Maigret and the Ghost Read online

  ‘How old?’

  ‘Thirty-eight … Not the businessman type at all but the intellectual type … According to his passport, he’s an art critic and, so I’ve been told, an internationally reputed expert … He’s entertained the director of the Louvre several times, and major art dealers come and see him—’

  ‘Is he in his suite right now?’

  ‘What time is it? … Seven thirty? … It’s highly likely that he’ll be in the bar …’

  ‘Could you discreetly check?’

  Another wait.

  ‘Yes, he’s there …’

  ‘Alone?’

  ‘With a pretty woman.’

  ‘A hotel guest?’

  ‘She’s not quite the sort; he’s had a drink with her before and later they’ll go and have dinner in the centre …’

  ‘Will you let me know if they look as if they’re about to leave?’

  ‘Only, I can’t prevent them …’

  ‘Just ring me … and thank you!’

  He called Lucas.

  ‘Listen carefully. This is important and delicate. You’re going to go over to the Ritz with an inspector … Ask the concierge from me whether Ed Gollan is still in the bar … If he is, as I hope he will be, leave your partner in the lobby and go up to Gollan and his companion unobtrusively …

  ‘No need to have your badge visible or to say the word “police” out loud … Tell him that it’s about his car, that we need to ask him for some information, and insist that he follows you …’

  ‘What about the woman. Do I bring her too?’

  ‘Unless she’s tall with dark hair, very beautiful, and called Mirella …’

  Lucas squinted at the beers, the glasses still misted, then made to leave without a word.

  ‘The main thing is, be quick … Drive at top speed …’

  Although the beer was good, Maigret couldn’t finish his sandwich. He was too restless to eat. Nothing stacked up in this case. He’d barely come up with a hypothesis when the facts contradicted it.

  And, with the exception of the mysterious Stanley Hobson, they kept encountering individuals who appeared to be respectable.

  He ended up calling Manessi, the auctioneer, at home.

  ‘It’s me again … I hope I’m not interrupting a cocktail party … I am? … Then I’ll be brief … Does the name Gollan mean anything to you? One of the top American experts? …’

  He sighed several times as he listened to what Manessi was saying on the other end of the line.

  ‘Yes … Yes … I should have expected it … One more question … I was told this afternoon that true art lovers buy and sell their paintings under the counter … Is that right? … I’m not asking you for names, of course … No! I’m not involved in an art case, or, if I am, it’s unwittingly … One last thing … Is it possible that a man like Norris Jonker has fakes in his collection? …’

  The reply was a guffaw.

  ‘If he has, then so does the Louvre … It is true that some people claim that the Mona Lisa is a forgery …’

  The door burst open. An excited, beaming Janvier waited impatiently for Maigret to finish his call to trumpet his news.

  ‘Thank you … Go back to your guests … I might be wrong, but I think I may need you again …’

  Janvier blurted out:

  ‘This is it, chief! … We’ve found her …’

  ‘Marinette?’

  ‘Yes … Lagrume is bringing her back … He didn’t break down, but apparently it’s hard to find the Félix et Félicie inn in the dark … It’s outside Pomponne, at the end of a mud track that’s a dead-end …’

  ‘Has she talked?’

  ‘She swears she has no idea what happened … On hearing the shots, she immediately thought of Lognon … She was afraid they’d try to shoot her too …’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘She didn’t explain … She made no objection to following Lagrume, except she asked to see his badge.’

  She would be at Quai des Orfèvres within an hour at most. Meanwhile, if all went well, Ed Gollan would be there too, furious no doubt, threatening to call his embassy. It’s crazy the number of people who invoke their embassy!

  ‘Hello! … Yes … Speaking, dear Mr Pyke …’

  The newly appointed chief inspector of Scotland Yard delivered his news without hurrying, apparently reading from a document in front of him and repeating each important piece of information.

