Maigret Sets a Trap Page 6

  Was that hatless woman aged forty or so, scurrying down the street with a poodle on a lead, one of the police auxiliaries?

  There were others in the nearby streets, risking their lives at this very instant. They were all volunteers. But it was Maigret who had given them their task. It was his responsibility to protect them.

  Had all the necessary measures been taken?

  That afternoon, on paper, the plan had looked faultless. Every area considered dangerous was being watched. The policewomen would be on their guard. Invisible watchers would be nearby, ready to intervene.

  But had some corner been forgotten? Might someone not relax their attention for only a minute?

  After the discouragement, he was starting to be overcome by a feeling of panic, which might have prompted him to cancel the whole operation, had it still been possible.

  Perhaps the experiment had lasted long enough? It was ten o’clock. Nothing had happened. Nothing would happen now, and that was just as well.

  On Place du Tertre, high up in Montmartre, there was a festive atmosphere, people were crowding round the little tables where rosé wine was being served and music could be heard from every corner; a fire-eater was performing and another man, despite the noise, was doggedly sawing away at a tune from 1900 on the violin. Yet a hundred metres further on, the little alleyways were deserted, and the killer might find it easy to pounce without risk.

  ‘Go back down again.’

  ‘Same way?’

  He would have done better just to stick to the traditional approach, even if it was slow, even if it had produced no results in six months.

  ‘Head for Place Constantin-Pecqueur.’

  ‘Via Avenue Junot?’

  ‘Yes, if you like.’

  A few couples were walking arm in arm along the pavements, and Maigret spotted one couple locked in an embrace, their eyes closed, in a corner under a gas lamp.

  Two cafés were still open on Place Constantin-Pecqueur, and there was no light showing in Lognon’s apartment. The local inspector, who knew these streets better than anyone, was patrolling them on foot, like a gundog beating the bushes, and for a moment Maigret imagined him with his tongue hanging out, panting hot breaths like a spaniel.

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Ten past ten.’

  ‘Hush!’

  They strained their ears, and vaguely sensed the sound of people running towards Avenue Junot, the street they had just driven down.

  And before the footsteps, there had been something else – possibly a blast on a whistle, or even two.

  ‘Where’s it coming from?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  It was hard to make out the exact direction from which the sounds had come. While the car was still stationary, a black vehicle from police headquarters hurtled past them, heading at top speed towards Avenue Junot.

  ‘Follow that one!’

  Other parked cars, only minutes earlier, had moved off as well, all heading in the same direction, and two more whistle-blasts came through the air, nearer now that Maigret’s car had already driven five hundred metres.

  They could hear voices, men and women. Someone was running along a pavement and another silhouette was dashing down the stone steps.

  Something had happened at last.

  4.

  The Policewoman’s Encounter

  Everything was so confused at first, in the poorly lit streets, that it was impossible to find out what had happened. Only much later, by putting together the witness statements, some more reliable than others, did an overall picture become clearer.

  Maigret, whose driver was driving hell for leather through steep and narrow streets that at night looked like theatre sets, was not sure exactly where he was, except that they seemed to be approaching Place du Tertre, from where vague sounds of music reached his ears.

  What added to the confusion was that things were moving in both directions. Cars, and running figures – most of them police officers, no doubt – were converging towards a point which seemed to be on Rue Norvins, while other silhouettes, a bicycle without lights, two, then three cars, were on the contrary moving quickly in the opposite direction.

  ‘That way!’ someone was shouting. ‘I saw him go past!’

  People were chasing a man, possibly one of those whom Maigret had seen. He also thought he had recognized, in a small figure running so fast that he had lost his hat, Inspector Hard-done-by but he couldn’t be sure.

  What mattered most to him at this moment was finding out whether the killer had been successful, whether a woman was dead, and when he saw a knot of about a dozen people standing on a shadowy pavement, his eyes turned anxiously to the ground at their feet.

  The people did not seem to be looking downwards, though. He could see them gesticulating, and at the corner of an alleyway a uniformed policeman, sprung from somewhere, was trying to fend off curious onlookers flocking over from Place du Tertre.

  Someone loomed out of the darkness and approached him as he climbed out of the car.

  ‘Is that you, boss?’

  The beam of an electric torch flashed over his face as if everyone distrusted everyone else.

  ‘She’s not injured.’

  It took him a little time to identify the speaker, although he was an inspector from his own service.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I don’t rightly know. The man managed to escape. They’ve gone after him. Be surprising if he gets away, with the whole district looking for him.’

  At last, Maigret reached the centre of all the agitation, a woman in a light-blue dress that reminded him of something. Her bosom was still heaving rapidly. She was beginning to smile again, the fragile smile of someone who has just escaped death by inches.

  She recognized Maigret.

  ‘I’m sorry I didn’t manage to grab him,’ she said. ‘I’m still wondering how he slipped out of my hands.’

  She was uncertain now to whom she had already told the beginning of her story.

  ‘Look! One of the buttons of his jacket came off in my hand.’

