’s clawed his way up to being his own man but doesn’t know how to talk proper. A former boxer! If you ask after me at police headquarters in Paris, they’ll tell you I was picked up a few times in raids, because I used to like dancing the Java in the Rue de Lappe music halls, especially when I was a boxer. Another time I had a go at a cop who was picking on me … Bottoms up, chief inspector!’

  ‘No, thanks.’

  ‘You’re not going to refuse! A fizzy Export Cassis never hurt anyone … You see, I like to put my cards on the table. It bothers me to see you skulking around my garage as if you were watching me on the sly. Right, honey? … Didn’t I say so last night? “The chief inspector’s here! Well, then, let him come in! Let him rummage around everywhere! Let him search me! And then admit that I’m a stand-up guy and innocent as a baby.” What really interests me about this whole thing is the cars – because when you get right down to it, the case revolves around cars …’

  Half past eleven! Maigret stood up.

  ‘Another phone call to make.’

  With a worried frown, he asked for police headquarters and told an inspector to send the description of Andersen’s little car out to all police stations as well as the border posts.

  The four aperitifs Monsieur Oscar had put away had brought a gleam to his eyes and roses to his cheeks.

  ‘Oh, I know you’ll refuse to join us for some veal ragout. Especially seeing as we eat in the kitchen here … Ah! Here’s Groslumeau’s lorry back from Les Halles: you must excuse me, chief inspector …’

  He went outside. Maigret was left alone with the young woman, who was tending to her ragout with a wooden spoon.

  ‘Quite a card, your husband!’

  ‘Yes … He’s a cheerful sort.’

  ‘And gets tough at times, right?’

  ‘He doesn’t like being contradicted. But he’s a good fellow.’

  ‘Chases a few skirts?’

  No reply.

  ‘I bet he goes out on the town now and again.’

  ‘Like all men …’

  Her voice had turned bitter. They could hear snatches of conversation over by the garage.

  ‘Put that over there! … Good! … Yes … We’ll change your back tyres tomorrow morning.’

  Monsieur Oscar returned in a fine humour, as if he felt like singing and playing the fool.

  ‘Come on! Sure you won’t tuck into some lunch with us, chief inspector? We could bring up a bottle from the cellar! … Why are you making that face, Germaine? … Women! Moody things, always changing on you.’

  ‘I’ve got to get back to Avrainville,’ announced Maigret.

  ‘Should I drive you back? Wouldn’t take a minute …’

  ‘No, thank you. I’d rather walk.’

  Maigret stepped outside into a bath of warm sunshine, and on the road to Avrainville a yellow butterfly led the way.

  A hundred metres from the inn he encountered Sergeant Lucas, who had come out to meet him.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘You called it! The doctor extracted the bullet, which did come from a rifle.’

  ‘Nothing else?’

  ‘Yes, there’s information from Paris. Isaac Goldberg arrived there in a Minerva sports car he used for travelling and which he drove himself. That’s the car he must have driven here from Paris.’

  ‘And that’s all?’

  ‘We’re still waiting for replies from the Belgian police.’

  The driver of the hired car that had delivered Madame Goldberg to her own death had left in his vehicle.

  ‘The body?’

  ‘They took it to Arpajon. The examining magistrate is worried and asked me to tell you to work quickly. His main concern is that the papers in Brussels and Antwerp might splash this affair all over their front pages.’

  Humming to himself, the inspector went inside the inn and sat down at his assigned table.

  ‘Do you have a telephone
here?’

  ‘Yes! But there is no service between noon and two o’clock, and it’s now half past twelve.’

  The inspector ate in silence. Seeing that he was preoccupied, Lucas tried a few times to strike up a conversation, but in vain.

  It was one of the first lovely days of spring. After lunch Maigret dragged his chair into the inn courtyard and sat down by a wall, in the company of the ducks and chickens, where he dozed in the sun for half an hour.

  At two on the dot, however, he was standing at the telephone, clinging to the receiver.

  ‘Hello! Police Judiciaire? … You haven’t located that car we’re looking for yet? …’

  The inspector began walking around and around the courtyard. Ten minutes later he was called back to the phone: Quai des Orfèvres was on the line.

  ‘Detective Chief Inspector Maigret? … We have just this moment received a call from Jeumont … The car has been found there, abandoned across from the train station. We assume that the driver preferred to cross the border on foot or by train.’

  Maigret hung up only for an instant, then asked for the offices of Dumas and Son. He was informed that Carl Andersen had still not shown up to collect his two thousand francs.

  When Maigret and Lucas walked past the garage at around three o’clock, Monsieur Oscar popped out from behind a car to ask brightly, ‘How’s it going, chief inspector?’

  Maigret merely waved at him and continued on to the Three Widows house.

  The doors and windows of the Michonnet Villa were shut but, yet again, the policemen noticed the dining-room curtains twitching.

  The garage owner’s cheerfulness seemed once more to have aggravated the ill humour of the inspector, who was puffing furiously on his pipe.

  ‘Now that Andersen has made a run for it—’ began Lucas quietly.

  ‘Stay here!’

  The inspector entered the grounds and house of the Three Widows property just as he had that morning. In the drawing room he sniffed the air, looked quickly around and noticed wisps of smoke hovering in the corners of the room, which smelled strongly of freshly smoked tobacco.

  Without even thinking about it he grasped the butt of the revolver in his pocket before going upstairs, where he could hear phonograph music and recognized the tango he had played that morning.