  Because there were some very important items. For example, concerning Mirella’s divorce from her first husband, after only two years of marriage. It had been found that the fault lay with the young woman, on the grounds of adultery with no other than a certain Stanley Hobson.

  Not only had the couple been caught in the act, in an insalubrious district of Manchester where Hobson had lodgings, but it had been established that the pair had been seeing one another throughout the two-year marriage.

  ‘I could find no trace of Stanley in London during the following years. I hope to have that information for you tomorrow. Two of my men are contacting the people in Soho who know what’s going on in those circles …

  ‘One detail I almost forgot … Hobson is better known as Bald Stan … He lost his hair and his eyebrows at the age of twenty-three or twenty-four, as a result of some disease …’

  Feeling hot, Maigret went to open the window a little, and he was busy draining one of the glasses of beer when he heard, in the corridor, someone speaking French with an American accent. He couldn’t make out the words, but the tone of voice made it clear that the reluctant visitor was not happy.

  That was why he put on his friendliest, most welcoming smile, and, as he opened the door, said:

  ‘Do come in, Monsieur Gollan, and forgive me for disturbing you …’

  7. Mirella’s Choice

  Ed Gollan had brown hair in a crew cut. Despite the cold, grey weather, he did not bother with an overcoat, and his lightweight suit without shoulder pads gave him an even more elongated shape.

  He spoke in correct French, without fumbling for words, even though he was angry.

  ‘This gentleman,’ he said, pointing to Lucas, ‘intruded on me in a particularly disagreeable manner, not only on me but on a lady who was with me …’

  Maigret signalled to Lucas to leave the office.

  ‘I apologize, Monsieur Gollan. If she is the person you are concerned about, you should know that inconveniences of this kind are part of her profession …’

  His remark hit home.

  ‘I presume this is about my car?’

  ‘You are the owner of a yellow Jaguar, is that right?’

  ‘I was.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘That I went to the police station of the first arrondissement this morning to report that it had been stolen.’

  ‘Where were you last night, Monsieur Gollan?’

  ‘At the residence of the Mexican consul, on Boulevard des Italiens.’

  ‘Did you have dinner there?’

  ‘In the company of a dozen people.’

  ‘Were you still there at around ten o’clock?’

  ‘Not only at ten o’clock but at two in the morning, as you will be able to verify.’

  Spotting the tray with the beer and sandwiches, he looked surprised.

  ‘I’d like you to tell me straight away …’

  ‘One moment. I’m in a hurry too, more than you, believe me, but it is vital to proceed in an orderly manner. You left your car on Boulevard des Italiens?’

  ‘No. You know better than I do that it is impossible to park there …’

  ‘Where was it the last time you saw it?’

  ‘Place Vendôme, where there are a number of parking spaces reserved for Ritz guests. I only had to walk a few hundred metres to my friend’s residence.’

  ‘You didn’t leave his apartment?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you receive a telephone call?’

  He hesitated, taken aback by what Maigret knew.


  ‘From a woman, yes.’

  ‘A woman whose name you can’t reveal, I presume? Would it not be Madame Jonker?’

  ‘It could have been her, as a matter of fact I do know the Jonkers.’

  ‘When you returned to the hotel, did you not notice that your car was no longer in its parking spot?’

  ‘I used the Rue Cambon entrance, like most of the guests …’

  ‘Do you know Stanley Hobson?’

  ‘I am not inclined to be subjected to an interrogation, Monsieur Maigret, before being told what it is you believe I am mixed up in.’

  ‘It so happens that some of your friends are in trouble …’

  ‘Which friends?’

  ‘Norris Jonker, for example … You have bought paintings from him and sold him paintings, I imagine?’

  ‘I am not an art dealer … Museums and private collectors sometimes tell me they are looking for a painting by a specific artist, of special importance, from a specific period … If, during the course of my travels, I hear that such a painting is for sale, I merely mention it …’

  ‘You don’t take a commission?’

