Maigret's Childhood Friend Read online

‘Inquiries to try and trace Joséphine Papet’s relatives have remained fruitless, and we can’t leave her at the Forensic Institute for ever. It may take weeks or months before we dig up a second cousin or a cousin once removed. Don’t you think that we could move on to the funeral tomorrow, for example?’

  ‘Since she had a certain amount of property.’

  ‘I deposited the forty-eight thousand francs that you gave me at the Registry, because I don’t trust the lock on my office.’

  ‘If you’ll permit me, I’ll contact an undertaker.’

  ‘Was she Catholic?’

  ‘Léon Florentin, who lived with her, claims she wasn’t. At any rate, she never went to mass.’

  ‘Have them send me the bill. I don’t know exactly how that works from the administrative point of view. Will you record that, Dubois?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  The unpleasant moment had arrived. Maigret hadn’t tried to avoid it. On the contrary, it was he who had requested this meeting.

  ‘I didn’t send you a report, because I’m still not certain.’

  ‘You suspect the friend she lived with? What was his name again?’

  ‘Florentin. I have every reason to suspect him, and yet I’m still hesitating. It strikes me as too easy. And besides, it so happens that I went to school with him in Moulins. He’s an intelligent fellow, more perspicacious than the average.

  ‘If he hasn’t succeeded in life, it’s because of a particular turn of mind that prevents him from accepting any kind of discipline. I’m convinced that he thinks he lives in a world of puppets, and that he refuses to take anything seriously.

  ‘He has a police record … Bad cheques … Fraud … He spent a year in prison, but I still think he’s incapable of killing. Or rather, he would have made sure that he didn’t come under suspicion.

  ‘I have him under surveillance day and night.’

  ‘Does he know?’

  ‘He’s flattered and, in the street, he turns round from time to time to glance at the man tailing him. He was the class joker. You must have experienced that kind of thing.’

  ‘There’s one in every class.’

  ‘Except that at fifty they aren’t funny any more. I’ve traced Joséphine Papet’s other lovers. One is a fairly senior civil servant whose wife suffers from nervous exhaustion. The two others are rich and highly thought of, one in Bordeaux, the other in Rouen.

  ‘Of course, each of them thought he was the only one who visited the apartment on Rue Notre-Dame-de-Lorette.’

  ‘Did you disabuse them?’

  ‘Not only did I disabuse them, I had summonses delivered into their own hands for a confrontation that will take place at three o’clock in my office.

  ‘I’ve also summoned the concierge, because I’m sure she’s hiding something from me. I hope to be able to tell you more tomorrow.’

  A quarter of an hour later, Maigret was in his office and had put Lucas in charge of organizing the funeral. And handing him a banknote, he added:

  ‘Take this. Make sure there are some flowers.’

  In spite of the sun, as bright as it had been on the previous days, it was impossible to open the window because of the strong wind that was shaking the branches of the trees.

  The ones who had received a summons for the afternoon must have been worried sick, not suspecting that Maigret was the most anxious of all. He had relaxed a little when talking to the examining magistrate. But that didn’t mean that he wasn’t torn by conflicting emotions.

  Two characters kept attracting his attention: Florentin, of course, who seemed to have taken a sly pleasure in accumulating clues against himself, and then that nightmarish concierge whose image haunted him. Where she was concerned, he had decided to have her brought in by an inspector, because she would have been quite capable of not showing up.

  To stop thinking about it, he spent the rest of the morning going through his backlog of files and immersed himself so fully in his work that he was surprised to see that it was ten to one.

  He called Boulevard Richard-Lenoir to tell his wife that he wouldn’t be coming home for lunch, went to the Brasserie Dauphine and sat down in his corner. Several of his colleagues were at the bar. There were also some people from the Vice Squad and Special Branch.

  ‘We’ve got veal ragout,’ the landlord came and told him. ‘Will that do?’

  ‘Perfect.’

  ‘And a carafe of our rosé?’

