Maigret and the Ghost Read online

  ‘I went in and asked her:

  ‘ “Do you know a certain Carl?”

  ‘She blushed, and turned anxiously towards an open door, whispering:

  ‘ “Who are you? What’s it got to do with you?”

  ‘ “A simple piece of information. I’m from the police.”

  ‘ “What’s he done?”

  ‘ “Nothing. It’s a routine check. Are you engaged?”

  ‘ “We may get married one day, but he hasn’t asked me yet …”

  ‘ “Do you see him several evenings a week?”

  ‘ “Whenever I can …”

  ‘ “Do you wait for him a few metres from the house on Avenue Junot?”

  ‘ “Who told you?”

  ‘Then a large woman appeared from the backroom, and she had the presence of mind to say loudly:

  ‘ “No, monsieur, we don’t have any Gorgonzola left, but we do have some Roquefort … They’re very similar …” ’

  Maigret smiled.

  ‘Did you buy some Roquefort?’

  ‘I said that my wife only liked Gorgonzola … That’s all, chief … I don’t know what my colleagues will bring me this evening … Any news of poor old Lognon?’

  ‘I had one of my men call the hospital earlier. The doctors still won’t comment, and he hasn’t regained consciousness. It’s feared that the second bullet, which hit him below the shoulder, might have damaged the top of his right lung, but it’s impossible to X-ray him in his present condition.’

  ‘I wonder what he found out to get himself shot … You’ll be as surprised as me when you’ve seen the Dutchman … I can’t imagine that a man like him—’

  ‘There is one thing I’d like you to do, Chinquier … When your men are back, and especially when the night shift come on duty, have them all deal with the women … Some of them, you said, arrived at Avenue Junot on foot, so they may be local …

  ‘Have them go over the nightclubs with a fine-tooth comb … From your invalid’s descriptions, I don’t think we need to look on the streets … if you get my drift?

  ‘Sooner or later we’ll come across one who’s been to Avenue Junot …’

  It would probably have been more useful to find Marinette Augier. Would Moers and the laboratory team, with their sand samples, give him a lead at last?

  4. The Visit to the Dutchman

  ‘Hello! This is the Dutch embassy …’

  The young, cheerful voice with a slight accent made him think of the windmills on certain cocoa tins.

  ‘I’d like to speak to the first secretary, mademoiselle.’

  ‘Who’s calling?’

  ‘Detective Chief Inspector Maigret, of the Police Judiciaire.’

  ‘One moment. I’ll see if Mr Goudekamp is in his office.’

  The voice was back after a little while.

  ‘Mr Goudekamp is in a meeting, but I’ll put you through to the second secretary, Mr de Vries … Please hold the line …’

  A man’s voice this time, less cheerful, naturally, and with a stronger accent.

  ‘Hubert de Vries speaking, Second Secretary of the Dutch embassy.’

  ‘Detective Chief Inspector Maigret, head of the Crime Squad.’

  ‘How can I help you?’

  De Vries, on the other end of the line, was probably starchy and suspicious, young most likely, because he was still only second secretary, fair-haired perhaps, slightly overdressed, in the manner of people from northern Europe.

  ‘I’d like some information about one of your citizens who has lived in Paris for a long time and whose name is probably very familiar to you …’

  ‘Where are you at the moment, Monsieur Maigret?’

  ‘In my office at Quai des Orfèvres.’

  ‘Please don’t be offended if I call you back shortly.’

  Five minutes went by before the phone rang.

  ‘My apologies, Monsieur Maigret, but all sorts of people telephone us and some claim to be someone they are not. You wanted to talk to me about a Dutch subject who lives in Paris?’

  ‘About Norris Jonker …’

  Why did Maigret have the feeling that the invisible second secretary was suddenly on his guard?

  ‘Yes …’

  ‘Do you know him?’

  ‘Jonker is a very common name in Holland, rather like Durand in France. Norris isn’t an unusual first name either.’

