Maigret Read online

  They could not stay there. Eugène and his sidekick would not go away. They wanted to know what was going to happen. They drove around the neighbourhood in another big circle, the purring of the engine barely audible in the still night. This time, they drove along the boulevard within a few metres of Audiat. Maigret held his breath, expecting gunfire.

  ‘They’ll be back,’ he thought. ‘And next time …’

  He lifted Audiat, carried him across the road and sat him down on the ground behind a tree.

  And the car did drive past again. Eugène failed to spot the two men and pulled up a hundred metres further on. There must have been a brief discussion between him and the other man, and the outcome was that they gave up the chase.

  Audiat groaned and writhed as the light from a gas lamp revealed a huge pool of blood on the ground in the spot where he had been knocked over.

  There was nothing they could do but wait. Maigret did not dare leave the injured man to go off in search of a taxi, and he was loath to ring a doorbell and have a crowd gather. They only had to wait for ten minutes before a half-drunk Algerian came past, and Maigret got him to understand that he must fetch a taxi.

  The night was cold. The sky had the same icy tinge as the night Maigret had left Meung. From time to time the whistle of a freight train reached them from the Gare du Nord.

  ‘It hurts!’ said Audiat at last in a mournful tone.

  And he looked up at Maigret as if expecting him to alleviate his suffering.

  Fortunately, the Algerian had done as he had been asked and a taxi pulled up. The driver was wary:

  ‘Are you sure it was an accident?’

  He couldn’t make up his mind whether to turn off the engine and help Maigret or not.

  ‘If you don’t believe me, take us to the police station,’ Maigret replied.

  The driver was won over and a quarter of an hour later they pulled up opposite the Hôtel des Quais, where Maigret was staying.

  Audiat, who had not closed his eyes, was watching people and things with such an ineffable gentleness that the sight made people smile. The hotel doorman misinterpreted it.

  ‘Your friend looks as though he’s had one too many.’

  ‘Perhaps he was a bit drunk. A car knocked him over.’

  They carried Audiat up to the room. Maigret ordered a rum and had towels brought. He did not need any help for the rest. While people slept in the neighbouring room, he silently removed his shoes, his jacket and his detachable collar and rolled up his shirt sleeves.

  Half an hour later, he was still working on Audiat, who was stretched out on the bed, scrawny and naked, with the mark of his garters on his calves. The ugliest wound was the one on his knee. Maigret disinfected and dressed it. He had put sticking plasters on the few minor scratches and finally got the injured man to drink a large glass of rum.

  The radiator was scalding hot. The curtains weren’t drawn, and the moon was visible against a patch of sky.

  ‘Well, your friends are utter bastards, aren’t they?’ sighed Maigret suddenly.

  Audiat pointed to his jacket and asked for a cigarette.

  ‘What alerted me was that you were so twitchy. You’d guessed that they’d go after you too!’

  His gaze steadier, Audiat eyed Maigret with suspicion. When he did open his mouth, it was to ask a question.

  ‘What does it matter to you?’

  ‘Keep still, you’re still very shaken. Let me tell you why it matters to me. A thug – someone you know – killed Pepito, probably because he was afraid he’d say too much about the Barnabé business. At around two in the morning, the thug in question came looking for you at the Tabac Fontaine.’

  Audiat knitted his brow and stared at the wall.

  ‘You remember! Cageot called you outside. He asked you to bump into the fellow who’d be coming out of the Floria at any moment. And thanks to your testimony, that’s the fellow who’s been locked up. Now supposing that were a member of my family—’

  His cheek on the pillow, Audiat murmured:

  ‘Don’t count on me!’

  It was around four. Maigret sat down beside the bed, poured himself a glassful of rum and filled a pipe.

  ‘We have plenty of time to chat,’ he said. ‘I’ve just looked at your papers. So far you only have four convictions and they’re not serious: pickpocketing, fraud, accessory to the burglary of a villa—’

  Audiat was pretending to be asleep.

  ‘Only, if I’ve done my sums correctly, one more conviction and it’s exile to the colonies for you. What do you think?’