  He ate slowly, amid the hubbub of conversations punctuated by the occasional peal of laughter. Then he calmly drank his coffee along with the little glass of calvados that the landlord invariably gave him.

  At 2.45, he went and got some chairs from the inspectors’ office and arranged them in a semi-circle.

  ‘Have you got that, Janvier? You go and get her. You keep her in an empty office and don’t bring her to me until I call you.’

  ‘Do you think we’ll get all of her in the car?’ the inspector joked.

  The first to arrive was Jean-Luc Bodard. He was vibrant and full of beans. But when he saw the chairs lined up, he frowned.

  ‘Is this a family reunion or a board meeting?’

  ‘A bit of both.’

  ‘You mean that you’re going to assemble everyone who …’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Fine by me. Can’t wait to see their faces, can you?’

  At that point one of them was brought in by old Joseph, and looked glumly around.

  ‘I was given your summons, but I wasn’t told.’

  ‘You won’t be alone, in fact. Have a seat, Monsieur Paré.’

  He was dressed entirely in black, as he had been the previous day, his bearing was stiffer than it had been in his office, and he kept darting anxious glances at the red-haired man.

  There was a pause of two or three minutes during which not a word was uttered. François Paré was sitting beside the window with his black hat on his knees. Jean-Luc Bodard, wearing a sports jacket with a wide check, looked at the door and waited to see the new arrivals coming in.

  Next was Victor Lamotte, who was actually bridling, and who asked Maigret in a furious voice:

  ‘Is this a trap?’

  ‘Please sit down.’

  Maigret was playing the role of host, impassively and with a faint smile.

  ‘You have no right to.’

  ‘You can complain in high places later, Monsieur Lamotte. Meanwhile please take a seat.’

  An inspector brought in Florentin, who was no less surprised than the others but who reacted with an explosion of laughter.

  ‘Of all the things …!’

  He looked at Maigret and winked at him knowingly. For someone who liked practical jokes, wasn’t this one up to scratch?

  ‘Gentlemen …’ he said, saluting with mock solemnity.

  And he took a chair near Lamotte, who moved his own as far away as he could in order to avoid contact.

  Maigret looked at the clock. It had just struck three when Fernand Courcel appeared in the doorway, so surprised that his first reaction was to turn on his heels.

  ‘Come in, Monsieur Courcel. Sit down. I think this is everybody.’

  Young Lapointe at one end of the office was standing by to jot down anything that might be considered interesting.

  Maigret sat down, lit his pipe and murmured:

  ‘Of course, you can smoke.’

  Only the redhead lit a cigarette. It was strange to see them all assembled like that, so different from one another. In fact they formed two groups. On the one hand, the two real lovers, Florentin and Bodard, who kept glancing at one another. The incumbent and the successor, in fact. The old and the new.

  Did Florentin know that the redhead had almost taken his place? He didn’t seem to resent him and looked at him with something like sympathy.

  The three in the other group were more serious, the ones who had insisted on coming to Rue Notre-Dame-de-Lorette in search of some kind of illusion.

  They had never seen one another,
and yet none of them deigned to look at his neighbour.

  ‘Gentlemen, you know, I suppose, why I have brought you all here. I have had the opportunity to question you separately, and to inform you about the situation.

  ‘There are five of you and, for a longer or shorter period of time, you have all had intimate relations with Joséphine Papet.’

  He waited for a moment and no one moved.

  ‘Apart from Florentin and, to some extent, Monsieur Bodard, none of you was aware of the existence of the others. Is that correct?’

  Only the redhead nodded. Florentin seemed to be highly amused.

  ‘The fact is that Joséphine Papet is dead, and one of you killed her.’

  Monsieur Lamotte rose from his seat and began:

  ‘I protest against …’

  It looked as if he was about to leave.

  ‘You can protest later. Sit down. I haven’t yet accused anyone and I’ve only determined a fact. All of you but one claim not to have set foot in the apartment on Wednesday between three and four o’clock. And none of you has an alibi.’