  ‘This Norris Jonker is related to the Amsterdam banking family.’

  ‘The Jonker, Haag & Company Bank is one of the longest established in the country. Old Kees Jonker died around fifteen years ago and his son Hans, unless I’m mistaken, is at the helm of the firm.’

  ‘What about Norris Jonker?’

  ‘I don’t know him personally.’

  ‘But you are aware of his existence?’

  ‘Definitely. I think he’s a member of the Saint-Cloud golf club, where our paths may inadvertently have crossed …’

  ‘Is he married?’

  ‘To an Englishwoman, so I’ve been told. May I ask you now, Monsieur Maigret, why you are interested in Norris Jonker?’

  ‘Only very indirectly.’

  ‘Have you seen him?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Do you not think it would be simpler to obtain the information you require from the man himself? I should be able to give you his address.’

  ‘I know it.’

  ‘Norris Jonker has little to do with the embassy. He belongs to a family that is both prominent and respectable, and I have every reason to believe that he himself is an upstanding man. He is reputed above all for his art collection.’

  ‘You don’t have any information about his wife either?’

  ‘I would feel more comfortable replying if I knew the reason for your questions. Madame Jonker, from what I’ve heard, is from the south of France and was married to an Englishman, Herbert Muir from Manchester, a ball-bearings manufacturer.’

  ‘They don’t have any children?’

  ‘Not to my knowledge.’

  Maigret understood that he would not glean any more information, so he then called another number, that of an auctioneer he’d been in touch with on several occasions and who was often called upon as an expert witness in court.

  ‘Monsieur Manessi? Maigret here …’

  ‘Just a moment while I close the door … Right! What can I do for you … Are you interested in art these days?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Do you know a Dutchman by the name of Norris Jonker?’

  ‘The one who lives in Avenue Junot? Not only do I know him, but I’ve done valuations for him. He owns one of the finest collections of late nineteenth-century and early twentieth-century paintings.’

  ‘That suggests he’s very wealthy?’

  ‘His father was a banker and an art lover. Norris Jonker was brought up surrounded by Van Goghs, Pissarros, Manets and Renoirs. It’s not surprising that he had no interest in the bank. He inherited a good share of the paintings, and the dividends that the bank, managed by his brother, bring him, give him the means to expand his collection …’

  ‘Have you met him in person?’

  ‘Yes. Have you?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘He’s more like an English gentleman than a Dutchman. If I remember correctly, after studying at Oxford he lived in England for many years, and I’ve heard that he ended the last war as a colonel in the British army.’

  ‘What about his wife?’

  ‘A stunning creature who was married very young to an Englishman from Manchester—’

  ‘Ball-bearings, I know …’

  ‘I wonder why you’re interested in Jonker. I hope he hasn’t been victim of a painting theft?’

  ‘No.’

  Now it was Maigret’s turn to be evasive.

  ‘Do they go out much?’

  ‘Not that I’m aware of.’

  ‘Does Jonker socialize with other art lovers?’

  ‘He keeps his eye on the auctions, naturally, and he knows wh
en an important painting is being sold at Drouot, Galliera, Sotheby’s or in New York …’

  ‘Does he travel?’

  ‘You’re asking me too much. He has travelled extensively, but I don’t know if he still does. Collectors don’t necessarily bother to attend in person to buy a painting at a public auction. On the contrary, the major buyers usually send a representative—’

  ‘In short, he’s a man you can trust?’

  ‘Sure as can be.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  That did not make things any easier, and Maigret rose without enthusiasm to fetch his overcoat and hat from the cupboard.

  The better known important and respectable people are, the more delicate it is to ring at their door to question them, and it is not rare for them to complain to those at the top, which bodes ill for the police officer.

  Maigret was loath to take one of his inspectors with him and decided to go to Avenue Junot alone, so as to make his visit less official.

  Half an hour later, a taxi dropped him off in front of the private residence, and he handed his card to Carl, the manservant in a white jacket. He was shown into the entrance hall, like Inspector Chinquier before him, but, perhaps because of his rank, he was kept waiting only five minutes instead of ten.

