Maigret's Secret Page 7

That wrong-footed the examining magistrate.

  ‘Do you think he’s guilty?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Listen, Maigret, if there’s ever been an open-and-shut case, it’s this one. Four or five friends of mine, who know Josset and his wife well, have phoned me …’

  ‘They spoke against him?’

  ‘They have always seen him for what he is.’

  ‘Which is what?’

  ‘An ambitious, unscrupulous character who took advantage of Christine’s passionate feelings for him. Only, once she started to grow old and lose her looks, he felt the need for a younger mistress and didn’t hesitate …’

  ‘I’ll send you the transcript once it is finished.’

  ‘And until then?’

  ‘I’ll keep Josset in my office. You can decide.’

  ‘It wouldn’t go down well if I released him, Maigret.’

  ‘I can see that.’

  ‘No one, do you hear, no one will believe he is innocent. I’m willing to read your document before I sign the committal, but you can safely assume that my mind is now made up.’

  He didn’t like the look on Maigret’s face and he called him back.

  ‘Do you have any argument to offer in his favour?’

  Maigret didn’t respond. He didn’t have an argument. Only that Josset had told him that he didn’t kill his wife.

  And maybe that the whole thing seemed too simple, too obvious?

  He returned to his office, where Janvier pointed out that the man had fallen asleep in his chair.

  ‘You can go. Tell Lapointe that I’m back.’

  Maigret sat down in his chair, fiddled with his pipes, chose one and lit it. Josset opened his eyes and looked at him silently.

  ‘Would you like to carry on sleeping?’

  ‘No. I’m so sorry. Have you been here long?’

  ‘Just a few moments.’

  ‘Did you see the examining magistrate?’

  ‘I’ve just come from there.’

  ‘Am I being arrested?’

  ‘I believe so.’

  ‘It was bound to happen, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Do you know a good lawyer?’

  ‘I count several of them as friends, but I wonder if I wouldn’t prefer having a complete stranger.’

  ‘Tell me something, Josset …’

  The man shuddered, realizing that those simple words were the prelude to something unpleasant.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Where did you hide the knife?’

  There was a brief hesitation.

  ‘I was wrong. I should have told you about that …’

  ‘You threw it into the Seine from Pont Mirabeau, is that correct?’

  ‘Has it been found?’

  ‘Not yet. Tomorrow the divers will go down and will find it.’

  The man said nothing.

  ‘Did you kill Christine?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Nevertheless, you went to the effort of going all the way to Pont Mirabeau to throw your knife into the river.’

  ‘No one will believe me, not even you.’

  That ‘not even you’ was meant as a compliment to Maigret.

  ‘Tell me the truth.’

  ‘It was when I returned to put my suitcase away. In my room I spotted the dagger …’

  ‘Did it have bloodstains on it?’

  ‘No. At that point, I thought about what I would tell the police. I realized already that my story lacked credibility. I had tried not to look at the body, but the little I had seen suggested that the weapon involved had been a knife.

  ‘When I saw mine lying there in full view on my desk I told myself the police would not fail to make a connection …’

  ‘Because there was no blood on it!’

  ‘If I had killed her and there had been some, wouldn’t I have gone to the effort to clean the blade? I only thought about it when I had finished packing my case and was contemplating catching a plane. The knife lying there just a short distance from the body seemed damning, so I took it with me … It was Carlotta who told you, wasn’t it? She’s never been able to stand me.’

  ‘It was Madame Siran.’

  ‘That surprises me somewhat. But I should have expected it. From now on I don’t suppose I can rely on anyone.’

  Lapointe came into the office, holding the typed pages, which he put down in front of Maigret. Maigret handed one copy to Josset and started to peruse the second.

  ‘Order a diver for tomorrow morning. Dawn at Pont Mirabeau.’

  One hour later, the photographers finally got to take their pictures of Adrien Josset as he left Maigret’s office with handcuffs on his wrists.

