My Friend Maigret (7 page)

“The major wouldn't come,” he announced. “He's in his garden, doing nothing. I told him you asked him to step along here. He replied that if you wanted to see him, you had only to go and drink a bottle with him.”

“He's within his rights.”

“Who do you want to question now?”

“Nobody. I'd like you to telephone to Hyères. I presume there is a telephone at the Arche? Ask for Ginette, at the Hôtel des Palmes. Tell her from me that I would be glad if she would come and have a chat with me.”

“Where shall I find you?”

“I don't know. Probably at the harbor.”

They walked slowly across the square, Mr. Pyke and he, and people followed them with their eyes. One might have thought it was with some distrust, but it was only that they didn't know how to behave in the presence of the famous Maigret. The latter, on his side, felt an
estranger
, as they say locally. But he knew that it would not take much for every one of them to start talking freely, perhaps too freely.

“Don't you find you have the impression of being miles away, Mr. Pyke? Look! That's France you can see over there, twenty minutes away by boat, and I'm as lost as if I were in the heart of Africa or South America.”

Some children stopped playing, so as to examine them. They reached the Grand Hôtel, came in sight of the harbor, and Inspector Lechat was back with them already.

“I couldn't get her on the line,” he announced. “She's left.”

“Has she gone back to Nice?”

“Probably not, as she told the hotel that she'd be back tomorrow morning in time for the burial.”

The jetty, the small boats of all colors, the big yacht blocking the harbor, the
North Star
, far out, near a rocky promontory, and people watching another boat arriving:

“That's the
Cormorant
,” Lechat explained. “In other words, it's just about five o'clock.”

A youth, with a cap bearing the words “Grand Hôtel” in gold letters, was waiting for the guests-to-be beside a barrow intended for luggage. The small white boat approached, with silvered mustaches given it by the sea, and Maigret was not long in spotting, in the bows, a female figure.

“Probably Ginette, coming to meet you,” the inspector said. “Everyone at Hyères must know you are here.”

It was a strange sensation to see the people in the boat, slowly growing in size, becoming more clearly defined as on a photographic plate. Above all, it was distressing to see a woman, with Ginette's features, very fat, very respectable, all in silk, all made up, and, no doubt, heavily scented.

Truth to tell, when Maigret had met her in the Brasserie des Ternes, was he not himself more slim, and wasn't she feeling at that moment just as disappointed as he, while she watched him from the deck of the
Cormorant
?

She had to be helped down the gangway. Apart from her there was no one on board besides Baptiste, the captain, except the dumb sailor and the postman. The lad with the gold-braided cap tried to take possession of her luggage.

“To the Arche de Noé!” she said.

She went up to Maigret, hesitated, perhaps on account of Mr. Pyke, whom she didn't know.

“They told me you were here. I thought you might like to speak to me. Poor Marcel!…”

She didn't say Marcellin, like the others. She didn't affect any great sorrow. She had become a mature person, sober and calm, with a glimmer of a slightly disillusioned smile.

“Are you staying at the Arche as well?”

It was Lechat who took her case. She seemed to know the island and walked quietly, without haste, like one who easily gets out of breath, or who isn't made for the open air.

“
Le Petit Var
says it's because he mentioned you that he was killed. Do you believe it?”

Now and again she cast a glance, at once curious and anxious, at Mr. Pyke.

“You can talk in front of him. He's a friend, an English colleague who's come to stay a few days with me.”

She gave the Scotland Yard man a very ladylike smile and sighed with a glance at the stout profile of the chief inspector:

“I've changed, haven't I?”

It was strange to see her overcome with a feeling of modesty, and holding her dress tight against her because the stairway was steep and Maigret was coming up behind her.

She had come into the Arche as she would into her own house, had said in the most natural way in the world:

“Have you a room left for me, Paul?”

“You'll have to put up with the little room beside the bathroom.”

Then she had turned to Maigret.

“Would you like to come up for a moment, inspector?”

These words would have had a double meaning in the house she ran at Nice, but not here. Nonetheless she showed her scorn for Maigret's hesitation, who was keeping up his game of hiding nothing of the case from Mr. Pyke. For a moment, her smile was almost professional.

“I'm not dangerous, you know.”

For some extraordinary reason, the Scotland Yard inspector spoke English, perhaps out of delicacy. He said only one word, to his French colleague.

“
Please
…”

On the stairway Jojo went in front with the suitcase. She wore a very short dress and you could see the pink slip enveloping her little behind. No doubt that was what had given Ginette the idea of holding her dress tightly against her.

