A Crime in Holland Read online

  There were ten of them at work, men and women, dirty, their clothes torn and stiff with salt. By the weighing scales stood a well-turned-out young man, with a boater over one ear and a notebook in his hand, in which he recorded the weighed catch.

  A rank, stomach-churning smell, which distance did nothing to lessen, seeped into the bar, where the heat made it even more oppressive.

  Maigret sat down in a free corner, on the bench seat. He was surrounded by noise and activity. There were men standing, men sitting, glasses on the marble-topped tables. All were sailors.

  ‘What’ll it be?’

  ‘A beer.’

  The serving girl went off. The landlord came up to him:

  ‘I’ve got another room next door, you know. For tourists. This lot make such a din in here!’ He winked. ‘Well, after three months at sea, it’s understandable.’

  ‘Are these the crew of the Océan?’

  ‘Most of them. The other boats aren’t back yet. You mustn’t pay any attention. Some of them have been drunk for three days. Are you staying put? … I bet you’re a painter, right? We get them in now and again. They do sketches. There, see? Over the counter? One of them drew me, head and shoulders.’

  But the inspector offered so little encouragement to his chatter that the landlord gave up and went away.

  ‘A copper two-sou bit! Who’s got a copper two-sou bit?’ shouted a sailor no taller than a sixteen-year-old youth and as thin.

  His head was old, his face was lopsided, and he was missing a few teeth. Drink made his eyes bright, and a three-day stubble had spread over his jaws.

  Someone tossed him a coin. He bent it almost double with his fingers, then put it between his teeth and snapped it in two.

  ‘Who’s wants to have a go next?’

  He strutted around. He sensed that everyone was looking at him and was ready to do anything to remain the centre of attention.

  As a puffy-faced mechanic produced a coin, he stepped in:

  ‘Half a mo’. This is what you got to do as well.’

  He picked up an empty glass, took a large bite out of it and chewed the broken pieces with a show of relishworthy of a gourmet.

  ‘Ha ha!’ he smirked. ‘You’re all welcome to give it a try … Fill me up again, Léon!’

  He looked round the bar boastfully until his eyes came to rest on Maigret. His eyebrows came together in a deep frown.

  For a moment he seemed nonplussed. Then he started to move forwards. He had to lean on a table to steady himself because he was so drunk.

  ‘You here for me?’ he blustered.

  ‘Take it easy, Louis boy!’

  ‘Still on about that business with the wallet? Listen, boys. You didn’t believe me just now when I told you about my run-ins with the Rue de Lappe boys. Well, here’s a top-notch cop who’s come out of his way to see yours truly … Will it be all right if I have another little drink?’

  All eyes were now on Maigret.

  ‘Sit yourself down here, Louis boy, and stop playing the fool!’

  Louis guffawed:

  ‘You paying? No, that would be the day! … Is it all right with you, boys, if the chief inspector buys me a drink? … Make it brandy, Léon, a large one!’

  ‘Were you on the Océan?’

  The change in Louis was instant. His face darkened so much that it seemed as if he had suddenly sobered up. He shifted his position on the bench seat, backing off suspiciously.

  ‘What if I was?’

  ‘Nothing … Cheers … Been drunk long?’

  ‘We been celebrating for three days. Ever since we landed. I gave my pay to Léon. Nine hundred francs, give or take. Here until it runs out … How much have I got left, Léon, you old crook?’

  ‘Well, not enough for you to go on buying rounds until tomorrow! About fifty francs. Isn’t it a stupid shame, inspector! Tomorrow he’ll be skint and he’ll have to sign as a stoker on the first boat that’ll have him. It’s the same story every time. Mark you, I don’t encourage them to drink! The very opposite!’

  ‘Shut your mouth!’

  The others had lost their high spirits. They talked in whispers and kept looking round at the table where the inspector was sitting.

  ‘Are all these men from the Océan?’

