The Carter of ’La Providence’ (3 page)

The Englishman touched her on the shoulder and with the same poker face he had worn earlier he said in a voice entirely lacking in courtesy:

‘Out!'

Then he waited, his eye straying to a folding table, where there was a bottle of whisky and half a dozen dirty glasses plus an ashtray overflowing with cigarette ends.

In the end, he poured himself a drink mechanically and
pushed the bottle in Maigret's direction with a gesture which meant:

‘If you want one …'

A barge passed on a level with the portholes, and fifty metres further on the carter brought his horses to a halt. There was the sound of bells on their harness jangling.

Maigret was almost as tall and broad as the Englishman. At police headquarters on Quai des Orfèvres, his imperturbability was legendary. But now he was exasperated by the calm of the man he wanted to question.

Calm seemed to be the order of the day on the boat. From Vladimir, who sailed it, to the woman they had roused from her sleep, everyone on board seemed either detached or dazed. They were like people dragged out of bed after a night of serious
drinking.

One detail among many: as she got up and looked round for a packet of cigarettes, the woman noticed the photo which the Englishman had put down on the table. During the short walk from the Café de la Marine to the yacht, it had got wet.

‘Mary?' She put the question scarcely batting an eye.

‘Yes. Mary.'

And that was it! She went out through a door which opened into the cabin and presumably was the door to the bathroom.

Willy appeared on deck and poked his head in through the hatchway. The cabin was cramped. Its varnished mahogany walls were thin and anyone forward could hear
every word, for its owner looked first in
that direction, frowning, then at the young man saying impatiently:

‘Come in … and sharp about it!'

Then, turning to Maigret, he added curtly:

‘Sir Walter Lampson, Colonel, Indian Army, retired.'

He accompanied this introduction of himself with a stiff little bow and a motion of the hand towards the bench seat along the cabin wall.

‘And you are …?' said the inspector, turning towards Willy.

‘A friend … Willy Marco.'

‘Spanish?'

The colonel gave a shrug. Maigret scanned the young man's visibly Jewish features.

‘My father is Greek and my mother Hungarian.'

‘Sir Walter, I'm afraid I have to ask you some questions.'

Willy had sat down casually on the back of a chair and was rocking backwards and forwards, smoking a cigarette.

‘I'm listening.'

But just as Maigret was about to open his mouth, the yacht's owner barked:

‘Who did it? Do you know?'

He meant the perpetrator of the crime.

‘We haven't come up with anything so far. That's why you can be useful to our inquiries by filling me in on a number of points.'

‘Was it a rope?' he continued, holding one hand against his throat.

‘No. The murderer used his hands. When was the last time you saw Mrs Lampson?'

‘Willy …?'

Willy was obviously his general factotum, expected to order the drinks and answer questions put to the colonel.

‘Meaux. Thursday evening,' he said.

‘And you did not report her disappearance to the police?'

Sir Walter helped himself to another whisky.

‘Why should I? She was free to do whatever she pleased.'

‘Did she often go off like that?'

‘Sometimes.'

The sound of rain pattered on the deck overhead. Dusk was turning into night. Willy Marco turned the electric light on.

‘Batteries been charged up?' the colonel asked him in English. ‘It's not going to be like the other day?'

Maigret was trying to maintain a coherent asked questioning. But he was constantly being distracted by new impressions.

Despite his best efforts, he kept looking at everything, thinking about everything simultaneously. As a result his head was filled with a jumble of half-formed ideas.

He was not so much annoyed as made to feel uneasy by this man who, in the Café de la Marine, had cast a quick glance at the photo and said without flinching:

‘It's my wife.'

And he recalled the woman in the dressing gown saying:

‘Mary?'

Willy went on rocking to and fro, a cigarette glued to his lips, while the colonel was worrying about the boat's batteries!

In the neutral setting of his office, the inspector would have doubtless conducted a properly structured interview. But here, he began by taking off his overcoat without being invited to and picked up the photo, which was disturbing in the way
all photographs of corpses are disturbing.

‘Do you live here, in France?'

‘In France, England … Sometimes Italy … Always on my boat, the
Southern Cross
.'

‘And you've just come from …?'

‘Paris!' replied Willy who had got the nod from the colonel to do the talking. ‘We stayed there two weeks after spending a month in London.'

‘Did you live on board?'

‘No. The boat was moored at Auteuil. We stayed at the Hotel Raspail, in Montparnasse.'

‘You mean the colonel, his wife, the lady I saw just now, plus yourself?'

‘Yes. The lady is the widow of a member of the Chilean parliament, Madame Negretti.'

Sir Walter gave an impatient snort and lapsed into English again:

‘Get on with it or else he'll still be here tomorrow morning.'

Maigret did not flinch. But from then on, he put his questions with more than a touch of bloody-mindedness.

‘So Madame Negretti is no relation?' he asked Willy.

‘Absolutely not.'

‘So she is not connected in any way with you and the colonel … Would you tell me about accommodation arrangements on board?'

Sir Walter swallowed a mouthful of whisky, coughed and lit a cigarette.

‘Forward are the crew's quarters. That's where Vladimir sleeps. He's a former cadet in the Russian navy … He served in Wrangel's White Russian fleet.'

‘Any other crew? No servants?'

‘Vladimir does everything.'

‘Go on.'

‘Between the crew's quarters and this cabin are, on the right, the galley, and on the left the bathroom.'

‘And aft?'