Apart from the bed there was only a straw-bottomed chair to sit on, for it was the smallest of the rooms, poorly lighted by one attic window. Ginette took off her hat, sank onto the edge of the bed with a sigh of relief and immediately removed her extremely high-heeled shoes, and, through the silk of her stockings, caressed her aching toes.

“Are you annoyed that I asked you to come upstairs? There's no place to talk downstairs, and I hadn't the energy to walk. Look at my ankles: they're all swollen. You can smoke your pipe, inspector.”

She was not completely at her ease. It was obvious that she was talking for the sake of talking, to gain time.

“Are you very cross with me?”

Although he understood, he gained time himself as well, by countering:

“What about?”

“I know perfectly well that you're disappointed. But it isn't really my fault. Thanks to you, I spent the happiest years of my life in the san. I didn't have anything to worry about. There was a doctor rather like you who was extremely kind to me. He brought me books. I used to read all day. Before going there I was ignorant. Then, when there was something I couldn't understand, he would explain it to me. Have you got a cigarette? Never mind. Besides, it's better for me not to smoke…

“I stayed five years at the san, and I had come to believe I'd spend my whole life there. I liked the idea. Unlike the others, I had no desire to go out.

“When they told me I was cured and could go, I can tell you I was more afraid than glad. From where we were, we could see the valley almost always covered with a kind of mist, sometimes with thick clouds, and I was afraid of going down into it again. I would have liked to have stayed as a nurse, but I hadn't the necessary knowledge, and I wasn't strong enough to do the housework or be a kitchen maid.

“What could I have done, down there? I had got into the habit of having three meals a day. I knew that with Justine I should have that.”

“Why did you come today?” asked Maigret in a rather cold voice.

“Haven't I just told you? I first went to Hyères. I didn't want poor Marcel to be buried without anyone to follow the hearse.”

“Were you still in love with him?”

She showed slight embarrassment.

“I think I really was in love with him, you know. I talked about him a lot to you, in the old days, when you took me up after his arrest. He wasn't a bad man, you know. Underneath he was really rather innocent, I'd even say shy. And just because he was shy he wanted to be like the others. Only he exaggerated. Up there I understood everything.”

“And you stopped loving him?”

“I didn't love him anymore in the same way. I saw other people. I could make comparisons. The doctor helped me to understand.”

“Were you in love with the doctor?”

She laughed, a little nervously.

“I think in a sanatorium people are always more or less in love with their doctors.”

“Did Marcel write to you?”

“Now and then.”

“Was he hoping to take up the old life with you again?”

“At first, yes, I think so. Then he changed, too. We didn't change in the same way, the two of us. He grew old very quickly, almost overnight. I don't know if you saw him again. Before, he was smart, particular about his appearance. He was proud. It all started when he came to the Riviera, quite by chance.”

“Was it he who made you go into service with Justine and Émile?”

“No. I knew Justine by name. I applied to her. She took me on trial, as an assistant manageress, as I wasn't fit for anything else. I was operated on four times up there, and my body is covered with scars.”

“I asked you why you had come today.”

He came relentlessly back to this question.

“When I found out that you were on the case, I thought you would remember me and try to get hold of me. That would probably have taken some time.”

“If I understand you correctly, since you came out of the sanatorium you had no further relations with Marcel, but you sent him money orders?”

“Occasionally. I wanted him to enjoy himself a little. He wouldn't show it but he went through some bad patches.”

“Did he tell you so?”

“He told me he was a failure, that he always had been a failure, and that he hadn't even been able to become a real crook.”

“Was it in Nice that he told you this?”

“He never came to see me at the Sirènes. He knew it was forbidden.”

“Here?”

“Yes.”

“Do you often come to Porquerolles?”

“Nearly every month. Justine's too old, now, to inspect her establishments herself. Monsieur Émile has never liked traveling.”

“Do you sleep here, at the Arche?”

“Always.”

“Why doesn't Justine give you a room? The villa is large enough.”

“She never has women sleeping under her roof.”

He sensed that he was reaching the sensitive spot, but Ginette wasn't giving in completely yet.

“Is she afraid for her son?” he asked jokingly, as he lit a fresh pipe.

“Strange though it may seem, it's the truth. She has always made him live tied to her apron strings and that is why he has got a girl's character rather than a man's. At his age she still treats him like a child. He can't do anything without her permission.”

“Does he like women?”

“He's more afraid of them. I mean in general. He's not keen, you know. He's never had good health. He spends his time looking after himself, taking pills, reading medical books.”

