would get him one day, for sure. They had him in their sights. They
had checked his alibi and the investigation would follow the proper course.
But there was no need for
overzealousness! And there was certainly no need for Maigret, with his habit of
putting his foot in it.
Maigret had reached the little paved
courtyard where a morose crowd waited outside the juvenile court. Despite the
sunshine, there was a chill in the air and in the shade there was still a dusting of
frost between the flagstones.
‘That idiot Philippe!’
grumbled Maigret almost sick with revulsion.
For he was well aware that he was going
round and round like a circus horse. There was no point waiting for a brainwave; in
police matters, brainwaves were of no use. Nor was it a matter of discovering a
phenomenal lead, or a clue that had eluded everyone else.
It was simpler and more brutal. Cageot
had killed Pepito, or had him killed. The challenge was to get Cageot finally to
admit that this was the truth.
Now Maigret was
strolling along the riverbank, close to the laundry boat. He did not have the power
to summon Cageot to an office and lock him in for a few hours, or to repeat the same
question a hundred times, roughing him up if necessary to make him crack.
Nor could he summon the café owner, the
waiter or the men who played
belote
every night a hundred metres from the
Floria.
He had barely started using Fernande
when she had literally been snatched away from him.
He reached the Chope du Pont-Neuf,
pushed open the glazed door and went over to shake hands with Lucas, who was sitting
at the bar.
‘How are things, chief?’
‘Not good!’ replied
Maigret.
‘It’s tough, isn’t
it?’
It wasn’t tough. It was a
hopelessly tragic situation.
‘I’m getting old! Maybe
it’s the effect of rural life.’
‘What are you drinking?’
‘I’ll have a
Pernod!’
He said that almost defiantly. He
remembered that he had promised to write to his wife, but he hadn’t felt up to
it.
‘Is there some way I can
help?’
Lucas was a curious character, always
badly dressed, puny into the bargain, who had neither wife nor family. Maigret let
his gaze rove around the place, which was beginning to fill up, and he had to crease
his eyes when he turned to the window where the sun was streaming in.
‘Have you worked with
Philippe?’
‘A couple of times.’
‘Was he very
disagreeable?’
‘There are people who resent him
because he doesn’t say much. He’s shy, you know. Have they banged him
up?’
‘Cheers.’
Lucas was concerned to see Maigret so
tight-lipped.
‘What are you going to do,
chief?’
‘I know I can trust you, so
I’ll tell you. I’m going to do
everything
that’s
necessary. Do you understand? It’s best that someone knows, so if anything
were to happen—’
He wiped his mouth on the back of his
hand, and tapped a coin on the bar to attract the waiter’s attention.
‘Leave it! It’s my
round,’ said Lucas.
‘If you insist. I’ll buy a
round when this is over. Goodbye, Lucas.’
‘Goodbye, chief.’
Lucas’ hand lingered for a moment
in Maigret’s rough paw.
‘All the same, you will take care,
won’t you?’
And Maigret, on his feet, boomed:
‘I cannot stand
cretins!’
He walked off alone. He had plenty of
time, since he had no idea where he was going.
5.
As Maigret pushed open the door of the
Tabac Fontaine, at around 1.30, the owner, who had just risen, was slowly making his
way down a spiral staircase into the back of the café. Although not as tall as
Maigret, he was just as broad and burly. As he crossed the room, he exuded a whiff
of the bathroom – his hair reeked of cologne and there were traces of talcum powder
behind his ears. He wore neither a jacket nor a collar. His lightly starched shirt
was snowy white, fastened by a swivel stud.
He went behind the bar, shoving the
had checked his alibi and the investigation would follow the proper course.
But there was no need for
overzealousness! And there was certainly no need for Maigret, with his habit of
putting his foot in it.
Maigret had reached the little paved
courtyard where a morose crowd waited outside the juvenile court. Despite the
sunshine, there was a chill in the air and in the shade there was still a dusting of
frost between the flagstones.
‘That idiot Philippe!’
grumbled Maigret almost sick with revulsion.
For he was well aware that he was going
round and round like a circus horse. There was no point waiting for a brainwave; in
police matters, brainwaves were of no use. Nor was it a matter of discovering a
phenomenal lead, or a clue that had eluded everyone else.
It was simpler and more brutal. Cageot
had killed Pepito, or had him killed. The challenge was to get Cageot finally to
admit that this was the truth.
Now Maigret was
strolling along the riverbank, close to the laundry boat. He did not have the power
to summon Cageot to an office and lock him in for a few hours, or to repeat the same
question a hundred times, roughing him up if necessary to make him crack.
Nor could he summon the café owner, the
waiter or the men who played
belote
every night a hundred metres from the
Floria.
He had barely started using Fernande
when she had literally been snatched away from him.
He reached the Chope du Pont-Neuf,
pushed open the glazed door and went over to shake hands with Lucas, who was sitting
at the bar.
‘How are things, chief?’
‘Not good!’ replied
Maigret.
‘It’s tough, isn’t
it?’
It wasn’t tough. It was a
hopelessly tragic situation.
‘I’m getting old! Maybe
it’s the effect of rural life.’
‘What are you drinking?’
‘I’ll have a
Pernod!’
He said that almost defiantly. He
remembered that he had promised to write to his wife, but he hadn’t felt up to
it.
‘Is there some way I can
help?’
Lucas was a curious character, always
badly dressed, puny into the bargain, who had neither wife nor family. Maigret let
his gaze rove around the place, which was beginning to fill up, and he had to crease
his eyes when he turned to the window where the sun was streaming in.
‘Have you worked with
Philippe?’
‘A couple of times.’
‘Was he very
disagreeable?’
‘There are people who resent him
because he doesn’t say much. He’s shy, you know. Have they banged him
up?’
‘Cheers.’
Lucas was concerned to see Maigret so
tight-lipped.
‘What are you going to do,
chief?’
‘I know I can trust you, so
I’ll tell you. I’m going to do
everything
that’s
necessary. Do you understand? It’s best that someone knows, so if anything
were to happen—’
He wiped his mouth on the back of his
hand, and tapped a coin on the bar to attract the waiter’s attention.
‘Leave it! It’s my
round,’ said Lucas.
‘If you insist. I’ll buy a
round when this is over. Goodbye, Lucas.’
‘Goodbye, chief.’
Lucas’ hand lingered for a moment
in Maigret’s rough paw.
‘All the same, you will take care,
won’t you?’
And Maigret, on his feet, boomed:
‘I cannot stand
cretins!’
He walked off alone. He had plenty of
time, since he had no idea where he was going.
5.
As Maigret pushed open the door of the
Tabac Fontaine, at around 1.30, the owner, who had just risen, was slowly making his
way down a spiral staircase into the back of the café. Although not as tall as
Maigret, he was just as broad and burly. As he crossed the room, he exuded a whiff
of the bathroom – his hair reeked of cologne and there were traces of talcum powder
behind his ears. He wore neither a jacket nor a collar. His lightly starched shirt
was snowy white, fastened by a swivel stud.
He went behind the bar, shoving the
Similar Books
