Maigret in Court Page 3

  How did the two of them spend their evenings and their Sundays? What did they say to one another? How did they behave?

  Maigret was also conscious of not having given a precise idea either of Léontine Faverges or of her apartment where gentlemen who had families, a reputation, used to make discreet visits and were concealed behind thick curtains to avoid their meeting one another.

  ‘I am innocent. They were already dead …’

  In the courtroom, which was as full as a cinema, that sounded like a desperate lie because for the public, who only knew what they had read about the case in the newspapers, and for the jury too, Gaston Meurant was indisputably a killer who had had no qualms about attacking a little girl, trying firstly to strangle her and then, panicked because she didn’t die fast enough, suffocating her under a pile of silk cushions.

  It was barely eleven o’clock, but did the people in the courtroom now have any sense of time, or even of their own personal lives? Among the jury was a bird-seller from Quai de la Mégisserie and a plumbing contractor who worked alongside his two employees.

  Was there also among them someone who had married a woman like Ginette Meurant and who at night read the same sort of books as the defendant?

  ‘Go on, detective chief inspector.’

  ‘I asked him about his exact movements on the afternoon of 27 February. At two o’clock, he opened his shop as usual and hung the sign on the back of the door saying to go through to the studio. He went over to his studio and worked on several frames. At four, he lit the lamps and went back into the shop to turn on the lights in the window. He was still in his studio when, just after six, he heard footsteps in the courtyard. There was a knock on the window.

  ‘It was an elderly gentleman, whom he claims never to have seen before. He wanted a flat, 40 × 55 centimetre Romantic-style frame for an Italian watercolour he had just bought. Meurant said he showed him mouldings of different widths. After inquiring about the price, the elderly gentleman left, according to him.’

  ‘Has this witness been found?’

  ‘Yes, your honour. Just three weeks. He is a certain Germain Lombras, piano teacher, who lives in Rue Picpus.’

  ‘Did you question him yourself?’

  ‘Yes, your honour. He confirms that he did indeed go to Meurant’s studio one evening, just after six. He happened to be passing the shop, having bought a Neapolitan landscape from a second-hand goods dealer the previous day.’

  ‘Did he tell you what the defendant was wearing?’

  ‘He said that Meurant was wearing grey trousers under beige overalls, and had removed his tie.’

  Aillevard on the prosecution bench was following Maigret’s testimony in the file open in front of him. He made a move to ask for permission to speak, and Maigret hastily added:

  ‘The witness was unable to say whether this scene took place on the Tuesday or the Wednesday, i.e. on 26 or 27 February.’

  Now it was the turn of the defence counsel to become anxious. The young lawyer, generally predicted to have a brilliant future ahead of him, was risking his entire career with this case. He must, at all costs, give the impression of being sure of himself and of the cause he was defending, and he made every effort to control the shaking hands which betrayed him.

  Maigret went on in a neutral tone:

  ‘The defendant claims that, after this visit, he locked up the studio, then the shop, and walked to the bus stop.’

  ‘Which means he would have left at approximately six thirty?’

  ‘Around that time. He got off the bus at the bottom of Rue des Martyrs and walked to Rue Manuel.’

  ‘Did he have any specific reason for visiting his aunt?’

  ‘At first, he told me he didn’t, that it was just a normal visit. He was in the habit of going to see her at least once a month. Two days later, however, when we found out about the unpaid bank draft, he retracted his statement.’

  ‘Tell us about that bank draft.’

  ‘On the 28th, Meurant was due to pay a rather large bank draft, which had already been blocked the previous month because he didn’t have the necessary funds.’

  ‘Was this draft presented?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Was it paid?’

  ‘No.’

  The assistant public prosecutor seemed to sweep this argument in Meurant’s favour aside, whereas Pierre Duché turned to the jury as if asking them to take note.

  The fact had worried Maigret too. If after slitting his aunt’s throat and suffocating little Cécile Perrin the defendant had stolen the gold coins and banknotes hidden in the Chinese vase, if he had taken the bearer shares too, why, given that he was not yet under suspicion, and might have thought that he never would be, had he not paid the draft, since he risked being declared bankrupt?

