At one point, he wondered whether he was in the presence of a madwoman, or in any case, a neurotic. He’d seen a number of them in his office over the years, and most of them had made his life difficult.
The words she spoke sounded normal, plausible; at the same time, there seemed to be a discrepancy between them and reality.
‘Do you think he had a lot of money on him?’
‘As far as I know, he generally used his cheque book.’
‘Have you discussed it with the chief clerk?’
‘We are not on speaking terms.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because, around three years ago, my husband banned me from his office.’
‘Did he have a reason?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘You are on bad terms with the chief clerk, but even so, you must know him?’
‘Lecureur – that’s his name – has always disapproved of me.’
‘Was he already part of the firm when your father-in-law died?’
‘He joined at the age of twenty-two.’
‘Might he have a better idea of your husband’s whereabouts?’
‘It’s possible. But if I were to go and ask him, he wouldn’t say anything …’
That twitch again, which was beginning to irritate Maigret. He had the growing feeling that this interview was an ordeal for his visitor. So why had she come?
‘Which kind of marriage contract do you have?’
‘We were married under the convention of separate assets.’
‘Do you have a personal fortune?’
‘No.’
‘Does your husband give you all the money you need?’
‘Yes. He’s not interested in money. I can’t swear to it, but I think he’s very wealthy.’
Maigret asked questions at random. He was trying all avenues but, so far, he’d drawn a blank.
‘Look, you’re exhausted. Understandably. With your permission, I’ll come and see you at home, this afternoon …’
‘As you wish.’
She hadn’t stood up yet but was still fiddling with her handbag.
‘What do you think of me?’ she asked at last, in a flat voice.
‘I don’t think anything for now.’
‘You find me difficult, don’t you?’
‘Not necessarily.’
‘At school the other girls found me difficult and I’ve never had any female friends to speak of.’
‘And yet you are very clever.’
‘Do you think so?’
She gave a smile, her lips trembling.
‘It hasn’t done me any good.’
‘Have you never been happy?’
‘Never. I don’t know what the word means.’
She pointed to Lapointe, who was still taking notes.
‘Is it really essential for this conversation to be recorded? It’s hard to speak freely when someone’s noting down everything you say.’
‘If there’s something you want to tell me in confidence, we’ll stop taking notes.’
‘I don’t have anything more to say right now …’
She struggled to her feet. Her shoulders drooped and her back was slightly hunched, her chest hollow.
‘Does he have to come with you this afternoon?’
Maigret hesitated, wanting to give her a chance.
‘I’ll come alone.’
‘At what time?’
‘Whenever is best for you.’
‘I normally take a nap. Would four o’clock suit you?’
‘Perfectly.’
‘It’s on the first floor. Take the right-hand door under the arch.’
She did not hold out her hand. She walked stiffly over to the door as if she were afraid of falling over.
‘Thank you all the same for seeing me,’ she muttered grudgingly.
And, after one last look at Maigret, she made her way towards the main staircase.
The two men stared at one other as if they were each waiting for the other to speak first. The difference was that Lapointe looked bewildered whereas Maigret was solemn but with a roguish glint in his eyes.
He went to open the window, then filled the rather fat pipe he’d selected. Lapointe couldn’t contain himself any longer.
‘What do you think, chief?’
It was a question that his colleagues rarely ventured to ask him because he generally replied with a grunt that had become familiar: ‘I don’t think.’
This time, he responded with another question:
‘About this business of the missing husband?’
‘More about her …’
Maigret lit his pipe, stationed himself in front of the window and, contemplating the banks of the Seine bathed in sunlight, sighed:
‘She’s a strange woman …’
Nothing else. He didn’t try to analyse his impressions, let alone put them into words. Lapointe gathered that he was perturbed and regretted having asked his question so impetuously.
‘She might be mad,’ he added anyway.
And Maigret gave him a brooding look, without saying a word.
He stayed by the window for a good while, then said:
‘Will you have lunch with me?’
‘I’d be delighted, chief. Especially since my wife is at her sister’s, in Saint-Cloud.’
‘Let’s say in fifteen minutes.’
Lapointe went out. Maigret called the switchboard and requested Boulevard Richard-Lenoir.
‘Is that you?’ queried his wife’s voice before he had opened his mouth.
‘It’s me.’
‘I bet you’re going to tell me that you’re not coming home for lunch.’
‘You guessed right.’
‘Brasserie Dauphine?’
‘With Lapointe.’
‘A new case?’
Three weeks earlier, he’d concluded his previous investigation and this desire for lunch in Place Dauphine was a sign of his pleasure in resuming active service. It was also a little like thumbing his nose at the prefect and the interior minister, who’d taken it into their heads to shut him away in a lavish office.
‘Yes.’