  ‘Let me sleep.’

  ‘I’m not stopping you from going to sleep. But you won’t stop me from speaking. I know that your friends aren’t home yet. Right now, they’re arranging things so that tomorrow, if I report their registration number, a garage owner will swear that their car didn’t leave his garage this evening.’

  Audiat’s swollen lips stretched in a blissful smile.

  ‘Except that I’ll tell you one thing: I’ll get Cageot! Whenever I’ve made up my mind to get someone, I’ve nabbed them in the end. Now the day when Cageot is hauled in, you will be too, and no matter how much you protest—’

  By five in the morning Maigret had drunk two glasses of rum and the air was blue with pipe smoke. Audiat had tossed and turned so many times that he had ended up sitting up in bed, his cheeks red and his eyes shining.

  ‘Was it Cageot who planned last night’s little surprise? Most likely, eh? Eugène couldn’t have thought of that all by himself. And if that is the case, you must be aware that your boss has no qualms about getting rid of you.’

  A resident kept awake by Maigret’s monologue stamped on the floor. The room was so hot that Maigret had removed his waistcoat.

  ‘Give me some rum.’

  There was only one glass, the water beaker, and the two men took it in turns to drink from it, without realizing how much alcohol they were downing. Maigret kept harking back to the same subject.

  ‘I’m not asking much from you. Simply admit that, immediately after Pepito’s death, Cageot came to fetch you from the café.’

  ‘I didn’t know that Pepito was dead.’

  ‘You see! So you were at the Tabac Fontaine, as you were last night, with Eugène and probably the little hotel owner too. Did Cageot come in?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Well, he knocked on the window. You must have had a pre-arranged signal.’

  ‘I’m not talking.’

  At six, the sky grew light. Trams rumbled past on the riverbank and a tugboat siren let out a heartrending wail as if, during the night, it had lost its barges.

  Maigret’s face was nearly as red as Audiat’s, his eyes nearly as bright. The rum bottle was empty.

  ‘I’m going to tell you, as a friend, what’s going to happen now that they know that you came here and we talked. They’ll repeat the operation as soon as they can, and this time they won’t miss you. If you talk, what do you risk? We’ll keep you in prison for a few days, for your own safety. When we’ve got the whole bunch of them banged up, we’ll let you go and that will be it.’

  Audiat listened attentively. He was clearly not entirely opposed to the idea, for he murmured, as if to himself:

  ‘In the state I’m in, I’m entitled to go to the infirmary.’

  ‘Of course. And you know the infirmary at Fresnes. It’s even better than a hospital.’

  ‘Can you check whether my knee is swollen?’

  Maigret obeyed, removing the dressing. The knee had swollen, and Audiat, who was terrified of disease, prodded it anxiously.

  ‘Do you think they’ll have to amputate my leg?’

  ‘I promise you that it will heal within a fortnight. You just have a little water on the knee.’

  ‘Oh!’

  He gazed at the ceiling and lay still for a few minutes. An alarm clock rang in another room. From the corridors came the muffled tread of the valet arriving on duty, then, from the landing, the relentless
swish of a brush polishing shoes.

  ‘Have you decided?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Would you rather end up in court with Cageot?’

  ‘I’d like a drink of water.’

  He was doing it deliberately. He was not smiling, but Maigret could sense his delight at being waited on.

  ‘This water’s warm!’

  Maigret did not protest. His braces dangling, he ambled over and did everything the injured man asked of him. The horizon turned pink. A ray of sunshine licked the window.

  ‘Who’s in charge of the investigation?’

  ‘Inspector Amadieu and the examining magistrate Gastambide.’

  ‘Are they decent men?’

  ‘There’s no one better.’

  ‘Admit that I was nearly a goner! How did I get run over?’

  ‘By the car’s left wing.’

  ‘Was Eugène at the wheel?’

  ‘It was him. The fellow from Marseille was with him. Who is he?’

  ‘A young guy who arrived three months ago. He was in Barcelona, but apparently there’s nothing going on there.’

