The Judge's House Page 11

  He hung up and assumed his most cordial air.

  ‘I hope you didn’t mind. A formality I’d forgotten … Suppose the gendarmes get their hands on Airaud … They’ll have to find him eventually, dammit! The marshes aren’t a desert … Now this is what I think. Marcel envisages getting married. His mother probably dissuades him from marrying a girl who isn’t quite normal. Even though he loves her, he’s a bit worried himself …’

  It was hot, of course, and the stove was purring. But was it the heat that caused beads of sweat to appear on Forlacroix’s forehead?

  ‘Then he remembers that a former shipmate of his, from the days when he was a sailor on the Vengeur, is now working as a doctor in Nantes. He goes to see him. He asks for his advice. Janin can’t say anything without first seeing the girl. They both decide that he’ll come here and examine her …’

  Albert stubbed out his cigarette beneath his heel and lit another.

  ‘You must admit it holds together, psychologically speaking. I don’t know your former friend Airaud as well as you do. Before anything else, he’s a peasant. That means he’s cautious by nature. He wants to get married, but all the same he’d like to make sure his future wife isn’t completely mad … What do you think?’

  ‘I don’t know!’ Albert said curtly.

  ‘Have your drink. Are you sure you’re not hungry? … In my opinion … and I may be mistaken … in my opinion, Marcel doesn’t dare tell your father. To be blunt about it, your father is giving him his daughter, but giving her as she is. Plus, if she was healthy and normal, it’s unlikely he’d marry her off to a mussel farmer …’

  And here Maigret turned vulgar, laughing heartily like a travelling salesman telling crude stories.

  ‘You can just see our Airaud telling his future father-in-law: “All right! You’re very kind. I’ll take your daughter, but I’d like an expert opinion first …”’

  A look from Albert, a look full of hatred. Maigret pretended not to see it.

  ‘So he has to have the girl examined without the judge knowing. Which is why I think he chose a Tuesday. That evening, Forlacroix is shut up for hours in the library on the ground floor with his friends. They’re talking loudly. Drinking. Laughing. Nobody will have any inkling of what’s going on upstairs … There’s only one thing that bothers me, Albert … Do you mind if I call you that? … Yes, one detail bothers me. I know Janin is a bit unorthodox, even something of a hothead. All the same, there are rules the medical profession tends to follow to the letter …

  ‘Just see how events pan out and then tell me if there isn’t something not quite right …’

  He, too, was hot and he mopped his brow and filled his pipe. At times like these, he realized what an effort a variety performer, for example, had to make to carry his audience with him, to keep a crowd of people in suspense for minutes on end, come what may …

  He had only one man in front of him. But what a bad audience! The kind that declares in advance: ‘This is stupid! I won’t go along with it!’

  ‘Listen, my dear Forlacroix. Janin gets off the bus. Airaud must have arranged to meet him outside, not far from the Hôtel du Port. He doesn’t want anybody to know about this visit.

  ‘Why does Janin feel the need to go into the hotel and order his dinner for that evening?

  ‘Whatever the reason, he comes out. He meets Marcel. It isn’t quite time to go to the Forlacroix house. The judge’s guests haven’t arrived yet. There’s no way to see the girl on her own before nine in the evening.

  ‘What do you think the two men could have done all that time? It was raining. I can’t see them walking in the dark for hours on end. It’s also curious that nobody in L’Aiguillon ran into them …

  ‘Plus, they had something to eat! At least, we have evidence that Janin did … I don’t mind telling you this, even though it’s meant to be confidential … When they did the post mortem, they found the remains of a fairly copious meal in his stomach.

  ‘Where could they have gone to eat, do you think?’

  And Maigret, who had been walking, stopped for a moment and gave Forlacroix a firm slap on the shoulder.

  ‘That’s not all, my friend! The guests have arrived. Brénéol and his wife and daughter, followed by the Marsacs. Now’s the time. They still have to get up to your sister Lise’s bedroom, which is on the first floor. Marcel is in the habit of climbing along the wall …

  ‘What I wonder is whether Doctor Janin, however unorthodox he may have been, also proceeded to clamber up the front of the house.