  ‘If you would follow me …’

  Carl preceded him across the drawing room, where Maigret did not have the opportunity of meeting the beautiful Madame Jonker, and opened the door to the study. The Dutchman had not changed his clothes, or, so it appeared, his position. Sitting at an Empire-style desk, he was studying some etchings with the help of a giant illuminated magnifying glass.

  He rose at once, and Maigret was able to note that the description he’d been given was accurate. With his grey flannel trousers, soft silk shirt and black velvet jacket, he was the quintessential English gentleman at home. He also had the stiff upper lip. Neither surprised nor perturbed, he said:

  ‘Monsieur Maigret?’

  He indicated a leather armchair, on the other side of the desk, and sat down again.

  ‘I am very flattered, believe me, to meet a man of your renown …’

  He spoke slowly, as if, after so many years, he was still thinking in Dutch and had to translate every word.

  ‘I am a little surprised to receive a second visit from the police …’

  He waited, gazing at his plump, manicured hands. He wasn’t fat but had what used to be called an imposing bearing and could have been a model for a drawing in La Vie Parisienne circa 1900.

  His face was a little flabby, his blue eyes visible behind frameless glasses with thin gold sides.

  Maigret began, not without a certain embarrassment:

  ‘Inspector Chinquier did indeed inform me of his visit. He’s a neighbourhood inspector and does not work directly for our department …’

  ‘Should I understand that you need to verify his report?’

  ‘Not exactly. But perhaps he didn’t ask all the questions he should have asked.’

  The Dutchman, who was toying with the magnifying glass, looked directly at Maigret, and there was a mixture of mischief and a hint of innocence in his blue eyes.

  ‘Listen to me, Monsieur Maigret. I am sixty-four years old and I have lived in many countries. I have been settled for a long time in France, where I am so happy that I have built my home here.

  ‘I have no criminal record and I have never set foot in a courtroom or a police station.

  ‘Apparently some shots were fired in the street last night, opposite my home. As I told the inspector, neither I nor my wife heard anything, because our bedrooms are on the other side of the house.

  ‘Tell me, what would you think if you were in my shoes and I in yours?’

  ‘I would certainly view these visits as disagreeable, because it is never pleasing to have people you don’t know come into your home …’

  ‘I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I am not complaining at having you sitting here, on the contrary, it is an opportunity to meet someone about whom I have heard a great deal. I look at things, as you know, from a different perspective.

  ‘Your inspector asked me some rather indiscreet questions but not too many, ultimately, given his job. I don’t know what you plan to ask, but I am surprised that such a high-ranking official should take the trouble to come in person.’

  ‘If I were to reply that it is out of deference—’

  ‘I would be flattered while unwilling to believe you. And perhaps it would be wiser of me to find out whether your presence here is lawful.’

  ‘I would have no objection, Monsieur Jonker, and you are free to telephone your lawyer. Let me add that I have come without a warrant and it is your right to ask me to leave. All the same, it is clear that a lack of cooperation on your part would likely be interpreted as hostility, or even the wish to hide something …’

  The Dutchman smiled in his armchair and reached for a box of cigars.

  ‘You smoke, I think?’

  ‘Only a pipe.’

  ‘Feel free.’

  He himself selected a cigar, holding it to his ear and rustling it, then he clipped one end with a gold cigar-cutter and slowly lit it, with an almost ritual gesture.

  ‘One more question,’ he said between two puffs of pretty blue smoke. ‘Am I to understand that I am the only person in Avenue Junot to have the honour of your visit, or is this case so important that you will be going from house to house in person to question the residents?’

  Maigret too was choosing his words carefully:

  ‘You are not the first person in the street that I am questioning. My inspectors are going from house to house, as you say, but as far as you are concerned, I believed it was my duty to take the trouble …’

  Jonker appeared to be thanking him with a nod, but he didn’t believe a word.