  ‘Now look here, Audiat. There’s no point playing cat and mouse any longer. I’m going to call a taxi. The two of us are going to go to Quai des Orfèvres. Amadieu will arrive at eight o’clock, and you’re going to tell him your story.’

  Maigret yawned, so exhausted that he could barely speak.

  ‘You’re not saying anything?’

  ‘All right, let’s go and see what happens.’

  Maigret gave his face a quick wash, adjusted his clothes and had two breakfasts brought up.

  ‘You see, in a situation like yours, there is only one place where you are safe. And that’s in prison.’

  ‘Amadieu, isn’t he the tall one, always pale-faced, with a droopy moustache?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I don’t like the look of him!’

  The rising sun made Maigret think of his little house in the Loire and the fishing rods waiting for him in the bottom of the boat. Perhaps it was because he was so tired, but, for a split second, he was tempted to drop the whole thing. He looked at Audiat with round eyes, as if he had forgotten what he was doing there, and ran his hand through his hair.

  ‘How can I get dressed, my trousers are all torn?’

  They called the valet, who found Audiat an old pair of trousers. Audiat limped, groaned and leaned on Maigret with all his weight. The taxi drove over the Pont-Neuf and it was a relief to breathe in the sharp morning air. An empty van pulled out of police HQ, where it had just deposited its cargo of prisoners.

  ‘Will you be able to walk up the stairs?’

  ‘Maybe. In any case, I don’t want a stretcher!’

  Their destination was in sight. Maigret’s chest felt tight with impatience. The taxi pulled up outside number 36. Maigret paid the fare and called over the uniformed orderly to help him get Audiat out of the car.

  The orderly was talking to a man with his back to the street who wheeled round on hearing Maigret’s voice. It was Cageot, wearing a dark overcoat, his cheeks grey with a two-day stubble. Audiat didn’t spot him until he was out of the taxi, as Cageot, without even looking at him, resumed his conversation with the officer.

  No words were exchanged. Maigret supported Audiat, who pretended to be much more seriously injured than he was.

  Once they had crossed the courtyard, he sank down on to the first stair, like a man whose strength has failed him. Then, looking up, he sniggered:

  ‘Ha, ha! I had you, didn’t I! I’ve got nothing to say. I don’t know anything. But I didn’t want to stay in your room. Do I know you? How can I be sure it wasn’t you who pushed me in front of the car?’

  Maigret clenched his fist but kept it thrust in his overcoat pocket, hard as a rock.

  7.

  Eugène arrived first, just before eleven o’clock. Although it was not yet spring, his clothes reflected the sunny weather. He wore a light-grey linen suit, so soft that with every movement his muscles rippled beneath the fabric. His hat was the same shade of grey, and his shoes of fine buckskin. And when he pushed open the glass door of the Police Judiciaire, a gentle fragrance wafted into the corridor.

  This was not the first time he had set foot inside Quai des Orfèvres. He glanced to the right and to the left, like a regular visitor, still smoking his gold-tipped cigarette. The morning briefing was over. People were waiting gloomily outside the inspectors’ offices.

  Eugène went up to the clerk, greeting him by raising a finger to his hat.

  ‘Say, my good man, I believe Inspector Amadieu is expecting me.’

  ‘Take a seat.’

  He sat down casually, crossed his legs, lit another cigarette and opened a newspaper at the racing section. His blue limousine seemed to be stretching in front of the gate. Maigret spotted it from a window and went down into the street to inspect the left wing, but there were no scratches on it.

  A few hours earlier, he had entered Amadieu’s office without removing his hat, his expression wary.

  ‘I’ve brought in a man who knows the truth.’

  ‘That’s a matter for the examining magistrate!’ Amadieu had replied, continuing to leaf through a pile of reports.

  Then Maigret had knocked on the chief’s door and had gathered at once that his visit was not welcome.

  ‘Good morning, sir.’

  ‘Good morning, Maigret.’

  They were both equally ill at ease and needed few words to communicate.

