Maigret in New York (12 page)

Maigret stared intently at the floor, wondering
how much longer he could bear this.

‘Yes, Robson, I'm listening … Germain,
would you dim the light?'

They must both have been used to these
spiritualist séances, for without leaving his wheelchair, Germain reached out to the lamp and
pulled a little chain, turning off one of the light bulbs under the red silk shade.

‘I see them, yes … Near a wide river
… And there are cotton plantations everywhere … Help me some more,
Robson dear. Help me the way you used to do … A big table
… We're all there and you're in the place of honour … J and J. Wait. She is between
the two of us. A fat Negro woman is serving us …'

The clown moaned again, but she continued in the
monotone she must have used long ago in her performance as a medium.

‘Jessie is very pale … We've been on the
train … Travelling for a long time … The train has stopped in the middle of the
countryside … Everyone is exhausted … The manager has gone out to put up the posters
… And J and J are each cutting off a piece of their meat to give to Jessie.'

It would have been simpler for her, obviously, to
relate these things without the mystico-theatrical rubbish. Maigret felt like telling her,
‘Facts, please? And talk like a normal person.'

But if someone like Lucile had begun to talk like
a normal person, and Germain to see his memorabilia for what it was, would either of them have
had the strength to go on living?

‘And wherever I see them it's the same …
Those two are by her side, sharing their meals … Because they haven't enough money to buy
her a real dinner.'

‘You said that the tour lasted a year?'

She pretended to struggle, opened fluttering
eyelids, stammered, ‘Did I say something? … Please forgive me … I was with Robson
…'

‘I was asking you how long the tour lasted.'

‘More than a year. We'd set out for three or four
months. But lots of unexpected things happen on the road, it's
always that way. Then there's the question of money. There's
never enough money to come home. So the tour goes on, from town to town and even to
villages.'

‘Do you know which one of the men was in love
with Jessie?'

‘I don't. Perhaps it was Joachim? He was your
brother, right? … I'm convinced you look somewhat like Joachim. He was my favourite and
played the violin magnificently. Not in his act, because there he only did improvisations. But
when we happened to stay for a day or two in the same hotel …'

He could see her, in some plain board hotel in
Texas or Louisiana, darning her husband's black silk stockings … And this Jessie who at
meals nibbled humbly on a little of the two men's share.

‘You never knew what became of them?'

‘As I told you, the troupe fell apart in New
Orleans when the manager left us stranded. Robson and I got an engagement right away, because
our act was well known. I don't know how the others earned the money for the train.'

‘You returned immediately to New York?'

‘I believe so. I no longer remember exactly. I do
know that I saw one of the two Js again in the office of a Broadway impresario; that must not
have been too long afterwards. What makes me think so is that I'd put on one of the dresses I'd
worn during the tour … Which of the two men was it? … It struck me that I was seeing
him on his own. We never saw one without the other …'

Abruptly, when no one expected it, Maigret shot
to his
feet. He felt he could not last five
minutes more in that stifling atmosphere.

‘Please forgive my intrusion here,' he said,
turning to Germain.

‘If it had been a question of the circus instead
of the vaudeville circuit,' repeated the former ringmaster, like an old record.

And she: ‘I'll give you my address. I still give
private consultations. I have a small clientele of very nice people, who trust me. And I can
tell the truth to you: it's Robson who continues to help me. I don't always admit this, because
some people are afraid of spirits.'

She handed him a card that he shoved into his
pocket. The clown gazed one last time at the cake and grabbed his hat.

‘I thank you again.'

Oof! He had never gone down any stairs faster
and, once out in the street, he breathed in great gasps: he felt as if he were setting foot once
more on solid ground, and the street lamps suddenly looked like friends one sees again after a
long absence.

There were bright shops, passers-by, a boy of
flesh and blood hopping along at the edge of the pavement.

True, the clown was still there, who managed to
murmur dolefully, ‘I did what I could …'

Another five dollars, naturally!

They were dining together again in a French
restaurant. Back at the Berwick, Maigret had found a phone message from O'Brien, asking him to
call as soon as he returned.

‘As hoped, I'm free this evening,' the agent announced shortly afterwards. ‘If you are, too, we
could have dinner and a talk.'

They had already been sitting across from each
other for more than fifteen minutes, and O'Brien had yet to say anything to the inspector; while
ordering his meal, he had merely sent a few ironic and complacent little smiles his way.

‘Did you not notice,' he finally murmured,
slicing into a magnificent châteaubriand, ‘that you were being followed again?'

The inspector frowned, not because he felt
immediately alarmed, but from vexation at not having been more careful.

‘I noticed right away, picking you up at the
Berwick. It isn't Bill this time, but someone who ran over old Angelino. I bet anything you like
he's just outside.'

‘We'll certainly see when we leave.'

‘I don't know when he went on duty … Did
you leave the hotel earlier this afternoon?'

And this time, Maigret looked up with anguished
eyes, thought for a moment and slammed his fist on the table with a ‘Shit!' that made his
companion grin.

‘Have you been up to something really
compromising?'

‘Your man's dark, obviously, since he's Sicilian
… Wears a very light grey hat, does he?'

‘Exactly.'

‘In that case, he was in the hotel lobby when I
came down from my room with my clown, towards five o'clock. We bumped into each other while both
making for the door.'

‘So, he's been following you since five.'

‘And therefore …'

Was it going to be like it had been with poor
Angelino all over again?

‘Can't you people in the FBI do something to
protect people?' he asked irritably.

‘That might depend on the danger threatening
them.'

‘Would you have protected the old tailor?'

‘Knowing what I do now, yes.'

‘Then there are two other people to protect, and
I think you'd do well to take all necessary steps before finishing that châteaubriand.'

