Inspector Cadaver by Georges Simenon

hotels.’
    ‘I didn’t know that.’
    ‘Who’s the guy who’s
staying across the road?’
    ‘A private detective.’
    ‘Who’s he
working for?’
    ‘I don’t know.’
    ‘Why hasn’t there been an
investigation yet? Albert died three weeks ago.’
    ‘Good work, son! On you go!’ the
three men seem to be encouraging the teenager as he fights against shyness, his whole
body rigid with the effort.
    ‘No one lodged a complaint.’
    ‘So, you can kill someone and, as long
as there’s no complaint …’
    ‘The doctor declared it an
accident.’
    ‘Was he there when it
happened?’
    ‘As soon as I’ve gathered
sufficient evidence, the investigation will become official.’
    ‘What do you call evidence?’
    ‘If it could be proved, for instance,
that the cap was discovered between the Nauds’ house and the place where the body
was found.’
    ‘Should take him round to
Désiré,’ says the fattest of the men, in carpenter’s overalls.
‘Same again, Mélie. Bring another glass.’
    That in itself is a victory for Maigret.
    ‘What time did Retailleau leave the
café that night?’
    ‘Eleven thirty, maybe
…’
    ‘Were there many people
there?’
    ‘Four. We’d been playing
coinche.’
    ‘You all left together?’
    ‘The other two headed off to the left.
I went some of the way with Albert.’
    ‘In which direction?’
    ‘To the
Nauds’.’
    ‘Did he confide in you?’
    ‘No.’
    The young man has grown melancholy. He
shakes his head regretfully, visibly trying to be scrupulously honest.
    ‘He didn’t tell you why he was
going to the Nauds’?’
    ‘No. He was furious.’
    ‘Who with?’
    ‘With her.’
    ‘Mademoiselle Naud, you mean?
He’d talked to you about her before?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘What had he told you?’
    ‘This and that … Nothing in
particular … He went there almost every night.’
    ‘He bragged about it?’
    ‘No,’ the lad says with a
reproachful look. ‘He was in love and it showed. He couldn’t hide
it.’
    ‘And on the last day, he was
furious?’
    ‘Yes. All evening, playing cards, his
mind was elsewhere, and he kept looking at the clock. On the path, when he left me
…’
    ‘Where?’
    ‘Five hundred metres from the
Nauds’ place.’
    ‘So, where he was found
dead?’
    ‘Roughly … I had taken him
halfway …’
    ‘And you’re sure he went
on?’
    ‘Yes. He told me, with tears in his
eyes, holding both my hands, “It’s over, Louis, my old friend
…”’
    ‘What was over?’
    ‘Between him and
Geneviève. That’s what I understood. He meant he was going there for the last
time.’
    ‘But did he go there?’
    ‘There was a moon that night. It was
freezing. I saw him again when he was no more than a hundred metres from the
house.’
    ‘And the cap?’
    Young Louis gets up, looks at the others
with a resolute air.
    ‘Come on …’
    ‘Do you trust him, Louis?’ asks
one of the older men. ‘Watch out, my son.’
    But Louis is of an age when you don’t
hold back. He looks Maigret in the eye as if to say, ‘You’re the lowest of
the low if you let me down!’
    ‘Follow me. It’s just round the
corner.’
    ‘Your glass. Here’s to you,
inspector … You can believe everything the kid tells you, that’s the main
thing. He’s as honest as the day is long, that boy.’
    ‘Your good health,
gentlemen.’
    He toasts them, not that he has any choice.
The big glasses clink, and then he follows Louis out, forgetting to pay for his
wine.
    As he steps outside he sees Cadaver on the
other side of the road, heading back to the
Lion d’Or, his briefcase
under his arm. Is Maigret mistaken? He has the impression that a sardonic smile passes
over the face of his former colleague, which he only sees in profile.
    ‘Come here … This way
…’
    The two of them make their way along a
network ofback alleys connecting the town’s three or four
streets that Maigret hadn’t suspected existed.
    In one of those rows of little houses
fronted by tiny