Maigret Sets a Trap

by Georges Simenon

  Whose idea had it been? They had been sitting so long that evening, discussing the subject from so many angles, that afterwards it was difficult to establish who had said what.

  Perhaps the suggestion had been put forward by Tissot, but so discreetly that even Pardon did not notice.

  It was already past midnight when Maigret had murmured, as if talking to himself:

  ‘Just supposing someone else were to be arrested, and in a way take the place of our killer, usurping what he thinks is his personal fame?’

  They had reached a turning point in their discussion.

  ‘I think in that case,’ Tissot replied, ‘your man would indeed feel a degree of frustration.

  ‘But it would remain to be seen how he’d react. And when he’d react.’

  Maigret was already ahead of them, abandoning theory to envisage practical solutions.

  They knew nothing about the murderer. They had no description of him. Until now, he had been operating in a particular area of Paris, but nothing proved that he would not strike again in another district of the capital, or somewhere else entirely.

  What made this threat so distressing was that it was so vague and imprecise.

  Would it be a month before his next crime? Or only three days?

  They could not keep every street in Paris in a state of siege indefinitely. Parisian women themselves, who after each murder had, as it were, taken cover, would soon return to their normal lives and risk venturing out at night, telling themselves the danger was over.

  ‘I know of two cases,’ Maigret went on after a short silence, ‘where a criminal actually wrote to the newpapers to protest about the arrest of an innocent party.’

  ‘That kind of person often writes to the papers, under compulsion from what I would call their exhibitionism.’

  ‘It would help us.’

  Even a letter made up of words cut out of newspapers could become a lead, in an investigation where they had nothing solid to go on.

  ‘Obviously, there’s another possible response he might make.’

  ‘The same thought has occurred to me.’

  A very simple response: if the wrong culprit was arrested, the killer might immediately commit another murder like the first ones! Or perhaps two or three more.

  They parted on the pavement, standing by the professor’s car, since he and his wife were returning to Ville d’Avray.

  ‘May I offer you a lift home?’

  ‘No, we live nearby, and we’re used to the walk.’

  ‘I have a feeling that this case may well bring me once again to act as expert witness in court.’

  ‘That’s if I can lay hands on the culprit.’

  ‘I have every confidence in you.’

  They shook hands and Maigret sensed that it was the beginning of a friendship.

  ‘You didn’t get a chance to speak to her,’ remarked Madame Maigret a little later, as they were walking home. ‘That’s a pity, because she’s the most intelligent woman I’ve ever met. What’s her husband like?’

  ‘Very impressive.’

  She pretended not to see what Maigret was up to surreptitiously, something he had done as a child. The rain was so cool and delicious that from time to time he was sticking his tongue out to catch a few drops, which had a special taste.

  ‘You seemed to be having a serious discussion.’

  ‘Yes …’

  And that was all that was said on the subject. Back at their apartment, the windows had been left open and Madame Maigret had to wipe up a little water from the parquet floor.

  Perhaps it was as he dropped off to sleep, or else on waking next morning, that Maigret took his decision. And by complete chance, it was in the course of that morning that his former inspector, Pierre Mazet, whom he had not seen for eight years, turned up in his office.

  ‘What are you doing in Paris?’

  ‘Nothing, boss. I’m convalescing. The African mosquitoes have done me some damage, and the doctors insist I should take a few more months’ rest. After that, I was wondering whether there might be some small job for me at headquarters.’

  ‘Well now!’

  Why not Mazet? He was intelligent, and there was little risk he would be recognized.

  ‘Would you like to help me out with something?’

  ‘Are you asking me that, boss!’

  ‘Come and see me about twelve thirty, and we’ll go for lunch.’

  Not at the Brasserie Dauphine, where they would not pass unnoticed.

  ‘No, in fact don’t come back here at all, and don’t do the rounds of the offices, but wait for me outside Châtelet Métro station.’

  They lunched at a restaurant in Rue Saint-Antoine, on the right bank, and the inspector explained to Mazet what he wanted him to do.

  To make it look convincing, it would be best if he was not brought into the Police Judiciaire by anyone from Quai des Orfèvres, but by some inspectors from the 18th arrondissement, and Maigret had immediately thought of Lognon. Who knows? It might even give him a bit of an opportunity. Instead of patrolling the streets of Montmartre, he would be involved more closely in the investigation.

  ‘Choose one of your colleagues who can keep his mouth shut.’

  Lognon had chosen Alfonsi.

  And they had played out their little drama with great success as far as the press was concerned, since all the papers were already talking about a ‘sensational arrest’.

  And now, as Maigret repeated to Coméliau:

  ‘The reporters were present throughout certain comings and goings, and they drew their own conclusions. Neither I nor any of my colleagues told them anything. On the contrary, we denied everything.’

  It was unusual to see a smile, even a sarcastic one, on the magistrate’s face.

  ‘And what if tonight or tomorrow people stop taking precautions because of this arrest – or rather false arrest – and another crime is committed?’

  ‘I’ve thought of that. Firstly, for the next few nights, all the available officers from our service and the 18th arrondissement will be patrolling the district carefully.’

  ‘That’s already been done, but without success, it seems to me.’

  This was true. But did that mean they shouldn’t try anything?

  ‘I took another precaution. I went to see the prefect of police.’

  ‘Without telling me?’

  ‘As I said, I intend to take full responsibility for anything that might happen. I’m merely a policeman, you’re a magistrate.’

  This reply pleased Coméliau, who instantly adopted a more dignified attitude.

  ‘What did you ask the prefect?’

  ‘Permission to use as volunteers a certain number of women police officers from the municipal force.’

  The auxiliary corps of women police officers usually handled only matters dealing with children or prostitution.

  ‘He has recruited a certain number who correspond to a particular profile.’

  ‘For example?’

  ‘Height and weight. I chose, from among the volunteers, the ones who most closely resemble the physical build of the five victims. And like the victims, they will be inconspicuously dressed. They will act as if they are local women, just going from one place to another in their district, and some of them will be carrying a parcel or a shopping bag.’

  ‘So in sum, you are setting a trap?’

  ‘All the women I have chosen have been on physical training courses and they have also been to judo classes.’

  Coméliau nevertheless looked nervous.

  ‘Should I tell the public prosecutor about this?’

  ‘Better not.’

  ‘You know, chief inspector, I don’t like this at all.’

  And Maigret, with disarming frankness, replied:

  ‘Neither do I, sir.’

  It was true.

  But should they not try every possible means of preventing the slaughter continuing?

  ‘Officially, I haven’t been informed abou
t this, then?’ said the magistrate, seeing Maigret to the door.

  ‘You know absolutely nothing about it.’

  Maigret would have preferred it if that were true.

  3.

  A Neighbourhood under Siege

  The Baron, who as a reporter had frequented the Police Judiciaire almost as long as Maigret, accompanied by Rougin – younger but already sharper than his colleagues – plus five or six other less notable journalists, including Maguy (the most dangerous since she did not hesitate, with an air of innocence, to push open doors carelessly left unlocked, or to pick up papers left lying around), and one or two photographers, a few more at times, spent a good part of the day in the corridor at Quai des Orfèvres, which they had made their headquarters.

  Sometimes the greater part of the press crew would disappear to take refreshment at the Brasserie Dauphine, or to make telephone calls, but they always left someone on duty, so that the door to Maigret’s office was never left unwatched.

  Rougin had also had the idea of getting someone from his newspaper to shadow Inspector Lognon, who was thus being followed from the moment he stepped outside his home on Place Constantin-Pecqueur in the morning.

  All these journalists knew the score, as they would put it, and had almost as much experience of police matters as a senior inspector.

  And yet not one of them suspected the deception that was taking place almost before their eyes, a kind of gigantic theatrical performance which had begun in the early hours, well before Maigret’s visit to the examining magistrate.

  For example, inspectors normally stationed in more distant arrondissements like the 12th, 14th or 15th, had left home wearing different clothes from usual, some of them with suitcases or even a trunk, and they had taken care, following instructions, to make their first port of call one of the capital’s railway stations.

  The heat was almost as oppressive as on the previous day, and life had slowed down, except in the tourist districts, where the ubiquitous buses laden with foreign sightseers were driving around, the voices of their guides audible in the streets.

  In the 18th arrondissement, and especially in the area within which the five crimes had been committed, taxis were stopping in front of hotels and furnished tenements, and people were getting out of them as if arriving from the provinces and needing rooms, almost always insisting that they should have a view of the street.

  All this was taking place according to a precise plan, and some of the inspectors had received orders to have their wives accompany them.

  It was only rarely that such arrangements were set in motion. But in this case, could anyone be trusted? Nothing was known about the killer. That was another aspect of the question that Professor Tissot and Maigret had discussed during their evening at the Pardons’.

  ‘So in short, apart from these crises, he must of necessity behave quite normally, otherwise his oddities would have attracted the attention of those around him?’

  ‘Of necessity, as you say,’ the psychiatrist had agreed. ‘It’s even probable that in his appearance, his behaviour and his occupation, this is the kind of person who would arouse the very least suspicion.’

  He could not be a habitual sex offender, because these were already known, and since the 2nd of February they had been kept under observation, but without result. Nor could he be one of the wretched vagrants or disquieting individuals whom one turns to look at in the street because of their strange behaviour.

  What had he been doing before his first crime? What did he do in the intervals between the murders?

  Was he a solitary individual, living in rented lodgings, or a furnished room? Maigret would have been prepared to lay money that no, this would be a married man, leading a regular life, and Tissot too inclined to that hypothesis.

  ‘Anything’s possible,’ the professor had said with a sigh. ‘You could tell me he was one of my own colleagues, and I wouldn’t protest. It could be anyone, a workman, a clerk, a shopkeeper or an important businessman.’

  He might also be one of the managers of the hotels on which the police inspectors were descending en masse, which was why they could not simply turn up at the front desk, as they usually did, and announce:

  ‘Police! Give me a room with a view on the street, and not a word to anyone!’