  She held it out to the chief inspector: a small smooth, dark object, with a short length of thread and even a scrap of material still attached to it.

  ‘He attacked you?’

  ‘Just as I was going past this little alley.’

  A narrow corridor, pitch dark, without a door opening on to the street.

  ‘I was keeping my eyes open. When I saw the alleyway, I had a sort of intuition, and I had to make an effort to keep walking at the same pace.’

  Now Maigret thought he recognized her, or at any rate the blue dress. Wasn’t this the same girl he had seen a little while ago, under the streetlamp, locked in a close embrace with a man?

  ‘He let me get past the opening, and just then, I sensed a movement, the air stirring behind me. A hand went for my throat, and I don’t know how, but I managed to get a judo hold on him.’

  News of what had happened must have spread to Place du Tertre, and most of the night owls had abandoned the tables with their red check cloths, the Chinese lanterns and the carafes of rosé wine, to come running in the same direction. The uniformed officer was overwhelmed. A police van was coming up Rue Caulaincourt. An attempt would be made to contain the crowds.

  How many inspectors were now chasing after the fugitive through the neighbouring streets, a maze of unpredictable twists and turns with many dark corners?

  Maigret had the feeling that in this respect at any rate, the game was already lost. Once more, the killer had demonstrated his genius by operating a mere hundred metres from a highly frequented tourist area, knowing full well that once the alert was sounded, the crowds would create chaos.

  As far as he could recall – he did not take the time to consult his battle plan – Mauvoisin was in charge of this sector and would consequently be directing operations. He looked round for him, but he was not in sight.

  Maigret’s presence served no purpose here. From now on, it
was a matter of luck.

  ‘Get into my car,’ he told the young woman.

  He knew her to be one of his auxiliaries, and he was still somewhat ruffled at having seen her in a man’s arms only a short while ago.

  ‘What is your name?’

  ‘Marthe Jusserand.’

  ‘You’re twenty-two?’

  ‘Twenty-five.’

  She was more or less of the same build as the five victims, but in her case the bulk came from muscle.

  ‘Back to headquarters,’ Maigret ordered the driver.

  From his perspective, it would be best if he were at the point where all reports would inevitably converge, rather than hanging about here where the frantic activity seemed chaotic.

  A little further on, he spotted Mauvoisin, who was giving instructions to his colleagues.

  ‘I’m on my way back to Quai des Orfèvres,’ he called out to him. ‘Keep me posted.’

  A radio car was arriving now. Two others, which were cruising in the locality, would be turning up soon, as reinforcements.

  ‘Were you scared?’ he asked his companion, as the car reached streets where the traffic was calmer. A crowd was spilling out of a cinema on Place Clichy. The bars and cafés were brightly lit and reassuring, with customers sitting out on the terraces.

  ‘Not at the time, but straight afterwards. I thought my legs were going to give way.’

  ‘Did you see him?’

  ‘For a moment his face was very close to mine, but I’m not sure I’d be able to recognize him again. I spent three years as a gym teacher before I did my police exams, I’m quite strong, you know. I’ve done judo, like the other auxiliaries.’

  ‘You didn’t cry out?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  It was later ascertained, from an inspector who had been at a window in a nearby lodging house, that she had called for help only after the assailant had run off.

  ‘He was wearing a darkish suit. His hair was light brown, he seemed quite young.’

  ‘About how old, in your opinion?’

  ‘I don’t know. I was too shocked. I knew what I was supposed to do if he attacked, but when it happened, everything went out of my head. I was thinking about the knife he was holding.’

  ‘You saw it?’

  She was silent for a few seconds.

  ‘I’m wondering now whether I really saw it, or whether I just imagined it, because I knew he’d have one. On the other hand, I’d swear his eyes were blue or grey. He seemed to be in pain. I got a judo hold on his forearm, and it must have hurt him quite a bit. It was a matter of seconds before he was forced to bend over and fall on the ground.’

  ‘And then he managed to break free.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose he must have. He slipped through my fingers, and I still can’t fathom how. I grabbed something, the button on his jacket, and next moment I just had the button in my hand and this shape was running away. It all happened very quickly. Though to me, of course, it seemed like a long time.’

  ‘You wouldn’t like a drink, would you, to help you get over it?’

  ‘I never drink. But I wouldn’t mind a cigarette.’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘I haven’t got any. A month ago, I decided to give up smoking.’

  Maigret got the driver to stop at the next tobacconist’s.

  ‘What kind?’

  ‘American.’

  It must have been the first time in his life that he found himself buying American cigarettes.

  At Quai des Orfèvres, he ushered her inside, and they found Lucas and Torrence each manning a telephone. Maigret looked inquiringly at them, and they both pulled negative faces.

  The man hadn’t been caught yet.

  ‘Sit down, mademoiselle.’

  ‘I’m feeling fine now … Never mind about the cigarette. It’s in the next few days that it’ll be hard not to smoke.’

  Maigret repeated to Lucas, who had finished his phone call, the description he had been given.

  ‘Send that out to everyone, including the railway stations.’