  It was precisely because of the reporters and the photographers that Examining Magistrate Coméliau had insisted on the handcuffs.

  5. Doctor Liorant’s Obstinate Silence

  Certain details of the case were etched more sharply than others in Maigret’s memory. Even years later he could recall the particular taste and smell of the rain shower in Rue Caulaincourt as keenly as a childhood memory.

  It was six thirty in the evening, and when the rain started it did not obscure the sun, already red above the rooftops. The sky remained ablaze, the windows shimmering with reflected light, and only a single pearl-grey cloud, slightly darker at the centre and glowing at its edges, floated over the streets, as light as a balloon.

  There hadn’t been any rain anywhere else in Paris. Madame Maigret confirmed that evening that none had fallen in Boulevard Richard-Lenoir.

  The raindrops were more transparent, as if more liquid, than usual, and when the shower began they made big black circles in the dust of the pavement as they landed one by one.

  Raising his head, Maigret saw four pots of geraniums on a window-sill and got hit on his eyelid by a raindrop that was so large it almost hurt.

  He assumed that the open window meant that Annette was home and he went inside the building, past the lodge, and looked in vain for a lift. He was about to go up the stairs when a door opened behind him and a not too friendly voice called out:

  ‘Where are you going?’

  He found himself face to face with the concierge, who looked nothing like the person he had imagined from listening to Josset’s account. He had expected her to be of a certain age, rather slovenly. In fact, she was a pleasant and attractive woman of about thirty. Only her vulgar, aggressive voice set a false note.

  ‘To Mademoiselle Duché’s,’ he replied politely.

  ‘She’s not home.’

  Later, looking back on this moment, he would wonder why it is that certain people are unpleasant from the start, for no obvious reason.

  ‘She’s due home soon, isn’t she?’

  ‘She comes and goes when she pleases.’

  ‘Were you the one who rang the paper?’

  She stood on the threshold of the glass door but didn’t invite him in.

  ‘What about it?’ she replied defiantly.

  ‘I’m from the police.’

  ‘I know. I recognized you. You don’t impress me.’

  ‘When Monsieur Duché came here to see his daughter, did he tell you his name?’

  ‘He even stayed in the lodge for quarter of an hour and had a chat.’

  ‘So he had come once before, when his daughter wasn’t here? During the afternoon, presumably?’

  ‘Around five o’clock.’

  ‘Was it you who wrote to him in Fontenay?’

  ‘If I had, I would have been simply fulfilling my duty, and it would be of no concern to anyone. But it wasn’t me. It was the young lady’s aunt.’

  ‘Do you know her aunt?’

  ‘We go to the same shops.’

  ‘Did you inform her about what was going on?’

  ‘She had her own suspicions already.’

  ‘Did she tell you she was going to write?’

  ‘We talked about it.’

  ‘When Monsieur Duché arrived, did you talk to him about Monsieur Josset?’<
br />
  ‘I answered his questions and advised him to come back later, after seven.’

  ‘Did you tell the young lady about this when she got home?’

  ‘I’m not paid to do that.’

  ‘Was Monsieur Duché very angry?’

  ‘He was struggling to believe it, the poor man.’

  ‘Did you go up after him to find out what was happening?’

  ‘I took a letter up to the fifth floor.’

  ‘Did you stop on the landing on the fourth floor?’

  ‘Maybe I paused for breath for a short while. What do you want me to say?’

  ‘You mentioned a violent altercation.’

  ‘To whom?’

  ‘To the reporter.’

  ‘The papers print whatever they like. Look! Here she is, your young lady!’

  It wasn’t one young lady but two who came into the building and headed towards the stairs without a glance at the concierge and Maigret. The first one was blonde and looked very young. She was wearing a navy-blue suit and a light-coloured hat. The second was thinner, harder-looking; she was about thirty-five and walked like a man.

  ‘I thought you came to speak to her.’

