Maigret and the Good People of Montparnasse Page 5

  ‘I apologize for being here, Madame Josselin, and I confess I don’t know what questions to ask. I am mindful of your distress, your grief.’

  She gazed at him unflinchingly, and he wondered whether she heard his words or whether she was listening to her own internal monologue.

  ‘Your husband was the victim of a seemingly inexplicable crime and I am obliged to leave no stone unturned in trying to get to the bottom of it.’

  Her head made a very slight nodding movement, as if she were agreeing with him.

  ‘You were at the Théâtre de la Madeleine last night, with your daughter. It is likely that the person who killed your husband knew he would find him on his own. When was the outing arranged?’

  She replied reticently:

  ‘Three or four days ago. I think it was Saturday or Sunday.’

  ‘Whose idea was it?’

  ‘Mine. I was curious about the play, which received a lot of good reviews.’

  He was surprised to hear her speaking with such calm precision, knowing what condition she had still been in at four o’clock that morning.

  ‘My daughter and I discussed the outing and she telephoned her husband to ask if he would be joining us.’

  ‘Did the three of you sometimes go out together?’

  ‘Rarely. My son-in-law is only interested in medicine and his patients.’

  ‘What about your husband?’

  ‘He and I would go to the cinema or the music hall from time to time. He loved music hall.’

  Her voice was flat, without warmth. She reeled off her answers, staring at Maigret’s face as if he were an examiner.

  ‘Did you make the reservations over the telephone?’

  ‘Yes. Seats 97 and 99. I remember, because I always insist on being next to the central aisle.’

  ‘Who knew that you would be out that evening?’

  ‘My husband, my son-in-law and the cleaner.’

  ‘No one else?’

  ‘My hairdresser, because I went to his salon in the afternoon.’

  ‘Did your husband smoke?’

  Maigret was jumping from one idea to the next and he had just remembered the cigar in the ashtray.

  ‘Not much. A cigar after each meal. Sometimes he’d smoke one during his morning walk.’

  ‘Forgive me for this ridiculous question, but do you know of any enemies he might have had?’

  She did not let out a volley of protestations but merely said:

  ‘No.’

  ‘He never gave you the impression he was hiding something, that he had some sort of secret life?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What did you think when you found him dead on your return last night?’

  She appeared to swallow hard and said:

  ‘That he was dead.’

  Her face had become sterner, even more set, and Maigret thought for a moment that her eyes were going to mist over.

  ‘You didn’t ask yourself who had killed him?’

  He thought he sensed an imperceptible hesitation.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why did you not telephone the police straight away?’

  She didn’t reply immediately but looked away from Maigret briefly.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You called your son-in-law first?’

  ‘I didn’t call anyone. It was Véronique who telephoned home, anxious at not finding her husband here.’

  ‘Was she surprised not to find him there either?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Who thought of Doctor Larue?’

  ‘I think it was me. We needed someone to take care of what needed to be done.’

  ‘You have no suspicions, Madame Josselin?’

  ‘None.’

  ‘Why did you get up this morning?’

  ‘Because I had no reason to stay in bed.’

  ‘Are you certain that nothing’s been stolen?’

  ‘My daughter checked. She knows where everything is as well as I do. Apart from the revolver …’

  ‘When was the last time you saw it?’

  ‘A few days ago. I’m not exactly sure.’

  ‘Did you know it was loaded?’

  ‘Yes. My husband has always had a loaded revolver in the house. In the early days of our marriage, he used to keep it in his bedside drawer. Then, for fear Véronique might touch it, and because there were no drawers that locked in the bedroom, he kept it in the drawing room. For a long time, that drawer was kept locked. Now that Véronique is an adult and married …’

  ‘Did your husband seem to be afraid of something?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did he keep a lot of money in the apartment?’

  ‘Very little. We pay for nearly everything by cheque.’

  ‘Did you ever, on coming home, find someone you didn’t know with your husband?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And you have never come across your husband with a stranger either?’

  ‘No, inspector.’

  ‘Thank you …’

  Maigret felt hot. He had just carried out one of the most painful interrogations of his career. It was like throwing a ball that doesn’t bounce back. He had the impression that his questions hadn’t hit home, that they hadn’t pierced the surface, and that the answers he received were neutral and lifeless.

  She hadn’t avoided any of the questions, but nor had she uttered any personal comment.

  She didn’t get up to say goodbye but remained upright in her armchair, and he was unable to read anything in her eyes, even though they were very animated.

  ‘I apologize for this intrusion.’

  She didn’t protest but waited until he was on his feet before rising to follow him as he made his way awkwardly towards the door.

  ‘If anything occurs to you, a recollection, a suspicion of any kind …’

  Once again, she replied with a flutter of her eyelashes.

  ‘A police officer is standing guard by the door and I hope you won’t be bothered by the press.’

  ‘Madame Manu told me they’d come already.’

  ‘Have you known her long?’

  ‘Around six months.’

  ‘Does she have a key to the apartment?’

  ‘I had one cut for her, yes.’

  ‘Who else had a key?’