  ‘It’s the only possible hypothesis.

  ‘Is Airaud with him?

  ‘Whatever the case, it’s quite possible the drama had taken place by midnight. You gave us the proof of that.’

  ‘I did?’

  ‘Oh, yes! Have you forgotten your own statements? Statements the judge has confirmed in detail … When he came up to the first floor after his guests had left, in other words around midnight, he found you sitting at the top of the stairs.’

  Silence. Another pipe. More coal in the stove.

  ‘By the way, if you’d fallen out with the judge, why did you keep a key to the house?’

  ‘To see my sister.’

  ‘Did you see her that night?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘And you didn’t hear any noise, did you, either in the room or in the fruitery, even though you were sitting almost directly in front of the door? That’s what makes me think it was all over by then …’

  He gulped down a whole glass of wine and wiped his lips.

  ‘That would seem to put Judge Forlacroix in the clear, but not a bit of it … How long were you in the house before the guests left? Not long, I suppose, since you knew the time they usually left?’

  ‘Five or ten minutes.’

  ‘Five or ten minutes … They were playing bridge … In bridge, there’s always a dummy. In the course of the evening, Forlacroix may have taken advantage of the fact that he was a dummy to pop upstairs and make sure everything was all right. He sees a man he doesn’t know. There’s a hammer within arm’s reach. He strikes him …’

  ‘What are you getting at?’ Albert Forlacroix asked.

  ‘Nothing. We’re just chatting. I’ve been wanting to talk to you about all these things for a long time now. One question occurs to me. Did Marcel Airaud enter the house at the same time as the doctor?’

  ‘Why do you ask me?’

  ‘No, obviously, you couldn’t know, could you? He might have come in with him and been present at the examination. He could also simply have announced the visitor to your sister Lise, who was fairly reasonable when she wasn’t having one of her attacks … You see, my friend, all hypotheses are allowed …

  ‘If Airaud did go in, it’s possible he quarrelled with Janin … If Janin tells him, for example: “You can’t marry this girl …”

  ‘He loves her! He asked the man for advice. But who knows if, when all is revealed to him …

  ‘Last but not least, your sister herself could have …’

  ‘You think my sister would have been capable …’

  ‘Calm down! Like I said, we’re just chatting! We’re considering all the possibilities. Janin examines her, asks her the kind of specific, even indiscreet, questions a doctor feels permitted to ask …

  ‘She has an attack … Or she is just afraid he’ll stop Marcel from marrying her …’

  Phew! His cheeks were red, and his eyes shining.

  ‘That’s why it would be interesting to know if Airaud was in the house or waiting outside … It’s obvious that his running away doesn’t make him look good. People don’t usually hide if they have nothing to feel guilty about. Unless …’

  He seemed to think this over carefully and then once again slapped Albert on the shoulder.

  ‘Oh, yes! He does have an answer for us when we arrest him … Let’s say he stayed outside. He waits. He doesn’t see his friend come back. Late that night, he climbs the wall, gets into the fruitery and discov
ers the doctor’s body. He tells himself it was Lise who killed him.

  ‘The investigation begins. He’s afraid they’ll suspect her. He loves her. So to divert suspicion from his fiancée, he pretends to run away.

  ‘Is it a way of gaining time, of maybe getting the case dropped? What do you think?’

  ‘I don’t think anything!’

  ‘Obviously, you haven’t the slightest idea where Airaud is hiding. Don’t answer yet. You were his friend. He was going to become your brother-in-law. It’s perfectly understandable that you wouldn’t want to give him up to the law … I say it’s perfectly understandable, on a human level, that is, but not from the legal point of view. Do you get my meaning? … Let’s suppose you’ve seen Airaud since he ran away and didn’t say anything. It’s only a supposition. He may still be wandering around the countryside. It’d be hard not to draw certain conclusions.’

  ‘What conclusions?’ Albert asked in a slow voice, uncrossing his legs and crossing them in the other direction, letting the ash from his cigarette fall on his jacket.