  ‘That is none of your business. It is a matter for the tax authorities of my own country …’

  ‘You have no idea, of course, who could have stolen your car? Was the key on the dashboard?’

  ‘In the glove box. I’m absent-minded and it’s the only way for me not to lose it.’

  Maigret strained to hear the noises coming from the corridor and seemed to be conducting the interview reluctantly and without conviction.

  This struck Gollan as somewhat surprising.

  ‘I assume I can now go and rejoin the lady I have invited to dinner?’

  ‘Not right away … I’m afraid I will need you again a little later …’

  Maigret had heard footsteps, a door open and close again, and a woman’s voice in the adjacent office. It was the evening of opening and closing doors as they would later dub it.

  ‘Would you pop into my office for a moment, Janvier? It would be rude to leave Monsieur Gollan alone … We’ve made him miss his dinner, so if he wants a sandwich …’

  The few inspectors who had been kept behind, including Lagrume, proud of his coup, darted curious looks at a charming young lady, dressed in a blue suit, who sat watching the goings-on around her.

  ‘You’re Detective Chief Inspector Maigret, aren’t you? I’ve seen your photo in the newspapers. Tell me quickly whether he’s dead …’

  ‘No, mademoiselle Augier. He has been seriously wounded, but the doctors hope to save him …’

  ‘Was it he who told you about me?’

  ‘He’s in no condition to talk, and won’t be for some hours, if not for two or three days. Would you follow me?’

  He showed her into a small office and shut the door.

  ‘You’ll understand, I think, if I tell you that we have little time. That’s why I’m not asking you to go into details about what you know. I’ll ask you all that later. For the moment, I have some questions for you. Was it you who informed Inspector Lognon that there were strange activities in the house opposite?’

  ‘No. I hadn’t noticed anything other than, at night, there was often a light on in the studio …’

  ‘Where did he meet you?’

  ‘In the street, as I was coming home. He told me that he knew which apartment I lived in and that he needed to spend two or three evenings at the window in order to watch someone. He showed me his police badge and his ID. I wasn’t too happy about it and I almost called the police station …’

  ‘What convinced you?’

  ‘He looked unhappy. He told me that he had never had any luck, but that, if I helped him, all that would change because he was on to a very big case …’

  ‘Did he say what it was?’

  ‘Not the first evening.’

  ‘Did you stay with him the first evening?’

  ‘For a while, yes, in the dark. The curtains of the studio over the road didn’t quite meet and, from time to time, you could see a man walk past holding a palette and brushes …’

  ‘Dressed in white? With a towel around his head?’

  ‘Yes. I joked that he looked like a ghost …’

  ‘Did you see him painting?’

  ‘Once. That evening, he had his easel in a part of the studio that we could see, and he was painting furiously …’

  ‘What do you mean by painting furiously?’

  ‘I don’t know. I thought he seemed possessed …’

  ‘Did you see other people in the studio?’

  ‘A woman … She took her clothes off … Or rather he almost tore them off her …’

  ‘Tall with dark hair?’

  ‘It wasn’t Madame Jonker, whom I know by sight.’

  ‘Did you see Monsieur Jonker as well?’

  ‘Not in the studio. In the studio I once saw a bald man, of a certain age …’

  ‘What happened last night?’

  ‘As on the other evenings, I went to bed early. I have a tiring job and the salon sometimes stays open very late, especially when there’s a big ball or a gala …’

  ‘Was Lognon in the living room?’

  ‘Yes. We ended up becoming friends, the two of us … He never made a pass at me and he was very kind to me, like a father … He’d bring me chocolates or a bunch of violets to thank me …’

  ‘Were you asleep at ten o’clock?’

  ‘I was in bed, but I wasn’t asleep yet. I was reading the newspaper … He knocked on my door … He was all worked up and told me that there was a development, that the painter had just been taken away, that it had all happened too quickly for him to have time to go downstairs …’

  ‘ “I’d better stay a little longer … It’s likely that one of the men will return …”

  ‘He went back to the window and I fell asleep … The shots woke me … I looked outside … When I leaned out, I saw a body on the pavement … I had no idea what I was going to do yet, but I began to get dressed … The concierge came up and told me …’

  ‘Why did you run away?’