  ‘All save the big fellow in the cap, who’s a pilot, and the one with ginger hair. He’s a ship’s carpenter.’

  ‘Tell me what happened.’

  ‘I got nothing to say.’

  ‘Watch your step, Louis! Don’t forget the wallet business, which ended up with you doing your glass-eating number behind bars.’

  ‘All I’d get is three months, and anyway I could do with a rest. But if you want, why not just lock me up right now?’

  ‘Were you working in the engine room?’

  ‘Sure! As usual! I was second fireman.’

  ‘Did you see much of the captain?’

  ‘Maybe twice in all.’

  ‘And the wireless operator?’

  ‘Dunno.’

  ‘Léon! Same again.’

  Louis gave a contemptuous laugh.

  ‘I could be drunk as a lord and still I wouldn’t tell you anything I didn’t want to say. But since you’re here, you could offer to buy the boys a round. After the lousy trip like the one we just been on!’

  A sailor, not yet twenty, approached shiftily and tugged Louis’ sleeve. They both started talking in Breton.

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘He said it’s time I went to bed.’

  ‘A friend of yours?’

  Louis shrugged, and just as the young sailor was about to take his glass off him, he downed it in one defiant gulp.

  The Breton had thick eyebrows and wavy hair.

  ‘Sit down with us,’ said Maigret.

  But without replying the sailor moved to another table, where he sat staring unblinkingly at both of them.

  The atmosphere was heavy and sour. The sounds of tourists playing dominoes came from the next room, which was lighter and cleaner.

  ‘Catch much cod?’ asked Maigret who pursued his line of thought with the single-mindedness of a mechanical drill.

  ‘It was no good. When we landed, it was half rotten!’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘Not enough salt! … Or too much! … It was off! There’ll not be a third of the crew who’ll go out on her again next week.’

  ‘Is the Océan going out again?’

  ‘By God, yes! Otherwise what’s the point of boats with engines? Sailboats go out the once, from February to October. But these trawlers can fit in two trips to the Grand Banks.’

  ‘Are you going back on her?’

  Louis spat on the floor and gave a weary shrug.

  ‘I’d just as well be banged up at Fresnes … You must be joking!’

  ‘And the captain?’

  ‘I got nothing to say!’

  He had lit the stump of a cigar he’d found lying about. Suddenly he retched, made a rush for the door and could be seen throwing up on the kerb, where the Breton joined him.

  ‘It’s a crying shame,’ sighed the landlord. ‘The day before yesterday, he had nearly a thousand francs in his pocket. Today, it’s touch and go if he doesn’t end up owing me money! Oysters and lobster! And that’s not reckoning all the drinks he stood everybody, as if he didn’t know what to do with his money.’

  ‘Did you know the wireless operator on the Océan?’

  ‘He had a room here. As a matter of fact, he’d eat his dinners off this very table and then he’d go off to write in the room next door because it was quieter there.’

  ‘Write to who?’

  ‘Not just letters … Looked like poetry or novels. A kid with an education, well brought up. Now that I know you’re police, I can tell you that it was a mistake when your lot …’

  ‘Even though the captain had been killed?’

  A shrug for an answer. The landlord sat down facing Maigret. Louis came back in, made straight for the counter and ordered
another drink. His companion, still talking Breton, continued to tell him to stay calm.

  ‘Pay no attention … Once they’re back on dry land, they’re like that: they booze, they shout, they fight, they break windows. On board they work like the devil. Even Louis! The chief mechanic on the Océan was telling me only yesterday that he does the work of two men … When they were at sea, a steam joint split. Repairing it was dangerous … No one wanted to do it … But Louis stepped up to the mark … If you keep him away from the bottle …’

  Léon lowered his voice and ran his eyes over his customers suspiciously.

  ‘Maybe this time they’ve got different reasons for going on the bottle. They won’t tell you anything, not you! Because you’re not a seafaring man. But I overhear them talking. I used to be a pilot. There are things …’

  ‘What things?’