‘I haven’t seen anything in the newspapers.’
‘The press hasn’t written about it yet and might not do so.’
‘Well, enjoy it. I was only going to offer you grilled herring …’
He stood there thinking for a moment, then picked up the telephone again, staring at the chair in which the visitor had sat. He could picture her, with her edginess, her shining eyes and nervous twitch.
‘Put me through to Maître Demaison, would you?’
He knew that at this hour the lawyer would be at home.
‘Maigret here.’
‘How are you? Have you got some poor wretch of a murderer who needs defending?’
‘Not yet. I simply need some information. Do you know a lawyer called Sabin-Levesque, Boulevard Saint-Germain?’
‘Gérard? Indeed I do. We were at law school together.’
‘What do you think of him?’
‘Has he run off again?’
‘You’re in the know?’
‘All his friends are in the know. From time to time, he gets swept off his feet by a pretty woman and disappears for a night or for a few days. He has a pronounced taste for what I would call semi-professionals – strip-tease artists, for example, or nightclub hostesses …’
‘Does it happen often?’
‘About ten times a year, as far as I’m aware …’
‘Is he a competent lawyer?’
‘He inherited one of the most prestigious clienteles in Paris, almost the entire Faubourg Saint-Germain, even though he bears no resemblance to a conventional lawyer. He wears light-colou
red suits, and sometimes loud checked tweed jackets.
‘He’s a very cheerful character, full of life, who always looks on the bright side, which doesn’t prevent him from managing the business entrusted to him with outstanding flair …
‘I know several of his clients, male and female, who swear by him …’
‘Do you know his wife?’
A pregnant pause.
‘Yes.’
‘And?’
‘She’s a strange person. I wouldn’t like to live with her, and most likely neither does Gérard, because he sees as little of her as possible.’
‘Does she sometimes go out with him?’
‘Not as far as I know.’
‘Does she have women friends, men friends?’
‘Not to my knowledge either.’
‘Lovers?’
‘I haven’t heard any gossip about her. Most people take her for a depressive or a madwoman. She drinks like a fish.’
‘I noticed.’
‘I’ve told you everything I know.’
‘Apparently the husband’s been missing for a month.’
‘And no one’s heard from him?’
‘It seems not. That’s why she’s worried and came to see me this morning.’
‘Why you and not the missing persons’ bureau?’
‘That’s what I asked. She didn’t reply.’
‘Usually, when he disappears for a few days, he stays in telephone contact with his chief clerk, whose name I’ve forgotten … Have you talked to him?’
‘I’ll probably see him this afternoon …’
A few minutes later, Maigret opened the door to the inspectors’ office and beckoned to Lapointe, who hastened over with a certain awkwardness which he couldn’t help in Maigret’s presence. Maigret was his idol.
‘No need for an overcoat,’ muttered his chief. ‘We’re only going round the corner.’
That morning, he had put on a light spring coat, which was hanging from the hook.
Their footsteps echoed on the pavement. It was good to be back in the atmosphere of the Brasserie Dauphine with its aromas of cooking and alcohol. At the bar were several police officers and Maigret waved to them.
He and Lapointe went straight into the cosy restaurant with its view over the Seine.
The owner shook their hands.
‘A little pastis to welcome the spring?’
Maigret hesitated and ended up saying yes. Lapointe did likewise and the owner brought the glasses.
‘An investigation?’
‘Probably.’
‘Mind you, I’m not asking any questions … You can count on me, I’ll keep it under my hat … What would you say to sweetbreads with mushrooms …?’
Maigret savoured his pastis, because he hadn’t drunk one for a long time. They were served some appetizers.
‘I wonder whether she’ll be more talkative this afternoon when I’m not there.’
‘I’m wondering the same thing …’
They ate a relaxed meal rounded off with the almond cake made by the owner’s wife, who served it in person, after wiping her hands on her apron.
It was not yet two o’clock when the two men walked up the stairs of the Police Judiciaire.
‘They’ve modernized the building,’ grumbled Maigret, out of breath, ‘but it didn’t occur to them to put in a lift.’
He went into his office, lit a pipe and started sifting through his post without much interest. It mainly comprised administrative forms to be completed and reports to be countersigned. The time dragged. Occasionally, he looked out of the window and mentally escaped from the office.
For once, spring had arrived on time. The air was limpid, the sky a pale blue and the buds already swelling. In a few days’ time, the first tender green leaves would appear.
‘I don’t know when I’ll be back,’ he announced from the inspectors’ doorway.
He had decided to make his way to Boulevard Saint-Germain on foot, but he regretted it because it felt like a long walk to number 207a and he had to mop his brow several times.
The imposing stone building, which had turned grey over time, resembled most of the apartment buildings on the boulevard. He went through a polished oak double entrance door and passed beneath the archway, which led to a paved courtyard and former stables converted to garages.
