Maigret (7 page)

‘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.

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?'

The battle was lost before it had begun.
The questioning had got off to a bad start. The inspector sounded as if he was
trotting out a lesson. Audiat, sensing this, grew increasingly bold.

‘I didn't meet up with any
friends.'

‘And you didn't even notice
someone who is here in this room?'

Audiat turned to Maigret and jerked his
head in his direction.

‘That gentleman maybe. But
I'm not sure. I didn't take any notice of him.'

‘And then?'

‘And then I
left. The cinema gave me a headache, so I went for a stroll along the boulevards. As
I was crossing the road, I was hit by a vehicle and I ended up sitting at the base
of a tree, injured. That gentleman was there. He told me I'd been knocked down
by a car. I asked him to take me home, but he refused and took me to a hotel
room.'

A door had opened to admit the chief of
the Police Judiciaire, who stood silently, leaning against the wall.

‘What did you tell him?'

‘Nothing at all. He's the
one who did all the talking. He spoke of people I don't know and he wanted me
to come here and state that they were friends of mine.'

A chubby blue pencil in his hand,
Amadieu scribbled the occasional note on his blotting pad, while the secretary
recorded the full statement.

‘Excuse me!' broke in the
chief. ‘This is all very well. But tell us what you were doing at three in the
morning on Boulevard de La Chapelle.'

‘I had a headache.'

‘I wouldn't try and be
clever, if I were you. When you've got four convictions already—'

‘Excuse me! For the first two, I
was granted an amnesty. You're not allowed to mention them.'

Maigret merely watched and listened. He
smoked his pipe, the smell filling the office while the smoke curled upwards in the
sunshine.

‘We'll see about that in a
few minutes.'

Audiat was taken into a neighbouring
room. Amadieu telephoned:

‘Bring in Eugène
Berniard.'

The latter entered,
smiling and relaxed. He glanced quickly around the room to identify who was sitting
where, and stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray.

‘What were you doing last
night?' repeated Amadieu listlessly.

‘Well, inspector, I had a
toothache, so I had an early night. Why don't you ask the night watchman from
the Hôtel Alsina?'

‘What time did you go to
bed?'

‘Midnight.'

‘And you didn't drop in to
the Tabac Fontaine?'

‘Where's that?'

‘Just a moment! Do you know a
certain Audiat?'

‘What does he look like? One meets
so many people in Montmartre!'

Maigret was finding it increasingly
difficult to sit still.

‘Bring in Audiat!' said
Amadieu into the telephone.

Audiat and Eugène stared at each other
with curiosity.

‘Do you know each
other?'

‘Never seen him before!'
grunted Eugène.

‘Pleased to meet you!' joked
Audiat.

They barely bothered to put on an act.
Their eyes were laughing, belying their words.

‘So you weren't playing
belote
together last night at the Tabac Fontaine?'

One stared wide-eyed, the other burst
out laughing.

‘I'm afraid you're
mistaken,
monsieur l'inspecteur
.'

The fellow from Marseille had just
arrived, and was brought in to face the other two. He held out his hand to
Eugène.

‘Do you know each
other?'

‘Of course! We
were together.'

‘Where?'

‘At the Hôtel Alsina. Our rooms
are next to each other.'

The chief of the Police Judiciaire
signalled to Maigret to follow him.

They paced up and down one end of the
corridor where Louis was still waiting, not far from Germain Cageot.

‘What do you intend to do?'
The chief shot his companion an anxious look.

‘Is it true they tried to kill
you?' he asked.

Maigret did not answer. Unfazed, Cageot
watched him with the same irony as Audiat and Eugène.

‘If only I could have questioned
them myself,' Maigret sighed at length.

‘You know that isn't
possible. But we'll carry on with the face-to-face confrontations for as long
as you wish.'

‘Thank you, chief.'

Maigret knew that it would be pointless.
The five men were in cahoots. They had taken precautions. And it wasn't the
questions that Amadieu was asking in his lugubrious tone that would force them to
confess.

‘I don't know whether you
are right or wrong,' the chief added.

They walked past Cageot, who got to his
feet and greeted the head of the Police Judiciaire.

‘Was it you who summoned me,
sir?'

It was midday. Most of the inspectors
had gone to lunch or were on an assignment. The long corridor was almost empty.
Pausing outside his door, the chief shook Maigret's hand.

‘What more can I
say? All I can do is wish you the best of luck.'

He went to collect his coat and hat and
headed for the stairs, shooting a parting glance at the office where the
interrogation was still ongoing and giving Cageot a dirty look.

Maigret's nerves were on edge.
Never had he felt so suffocated by a sense of helplessness. Sitting side by side,
Cageot and Louis were patient and relaxed, both amused at his comings and
goings.

From Amadieu's office came a calm
murmur of voices. Questions and answers succeeded each other with no urgency. The
inspector followed the plan outlined by Maigret as promised, but without adding
anything, without taking any interest.

Philippe was in prison! Madame Maigret
was waiting impatiently for the postman.

‘Nice day, isn't it?'
said Cageot suddenly to his neighbour Louis.

‘Very nice day. There's an
easterly wind, though,' replied the latter.

‘Have you been summoned
too?'

This was for Maigret's benefit,
with the barefaced intention of making fun of him.

‘Yes. I think they need some
information from me.'

‘Same here. Who called
you?'

‘A certain Amadieu.'

As Maigret brushed past him, Cageot
half-opened his mouth in a snigger and suddenly there was a violent reflex,
impossible to control. Maigret's hand had smashed into Cageot's
cheek.

That was a blunder! But
it was the result of a sleepless night, and a whole string of humiliations.