  ‘It’s hard to explain … You know that there aren’t enough men in Fécamp to crew all the trawlers. So they bring them in from Brittany. Those boys have their own way of looking at things, they’re a superstitious lot …’

  He lowered his voice even further, until he was barely audible.

  ‘It seems that this time they had the evil eye. It started in port, even before they sailed. There was this sailor who’d climbed the derrick to wave to his wife … He was hanging on to a rope, which broke, and the next moment he’s lying on deck with his leg in a hell of a mess! They had to ferry him ashore in a dory. And then there was the ship’s boy who didn’t want to go to sea, he was bawling and yelling! Then three days later, they telegraphed saying he’d been washed overboard by a wave! A kid of fifteen! A small lad with fair hair, skinny he was, with a girlish name: Jean-Marie. And that wasn’t all … Julie, bring us a couple of glasses of calvados … The right-hand bottle … No, not that one … The one with the glass stopper …’

  ‘So the evil eye went on?’

  ‘I don’t know exactly. It’s as if they’re all too scared to talk about it. Even so, if the wireless operator has been arrested, it’s because the police must have got to hear that during the whole time they were at sea he and the captain never said a word to each other … They were like oil and vinegar.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Things happened … Things that don’t make any sense. Like for instance when the skipper made them move the boat to a position where no one ever heard of cod being caught! And he went berserk when the head fisherman refused to do what he was told! He got his revolver out. It was like they were off their heads! For a whole month they didn’t even net a ton of fish! And then all of a sudden, the fishing was good. But even then, the cod had to be sold at half price because it hadn’t been kept right. And on it went. Even when they were coming into the harbour, they lost control twice and sank a rowing boat. It was like there was a curse on the boat. Then the skipper sent all hands ashore without leaving anyone on watch and stayed on board that evening all by himself.

  ‘It was around nine o’clock. They were all in here getting drunk. The wireless operator went up to his room. Then he went out. He was seen heading in the direction of the boat.

  ‘It was then that it happened. A fisherman down in the harbour who was getting ready to leave heard a noise like something falling in the water.

  ‘He ran to see, with a customs man he’d met on the way. They lit lanterns … There was a body in the water. It had caught in the Océan’s anchor chain.

  ‘It was the skipper! He was dead when they fished him out. They tried artificial respiration. They couldn’t understand it. He hadn’t been in the water ten minutes.

  ‘The doctor explained the reason. Seems as how somebody had strangled him before … Do you follow me? And they found the wireless operator on board in his cabin, which is just astern of the funnel. You can see it from here.

  ‘The police came here and searched his room. They found some burned papers …

  ‘What do you make of it? … Ho! Julie, two calvados! … Your very good health!’

  Louis, getting more and more carried away, had gripped a chair with his teeth and, in the middle of a circle of sailors, was holding it horizontally while staring defiantly at Maigret.

  ‘Was the captain from around here?’ asked the inspector.

  ‘That he was. A curious sort. Not much taller or wider than Louis. But always polite, always friendly. And always nattily turned out. I don’t think he went much to cafés. He wasn’t married. He had digs in Rue d’Étretat, with a widow whose husband had worked for customs. There was talk that they’d get wed in the end. He’d been fishing off Newfoundland these fifteen years. Always for the same owners: the French Cod Company. Captain Fallut, to give him his full name. They’re in a fix now if they want to send the Océan out to the Grand Banks. No captain! And half the crew not wanting to sign on for another tour!’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘Don’t try to understand! The evil eye, like I told you. There’s talk of laying the boat up until next year. On top of which the police have told the crew they have to stay available.’

  ‘And the wireless operator is behind bars?’

  ‘Yes. They took him away the same evening, in handcuffs he was … I was standing in the doorway. I tell you God’s truth, the wife cried … and so did I. But he wasn’t a special customer. I used to knock a bit off when I sold him supplies. He wasn’t much of a drinker himself.’

