Maigret and the Man on the Boulevard (12 page)

“Did he know you had been following him?”

“I don't think so. He must have thought it was just a chance meeting. We went and had an espresso on the terrace of a café. It was very hot. He told me a lot of things then.”

“What did he say?”

“That Kaplan's had been bought up, and that he had suddenly found himself out of a job. He said he had decided not to tell my mother, in order to spare her anxiety, as he had been quite sure that he would have no difficulty in finding another job.”

“Was he wearing light brown shoes?”

“Not that day. He went on to say that it had not been as easy as he had expected, but that everything was all right now. He was selling insurance, which gave him plenty of free time.”

“Why had he still said nothing at home?”

“Still on account of my mother. She despised door-to-door salesmen. It made no difference whether they were selling insurance or vacuum cleaners. She referred to them as good-for-nothings and beggars. If she had found out that her husband had joined their ranks, she would have felt so humiliated that she would have made life unendurable for him. Especially in relation to her sisters.”

“Your mother sets great store by her sisters' good opinion, doesn't she?”

“Keeping up with them is the sole object of her existence.”

“Did you believe your father, when he told you he was selling insurance?”

“At the time I did.”

“And later?”

“I began to wonder.”

“Why?”

“First of all, because he was making too much money.”

“As much as all that?”

“I don't know what you mean by ‘as much as all that!' After a few months, he announced that he had been promoted to assistant manager, at an increased salary, still at Kaplan's, of course. I remember they had words about that. Mother wanted him to change the entry under ‘Occupation' on his identity card. She had always felt humiliated by the title of storekeeper. He said it wasn't worth the trouble, it was such a trivial matter.”

“I daresay you and your father exchanged knowing glances at that point.”

“When he was sure my mother wasn't looking, he winked at me. From time to time, in the morning, he would slip a banknote into my bag.”

“In order to buy your silence?”

“No, it gave him pleasure to be able to give me money.”

“You mentioned that you and he sometimes met for lunch.”

“That's right. He used to arrange to meet me, in whispers, in the entrance lobby at home. In the restaurant he'd always make me have the most expensive dishes, and would offer to take me to a cinema afterwards.”

“Did you ever see him wearing light brown shoes?”

“Once. It was then that I asked him where he went to change his shoes, and he told me that, for business reasons, he had had to rent a room in town.”

“Did he give you the address?”

“Not at first. All this took place over a long period of time.”

“Had you a boyfriend then?”

“No.”

“When did you first make the acquaintance of Albert Jorisse?”

She neither blushed nor stammered. This was another question she had been expecting.

“Four or five months ago.”

“Are you in love with him?”

“We're planning to go away together.”

“To get married?”

“Not until he's of age. He's only nineteen. He can't marry without his parents' consent.”

“Would they refuse to give their consent?”

“I'm quite sure they would.”

“Why?”

“Because he has his way to make in the world. That's all his parents ever think of. Just like my mother.”

“Where were you planning to go?”

“South America. I've already applied for a passport.”

“Have you any money?”

“A little. I'm allowed to keep part of what I earn.”

“When did you first ask your father to let you have the money?”

She stared at him for a moment, then said, with a sigh:

“So you know that too!”

Then, without hesitation:

“I thought you might. That's why I'm telling you the truth. I'm sure you wouldn't be such a louse as to repeat all this to my mother. Unless, of course, you and she are two of a kind.”

“I have no intention of discussing your affairs with your mother.”

“Even if you did, it wouldn't make the slightest difference!”

“You mean you'd go anyway?”

“In my own good time, yes.”

“How did you find out the address of your father's lodgings?”

This time, she seemed on the point of telling a lie.

“I got it from Albert.”

“How did he find out? Did he follow him?”

“Yes. We were both curious as to how he earned his money. We decided that the best way to find out was for Albert to follow him.”

“What business was it of yours?”

“Albert was sure that whatever my father was up to, it was something illegal.”

“And supposing it was, what was to be gained by pursuing your investigations?”

“Whatever it was, it must have been very lucrative.”

“Did you intend to ask for a share of the money?”

“We expected that he would at least pay our fares.”

“Blackmail, in other words.”

“It's only natural for a father…”

“The long and short of it is that your friend Albert set about spying on your father.”

“He followed him for three days.”

“What did he find out?”

“What have you found out?”

“I asked you a question.”

“First, that my father had taken a room in the Rue d'Angoulême. Next, that he was not connected in any way with insurance, but that he spent most of his time loafing about on the Grands Boulevards, and sitting on benches. And finally…”

“Finally?”

“That he had a mistress.”

“What effect did this discovery have on you?”

“I wouldn't have minded so much if she had been young and attractive. In fact she was very like Mother.”