  ‘I will try and answer you, so long as you do not intrude into my private life.’

  Maigret was about to open his mouth when the telephone rang.

  ‘May I?’

  Jonker picked up the receiver and replied in English briefly, frowning. Maigret’s schoolboy English was not that good and had not been much use in London, and even less during his two trips to the United States, although people had taken great pains to try to understand him.

  But at least he knew that the Dutchman resented not being free, and that, in answer to a question asked by the invisible caller, he said:

  ‘From the same firm, yes … I’ll call you back later …’

  Presumably that meant that he was busy with someone from the same profession as the inspector who’d been there earlier?

  ‘Excuse me … I am all yours …’

  He settled into a comfortable pose, reclining slightly in his chair, his elbows on the arm-rests, sometimes glancing at the white ash on his cigar, which was gradually growing longer.

  ‘You asked me, Monsieur Jonker, what I would do in your shoes. I would like to ask you what you would do in mine. When a crime is committed, in this district or another, there are always neighbours who remember odd details they hadn’t noticed before or which they hadn’t thought were of any importance.’

  ‘I believe you call that gossip, don’t you?’

  ‘If you like. The fact is that it is our duty to check because, although many of these people are fantasists, some give us valuable leads.’

  ‘So let us hear this gossip.’

  But Maigret had no intention of getting straight to the point. He still couldn’t make up his mind whether Jonker was a mischievous but decent man or whether, on the contrary, he was someone very clever who remained on his guard while acting the innocent.

  ‘You are a married man, Monsieur Jonker.’

  ‘Does that surprise you?’

  ‘No. I have been told that Madame Jonker is a very beautiful woman.’

  ‘I am asking you again: does that surprise you? Admittedly, I am a man of a certain age, many would say an old man, perhaps adding that I am fairly well preserved.

 
‘Whereas my wife is only thirty-four, which makes an age difference of exactly thirty years. Do you think we are the only ones in this situation, in Paris or elsewhere? Is it so shocking?’

  ‘Is Madame Jonker French?’

  ‘I can see you have done your research. She was born in Nice, yes, but I met her in London.’

  ‘Was she married previously?’

  Jonker displayed some impatience, which could have been that of a gentleman outraged at having his private life raked over and above all at being asked about his wife.

  ‘She was Mrs Muir before being Madame Jonker,’ he snapped.

  He added, after staring at his cigar for a while:

  ‘You should know too, since you insist on raising the subject, that she didn’t marry me for my money, because she was already what is called independently wealthy.’

  ‘You go out fairly little for a man of your situation, Monsieur Jonker.’

  ‘Is that a criticism? You know, I spent most of my life going out, either here, in London, in the USA, India, Australia or elsewhere. When you are my age—’

  ‘I’m not so far off …’

  ‘When you are my age, I was saying, you will probably prefer being at home to society gatherings, clubs and nightclubs.’

  ‘I understand you all the better because you must be very much in love with Madame Jonker …’

  This time the former British colonel tensed, and his only reply was a jerk of his head, which made the ash fall from his cigar.

  The delicate moment, which Maigret had put off as long as possible, was approaching, and he gave himself a little more time by lighting his pipe, which had gone out.

  ‘You used the word “gossip” and I am prepared to believe, if you say it is so, that certain intelligence that we have received belongs in that category …’

  Was not the Dutchman’s hand trembling slightly? All the same, he reached for the crystal decanter and poured himself a glass.

  ‘Do you like Curaçao?’

  ‘No thank you.’

  ‘Do you prefer whisky?’

  Without waiting for the reply, he pressed a bell. Carl appeared at once.

  ‘Scotch, please … Still or sparkling water?’

  ‘Sparkling.’

  During this interval they were silent, and Maigret glanced at the bookshelves lining the walls. They contained mainly art books, not only on painting but on the architecture and sculpture of Antiquity, and there were also bound catalogues from the major auctions of the past forty years.