  Paré raised his hand.

  ‘No, Monsieur Paré. Yours doesn’t hold up. I sent one of my men to check your office again. A second door leads on to a corridor which allows you to leave without being seen by your colleagues. And if your colleagues find that you aren’t in your office, they assume you must be with the minister.’

  Maigret relit his pipe, which had gone out in the meantime.

  ‘I don’t expect one of you to stand up and confess your guilt. I’m just telling you my ulterior motive: I’m sure not only that the murderer is here, but there is also someone who knows and is saying nothing for a reason that escapes me.’

  He looked at each of them in turn. Florentin’s eyes were turned towards the middle of the row, but there was no way of knowing who he was so interested in.

  Victor Lamotte was hypnotized by his shoes. His face was pale, and his features looked as if they were caving in.

  Courcel, who was trying to smile, managed only quite a pitiful grimace.

  The redhead was thinking. Clearly Maigret’s last few words had struck him, and he was trying to get his thoughts in order.

  ‘Whoever the killer was, he was known to Josée, because she received him in her bedroom. And yet she wasn’t alone in the apartment.’

  This time they looked at one another, then they all turned suspiciously towards Florentin.

  ‘That’s right. Léon Florentin was there when the doorbell was rung, and since that had happened several times, he went and hid in the wardrobe.’

  Maigret’s ex-classmate struggled to maintain an attitude of indifference.

  ‘Did you hear a man’s voice, Monsieur Florentin?’

  He could hardly address him as an old friend under these circumstances.

  ‘You can’t hear easily from the wardrobe. Only a murmur.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘After about a quarter of an hour a shot rang out.’

  ‘Did you run?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did the murderer flee?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘How much longer did he stay in the apartment?’

  ‘About a quarter of an hour.’

  ‘Did he take the forty-eight thousand francs that were in the desk drawer?’

  ‘No.’

  Maigret didn’t consider it necessary to add that it was in fact Florentin who had tried to appropriate the money.

  ‘So the murderer was looking for something. I imagine that some of you must sometimes have written to Josée, during the holidays, for example, or to apologize for missing one of your appointments.’

  He looked at them one by one again, and they crossed or uncrossed their legs.

  Now he concentrated on the serious lovers, the ones with a family, a situation, a reputation to defend.

  ‘Did you ever write to her, Monsieur Lamotte?’

  He muttered a barely audible ‘yes’.

  ‘In Bordeaux you live in a milieu that has barely evolved over time, isn’t that so? If I am well informed, your wife has a large personal fortune, and her family is rated more highly than yours on the scale of values of Chartrons. Has someone threatened you with a scandal?’

  ‘I will not permit you to …’

  ‘And you, Monsieur Paré … Did you ever write?’

  ‘During the holidays, in fact …’

  ‘In spite of your visits to Rue Notre-Dame-de-Lorette, I think you are very attached to your wife.’

  ‘She’s ill …’

  ‘I know. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to afflict her further.’

  He clenched his jaws, on the brink of tears.

  ‘And what about you, Monsieur Courcel?’

  ‘If I wrote, it was only ever short notes.’

  ‘Which still establish your relationship with Joséphine Papet … Your wife is younger than you, probably jealous …’

  ‘And me?’ the redhead asked comically.

  ‘You might have had another reason to kill.’

  ‘Wouldn’t have been jealousy, anyway,’ he announced, looking at the row of other men.

  ‘Josée might have talked to you about her savings. If she told you that she didn’t put them in the bank, but kept them in the apartment.’

  ‘I would have taken them, I suppose?’

  ‘Unless your search was interrupted.’

  ‘Do I look like that kind of person?’

  ‘Most of the murderers I’ve known looked like honest people … As for the letters, you could have taken them to blackmail their senders.

  ‘Because the letters have disappeared, all the letters, possibly even including those from people we aren’t aware of. It is rare to have reached the age of thirty-five without accumulating a more or less voluminous correspondence … And yet, in the desk, we found only bills.