“Have you seen her?”

“Albert pointed out the place where they were in the habit of meeting.”

“In the Rue Saint-Antoine?”

“Yes. It was a little café. I strolled past, as if I were there just by chance, and looked in. I didn't have time to get a good look at her, but I could see the sort of woman she was. It can't have been much more fun for him being with her than with my mother.”

“And then you went to see him in the Rue d'Angoulême?”

“Yes.”

“Did your father give you money?”

“Yes.”

“Did you use threats?”

“No. I told him I'd lost the envelope containing the money I had collected for my firm that afternoon, and that, unless I made it up to them, I'd be out on my ear. I also said that they would prosecute me for theft.”

“How did he react to that?”

“He looked embarrassed. Then I noticed a photograph of a woman on the bedside table. I snatched it up, and exclaimed:

“‘Who's that?'”

“What was his answer?”

“That she was just a childhood friend, whom he happened to have run into again recently.”

“Aren't you ashamed of yourself?”

“I was only acting in self-defense.”

“Against whom?”

“Against the whole world. I am determined not to end up like my mother, slowly stifling to death in some caricature of a house.”

“Did Albert go and see your father as well?”

“I've no idea.”

“My dear child, that's a plain lie.”

She looked at him thoughtfully, then said:

“Yes.”

“Why did you choose to lie about that, in particular?”

“Because, ever since I found out that my father had been murdered, I have realized that Albert was in for trouble.”

“You know that he's disappeared?”

“He telephoned me.”

“When?”

“Before he disappeared, as you put it. Two days ago.”

“Did he tell you where he was going?”

“No. He was terribly distressed. He was convinced that he was going to be charged with murder.”

“What put that idea into his head?”

“Because he had been to the Rue d'Angoulême.”

“When did you find out that we were on his track?”

“After your inspector had questioned that old sour-puss, Mademoiselle Blanche. She hates me. Afterwards, she boasted that she'd said enough to make sure, as she put it, that my goose was well and truly cooked. I tried to calm Albert down. I told him that he was behaving like an idiot, because nothing was more likely to arouse the suspicions of the police than that he should go into hiding.”

“But you couldn't make him see reason?”

“No. He was in such a state that he was scarcely coherent on the telephone.”

“What makes you so sure he didn't kill your father?”

“What possible motive could he have had?”

Very calmly, to show that she had thought it all out, like the rational being she was, she added:

“We could have asked my father for as much money as we wanted.”

“What if he had refused?”

“He couldn't have done that. Albert had only to threaten to tell my mother all he knew. I know what you're thinking. You think I'm a bitch, you almost said as much, but if you had wasted the best years of your life, as they say, in a hole like Juvisy…”

“Did you see your father on the day of his death?”

“No.”

“What about Albert?”

“I'm almost sure he didn't. We hadn't planned anything for that particular day. We had lunch together, as usual, and he never mentioned my father.”

“Do you know where your father kept his money? As I understand it, your mother was in the habit of going through his pockets and his wallet every evening, when he got home.”

“She always did.”

“Why?”

“Because on one occasion, ten years ago or more, she found a handkerchief with lipstick on it. My mother doesn't use lipstick, you see.”

“You must have been very young at the time.”

“I was ten or twelve years old. All the same, I'll never forget it. They'd forgotten I was there. My father's story was that one of the women in the packing room had fainted on account of the heat, and that he'd poured alcohol on to his handkerchief and held it under her nose until she came round.”

“He was probably telling the truth.”

“My mother didn't believe him.”

“To return to my question, your father couldn't come home with more money in his pocket than could be accounted for by his so-called salary.”

“He kept it in his room.”

“On top of the glass-fronted wardrobe?”

“How did you know?”

“How did you?”

“Once, when I went to see him to ask for some money, he climbed up on a chair and took a buff envelope from the top of the wardrobe. It was stuffed with thousand-franc notes.”

“A lot?”

“A thick bundle.”

“Did Albert know about it too?”

“That's no reason for killing him. I'm certain he didn't do it. And besides, he would never have used a knife.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I've seen him near to passing out when he's pricked his finger with a penknife. The sight of blood makes him ill.”

“Do you go to bed with him?”

Once again she shrugged, then said:

“What a question!”

“Where?”

“Anywhere. There are enough hotels in Paris which exist solely for that purpose. You're surely not suggesting that the police don't know about them?”

“Be that as it may, let us return to a more interesting topic. You and Albert were blackmailing your father, intending, as soon as you had squeezed enough money out of him, to elope to South America?”

For all the feeling she showed, she might not have heard him.

“Furthermore, I gather, for all your spying on him, you were not able to find out how your father got his money.”