  ‘My husband and I. Our daughter too. She still has the key she used when she lived at home.’

  ‘Is that all?’

  ‘Yes. There’s a fifth key, which I call the emergency key, that I keep in my dressing table.’

  ‘Is it still there?’

  ‘I’ve just seen it.’

  ‘May I ask your daughter a question?’

  Madame Josselin went and opened a door, disappeared for a moment and returned with Véronique Fabre, who looked from one to the other.

  ‘Your mother tells me that you still have a key to the apartment. I’d like to ascertain that you still have it …’

  She went over to a chest of drawers on which a blue leather handbag sat. She opened it and took out a small, flat key.

  ‘Did you have it with you at the theatre, yesterday?’

  ‘No. I had an evening bag, much smaller than this one, and I took hardly anything with me.’

  ‘So, you left your key in your apartment on Boulevard Brune?’

  That was all. He couldn’t think of any more questions he could decently ask. Besides, he was in a hurry to leave that hushed world which made him feel ill at ease.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  He walked down the stairs to stretch his legs and, as soon as he rounded the first bend, let out a deep sigh. There were no reporters on the pavement outside, where the police officer was slowly pacing back and forth. They’d congregated at the counter of a small bar opposite, and now they rushed over to Maigret.

  ‘Did you question the two women?’

  He looked at them in a similar way as the widow, as if he didn’t see their faces but was looking through them.

  ‘
Is it true that Madame Josselin is indisposed and refuses to answer?’

  ‘I have nothing to say to you, gentlemen.’

  ‘When do you hope …?’

  He gave a dismissive wave and headed towards Boulevard Raspail in search of a taxi. Since the reporters hadn’t followed him but had resumed their vigil, he was able to stop off at the same bar as the previous night and drink a beer.

  It was almost midday when he walked into his office at Quai des Orfèvres. A moment later, he half-opened the door to the inspectors’ room and spotted Lapointe and Torrence.

  ‘Come into my office, both of you.’

  He sat down heavily at his desk, selected the fattest of his pipes, and proceeded to fill it.

  ‘What have you been doing?’ he asked young Lapointe.

  ‘I went to Rue Julie to do some cross-checking. I questioned the three concierges and they all confirm that last night someone came asking if there was a sick child in their building. One of them was suspicious, because she thought the man looked quite scruffy and didn’t seem like a real doctor. She nearly called the police.’

  ‘What time was that?’

  ‘Between ten thirty and eleven.’

  ‘What about at the hospital?’

  ‘That was trickier. I arrived at a busy time, when the consultant and the doctors were doing their ward rounds. Everyone’s on red alert. I spotted Doctor Fabre from a distance, and I’m certain he recognized me.’

  ‘He didn’t react?’

  ‘No. There were several of them in white coats and skullcaps, following the big boss.’

  ‘Does he often drop in to the hospital in the evening?’

  ‘Apparently they all do, either when there’s an emergency or when they’re in charge of a serious case. Doctor Fabre is the one who does so most frequently. I managed to collar a couple of nurses. They all speak of him in the same way. At the hospital, he’s seen as a sort of saint …’

  ‘Did he stay at the bedside of his young patient all the while he was there?’

  ‘No. He went into several wards and chatted for some time with a junior doctor.’

  ‘Do they know, at the hospital?’

  ‘I don’t think so. People gave me strange looks. Especially the young woman who must be more than a nurse – an assistant, I suppose. She said to me angrily: “If you have indiscreet questions to ask, then ask Doctor Fabre himself.’

  ‘Has the pathologist called?’

  After an autopsy, the pathologist habitually called Quai des Orfèvres before sending the official report, which always took a while to produce.

  ‘He recovered the two bullets. One was in the aorta and would have been sufficient to kill Josselin.’

  ‘What time does he think the murder took place?’

  ‘As far as he can tell, between nine and eleven in the evening. Doctor Ledent would like to know what time Josselin had his last meal, to help him pinpoint the time more accurately.’

  ‘Phone the cleaner and ask her, and let him know the answer.’

  Meanwhile, big Torrence was standing by the window watching the boats going past on the Seine.

  ‘What shall I do now?’ asked Lapointe.

  ‘First of all, make that telephone call. Now then, Torrence …’

  He was more formal towards Torrence, even though he’d known him longer than Lapointe, who looked more like a young student than a police inspector.

  ‘How did you get on with the residents?’

  ‘Here’s a plan of the building for you. It will make things easier.’

  He put it on the desk, stood behind Maigret and from time to time pointed at one of the boxes he’d drawn.

  ‘First of all, the ground floor. You probably know that the concierge’s husband is a police officer and that he was on night duty, but his beat didn’t take him past the building. He came home at seven in the morning.’

  ‘And then …’

  ‘On the left lives a spinster, Mademoiselle Nolan, who’s said to be very wealthy and very stingy. She watched television until eleven and then went to bed. She didn’t hear anything, and no one knocked on her door.’

  ‘On the right?’