  ‘Your letters, gentlemen, have been taken, and by one of you.’

  In trying not to look guilty, they assumed postures so unnatural that they immediately looked suspicious.

  ‘I’m not asking the murderer to stand up and confess. Over the next few hours, I expect that the person who knows will show his face.

  ‘Perhaps that won’t be necessary, because we still have one witness to hear, and that witness knows the guilty man …’

  Maigret turned towards Lapointe.

  ‘Will you tell Janvier?’

  The wait passed in total silence, and everyone avoided making the slightest movement. All of a sudden it was very hot, and the entrance of Madame Blanc, more monumental than ever, had a certain theatrical quality.

  With a spinach-green dress she wore a red hat perched on the top of her head and held in her hand a bag almost as big as a suitcase. She had stopped just in front of the doorway and, stony-faced and blank-eyed, she looked around the assembled people.

  Eventually, she turned back towards the door, and Janvier had to stop her making for the stairs. For a moment it looked as if they were about to wrestle with each other.

  In the end she gave in and stepped into the office.

  ‘I still have nothing to say,’ she said with a nasty look at Maigret.

  ‘Do you know these gentlemen?’

  ‘I’m not paid to do your job. I want to go.’

  ‘Which of them did you see, between three and four o’clock on Wednesday, making their way towards the lift or the stairs?’

  At that moment something unexpected happened. That stubborn-looking woman, her face still impassive, wasn’t quite able to hold back something that looked like a smile. Without any doubt, her face bore an expression of satisfaction, almost a sign of victory.

  All eyes were on her. But which of them seemed most anxious? Maigret couldn’t have said. They all reacted differently. Victor Lamotte was pale with suppressed rage, unlike Fernand Courcel, whose face had turned purple. As to François Paré, he was crippled with sadness and shame.

  ‘Are you refusing to answer?’ Maigret murmured at last.<
br />
  ‘I have nothing to say.’

  ‘Record that statement, Lapointe.’

  She shrugged and said disdainfully, still with a hint of mystery in her voice:

  ‘You don’t scare me.’

  6.

  Maigret, now standing up and looking at each of them in turn, said:

  ‘Gentlemen, thank you for coming. I think that this meeting will prove not to have been pointless, and that one of you will soon be in touch with me.’

  He coughed lightly to clear his throat.

  ‘It remains to me to tell you, in case you are interested, that Joséphine Papet’s funeral will be held at ten o’clock tomorrow. The body will be collected from the Forensic Institute.’

  Victor Lamotte was the first to leave, furious, without looking at anyone and, of course, without saying goodbye to Maigret. His limousine and his chauffeur would be waiting down below.

  Courcel hesitated before merely nodding, while François Paré murmured as he passed, not really knowing what he was saying:

  ‘Thank you.’

  Only the redhead held out his hand and said cheerfully:

  ‘Spot on! You gave them hell.’

  Only Florentin lingered, and Maigret said to him:

  ‘I’d like you to wait here for a moment. I’ll be back shortly.’

  He left him under the eye of Lapointe, who had not moved from his place at the end of the office, and went into the inspectors’ room. Torrence’s large figure was there, typing out a report. He typed with two fingers, and with a look of great concentration.

  ‘Go and organize a stake-out in front of the house on Rue Notre-Dame-de-Lorette. I need to know who goes in and who comes out. If one of the people leaving my office should turn up there, follow him inside.’

  ‘Are you afraid of something?’

  ‘The concierge may know too much, and I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to her.’

  ‘Shall we go on following Florentin and put a guard in his courtyard?’

  ‘Yes. I’ll let you know when I’m done with him.’

  He returned to his office.

  ‘You can go, Lapointe.’

  Florentin was standing by the window, hands in his pockets, as if he was at home. He displayed his usual irony.

  ‘My goodness, how rattled they were! I’ve never had so much fun in my life.’