  And to the young woman:

  ‘How tall would you say?’

  ‘No taller than me.’

  So the man was quite short.

  ‘Thin?’

  ‘Not fat anyway.’

  ‘Twenty? Thirty? Forty?’

  She had said ‘young’ but the word can have quite different meanings.

  ‘I’d say thirtyish.’

  ‘No other detail you can remember?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Was he wearing a tie?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Did he look like a prowler, or like a labourer, or an office worker?’

  She was doing her best to cooperate but her memories were fragmented.

  ‘It seems to me that if I’d seen him in the street in any other circumstances, I wouldn’t have noticed him. Respectable-looking, as they say.’

  Suddenly she raised her hand, like a pupil in class – and after all it was not so long ago that she had been a schoolgirl.

  ‘He had a ring on his finger!’

  ‘A wedding ring, or some other kind?’

  ‘Wait a minute …’

  She closed her eyes, seemed to take again the pose she had been in during the struggle.

  ‘I felt it under my fingers, then when I was doing the judo hold, his hand was near my face … Not a signet ring, that would have been too big with a bulge in it … It was certainly a wedding ring.’

  ‘Hear that, Lucas?’

  ‘Yes, boss.’

  ‘His hair, long or short?’

  ‘Not short. I can see his hair now, it was covering his ear when his head was almost on the pavement.’

  ‘Still taking notes, Lucas?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Come into my office, mademoiselle.’

  He automatically removed his jacket, although by now the evening was quite cool, at least compared to daytime.

  ‘Sit down. Are you sure you won’t have something to drink?’

  ‘Yes, sure.’

  ‘Before the man attacked you, did you not meet somebody else?’

  A rush of blood flooded up into her neck and cheeks. She was a muscular and athletic woman, but her skin was fair and delicate.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Tell me all about it.’

  ‘Well, I may have done wrong, but I suppose that’s too bad. I have a fiancé.’

  ‘What does he do?’

  ‘He’s in his last year of law school. He wants to join the police too.’

  Not the way Maigret had joined the force in the past, going up through the ranks, and starting in traffic control, but by passing a competitive graduate examination.

  ‘And you saw him tonight?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you tell him what this was all about?’

  ‘No, I just asked him to spend the evening on Place du Tertre.’

  ‘You were afraid?’

  ‘No. I just wanted to feel he wasn’t far away.’

  ‘And you arranged to meet him again afterwards?’

  She was ill at ease, shifting from one foot to another, trying to work out from brief glances whether Maigret was angry or not.

  ‘I’ll tell you the whole truth, sir. And too bad if I have made a mistake about this. My instructions were to act as naturally as possible, like any other girl or woman who might find herself walking along a street this evening. Well, at night, you often see couples who kiss goodbye and then go their separate ways.’

  ‘Was that why you had your fiancé come along?’

  ‘Yes, I promise you. I arranged to meet him at ten. We were assuming that if anything happened, it would be before ten. So I wasn’t risking anything if at ten o’clock I thought of trying another tactic.’

  Maigret looked attentively at her.

  ‘It didn’t occur to you that if the murderer saw you in the arms of another man and then going off down the road alone, that that might trigger his crisi
s?’

  ‘I don’t know. I suppose there was a chance. Did I do wrong?’

  He preferred not to reply. It was always a dilemma, to choose between observing discipline and showing initiative. Had he not himself, tonight and on the preceding days, committed some serious infringements to discipline?

  ‘Take your time. Sit down at my desk. What you’re going to do is, as if you were in school, write down what happened this evening, trying to remember the tiniest details, even ones that don’t seem at all important.’

  He knew from experience that this often yields results.

  ‘May I use your pen?’

  ‘If you like. Call me when you’ve finished.’

  He went back into the office where Lucas and Torrence were still sharing the phone calls. In a box room at the end of the corridor, a radio-telegraphist was noting the messages received from the radio cars, which he then dispatched on scraps of paper via the office clerk.

  Up in Montmartre, they had gradually managed to disperse most of the crowds, but as was to be expected, reporters alerted by the news had come flocking to the site.

  The police had at first surrounded three blocks of houses, then four, then the whole district, as time passed and the man had had more opportunities to make his getaway.

  The local hotels and lodging houses had been visited, all lodgers and guests being woken up, asked for their papers, and obliged to answer a few questions. There was every chance that the attacker had already slipped through the net, probably in the first few minutes, just when the whistle was heard, when people started to run and Place du Tertre had spilled out its flock of sightseers.

  There was another possibility: that the killer lived nearby, not far from the site of this latest attack, and that he had simply gone home.

  Maigret toyed with the button that Marthe Jusserand had left with him, an ordinary button, dark grey with light blue streaks. No maker’s name. Some stout tailor’s thread was still attached to it, as well as a fragment of fabric, a few strands of a tweed suit.

  ‘Telephone Moers and get him to come over at once.’

  ‘Here, or to the lab?’

  ‘Here.’

  He had learned from experience that an hour lost at a critical point in an investigation could represent a head start of several weeks for the criminal.