  ‘A certain Davey. He lives alone too, a widower; he’s the assistant manager of an insurance company. He had dinner in town, as he does every evening, and returned home at nine fifteen. From what I’ve learned, an attractive young woman occasionally comes and keeps him company, but that was not the case yesterday. He read the newspapers and fell asleep at around ten thirty without hearing anything out of the ordinary. It was only when the men from the forensics team came into the building with their equipment that he was roused. He got up and asked the officer on duty what was going on.’

  ‘What was his reaction?’

  ‘Nothing. He went back to bed.’

  ‘Did he know the Josselins?’

  ‘Only by sight. First floor right is the Aresco family. There are six or seven of them, all dark-haired and fat. The women are quite pretty, and they all speak with a strong accent. There’s the father, the mother, a sister-in-law, an older girl of twenty and two or three children. They didn’t go out yesterday.’

  ‘Are you sure? The concierge says—’

  ‘I know. She told me too. Someone came in shortly after the doctor left and shouted “Aresco” as they passed the lodge … Monsieur Aresco is furious … The entire family played cards and they swear no one went out of the apartment.’

  ‘What does the concierge say about that?’

  ‘She’s almost certain that’s the name she was given, and she even thought she recognized the accent.’

  ‘Almost certain …’ repeated Maigret. ‘She thought she recognized … What do the Arescos do?’

  ‘They have a large business in South America, where they live for part of the year. They also have a home in Switzerland. They were still there two weeks ago.’

  ‘Do they know the Josselins?’

  ‘They claim they didn’t even know the name.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘On the right, opposite them, is an art critic, Joseph Mérillon, currently away on a government mission in Athens.’

  ‘On the second floor?’

  ‘The entire floor is occupied by the Tuplers, who are in the United States right now.’

  ‘No servants?’

  ‘The apartment is locked up for three months. The carpets have been sent to be cleaned.’

  ‘Third floor?’

  ‘No one home last night next door to the Josselins. The Delilles, a middle-aged couple whose children are married, stay on the Riviera until the beginning of October. These people take long holidays, chief.’

  ‘Fourth floor?’

  ‘Above the Josselins are the Meurats, an architect, his wife and their twelve-year-old daughter. They didn’t go out. The architect worked until midnight and didn’t hear anything. His window was open. Opposite them, an industrialist and his wife, the Blanchons, who left the same day to go hunting in Sologne. On the fifth floor is another woman on her own, Madame Schwartz, who often has a woman friend visit in the evenings but not yesterday, and she went to bed early. Lastly, there’s a young couple, married last month, on holiday in the Nièvre at the wife’s parents’ place. On the sixth floor, there are only servants’ rooms.’

  Maigret looked at the plan glumly. Admittedly, some boxes were empty – people who were still by the sea, in the country or abroad.

  Even so, half of the building had been occupied the previous night. Residents playing cards, watching television, reading or sleeping. One was still up working. The concierge hadn’t gone back to sleep properly after Doctor Fabre had left.

  And yet, two shots had been fired and a man had been killed in one of the boxes without the day-to-day routine of the others being disrupted.

  ‘Good people …’

  All of them were probably also good people, whose activities were known and whose lives were comfortable and without secrets.

  Had the concierge, after
letting Doctor Fabre out, fallen into a deeper sleep than she realized? There was no doubt she had spoken in good faith. She was an intelligent woman, who was perfectly aware of the importance of her words.

  She stated that someone had come in between ten thirty and eleven and shouted the Arescos’ name in passing.

  But the Arescos swore that no one had left or entered their apartment that evening. They didn’t know the Josselins. It was plausible. No one in the building took any notice of their neighbours, as is often the case in Paris, especially among the upper middle classes.

  ‘I wonder why a resident returning home would have given another resident’s name …’

  ‘And supposing it wasn’t someone who lived there?’

  ‘According to the concierge, they wouldn’t have been able to leave without being seen.’

  Maigret frowned.

  ‘It sounds stupid,’ he grumbled. ‘But logically, that’s the only explanation possible …’

  ‘That the person remained in the building?’

  ‘Until this morning, at any rate … During the day, it must be easy to come and go unnoticed.’

  ‘Do you mean that the murderer could have been there, very close to the police officers, during the deputy public prosecutor’s visit and while the forensics team were at work in the apartment?’

  ‘There are empty apartments … Take a locksmith with you and check whether any of the locks have been forced.’

  ‘I presume I don’t go inside?’

  ‘No, just check the locks from the outside.’

  ‘Is that all?’

  ‘For now. What would you want to do?’

  Big Torrence looked thoughtful and concluded:

  ‘True …’

  A crime had definitely taken place, because a man had been killed. Only it wasn’t a crime like any other, because the victim wasn’t a victim like any other.

  ‘A good man!’ echoed Maigret with a sort of anger.

  Who could have had a reason to kill that good man?

  It wouldn’t take much for him to start loathing good people.

  4.

  Maigret returned home for lunch. Sitting by the open window, he noticed a particular gesture of his wife’s, even though she made it every day. She would remove her apron before sitting down to eat, and often, immediately afterwards, she’d fluff up her hair.