  Maigret suppressed his anger, because her gratuitous unpleasantness was really getting to him.

  ‘I will speak to her, never fear. I may well need to speak to you again.’

  He felt bad about this implied threat, which had a hint of childishness about it. He waited to go upstairs until he heard a door open and close up above.

  On the third floor he paused a moment to get his breath back, then carried on up and knocked on the door. He could hear whispers, then footsteps. It wasn’t Annette who opened the door a crack, but her companion.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Detective Chief Inspector Maigret, Police Judiciaire.’

  ‘Annette, it’s the police!’

  Annette must have been in the bedroom, perhaps changing out of her wet clothes.

  ‘I’m coming.’

  It was all a bit of a let-down. The geraniums were there all right, but they were the only detail that corresponded to the mental image Maigret had formed of the place. The apartment was very ordinary-looking, lacking in any personal touches. The famous kitchen-diner, where their little dinners took place, had dull grey walls and the sort of furniture you find in low-budget rented rooms.

  Annette wasn’t changing, she was just combing her hair. She too was a bit of a disappointment. True, she was smooth-skinned, in the way that twenty-year-olds are, but rather ordinary, with large, somewhat protuberant blue eyes. She reminded Maigret of the portraits you saw in the windows of provincial photographers’, and he would bet any money that by the time she was forty she would be a large woman with her lips set in a hard line.

  ‘Excuse me, mademoiselle …’

  Her friend headed for the door, somewhat reluctantly.

  ‘I’ll be off …’

  ‘Why? You’re not in the way.’

  And to Maigret:

  ‘This is Jeanine, who also works at Avenue Marceau. She was kind enough to walk me home. Please take a seat, inspector.’

  He couldn’t quite put a finger on what didn’t feel right. He was slightly annoyed that Josset had given this young woman such a build-up; although her eyes were a little red, she hardly seemed devastated.

  ‘Has he been arrested?’ she asked as she tidied up around her.

  ‘The examining magistrate signed a custodial order this afternoon.’

  ‘How did he take it?’

  Jeanine advised her:

  ‘It might be best if you let the inspector speak.’

  This wasn’t a formal interrogation, and Coméliau would no doubt be furious to learn that Maigret had taken it upon himself to come here.

  ‘What time was it when you heard what had happened?’

  ‘Just as we were about to leave the office for lunch. One of the warehousemen had a transistor radio. He was talking to some others about the news, and Jeanine passed it on to me.’

  ‘Did you go out for lunch as usual?’

  ‘What could I do?’

  ‘She wasn’t hungry, inspector. I had to cheer her up. She was crying the whole time.’

  ‘Is your father still in Paris?’

  ‘He left this morning at nine o’clock. He wanted to return to Fontenay today, as he has taken only two days off work and has to be back at the préfecture tomorrow.’

  ‘Did he stay in a hotel?’

  ‘Yes. Near the station. I don’t know which one.’

  ‘Did he stay here long yesterday evening?’

  ‘About an hour or so. He was tired.’

  ‘Did Josset promise him that he would get a divorce and marry you?’

  She reddened and looked across at her companion, as if seeking advice.

  ‘Did Adrien tell you that?’

  ‘Did he?’

  ‘The matter was discussed.’

  ‘Was it a formal promise?’

  ‘I believe so.’

  ‘Before that, did you have hopes he might marry you one day?’

  ‘I didn’t think about it.’

  ‘He didn’t speak to you about the future?’

  ‘No … only in a vague way.’

  ‘Were you happy?’

  ‘He was very nice to me, very attentive.’

  Maigret didn’t hazard to ask if she loved him, because he feared she would lie again, and Annette asked him:

  ‘Do you think he will be found guilty?’

  ‘Do you think that he killed his wife?’

  She blushed and looked to her companion again for support.

  ‘I don’t know … It’s what they’re saying on the radio, and in the papers …’

  ‘You know him well. Do you think he is capable of killing his wife?’