  They were interrupted by a sudden uproar. Louis had thrown himself at the Breton, presumably because the Breton had insisted on trying to stop him drinking. Both were rolling around on the floor. The others got out of their way.

  It was Maigret who separated them, picking them up one in each hand.

  ‘That’s enough! You want to argue?’

  The scuffle was over quickly. The Breton, whose hands were free, pulled a knife from his pocket. The inspector saw it just in time and with a swift back heel sent it spinning two metres away.

  The shoe caught the Breton on the chin, which started to bleed. Louis, still in a daze and still drunk, rushed to his friend and started crying and saying he was sorry.

  Léon came up to Maigret. He had his watch in his hand.

  ‘Time I closed up! If I don’t we’ll have the police on the doorstep. Every evening it’s the same story! I just can’t kick them out!’

  ‘Do they sleep on board the Océan?’

  ‘Yes. Unless, that is, and it happened to two of them yesterday, they sleep where they fall, in the gutter. I found them this morning when I opened the shutters.’

  The serving girl went round gathering glasses off the tables. The men drifted off in groups of two or three. Only Louis and the Breton didn’t budge.

  ‘Need a room?’ Léon asked Maigret.

  ‘No thanks. I’m booked into the Hôtel de la Plage.’

  ‘Can I say something?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It isn’t that I want to give you advice. It’s none of my business. But if anyone was feeling sorry for the wireless operator, maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to chercher la femme, as they say in books. I’ve heard a few whispers along those lines …’

  ‘Did Pierre Le Clinche have a girlfriend?’

  ‘What, him? No fear! He’d got himself engaged wherever it was he came from. Every day he’d write home, letters six pages long.’

  ‘Who do you mean, then?’

  ‘I dunno. Maybe it’s more complicated than people think. Besides …’

  ‘Besides what?’

  ‘Nothing. Behave yourself, Louis! Go home to bed!’

  But Louis was far too drunk for that. He was tearful, he had his arms around his friend, whose chin was still bleeding, and he kept saying sorry.

  Maigret left the bar, hands thrust deep in his pockets and with his collar turned up, for the air was cool.

  In the vestibule of the Hôtel de la Plage, he saw a young woman sitting in a wicker chair. A man got up from another chair and smiled. There was a slight awkwardness in his smile.

  It was Jorissen, the prima
ry-school teacher from Quimper. Maigret had not seen him for fifteen years, and Jorissen was not sure whether he should treat him with their old easy familiarity.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry … I … that is we, Mademoiselle-Léonnec and I, have only just got here … I did the rounds of the hotels … They said you … they said you’d be back … She’s Pierre Le Clinche’s fiancée … She insisted …’

  She was tall, rather pale, rather shy. But when Maigret shook her hand, he sensed that behind the façade of small-town, unsophisticated coyness there was a strong will.

  She didn’t speak. She felt out of her depth. As did Jorissen, who was still just a primary-school teacher who was now meeting up again with his old friend, who now held one of the highest ranks in the Police Judiciare.

  ‘They pointed out Madame Maigret in the lounge just now, but I didn’t like to …’

  Maigret took a closer look at the girl, who was neither pretty nor plain, but there was something touching about her natural simplicity.

  ‘You do know that he’s innocent, don’t you?’ she said finally, looking at no one in particular.

  The porter was waiting to get back to his bed. He had already unbuttoned his jacket.

  ‘We’ll see about that tomorrow … Have you got a room somewhere?’

  ‘I’ve got the room next to you … to yours,’ stammered the teacher from Quimper, still unsure of himself. ‘And Mademoiselle Léonnec is on the floor above … I’ve got to get back tomorrow, there are exams on … Do you think … ?’

  ‘Tomorrow! We’ll see then,’ Maigret said again.

  And as he was getting ready for bed, his wife, already half asleep, murmured:

  ‘Don’t forget to turn the light out.’

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