  ‘My inspectors calculated how long it would take to get from Rue de la Roquette to Rue Manuel. At that time of day, it takes around half an hour by bus or twenty minutes by taxi. Questioning the taxi-drivers led nowhere; the same with the bus-drivers. No one remembers Meurant.

  ‘According to his successive statements, which he signed, he arrived at Rue Manuel a few minutes before seven o’clock. He met no one on the stairs, and didn’t see the concierge. He knocked on his aunt’s door, but there was no reply. He was surprised to find the key in the lock.

  ‘He went in and found himself confronted with the scene described earlier.’

  ‘Were the lights on?’

  ‘The big standard lamp in the sitting room with a salmon-pink shade was on. Meurant believes there were lights on in the other rooms, but that is only an impression, because he didn’t go into them.’

  ‘What explanation does he give for his behaviour? Why did he not bother to call a doctor or inform the police?’

  ‘He was afraid he’d be accused. He saw that one of the Louis XV desk drawers was open, and closed it. He also put the artificial flowers that were strewn on the floor back in the Chinese vase. On leaving, he realized that he may have left some fingerprints, and so he wiped the desk and then the vase with his handkerchief. He also wiped the door handle and took the key before going down the stairs.’

  ‘What did he do with it?’

  ‘He threw it down a drain.’

  ‘How did he get back home?’

  ‘By bus. The route to Boulevard de Charonne is via streets that are not too busy and apparently he was home by seven thirty-five.’

  ‘Wasn’t his wife there?’

  ‘No. As I said, she had gone to the five o’clock screening at a local cinema. She went to the cinema a lot, almost every day. Five box-office cashiers recognized her when they were shown her photo. While he waited for her, Meurant heated up the leftovers of a leg of lamb and some green beans, then he set the table.’

  ‘Did he do that often?’

  ‘Very often.’

  Although Meurant had his back to the public, he had the feeling that everyone was smiling, especially the women.

  ‘How many times did you question the defendant?’

  ‘Five times, once for eleven hours. He stood by his story, so I wrote my report and handed it to the examining magistrate. I have not had the opportunity to see him again since.’

  ‘Did he not write to you once he was in prison?’

  ‘Yes. The letter is in the file. He states once again that he is innocent and asks me to watch over his wife.’

  Maigret avoided looking at Meurant, who had made a slight movement.

  ‘He doesn’t say what he means by that, or what he fears for her?’

  ‘No, your honour.’

  ‘Did you find his brother?’

  ‘Two weeks after the murders in Rue Manuel, on 14 March to be precise.’

  ‘In Paris?’

  ‘In Toulon, where he spends most of his time, although he has no permanent address there. He often makes trips to the Riviera, either to Marseille, or Nice and Menton. He was interrogated initially by the Toulon Police Judiciaire, to whom we had sent a letter of
request. Then, summoned to my office, he came, not without demanding that his travel expenses be paid in advance. He claimed he hadn’t set foot in Paris since January and gave the names of three witnesses with whom he was playing cards in Bandol on 27 February. The witnesses were questioned. They belong to the same milieu as Alfred Meurant, in other words, organized crime.’

  ‘What date did you deliver your report to the examining magistrate?’

  ‘The final report, as well as the various statements signed by the defendant, were handed over on 28 March.’

  Now they were getting to the delicate moment. Only three of them knew it, and some of them had an important role in the proceedings. First of all, the public prosecutor, Justin Aillevard, whom Maigret had visited at five o’clock the previous day in his office. Then, as well as Maigret himself, Judge Bernerie, also informed later the previous evening by the assistant public prosecutor.

  But there were others who were also waiting for that moment, unbeknown to the public: five inspectors, hand-picked by Maigret from among those who were less well known, some of them from the Vice Squad.

  They had been at strategic points in the room since the start of the trial, mingling with the crowd, watching people’s faces and noting their reactions.