  Instead of replying directly, she murmured:

  ‘Do you suspect anyone else?’

  ‘Was your father tough with him?’

  ‘Papa was sad, crushed really. He never thought anything like this would happen to me. As far as he is concerned, I’m still his little girl.’

  ‘Did he threaten Josset?’

  ‘No. He’s not that sort of person. He simply asked him what he intended to do, and straight away, of his own accord, Adrien started talking about divorce.’

  ‘Did they argue? Were there raised voices?’

  ‘Certainly not. I don’t know how, but we ended up drinking a bottle of champagne between us. My father seemed to feel reassured. There was even a bit of a sparkle in his eyes that I wasn’t used to seeing.’

  ‘And after Adrien left?’

  ‘We discussed the marriage. My father regretted that it couldn’t be a white wedding back in Fontenay, because people would talk.’

  ‘Did he go on drinking?’

  ‘He drained the bottle, which we hadn’t finished before Adrien left.’

  Her friend was keeping a close eye on her, to stop her saying too much.

  ‘Did you take him back to his hotel?’

  ‘I offered, but he declined.’

  ‘Did your father seem overexcited, different from how he normally is?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘He is usually quite abstemious, unless I’m mistaken. Did you ever see him drink in Fontenay?’

  ‘Never, except at dinner, when he’d have a little wine mixed with water. When he had to go to a café to meet someone, he always ordered a mineral water.’

  ‘Yet he was drinking yesterday, before he came to see you unexpectedly.’

  ‘Think before you answer,’ warned Jeanine, with a knowing look.

  ‘What should I say?’

  ‘The truth,’ Maigret replied.

  ‘I believe he had one or two drinks while he was waiting.’

  ‘Was he having difficulty forming his words?’

  ‘He was slurring somewhat. That really struck me. But he was quite aware of what he was saying and doing.’

  ‘Did you ring his hotel to ma
ke sure he had got back safely?’

  ‘No. Why?’

  ‘For his part, did he ring you this morning to say goodbye?’

  ‘No. We never phone each other. We’re not in the habit. Back home in Fontenay we don’t have a telephone.’

  Maigret decided not to pursue this.

  ‘Thank you, mademoiselle.’

  ‘What’s he saying?’ she asked, worried once more.

  ‘Josset?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘He claims that he didn’t kill his wife.’

  ‘Do you believe him?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘How is he? Does he need anything? He’s not too downhearted, is he?’

  Her words were badly chosen, inadequate, out of proportion with the magnitude of the events.

  ‘He is quite depressed. He spoke a lot about you.’

  ‘Did he ask to see me?’

  ‘That’s for the examining magistrate to decide, not me.’

  ‘Didn’t he give you a message for me?’

  ‘He didn’t know I was coming to see you.’

  ‘I suppose I’ll be called in for questioning?’

  ‘More than likely. But that depends on the magistrate too.’

  ‘Can I continue to go to work?’

  ‘I see no reason why not.’

  It seemed a good moment to leave. As he went out through the main entrance, Maigret spotted the concierge, who was sitting eating opposite a man in shirt-sleeves, and she threw him a sarcastic look.

  Perhaps it was Maigret’s state of mind that made him see people and things in a disappointing light. He crossed the street and went into a little neighbourhood bar where there were four men playing belote and two others leaning on the bar chatting to the landlord.

  He didn’t know what he wanted, so ordered the first aperitif whose label he saw and sat there for a long time without speaking, frowning, in more or less the same place that Annette’s father must have sat the previous evening.

  By leaning forwards he could take in the whole of the house opposite, with the four pots of geraniums in one window. Jeanine, standing back in the shadows, had seen him cross the street and was talking to her friend, who was out of sight.

  ‘You had a customer in here yesterday who stayed for a long time, is that right?’

  The landlord picked up a newspaper and tapped his finger on the article about the Josset case.

  ‘Do you mean the father?’

  Then, turning to the others, he said: