Maigret Hesitates Read online

  ‘Definitely not. She must have chosen it herself.’

  ‘Mademoiselle Vague was sitting at her desk, probably examining documents. She’d given some of them to Julien Baud to collate.’

  Parendon didn’t look like a man on his guard, a man on the lookout for traps. He was listening attentively, a little surprised, perhaps, by the importance Maigret attached to these details.

  ‘Whoever killed her knew they would find that scalpel in her pencil box, or they would have brought another weapon.’

  ‘Isn’t it possible they were armed but changed their mind?’

  ‘Mademoiselle Vague saw the person take the scalpel and didn’t react, didn’t even stand up. She continued working while this person went behind her.’

  Parendon was thinking, reconstructing in his mind — the mind of the great business lawyer that he was — the scene that Maigret had just described.

  Nothing hesitant in his attitude. If you wanted to mock short people, you could call him a gnome, but he was a gnome of unusual intelligence.

  ‘I think you’re going to be obliged to arrest me before the day’s out,’ he said suddenly.

  There was no sarcasm in this. He was a man who had weighed the pros and cons and come to a conclusion.

  ‘It’ll be an opportunity for my defence counsel,’ he added, this time with a hint of irony, ‘to practise the use of Article 64.’

  Once again, Maigret was thrown. He was even more so when the door communicating with the large drawing room opened and they saw Madame Parendon in the doorway. She wore no make-up and hadn’t done her hair. She was wearing the same blue dressing gown as the day before. She was standing very upright and yet she looked a lot older than her age.

  ‘I’m sorry to disturb you.’

  She spoke as if nothing had happened in the apartment.

  ‘I don’t suppose, inspector, that I’m allowed to have a private conversation with my husband? We don’t often get the chance, but given the circumstances …’

  ‘For the moment, I can only allow you to speak to him in my presence.’

  She didn’t advance into the room but stood where she was, with the sun-drenched drawing room behind her. The two men had got to their feet.

  ‘Very well. You’re only doing your job.’

  She puffed at the cigarette she had in her hand and looked at them in turn, hesitantly.

  ‘May I ask you first of all, Monsieur Maigret, if you’ve come to a decision?’

  ‘A decision about what?’

  ‘About what happened this morning. I’ve only just heard about it, and I suppose you’ll be making an arrest.’

  ‘I haven’t come to a decision.’

  ‘I see. The children will be back soon, and it’s best for things to be clear. Tell me, Émile, was it you who killed her?’

  Maigret couldn’t believe his eyes or his ears. They were face to face, three metres apart, glaring at one another, their features tense.

  ‘You dare ask me if …’

  Parendon was choking, his little fists clenched with fury.

  ‘No play-acting, please. Answer yes or no.’

  All at once, he lost his temper, something that couldn’t have happened often in his life. Raising both arms in a kind of plea to heaven, he cried:

  ‘You know perfectly well I didn’t, dammit!’

  He was stamping his feet. He would have been quite capable of throwing himself at her.

  ‘That’s all I wanted to hear. Thank you.’

  And with complete naturalness, she withdrew to the drawing room, closing the door behind her.

  6.

  ‘I’m sorry I flew off the handle, Monsieur Maigret. It’s not like me.’

  ‘I know.’

  Maigret had become pensive for that very reason.

  Parendon was still on his feet, catching his breath, recovering his composure and once again mopping his face, which wasn’t red but yellowish.

  ‘Do you hate her?’

  ‘I don’t hate anyone. Because I don’t believe a human being is ever fully responsible.’

  ‘Article 64!’

  ‘Article 64, yes. I don’t care if it makes me seem like a fanatic, I shan’t change my opinion.’

  ‘Even in the case of your wife?’

  ‘Even in her case.’

  ‘Even if she killed Mademoiselle Vague?’

  For a moment, his face appeared to dissolve, the pupils to blur.

  ‘Even then!’

  ‘Do you think her capable of it?’