  ‘And so officially, detective chief inspector, your investigation ended on 28 March.’

  ‘That is correct.’

  ‘And since that date, have you nevertheless taken an interest in the doings of people associated with the defendant, either closely or remotely?’

  The counsel for the defence sprang to his feet, ready to protest. He was probably going to say that it was not acceptable to bring up evidence against his client that was not in the file.

  ‘Don’t worry, maître,’ the judge reassured him. ‘You will see in a minute that if I am using my discretionary powers to refer to an unforeseen turn in the case, it is not with the intention of prejudicing the defendant.’

  Meanwhile, the assistant public prosecutor shot the young defence lawyer a slightly ironic, half-protective look.

  ‘I repeat my question. Did Detective Chief Inspector Maigret unofficially pursue his investigation?’

  ‘Yes, your honour.’

  ‘On your own initiative?’

  ‘With the agreement of the chief superintendent of the Police Judiciaire.’

  ‘Did you inform the public prosecutor?’

  ‘Only yesterday, your honour.’

  ‘Did the examining magistrate know that you were still involved in the case?’

  ‘I talked to him about it in passing.’

  ‘However, you were acting neither on his instructions, nor on those of the public prosecutor?’

  ‘No, your honour.’

  ‘It is necessary for that to be clearly established. That is why I described this further investigation as unofficial. For what reason, detective chief inspector, did you continue to deploy your inspectors in pursuit of a case once it had been referred to the court?’

  The quality of the silence in the room had changed. Not the faintest cough was heard and not a single foot tapped the floor.

  ‘I was dissatisfied with the findings,’ grunted Maigret.

  He couldn’t explain exactly what it was that had troubled him. The word dissatisfied was utterly inadequate. The facts, he felt, did not tally with the characters. How could he explain that in the solemn setting of a courtroom, where he was asked to speak in precise sentences?

  The judge had as much experience of criminal cases as he did, more even. Every evening, he took case files home to read in his apartment on Boulevard Saint-Germain, where the light in his study often stayed on until two in the morning.

  He had seen men and women of all sorts in the dock and in the witness box.

  But wasn’t he somewhat aloof from real life? He hadn’t gone to the studio in Rue de la Roquette, or to the strange apartment on Boulevard de Charonne. He wasn’t familiar with the bustle of those buildings, or with that of the crowded streets, the neighbourhood cafés and dance halls.

  Defendants were brought before him between two police officers and everything he knew about them he had gleaned from the pages of a file.

  Facts. Sentences. Words. But the rest?

  The same applied to his assessors, and to the assistant public prosecutor. The dignity of their office itself set them apart from the rest of the world, and they formed a separate island.

  Among the jury, among the public, some were probably better able to understand the character of a man like Meurant, but they had no say in the matter or knew nothing of the complicated workings of the legal system.

  As for Maigret, was he not on both sides of the fence at the same time?

  ‘Before allowing you to continue, detective chief inspector, I would like you to tell us the results of the tests on the bloodstains. I am talking about those that were found on the blue suit belonging to the defendant.’

  ‘It is human blood. Forensic analysis subsequently showed that the blood and that of the victim present a sufficient number of similar characteristics for it to be scientifically certain that it is the same blood.’

  ‘Despite that, you carried on with your investigation?’

  ‘Partially because of that, your honour.’

  The young lawyer, who had readied himself to challenge Maigret’s statement, could not believe his ears and remained on edge while Maigret continued with his reasoning.

  ‘The witness who saw a man in a blue suit and a brown raincoat leave Léontine Faverges’ apartment at five o’clock is adamant about the time. Incidentally, that time was also confirmed by the owner of a local shop where that person went before going to her dressmaker in Rue Manuel. If we accept Lombras’ testimony, even though he is less certain of the date of his visit to Rue de la Roquette, the defendant was still in his studio at six in the evening, in his grey trousers. We worked out how long it takes to go from the studio to the apartment on Boulevard de Charonne, plus the time to get changed and then to get to Rue Manuel. It would take fifty-five minutes at the very least. The fact that the bank draft presented the next day was not paid also struck me as significant.’