“What else is there, Ginette?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why have you come here today?”

“But I've told you.”

“No.”

“I thought you would be wondering about Monsieur Émile and his mother.”

“Explain.”

“You aren't like the other detectives, but even so! When something fishy happens, it's always people of a certain type that are suspected.”

“And you intended to tell me that Monsieur Émile had nothing to do with Marcel's death?”

“I wanted to explain to you…”

“Explain what?”

“We remained good friends, Marcel and me, but there was no question of living together. He no longer thought about that. I don't think he even wanted it. Do you understand? He was enjoying the kind of life he had made for himself. He no longer had any relations with the underworld. Look I saw Charlot, just now…”

“You know him?”

“I've met him here several times. We even ate occasionally at the same table. He's found girls for me.”

“Were you expecting him to be at Porquerolles today?”

“No. I swear I'm speaking the truth. It's your way of putting questions that upsets me. Before, you used to trust me. You were even a little sorry for me. It's true I've no longer anything to be sorry about, have I? I haven't got TB now!”

“Do you make a lot of money?”

“Not so much as you might think. Justine is very tightfisted. So is her son. I don't go without anything, of course. I even put a little aside, but not enough to retire on.”

“You were telling me about Marcel.”

“I can't remember what I was saying. Oh yes! How can I explain? When you knew him he used to try to play the tough guy. In Paris he was always going to bars where you meet people like Charlot, and even killers. He wanted to look as though he belonged to their gangs and they didn't take him seriously…”

“He was a half-and-half, eh?”

“Well, he grew out of it. He grew up seeing those types, and lived in his boat or in his hut. He drank a lot. He always found some means of getting a drink. My money orders used to help him. I know what people think when a man like him is killed…”

“That is?”

“You know it, too. People imagine it's an underworld affair, a settling of accounts, or a revenge. But that isn't the case.”

“That's what you really came to say, isn't it?”

“For the last few minutes I've lost my train of thought. You've changed so much! I'm sorry. I don't mean physically…”

He smiled, in spite of himself, at her confusion.

“In the old days, even in your office in the Quai des Orfèvres, you didn't remind one of a policeman.”

“You're really afraid that I'm going to suspect the old cons? You aren't in love with Charlot, by any chance?”

“Certainly not. I'd be pretty hard put to it to be in love with anyone after all the operations I've been through. I'm not a woman anymore, if you must know. And Charlot doesn't interest me any more than the others.”

“Tell me the rest now.”

“What makes you think there is anything else? I give you my word of honor that I don't know who killed poor Marcel.”

“But you know who didn't kill him.”

“Yes.”

“You know whom I might be led to suspect.”

“After all, you'll find out for yourself one of these days, if you haven't already done so. I would have said so to start off with if you hadn't questioned me so drily. I'm going to marry Monsieur Émile. There!”

“When?”

“When Justine dies.”

“Why do you have to wait until she isn't there anymore?”

“I tell you she's jealous of all women. It's because of her that he hasn't married or even been known to have any mistresses. When, from time to time, he needed a woman, it was she who chose him the least dangerous one, and she never ceased giving him advice. Now all that's over.”

“For whom?”

“For him, of course!”

“And yet he's still contemplating marriage?”

“Because he has a horror of being left alone. As long as his mother is alive, he is content. She looks after him like a baby. But she hasn't much time left. A year at the outside.”

“Did the doctor say so?”

“She's got cancer and she is too old to have an operation. As for him he always imagines he's going to die. He has fits of breathlessness several times a day, doesn't dare stir, as if the least movement might be fatal…”

“So he's asked you to marry him?”

“Yes. He made sure I was fit enough to look after him. He's even had me examined by several doctors. Needless to say Justine knows nothing, or she would have thrown me out a long time ago.”

“And Marcel?”

“I told him.”

“What was his reaction?”

“None. He thought I was right to provide for my old age. I think it pleased him to know that I would come to live here.”

“Monsieur Émile wasn't jealous of Marcel?”

“Why would he have been jealous? I've already told you there was nothing between us anymore.”

“In short, this is what you were so anxious to talk to me about?”

“I thought of all the assumptions you would arrive at which don't correspond to reality.”

“For example that Marcel might have been able to blackmail Monsieur Émile, and the latter, to get him out of the way…”

“Marcel never blackmailed anyone, and Monsieur Émile would rather die of hunger than strangle a chicken!”

“Of course you haven't been on to the island these last few days?”

“It's easy to check up.”