  ‘I’m not accusing anyone.’

  ‘I asked you a question earlier. I’m going to ask you another one, and you can answer yes or no. My anonymous correspondent isn’t necessarily the murderer. Someone, sensing that a tragedy was imminent, may have imagined they would avoid it by bringing the police here.’

  ‘I know what you’re going to ask. No, I didn’t write those letters.’

  ‘Could it have been Mademoiselle Vague?’

  He thought this over for a moment.

  ‘It’s not impossible. But it would have been out of character. She was more straightforward than that. I told you how spontaneous she was. She might not have told me directly, though, knowing perfectly well …’

  He bit his lip.

  ‘Knowing perfectly well what?’

  ‘That if I’d felt threatened, I wouldn’t have done anything about it.’

  ‘Why not?’

  He looked at Maigret and hesitated.

  ‘It’s hard to explain. I made my choice a long time ago.’

  ‘Getting married?’

  ‘Entering the career I chose. Getting married. Living in a certain way. So it’s up to me to bear the consequences.’

  ‘Isn’t that contrary to your ideas about human responsibility?’

  ‘Perhaps. On the surface, anyway.’

  He seemed weary and helpless. Behind his bulging forehead, it was clear that he was trying hard to get his unruly thoughts into some kind of order.

  ‘Do you believe, Monsieur Parendon, that the person who wrote to me thought the victim would be your secretary?’

  ‘No.’

  Out in the drawing room, in spite of the closed door, a voice could be heard crying:

  ‘Where’s my father?’

  Then, almost immediately, the door was thrust open, and a very tall young man with tousled hair took two or three steps into the room and came to a halt in front of Maigret and Parendon.

  His gaze went from one to the other and came to rest, almost threateningly, on Maigret.

  ‘Are you planning to arrest my father?’

  ‘Calm down, Gus. Inspector Maigret and I—’

  ‘Are you Maigret?’

  He looked at him with a greater degree of curiosity.

  ‘Who are you going to arrest?’

  ‘For the moment, nobody.’

  ‘Anyway, I can swear to you that it wasn’t my father.’

  ‘Who told you what happened?’

  ‘The concierge first, without going into any details, then Ferdinand.’

  ‘Had you been expecting something like this?’

  Parendon took the opportunity to go and sit down at his desk, as if to be back in his most habitual position.

  ‘Is this an interrogation?’

  The boy turned to his father as if to ask for advice.

  ‘My role, Gus—’

  ‘Who told you I’m called Gus?’

  ‘Everyone in the household. I’m asking you questions, as I am everybody else, but this is not an official interrogation. I asked you if you had been expecting something like this.’

  ‘Something like what?’

  ‘Like what happened this morning.’

  ‘If you mean was I expecting someone to cut Antoinette’s throat, no.’

  ‘You called her Antoinette?’

  ‘Yes, always. We were good friends.’

  ‘What had you been expecting?’

  His ears abruptly turned red.

 
‘Nothing in particular.’

  ‘But something dramatic?’

  ‘I don’t know …’

  Maigret noticed that Parendon was observing his son with close attention, as if also asking himself a question, or as if discovering something.

  ‘You’re fifteen, Gus, is that right?’

  ‘I’ll be sixteen in June.’

  ‘Do you mind my talking to you in front of your father, or would you rather we went into your bedroom or another room?’

  The boy hesitated. Although his excitement had subsided, he was still nervous. He again turned to his father.

  ‘What would you rather I did, Father?’

  ‘I think the two of you will be more comfortable in your room … Hold on a moment, son. Your sister will be here soon, if she isn’t already. I’d like the two of you to have lunch as usual without bothering about me. I won’t be coming to the table.’

  ‘Aren’t you eating?’

  ‘I don’t know. I may just have a sandwich. I need a little peace and quiet.’

  The boy looked as if he was ready to rush to his father and hug him, and it wasn’t Maigret’s presence that was stopping him, it was a reserve that had probably always existed between Parendon and his son.