  ‘So you took an interest in Alfred Meurant, the defendant’s brother!’

  ‘Yes, your honour. My colleagues and I also investigated other leads.’

  ‘Before authorizing you to let us know the outcome, I must be assured that those leads are closely linked to the case in hand.’

  ‘They are, your honour. For several weeks, inspectors from the Hotel Agency visited a large number of lodging houses in Paris and showed certain photographs.’

  ‘What photographs?’

  ‘Alfred Meurant’s, first of all, and then Ginette Meurant’s.’

  Now it was the defendant who jumped up, outraged, and his lawyer had to get up to calm him and make him sit down again.

  ‘Tell us your conclusions as briefly as possible.’

  ‘Alfred Meurant, the defendant’s brother, is well known in some districts, especially around Place des Ternes and Porte Saint-Denis. We found hotel records for him in a little establishment in Rue de l’Étoile where he stayed on several occasions, but there is no evidence that he came to Paris after 1 January.

  ‘And then, although he has been seen with a lot of women, no one remembers noticing him in the company of his sister-in-law, other than more than two years ago.’

  Maigret felt Meurant’s hostile gaze on him. The defendant had clenched both fists and his lawyer kept turning towards him for fear of an outburst.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘The photograph of Ginette Meurant was immediately recognized, not only by cinema staff, especially in the neighbourhood, but also in the dance halls, both in Rue de Lappe and around La Chapelle. She frequented these places for several years, always in the afternoons, most recently the one in Rue des Gravilliers.’

  ‘Did she go to them alone?’

  ‘She had a string of male friends, never for long. However, in the months lea
ding up to the murder, she was barely seen.’

  Did not these testimonies explain the ambiance of Boulevard de Charonne, the magazines and the records, their contrast with the books that Meurant bought from the second-hand bookstalls?

  ‘When I went on holiday, just over a month ago,’ Maigret went on, ‘the Police Judiciaire had not discovered anything further.’

  ‘During this investigation, was Madame Meurant put under police surveillance?’

  ‘Not round the clock, in that she wasn’t followed each time she went out and there wasn’t always an officer on her doorstep at night.’

  Laughter in the courtroom. A disapproving glance from the judge. Silence once again. Maigret mopped his brow, hindered by the hat he was still holding.

  ‘Was this surveillance, albeit sporadic,’ asked the judge, not without sarcasm, ‘prompted by the letter the defendant sent you from prison, and was it intended to protect his wife?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that.’

  ‘If I understand correctly, you were seeking to find out whom she frequented?’

  ‘Firstly, I wanted to know whether she sometimes met her brother-in-law in secret. Then, not finding any evidence that she did, I started wondering what company she kept and how she spent her time.’

  ‘One more question, detective chief inspector. You interrogated Ginette Meurant at the Police Judiciaire. She stated, if my memory serves me well, that she returned home on 27 February at around eight o’clock in the evening and found dinner about to be served. Did she tell you which suit her husband was wearing?’

  ‘Grey trousers. He wasn’t wearing a jacket.’

  ‘And when he’d left her after lunch?’

  ‘He was wearing a grey suit.’

  ‘What time did she leave the apartment on Boulevard de Charonne?’

  ‘At around four.’

  ‘So Meurant could have come home and changed his clothes, then gone out again and put his other suit back on when he returned without her knowing?’

  ‘It is physically possible.’

  ‘Let us go back to the additional investigation you carried out.’

  ‘Surveillance of Ginette Meurant yielded nothing. Since her husband has been in prison, she has stayed at home most of the time, only going out to buy food, visit the prison and, two or three times a week, a trip to the cinema. This surveillance, as I said, was not round the clock. It was occasional. Even so, the results confirm what the neighbours and shopkeepers told us. I returned from holiday the day before yesterday and found a report on my desk. Perhaps it is useful to explain that in the police we never give up on a case altogether, so an arrest is sometimes made unexpectedly, two or three years after the crime or offence.’