  ‘It may be thought, for example, that you, too, want to save your sister … You were on the landing for five or ten minutes, but we have no proof of that … You didn’t set foot in the hotel that evening, did you?’

  ‘Not after nine o’clock.’

  ‘You must have had a key to your sister’s room. You admitted as much yourself when you said you’d kept a key to the front door so that you could visit her. That key would have been useless if, once inside … But I guess you lost that second key, because on a particular night I saw you knock the door in with your shoulder … Maybe you were just in an emotional state, or were you trying to pull the wool over our eyes?’

  Silence. Albert was staring pensively at the dusty floor. By the time he raised his eyes, he had made his mind up.

  ‘Is this an interrogation?’

  ‘It’s whatever you want it to be.’

  ‘And am I obliged to answer?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘In that case, I have nothing to say.’

  And he stubbed out his cigarette with his boot.

  Maigret walked around the room two or three more times, made sure there was no more wine in the bottle, and turned the crank of the telephone.

  ‘Oh, good, you aren’t in bed yet, mademoiselle. Could you put me through to the Hôtel du Port? Thank you! … Hello? Is that you Thérèse? … Call Inspector Méjat for me, my dear … Méjat? … Look, old chap, can you go to Albert Forlacroix’s house? … Go across the back yard … At the end of it, you’ll find a kind of shed … A man is in there, sleeping on a straw mattress … No, I don’t think he’s dangerous! … Be careful all the same … Yes, put the handcuffs on him, it’s safer … And bring him to me … That’s right … Forlacroix? … No, he won’t protest … He’s here. He’s agreed to it.’

  Maigret hung up with a smile.

  ‘Inspector Méjat was afraid you’d lodge a complaint for forcible entry. Strictly speaking, it’s not allowed without a warrant, especially in the middle of the night … Cigarette? … Really? … If I’d been there myself, I don’t think I’d have resisted the temptation to take down one of those succulent sausages hanging above the fireplace.’

  Then, in a softer voice:

  ‘When exactly did you slaughter the pig?’

  10. Didine’s Little Dishes

  During the minutes that followed, Maigret seemed to have forgotten his companion; he began by taking his watch from his pocket; he slowly rewound it, with exaggerated care, took it off its chain and put it down on the table as if, from now on, the passage of time was going to be important.

  Then he waited. Albert Forlacroix didn’t move, didn’t even heave a sigh. He must have been ill at ease on his rickety chair. He must have wanted to shift, maybe to scratch his cheek, or his nose, to cross and uncross his legs. But, precisely because Maigret was keeping quite still, he forced himself with grim determination to do the same.

  From where he was, he couldn’t see Maigret’s face as he pretended to be absorbed in staring at the stove. Otherwise, he would no doubt have caught a slight, almost playful smile.

  It was just a professional ploy, of course, the kind of little trick designed to disconcert a man!

  Footsteps outside. Maigret walked calmly to the door and opened it. Marcel Airaud was there in front of him, with handcuffs on his wrists, and Inspector Méjat, swollen with his own importance, was holding on to the handcuffs. A gendarme was behind them in the shadows.

  Marcel didn’t seem upset and only blinked because he was startled by the light. He stood there while Forlacroix remained on his chair.

  ‘Can you take that one next door?’ Maigret said to the inspector, pointing to Albert.

  Next door was the ballroom, with its white walls, its paper chains hanging from the ceiling, its benches all around for the mothers. Between the two rooms, a glass door.

  ‘Sit down, Airaud. I’ll be with you in a moment.’

  But Marcel preferred to remain standing. Maigret gave his instructions, posted the gendarme to keep an eye on Forlacroix and sent Méjat off to fetch sandwiches and bottles of beer.

  It was all happening as if in slow motion. Forlacroix and Airaud must be observing Maigret’s behaviour with astonishment. And yet they had been caught up in the mechanism for some time now.

  Was Marcel Airaud capable of humour? It was quite possible. He didn’t seem thrown in any way by Maigret’s overwhelming composure. He watched him as he came and went and simply stood there with a vague smile hovering over his lips.