  ‘Chief, I’ve worked all night and I’ve come to ask you to arrange for three or four individuals to be brought in for questioning.’

  ‘That’s up to the examining magistrate,’ objected the head of the Police Judiciaire.

  ‘The examining magistrate won’t get anything out of them. You know what I mean.’

  Maigret knew he was a thorn in everyone’s side and that they would have liked to tell him to go to hell, but still he persisted. He stood there for ages, his massive bulk hovering over the chief, blocking his line of vision. Eventually the chief gave in and phone calls were made from one office to another.

  ‘Come in here for a moment, Amadieu!’

  ‘Coming, chief.’

  Words were exchanged.

  ‘Our friend Maigret tells me that …’

  At nine, Amadieu steeled himself to go over to Gastambide’s office via the back corridors of the Palais de Justice. When he returned twenty minutes later, he had in his pocket the necessary warrants to question Cageot, Audiat, the owner of the Tabac Fontaine, Eugène, the fellow from Marseille and the short deaf man.

  Eugène was already in the building waiting to see Amadieu, and so was Audiat. Maigret had made him come upstairs, where, since early morning, he had been sitting scowling at the end of the corridor watching the police officers’ comings and goings.

  At 9.30, inspectors set off to round up the others, while Maigret, heavy with sleep, roamed the establishment to which he no longer belonged, sometimes pushing open a door, shaking the hand of a former colleague or emptying his pipe into the sawdust of one of the spittoons.

  ‘How are you doing?’

  ‘Fine!’ he replied.

  ‘They’re furious, you know!’ Lucas whispered.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Amadieu … The chief …’

  And Maigret waited, soaking up the atmosphere of the place that had been his home. Ensconced in a red velvet armchair, Eugène showed no sign of impatience. On catching sight of Maigret, he even gave a cheery half-smile. He was a good-looking fellow, high-spirited and brimming with confidence. He exuded health and a happy-go-lucky attitude through every pore, and his tiniest movements displayed an almost animal grace.

  An inspector came in from outside and Maigret hurried over to him.

  ‘Did you go to the garage?’

  ‘Yes. The garage owner says that the car was in the garage all night and the night watchman confirms his statement.’

  The answer
was so predictable that Eugène, who must have overheard, did not even bother to smirk.

  It was not long before Louis appeared, bleary-eyed, annoyance written all over his face.

  ‘Detective Chief Inspector Amadieu!’ he grunted at the office boy.

  ‘Have a seat.’

  Acting as if he didn’t recognize Eugène, Louis sat down three metres from him, his hat on his knees.

  Inspector Amadieu called Maigret in and once again they found themselves facing each other in the small office overlooking the Seine.

  ‘Are your rogues here?’

  ‘Not all of them.’

  ‘Do you want to tell me exactly what questions you want me to ask them?’

  The seemingly friendly and deferential little phrase sounded so innocent. But it was an affirmation of passive resistance. Amadieu knew as well as Maigret that it is impossible to determine in advance the questions that will be asked during an interrogation.

  Nevertheless, Maigret dictated a number of questions for each witness. Amadieu took notes with the obedience of a secretary and with blatant satisfaction.

  ‘Is that all?’

  ‘That’s all.’

  ‘Shall we begin right away with the one called Audiat?’

  Maigret shrugged to indicate that he was not bothered, and then Amadieu pressed a bell, issuing orders to the inspector who appeared. His secretary sat at the end of the desk, with his back to the light, while Maigret sat in the darkest corner.

  ‘Have a seat, Audiat, and tell us what you were doing last night.’

  ‘I wasn’t doing anything.’

  Even though he had the sun in his eyes, Audiat had spotted Maigret and managed to glower at him.

  ‘Where were you at midnight?’

  ‘I can’t remember. I went to the cinema, then I had a drink in a bar in Rue Fontaine.’

  Amadieu glanced at Maigret to signal:

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ll take your notes into account.’

  And, his pince-nez on his nose, he slowly read out:

  ‘What are the names of the friends you met in this bar?’