  Nor could they entirely trust the local concierges. Nor their usual informers in the Montmartre district.

  When Maigret returned to his office after leaving Coméliau, he was besieged by reporters, as he had been the day before.

  ‘Have you been conferring with the examining magistrate?’

  ‘I went to see him, as I do every morning.’

  ‘Did you tell him about the person you questioned yesterday?’

  ‘We talked about this and that.’

  ‘You still won’t tell us anything?’

  ‘I’ve no comment to make at present.’

  He went in to see the chief. The daily report had been handed in much earlier. The commissioner too looked concerned.

  ‘Coméliau didn’t ask you to put a stop to the whole thing?’

  ‘No. Of course, if something goes wrong, he’ll let me take the rap.’

  ‘Are you still sure about this?’

  ‘I have to be.’

  Maigret was not trying out his experiment with a light heart, and was well aware of the responsibility he was shouldering.

  ‘You really think the reporters will swallow this, hook, line and sinker?’

  ‘I’m doing my utmost to make them.’

  Normally, he had a cordial working relationship with the press, which can provide the police with valuable services. But this time, he couldn’t take the risk of an involuntary indiscretion. Even the inspectors who were now dispersed all over the Grandes-Carrières neighbourhood were not sure exactly what was being planned. They had received orders to take up position at given points and wait for instructions. They suspected, of course, that it was to do with the murderer, but were not privy to the overall operation.

  ‘Do you think he’s intelligent?’ Maigret had asked Professor Tissot during their conversation.

  He had his own ideas about this; nevertheless he felt he would like to receive confirmation.

  ‘Yes, but it’s the kind of intelligence that such people often have. For instance, he must have an instinctive and outstanding talent for playing a role. If we suppose he’s married, for example, he has to revert to his normal behaviour, not to mention keeping his sangfroid, when he returns home after committing a crime. If he’s unmarried, he must still have to meet other people, if only his landlady, the concierge or the charwoman, that kind of person. Next day, he goes to work in his office, or in a factory, and of course those around him will be talking about the Montmartre murderer. And in all these six months, nobody has suspected him. In six months, he hasn’t put a foot wrong with time or place. No witnesses can reliably claim to have seen him in action, or even running away from the scene of the crime.’

  That had led to a question which troubled the inspector.

  ‘I’d like your view on a particular point. You just said that most of the time he acts like a normal man, and then, no doubt, he thinks like a normal man?’

  ‘I understand what you mean. Yes, probably.’

  ‘Five times, he has had what I would call a crisis, five times, he has broken out of normality, in order to kill. At what moment did the impulse seize him? Do you see what I mean? At what moment does he stop acting like you or me, and start acting like a killer? Does it strike him at some point during the day, and does he then wait for nightfall to prepare his plan of action? Or on the contrary, does the impulse come over him the instant an opportunity offers itself? At the very moment when, walking down an empty street, he sees a possible victim?’

  For Maigret, the answer was of capital importance because it might widen or narrow the field of inquiry. If the impulse struck at the moment of the attack, the killer must live in the Grandes-Carrières neighbourhood, or very close
by, or need to be there at night, because of his work or for some other practical reason.

  If the opposite was true, it was possible that he could come from anywhere, and have chosen the streets around Place Clichy, Rue Lamarck and Rue des Abbesses because they offered an opportunity, or for some special reason known only to him.

  Tissot had reflected for a long while before speaking.

  ‘I can’t of course offer a diagnosis, as if I had the patient in front of me …’

  He had used the word ‘patient’, as if it concerned one of the people he normally dealt with, and the word, which Maigret did not fail to notice, pleased him. It confirmed that they were both envisaging these events from the same perspective.

  ‘In my view, though, to use a metaphor, there is a moment when he begins the chase, like a wild beast, some big predator, or even a domestic cat. Have you ever watched a cat prowling?’

  ‘Yes, often, in my young days.’

  ‘Its movements are no longer the same. It crouches down, drawing itself in, and all its senses are alerted. It becomes capable of perceiving the slightest sound, or movement, or smell over a considerable distance. And from that moment, it knows how to scent dangers and avoid them.’

  ‘Yes, I see.’

  ‘It’s rather as if, once he’s in that state, our man is gifted with second sight.’

  ‘There’s nothing, I suppose, that allows you to suggest a hypothesis about what could trigger the mechanism?’

  ‘No, not at all. Perhaps a memory, the sight of a woman in the crowd, a whiff of perfume, a sentence overheard. It could be anything, including the sight of a knife, or a dress of a particular colour. Did anyone check the colour of the clothes the victims were wearing? The press didn’t mention anything about that.’

  ‘The colours were different, but they were almost all inconspicuous enough not to stand out at night.’

  When Maigret returned to his office, he took off his jacket as he had the previous day, removed his tie and opened his shirt collar, then, since the sunlight was striking his armchair, he pulled down the canvas blind. After that, he opened the door to the inspectors’ room.

  ‘You there, Janvier?’

  ‘Yes, boss.’