  They were neither of them inclined to outpourings of emotion, to hugs and kisses, and Maigret could easily imagine Gus, when he was younger, coming into his father’s office and sitting there silent and motionless, watching him reading or working.

  ‘If you want to come to my room, follow me.’

  As they crossed the drawing room, Maigret found Lucas and Torrence waiting for him there, ill at ease in that vast, sumptuous room.

  ‘Have you finished, boys?’

  ‘All done, chief. Do you want to see the plan and hear about everyone’s movements?’

  ‘Not now. What time did it happen?’

  ‘Between nine thirty and nine forty-five. Almost certainly nine thirty-seven.’

  Maigret had turned to the wide-open windows.

  ‘Were they open this morning?’ he asked.

  ‘From eight fifteen.’

  Above the garages, the many windows of a six-storey building in Rue du Cirque were visible. It was the back of an apartment block. A woman was walking across a kitchen with a saucepan in her hand. On the third floor, another woman was changing a baby’s nappy.

  ‘Go and have something to eat, the two of you. Where’s Janvier?’

  ‘He’s located the mother. She lives in a village in the Berry. She doesn’t have a phone, and he’s asked someone there to bring her to where there is one. He’s waiting for the call in the office at the end of the corridor.’

  ‘Get him to join you for lunch. There’s a restaurant in Rue de Miromesnil called Au Petit Chaudron that’s not bad. Then divide up the floors of the buildings you can see over there in Rue du Cirque. Question the tenants whose windows look out on this side. For instance, they might have seen someone walking across the drawing room between nine thirty and nine forty-five. They probably look down into other rooms, too.’

  ‘Where will you be?’

  ‘At headquarters by the time you’ve finished. Unless you find out anything important. I may still be here.’

  Gus was waiting, listening with interest. The drama that had occurred didn’t stop him from still having a certain slightly childish curiosity about the police.

  ‘I’m all yours, Gus.’

  Walking along a corridor that was narrower than the one in the left wing, they passed a kitchen. Through the glass door, they could see a fat woman in dark clothes.

  ‘It’s the second door.’

  The room was large, its atmosphere different from the rest of the apartment. Although the furniture was still period, presumably because they had wanted to find a use for it, Gus had changed its character by cluttering it with objects of all kinds and adding shelves and work benches.

  There were four loudspeakers, two or three turntables, a microscope on a white wooden table, copper wires fixed to another table to form a complicated circuit. A single armchair by the window, over which a length of red cotton had been flung haphazardly. Red cotton also covered the bed, transforming it vaguely into a divan.

  ‘You’ve kept this?’ Maigret remarked, pointing to a large teddy bear on a shelf.

  ‘Why should I be ashamed to? My father gave it to me on my first birthday.’

  He uttered the word ‘father’ with pride, even defiance. He seemed ready to defend him fiercely.

  ‘Did you like Mademoiselle Vague, Gus?’

  ‘I already told you. We were friends.’

  He must have been flattered that a twenty-five-year-old woman treated him as a friend.

  ‘Did you often go to her office?’

  ‘At least once a day.’

  ‘Did you ever go out with her?’

  The boy looked at him with surprise. Maigret was filling his pipe.

  ‘Go out where?’

  ‘The cinema, for instance. Or dancing.’

  ‘I don’t dance. No, I never went out with her.’

  ‘Did you ever go to her apartment?’

  His ears turned red again.

  ‘What are you trying to make me say? What are you implying?’

  ‘Did you know about Antoinette’s relationship with your father?’

  ‘Why not?’ he retorted, head held high. ‘Do you see any harm in it?’

  ‘I’m not talking about me, I’m talking about you.’

  ‘My father’s free, isn’t he?’

  ‘What about your mother?’

  ‘It was none of her business.’

  ‘What exactly do you mean?’