  On the other side of the glass door, Forlacroix had sat down on the bench, his back to the wall, his legs stretched out, and the gendarme, who was taking his role seriously, had sat down facing him with his eyes fixed on him.

  ‘Have you been hiding at your friend Albert’s house for a long time?’ Maigret suddenly asked, looking elsewhere.

  As soon as he heard his own voice, he had the feeling it was pointless. He waited a moment, then turned to his prisoner.

  ‘Am I under arrest?’ Marcel asked, glancing at his handcuffs.

  ‘I have here a warrant signed by the examining magistrate.’

  ‘In that case, I’ll only answer the magistrate, and in the presence of my lawyer.’

  Maigret looked him up and down, without surprise.

  ‘Come in!’ he cried to Méjat, who had knocked.

  Méjat came in, his arms laden with little packets, and placed everything on the table: pâté, ham, bread, bottles of beer. He tried to whisper in Maigret’s ear.

  ‘Speak up!’ Maigret grunted.

  ‘I said, Thérèse is in the courtyard. She seems to suspect something. She immediately asked me if he had been arrested.’

  Maigret shrugged, made himself a sandwich, poured himself a drink and again looked Marcel Airaud up and down. There was no point in insisting, he was sure.

  ‘Take him next door, Méjat. Tell the gendarme to stop them talking to each other. As for you, come back here.’

  He walked. He ate. He muttered to himself. He shrugged. Every time he passed the door, he could see them on the bench, there in the big white room, the gendarme watching them with knitted brows.

  ‘Is everything all right, chief?’ Méjat asked, coming back into the room.

  He fell silent, because one look from the inspector had sufficed. He wasn’t yet used to it. He didn’t know how to act. And Maigret was still eating, stuffing over-large pieces in his mouth and, still chewing, going over to the door and gazing in at his two captured animals through the glass.

  Suddenly, he turned.

  ‘Go and fetch Didine.’

  ‘There’s no need to go far. When I came in, she was standing guard just ten metres from here.’

  ‘Bring her in.’

  ‘What about Thérèse?’

  ‘Did I mention Thérèse?’

  Soon afterwards, Didine came into the ballroom and stopped in front of the two men with a satisfied look on her f
ace, especially pleased to see the shiny handcuffs on Marcel Airaud’s wrists.

  ‘Come in, Didine. I need you.’

  ‘So you got him after all!’

  ‘Sit down, Didine. I won’t offer you a beer … Or should I?’

  ‘I don’t like it … So you arrested him in the end.’

  ‘Listen to me, Didine. Take your time answering. This is very important … You, Méjat, either sit down or go for a walk, but don’t just stand there looking at me like an idiot … Now then, my good lady. Let’s suppose that one afternoon, you’re suddenly told that someone is coming to have dinner at your house. Someone from the town. What would you do?’

  She might have been expected to react with surprise at the unexpectedness of the question, but that would have been not to know Didine well. Her features became sharper as she considered the question. It was pointless to advise her to think it over carefully. She was taking her time.

  ‘What kind of person?’ she asked.

  ‘A respectable person.’

  ‘And I’d only be told about it in the afternoon? At what time?’

  ‘Let’s say four thirty or five.’

  The three men on the other side of the glass, Airaud, Forlacroix and the gendarme, were looking into the room, but they were in the position that Maigret had been in that afternoon: they could see lips moving but heard only a vague murmur.

  ‘I don’t know if you’ve quite understood me. You know what’s available in L’Aiguillon, the local habits. You know what can be found at any hour when it comes to food and drink.’

  ‘It’d be too late to kill a chicken,’ she said as if to herself. ‘It wouldn’t be tender. Not to mention that it’d take too long to pluck and gut … What day of the week are you talking about, inspector?’

  Méjat was stunned. As for Maigret, he wasn’t smiling at all.

  ‘A Tuesday.’

  ‘I’m starting to understand. It’s that Tuesday you mean, isn’t it? It’s as if it was meant to be. I said to my husband … That man, I said to him, must have eaten somewhere. He certainly didn’t eat at the restaurant. He didn’t eat at the judge’s house either.’