The lawyer’s gilded plaque was next to the left-hand door and a brass nameplate read:
Maître G. Sabin-Levesque
Lawyer
To the right of the door opposite, a man was watching him through the windows of the concierge’s lodge.
Maigret’s morning visitor had told him that her apartment was on the first floor. Another brass nameplate bore the words:
Professor Arthur Rollin
Paediatrician
3rd floor
By appointment only
He must be an expensive specialist. The lift was vast. Since he was only going up one floor, Maigret chose the inviting stairs covered in soft carpeting.
On the first floor, he rang the bell. Almost immediately, the door was opened by an amiable young maid who took his hat.
‘If you would care to come inside, madame is expecting you …’
He found himself in a hallway which was covered with wood panelling, like the large drawing room he was shown into where portraits of figures dating from the first Empire to around 1900 hung on the walls.
He did not sit down. The furniture was heavy, mostly Louis-Philippe style, and while the overall effect was one of opulence and comfort, there was no joyfulness.
‘Madame is waiting for you in her boudoir. I’ll show you the way …’
They walked through two or three rooms which Maigret didn’t have the time to take in, and finally came to a little sitting room with walls covered in blue silk, where the mistress of the house lay on a chaise longue. She was wearing a dressing gown of a darker blue than the walls, and she extended a ring-laden hand. He wondered whether he should shake it or kiss it, and he eventually brushed it with his fingertips.
‘Do please sit down. Forgive me for receiving you like this, but I am not feeling well and I think I’ll go back to bed after our conversation.’
‘I’ll try not to keep you for long.’
‘What do you think of me?’
‘As I said this morning, that you are a very clever woman.’
‘In which you are mistaken. I merely follow my instincts.’
‘First of all, may I ask you a question? Before coming to report your husband’s disappearance to me, did you ask the chief clerk whether he’d heard from him?’
‘I telephoned him several times during the past month … There’s a direct line from the apartment to the office … I should tell you that this building, which used to belong to my father-in-law, is now owned by my husband …’
‘And Monsieur Lecureur … that’s his name, isn’t it? … Monsieur Lecureur hasn’t heard from him either?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Did he on previous occasions?’
‘I didn’t ask him. I believe I told you that we’re not on very good terms.’
She hesitated.
‘Can I offer you a brandy or would you prefer something else?’
‘No. Thank you.’
‘I’ll have a brandy, myself … You see I’m not ashamed to drink in front of you … Besides, everyone will tell you I’m an alcoholic, and it’s true … They might also tell you I’m mad …’
She pressed a bell and a few moments later a manservant appeared.
‘Honoré, bring me the brandy and a glass.’
‘Just one, madame?’
‘Just one, yes. Detective Chief Inspector Maigret doesn’t feel the need to drink …’
There was somethi
ng aggressive in this new attitude. She was defying him and her wry mouth formed the ghost of a smile.
‘Did you and your husband sleep in the same bedroom?’
‘We did for three months or so, immediately after our marriage. On this side of the main drawing room, you are in my half of the apartment. The other side is my husband’s territory.’
‘Do you usually eat together?’
‘You have already asked me that … Occasionally, but we don’t keep the same hours and we don’t have the same tastes.’
‘What do you do for the holidays?’
‘We have … sorry … Gérard inherited a large villa above Cannes. That’s where we go … Recently he bought himself a speedboat and I see him even less than in Paris …’
‘Do you know if he has any enemies?’
‘No one as far as I’m aware … Except me …’
‘Do you hate him?’
‘I wouldn’t say that. I don’t bear him a grudge either. That’s his nature.’
‘Are you his sole heir?’
‘The only one, yes.’
‘Does he have a large fortune?’
‘One which might tempt a lot of women in my situation. But it so happens, you see, that I am not interested in money and I’d be happier in a sixth-floor garret …’
‘Why don’t you ask for a divorce?’
‘Out of laziness. Or indifference. There comes a point when you no longer want anything, where each day you go through the same motions without thinking …’
She picked up her glass with a trembling hand.
‘To your health …’
She drained it in one gulp.
‘You see? Apparently I should be ashamed …’
‘Is that what your husband tells you?’
‘When I started drinking, yes. That was years and years ago …’
‘And now?’
‘He doesn’t care.’
‘How would you feel if you were to find out he was dead? Would it be a release?’
‘Not really. His existence matters so little to me!’
‘Do you think something bad has happened to him?’
‘It occurred to me and that’s why I came to see you.’
‘What could have happened to him?’
‘He was in the habit of meeting his … let’s call them girlfriends … in nightclubs where you come across all sorts of people …’
Maigret and Monsieur Charles Page 2