  ‘I thought that if the gangsters knew who he was and what he was doing in the building, they’d shoot me too … I still had no idea where I was going … I didn’t think …’

  ‘Did you take a taxi?’

  ‘No. I walked down to Place Clichy and sat for a while in a café that was still open, where prostitutes looked me up and down … I remembered an inn I’d been to several times with a friend—’

  ‘Jean-Claude, yes …’

  ‘It was through him—’

  ‘Look, mademoiselle. I am interested in everything that happened to you and I’d be delighted to hear the details of your escapade. But I have the feeling that there are more urgent matters. May I ask you, while you wait for me, to sit quietly in my inspectors’ office, where I’m going to take you now … And while you’re there, Janvier will take down your statement in writing …’

  ‘Lognon wasn’t mistaken?’

  ‘No! Lognon knows his job and is rarely mistaken … As he told you, he’s been unlucky … Either someone pulls the rug from under him, or he gets shot just as he was about to win the game … Come!’

  He left her in the office next door and went back to Janvier in his own office.

  ‘Take down the young lady’s statement …’

  Gollan, who was sitting down, leaped up.

  ‘Have you brought her here?’

  ‘It’s not your lady friend, Monsieur Gollan, but a real lady … You still deny knowing Stanley Hobson, known as Bald Stan?’

  ‘I do not have to reply.’

  ‘As you wish … Sit down … You will perhaps learn something from the telephone conversation I am about to have … Hello! … Put me through to Monsieur Jonker, please … Norris Jonker, Avenue Junot …’

  ‘Hello! Monsieur Jonker? … Maigret speaking … Since I left you, I have found the answer to a lot of the questions I asked you … The true answer
, you understand? …

  ‘For example, in my office I have Monsieur Gollan, who is not pleased to have been inconvenienced and who has still not found his car … A yellow Jaguar … The one that was parked outside your house at ten o’clock last night and that took away, among others, your lodger …

  ‘I’m saying your lodger, yes … In a sorry state, apparently … Without any socks or shoes …

  ‘Now listen to me, Monsieur Jonker … I could, later today or tomorrow morning, have you legally arrested for certain trafficking offences about which you know more than I do … I’m warning you that your house is under police surveillance, just in case …

  ‘Please come here now, with Madame Jonker, to continue our conversation of this afternoon … If your wife were to make a fuss, tell her that we know her entire story … It is possible that, as well as Monsieur Gollan, she will meet here a certain Bald Stan—

  ‘Be quiet, Monsieur Jonker, I’m doing the talking! It will be your turn to speak in a moment … It is unpleasant being mixed up in a forgery case, but it would be even more serious to be accused of being an accessory to murder, would it not?

  ‘I am convinced that Inspector Lognon was shot without your knowledge, and probably without that of Monsieur Gollan … But I’m very much afraid that another crime is being planned, in which you would be more closely involved, because it concerns the man you kept locked up in your house … Where is he? … Tell me where he was taken and by whom … No! Not when you get here … Not in half an hour … Now, do you hear me, Monsieur Jonker?’

  He heard the murmur of a woman’s voice. Mirella must have been leaning over her husband. What was she advising him to do?

  ‘I swear, Monsieur Maigret …’

  ‘And I repeat that time is of the essence …’

  ‘Wait! … I don’t know the number off the top of my head … I need to look it up in my address book …’

  Then Mirella interrupted:

  ‘He’s going to give you the address, Monsieur Maigret … He is Mario de Lucia, and he has a studio near the Champs-Élysées … Here’s my husband …’

  Jonker read:

  ‘Mario de Lucia, 27A, Rue de Berri … He was the person who dealt with Frederico …’