  ‘I mean a man has a perfect right …’

  He didn’t finish the sentence, but the beginning was explicit enough.

  ‘Do you think that was the cause of the tragedy that occurred this morning?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Were you expecting a tragedy?’

  Maigret had sat down in the red armchair and was slowly lighting his pipe, looking at this growing boy whose arms seemed too long, his hands too big.

  ‘I’d been expecting it without expecting it.’

  ‘Can you explain that a bit more clearly? I don’t think your teacher at the Lycée Racine would accept an answer like that.’

  ‘I never imagined you’d be like this.’

  ‘Do you think I’m being hard on you?’

  ‘Anyone would think you don’t like me, or that you suspect me of something.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Not of killing Antoinette, I hope? First of all, I was at school.’

  ‘I know. I also know that you practically worship your father.’

  ‘Is that a bad thing?’

  ‘Not at all. At the same time, you think of him as a man who’s defenceless.’

  ‘What are you trying to insinuate?’

  ‘Nothing bad, Gus. Your father, except perhaps in business, is inclined not to fight. He thinks that whatever happens to him is probably his fault.’

  ‘He’s an intelligent, conscientious man.’

  ‘Antoinette was defenceless, too, in her way. Basically, there were two of you, she and you, watching over your father. That’s why a degree of complicity sprang up between you.’

  ‘We never talked about anything.’

  ‘I can quite believe that. Nevertheless, you felt you were on the same side. That’s why you never missed an opportunity to make contact with her even when you had nothing to say to her.’

  ‘What are you getting at?’

  For the first time, the young man, who had been fiddling with a copper wire, turned his head away.

  ‘What I’m getting at is this. It was you, Gus, who sent me those letters and it was you who phoned the Police Judiciaire yesterday.’

  Maigret could only see him from the back now. There was a long wait. At last, the boy turned to look at him, grim-faced.

  ‘Yes, it was me. You’d have worked it
out in the end anyway, wouldn’t you?’

  He was no longer looking at Maigret with the same defiance. Quite the contrary: Maigret had just risen in his esteem.

  ‘What made you suspect me?’

  ‘The letters could only have been written by the killer or by someone who was trying indirectly to protect your father.’

  ‘It could have been Antoinette.’

  Maigret preferred not to reply that the secretary had been older than him and wouldn’t have employed such a complicated — or such a childish — procedure.

  ‘Have I disappointed you, Gus?’

  ‘I thought you’d go about it in a different way.’

  ‘How, for instance?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve read about your investigations. I thought of you as a man capable of understanding everything.’

  ‘And now?’

  He shrugged.

  ‘Now I don’t have an opinion.’

  ‘Who would you have liked me to arrest?’

  ‘I didn’t want you to arrest anybody.’

  ‘Then what was I supposed to do?’

  ‘You’re the one in charge of the crime squad, not me.’

  ‘Had a crime already been committed yesterday, or even this morning at nine o’clock?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Then what were you trying to protect your father from?’

  There was another silence.

  ‘I sensed that he was in danger.’

  ‘What kind of danger?’

  Maigret was convinced that Gus understood the meaning of his question. The boy had wanted to protect his father. From whom? Couldn’t it just as easily have been to protect him from himself?

  ‘I don’t want to answer any more questions.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I just don’t want to!’

  He added, resolutely:

  ‘You can take me to Quai des Orfèvres, if you like, and ask me the same questions for hours. You may think I’m just a child, but I swear to you I won’t say anything more.’

  ‘I’m not asking you any more questions. It’s lunchtime, Gus.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter if I get back to school late today.’

  ‘Where’s your sister’s room?’

  ‘Two doors further down, on the same corridor.’

  ‘No hard feelings?’

  ‘You’re doing your job.’

  Gus slammed the door once Maigret had gone out. Behind Bambi’s door, the sound of a vacuum cleaner could be heard. Maigret knocked, and a young girl in uniform, with very fair, very loose hair, opened.