‘The engine.'

‘So there were four of you in this cabin?'

‘There are four bunks … First, the two that you see. They convert to day couches … Then …'

Willy crossed to a wall panel, pulled out a kind of deep drawer which was in fact a bed.

‘There's one of these on each side … Do you see?'

Actually, Maigret was indeed beginning to see a little more clearly. He was beginning to feel that it wouldn't be long before he got to the bottom of these unusual living arrangements.

The colonel's eyes were a dull grey and watered like a drunk's. He seemed to have lost interest in the conversation.

‘What happened at Meaux? But first, when exactly did you get there?'

‘Wednesday evening … Meaux is a one-day stage from
Paris. We'd brought along a couple of girls, just friends, with us from Montparnasse.'

‘And?'

‘The weather was marvellous. We played some records and danced outside, on deck. Around four in the morning I took the girls to their hotel, and they must have caught the train back the next morning.'

‘Where was the
Southern Cross
moored?'

‘Near the lock.'

‘Anything happen on Thursday?'

‘We got up very late, we were woken several times in the night by a crane loading stone into a barge nearby. The colonel and I went for a drink before lunch in town. Then, in the afternoon, let me see … the colonel had a
nap … and I played chess with Gloria … Gloria is Madame Negretti.'

‘On deck?'

‘Yes. I think Mary went for a walk.'

‘And she never came back?'

‘Yes she did: she had dinner on board. The colonel suggested we all spend the evening at the palais de danse. Mary didn't want to come with us … When we got back, which was around three in the morning, she wasn't
here.'

‘Didn't you look for her?'

Sir Walter was drumming his fingers on the polished top of the table.

‘As the colonel told you, his wife was free to come and go as she pleased. We waited for her until Saturday and then we moved on … She knew our route and could have caught up with us later.'

‘Are you going down to the Mediterranean?'

‘Yes, to the island of Porquerolles, off Hyères. It's where we spend most of the year. The colonel bought an old fort there. It's called the Petit Langoustier.'

‘Did everybody stay on board all day Friday?'

Willy hesitated for a moment then almost blurted out his answer:

‘I went to Paris.'

‘Why?'

He laughed unpleasantly, which gave his mouth an odd twist.

‘I mentioned our friends, the two girls … I wanted to see them again. Or at least one of them.'

‘Can you give me their names?'

‘First names … Suzy and Lia … You'll find them any night at La Coupole. They live at the hotel on the corner of Rue de la Grande-Chaumière.'

‘Working girls?'

‘They're both decent sorts …'

The door opened. It was Madame Negretti. She had put on a green silk dress.

‘May I come in?'

The colonel answered with a shrug. He must now have been on to his third whisky and was drinking them more or less neat.

‘Willy … Ask him … The formalities …'

Maigret had no need to have it translated to understand. But this roundabout, offhand way of being asked questions was beginning to irritate him.

‘Obviously as a first step you will be expected to identify the body. After the post-mortem, you will no doubt
be given a death certificate authorizing burial. You will choose the cemetery
and …'

‘Can we go now, straightaway? Is there a garage around here where I can hire a car?'

‘There's one in Épernay.'

‘Willy, phone for a car … right now.'

‘There's a phone at the Café de la Marine,' said Maigret while the young man badtemperedly put on his oilskin jacket.

‘Where's Vladimir?'

‘I heard him come back a little while ago.'

‘Tell him we'll have dinner at Épernay.'

Madame Negretti, who was running to fat and had glossy black hair and very light skin, had found a chair in a corner, under the barometer, and had observed what was happening with her chin cupped in one hand. She looked as if her mind was
elsewhere or perhaps she was deep in thought.

‘Are you coming with us?' asked Sir Walter.

‘I'm not sure … Is it still raining?'

Maigret was already bristling, and the colonel's last question did nothing to calm him down.

‘How many days do think you'll need us for? To wind everything up?'

To this came the blunt answer:

‘Do you mean including the funeral?'

‘Yes … Three days?'

‘If the police doctors produce a burial certificate and if the examining magistrate has no objection, you could be all done in practical terms inside twenty-four hours.'

Did the colonel feel the bitter sarcasm of the words?

Maigret needed to take another look at the photo: a body that was broken, dirty, crumpled, a face which had once been pretty, carefully made up, with scented rouge applied to lips and cheeks, and a
macabre grimace which you couldn't look at without feeling an icy chill run up and down your spine.

‘Like a drink?'

‘No thanks.'

‘In that case …'

Sir Walter stood up to indicate that he considered that the interview was over. Then he called:

‘Vladimir! … A suit!'

‘I'll probably have to question you again,' the inspector said. ‘I may even need to have your boat thoroughly searched.'

‘Tomorrow … Épernay first, right? … How long will the car be?'

‘Will I have to stay here by myself?' said Madame Negretti in alarm.

‘With Vladimir … But you can come …'

‘I'm not dressed.'

Willy suddenly burst in and shrugged off his streaming oilskins.

‘The car will be here in ten minutes.'

‘Perhaps, inspector, if you wouldn't mind …?'

The colonel motioned to the door.

‘We must dress.'

As he left, Maigret felt so frustrated that he would gladly have punched someone on the nose. He heard the hatch close behind him.

From the outside, all that could be seen was the glow of eight portholes and the light of the white lantern fixed to the mast. Not ten metres away was the outline of the squat stern of a barge and, on the
left, a large heap of coal.