He gave him Germain's address. Then he held out
the clairvoyant's card he had had in his pocket.

‘There should be a telephone here.'

‘Pardon me …'

Well, well … The unflappable and blandly
smiling O'Brien was no longer waxing ironic or championing that famous personal freedom!

Since the agent was on the telephone for a long
time, Maigret went to glance out at the street. On the pavement across the way, he recognized
the pale grey hat he had seen in his hotel lobby and when he sat down again he swiftly
dispatched two large glasses of wine.

O'Brien returned soon after and was polite – or
perhaps wicked – enough not to ask a single question and quietly picked up his meal where he had
left off.

‘In short,' grumbled Maigret, eating without any
appetite, ‘if I had not gone there, old Angelino would probably not be dead.'

He
was waiting for denials, hoping for them, but O'Brien simply said, ‘Probably.'

‘In that case, if there are other accidents
…'

‘They will be your fault, won't they … Is
that what you think? It's what I think, and have thought, from the very first day. Do you
remember when we had dinner together that evening you arrived?'

‘Does this mean that those people must be left
alone?'

‘It's too late, now.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘It's too late, because we're looking into it
too, because even if you give up the chase, if you sail tomorrow to Le Havre or Cherbourg, they
will continue to feel hunted.'

‘Little John?'

‘I've no idea.'

‘MacGill?'

‘I don't know. I'll say at once that I'm not the
one in charge of this case. Tomorrow or the next day, when the time is right, when my colleague
tells me – because he's conducting the investigation, which is none of my business – I will
introduce you to him. He's a good man.'

‘Along your lines?'

‘The complete opposite. That's why I say he's a
good man. I just phoned him … He would appreciate my giving him a few details soon about
these two people he's to protect.'

‘It's an insane story!' groaned Maigret.

‘What?'

‘I'm telling you, it's an insane story! Because
they are – if not authentic lunatics – two poor maniacs at the very
least, who risk paying with their lives for the indiscretions
they committed on my behalf … And not only that: without meaning to, because of that
crying-clown imbecile, I played on their sympathies to win them over.'

O'Brien watched wide-eyed as a nervous Maigret
snapped out his words while he chewed his food in a sort of rage.

‘No doubt you'll tell me that what I learned
isn't much and that the game wasn't worth the candle. It's possible, however, that we do not
have precisely the same ideas about police investigations.'

His companion's cloying smile was driving him
crazy.

‘My visit this morning to the house on 169th
Street amused you as well, didn't it, and you would doubtless have had a good laugh if you'd
seen me, preceded by a little boy, sniffing around and poking my nose in everywhere.

‘Nevertheless, in spite of arriving in America
just a few days ago, I claim to now know more than you do about Little John and the other J.

‘A question of temperament, probably. You need
facts, don't you, definite facts, while I …'

Seeing O'Brien about to burst out laughing,
despite struggling mightily not to, Maigret stopped abruptly and decided to laugh as well.

‘Please forgive me … I just went through
the most idiotic moments of my life … Listen to this …'

He recounted his visit to old Germain, described
Lucile in her trances (or fake ones) and concluded by asking, ‘Now do you understand why I'm
afraid for
them? Angelino knew something, and
they didn't hesitate to remove him. Did Angelino know more than the others? It's likely. But I
stayed a whole hour in the former ringmaster's place. Lucile was there.'

‘That's true. Still, I don't think the danger is
as serious.'

‘Because you think as I do, I bet, that 169th
Street is where those people feel at risk?'

O'Brien nodded.

‘What we really need to know is whether this
Jessie also lived in the building across from the tailor shop. Is it possible to search the
police archives for traces of any serious incident or accident that might have occurred in that
house thirty years ago?'

‘It's more complicated than in your country.
Especially if the event in question was not what I might call official, if there was no
investigation … In France, I remember, there would be a record at police headquarters of
every tenant who had lived in a house and, if appropriate, mention of their deaths.'

‘Because you also believe …'

‘I don't believe anything. I repeat, this is not
my investigation. I'm on a completely different case and will be for weeks, if not months.
Later, after we've had our brandy, I'll call my colleague. A propos, I know that he went to the
Immigration Bureau this afternoon. There, at least, they keep a record of everyone who enters
the United States. Wait … I wrote something down on a piece of paper …'

Always the same nonchalance, as if to downplay
the importance of what he was doing. Perhaps, in the end, it
was more a kind of reticence vis-à-vis Maigret than any
administrative precaution?

‘Here's the date of Maura's entry into the United
States: “Joachim-Jean-Marie Maura, born in Bayonne, age twenty-two, violinist”. The name of the
ship, long gone: “the
Aquitaine
”. As for the other J, he could only be
“Joseph-Ernest-Dominique Daumale, age twenty-four, born in Bayonne” as well. He's not listed as
a clarinettist, but as a composer. I believe you see the difference?

‘I was given one more piece of information, which
is perhaps of no importance, but which I feel you should have. Two and a half years after his
arrival here, Joachim Maura, already calling himself John Maura, and who gave as his address the
building that you know at 169th Street, left America for Europe, where he remained just short of
ten months.

‘After which time we note his return aboard an
English vessel, the
Mooltan
.

‘I do not believe my colleague is bothering to
cable France regarding this matter. But, knowing you …'

Maigret had thought of that precisely when
O'Brien had mentioned Bayonne. Already, in his mind, he was writing the cable for the police of
that city.

Urgent request all details Joachim-Jean-Marie
Maura and Joseph-Ernest-Dominique Daumale, left France …

It was the American's idea to order two old
Armagnacs in snifters. He was also the first to light his pipe.