86 - Maigret and the Black Sheep, page 3
“It was I who asked him to slow down. He has always been overweight and I have known him to weigh almost two-hundred fifty pounds. That did not stop him from working twelve or thirteen hours a day. His heart wasn’t keeping up. He had a fairly mild attack two years ago, but nonetheless it served as a warning.
“I advised him to take on an assistant and to limit his activity to some sort of supervision, just enough to keep his mind occupied.
“To my great surprise he preferred to retire completely, explaining that he was incapable of doing things half-way.”
“So he sold his business?”
“To two of his employees. As they did not have enough money he kept an interest in it for a certain number of years, I can’t remember exactly how many.”
“What did he do with his time during the last two years?”
“In the morning he used to go for a stroll in the Luxembourg Gardens; I often saw him there. He would walk slowly, cautiously, like a lot of cardiacs, since he ended up by exaggerating his condition. He used to read a lot. You’ve seen his library. Never having had time to read before, he discovered literature late in life and spoke enthusiastically about it.”
“And his wife?”
“In spite of the maid and then the cleaning woman when they decided not to have a live-in servant any more, she devoted considerable time herself to the house and the cooking. In addition she went almost every day to Boulevard Brune to see her grandchildren, and took the eldest in her car to Montsouris Park.”
“You must have been surprised when you discovered what had happened?”
“It still hurts me to think it possible. I have seen some tragedies among my patients, not a lot, but some nevertheless. On each occasion one might have expected it. Do you know what I mean? In each case, despite appearances, there existed, like a chink in the armor, an element of trouble. This time I can’t even guess … ”
Maigret motioned to the waiter to fill up the glasses.
“What bothers me is Madame Josselin’s reaction,” the doctor went on, still with the same blandness. “Or rather, I would say her non-reaction, her total debility. I haven’t been able to get a single sentence out of her all night. She looked at us, at her daughter, her son-in-law, and at me, as if she didn’t see us. She has not shed one tear. From her room we could hear the noises in the living room. It was not difficult, with a little imagination, to piece together what was going on: the flashes from the photographers’ cameras for example, then when the body was taken away …
“I thought that then, at least, she would react, try to rush in. She was conscious and yet she did not move, did not wince.
“She spent the greatest part of her life with a man and then suddenly, on her return from the theater, finds herself alone …
“I wonder how she will readjust … ”
“Do you think her daughter will take her to her home?”
“It’s hardly likely. The Fabres live in one of those new buildings with fairly compact apartments. Though she loves her daughter and adores her grandchildren, I think she would find it difficult to live all the time with them. Now it’s time I went home … tomorrow morning my patients will be waiting … No, no … Let me … ”
He had taken his wallet out of his pocket. The Chief Superintendent had been quicker than he.
People were coming out of the nightclub nearby, a whole group of musicians and dancers who were waiting for each other or were saying goodnight, and one could hear the clatter of high heels on the pavement.
Lapointe took his place at the wheel beside Maigret, whose face was expressionless.
“Home?”
“Yes.”
They were silent for awhile as the car passed through the empty streets.
“Early tomorrow morning I would like someone to go to Rue Notre-Dame-des-Champs and question the tenants of the building as they get up. It is possible that some people may have heard the gunshots and weren’t concerned, thinking it was a car backfiring … I would also like to know the whereabouts of the tenants from half past nine onward … ”
“I’ll see to it myself, Chief.”
“No. You will go off to bed after you have left instructions. If Torrence is available send him around to Rue Julie, to the three numbers whose bells Dr. Fabre claims to have rung.”
“Right.”
“Just to be on the safe side, we’d better verify the time of his arrival at the hospital … ”
“Is that all?”
“Yes … Yes and no … I have the feeling I am forgetting something; for the last quarter of an hour at least I have been wondering what … It’s just an impression, a hint that’s come to me several times during the night … At a certain moment something alerted me, and then someone spoke to me, Saint-Hubert if I’m not mistaken … By the time I had replied I simply could not remember what I had begun thinking about … ”
They reached Boulevard Richard-Lenoir. The bedroom window was still open onto the darkness, just like the Josselins’ living-room window had been after the men from the D.A.’s office had left.
“Goodnight, son.”
“Goodnight, Chief.”
“I doubt if I’ll be at the office before ten o’clock … ”
He climbed the stairs with heavy steps, pondering over vague thoughts, and he found the door opened by Madame Maigret standing in her nightdress.
“Not too tired?”
“Not really … No … ”
It was not weariness. He was preoccupied, uneasy, rather sad, as if the incident at Rue Notre-Dame-des-Champs had affected him personally. The doctor with the chubby face had rightly said: the Josselins were not the kind of people in whose home one would readily accept such a catastrophe.
He recalled the reactions of some of the people there, of Véronique, of her husband, of Madame Josselin whom he had not yet seen and whom he had not even asked to see.
There was something disturbing about it all. He was disturbed, for example, by his own order to have Dr. Fabre’s statements verified, as if the doctor were a suspect.
However, if one stuck to the facts, one was forced to consider him. The delegate of the D.A. and Gossard, the coroner, had certainly done so. If they had said nothing it was because this case gave them the same feeling of uneasiness as it did Maigret.
Who knew that the two women, mother and daughter, were at the theater that evening? Probably not many, and so far no one’s name had been mentioned.
Fabre had arrived at Rue Notre-Dame-des-Champs at about half past nine. He had begun a game of chess with his father-in-law.
Someone had telephoned to tell him he had a patient to see on Rue Julie. There was nothing extraordinary about that. Probably, like all doctors, he was often inconvenienced in this way.
Nevertheless, wasn’t it a disturbing coincidence that, on that particular night, the maid had not heard the name clearly? And that she had sent the doctor to an address where no one needed him?
Instead of returning to Rue Notre-Dame-des-Champs to finish the game and wait for his wife, Fabre had gone to the hospital. That, too, must happen frequently, given his personal habits.
One tenant only entered the apartment house during that time and called out his name as he passed the concierge’s lodge. The concierge got up a little later and stated that no one had come in or gone out after that.
“Aren’t you going to sleep?”
“Not yet … ”
“Are you sure you want to get up at nine o’clock?”
“Yes … ”
He took a long time to get to sleep. He kept seeing the thin figure of the pediatrician in crumpled clothes, his over-bright eyes those of a man who does not get enough sleep.
Did he know he was a suspect? Had it occurred to his wife and his mother-in-law?
Instead of telephoning the police when they discovered the body, they had first called the apartment on Boulevard Brune. However, they were not aware of the incident at Rue Julie. They did not know why Fabre had left Rue Notre-Dame-des-Champs.
It had not immediately occurred to them that he might be found at the hospital and they had turned to the family doctor, Dr. Larue.
What had they said to each other while they waited alone in the apartment with the corpse? Was Madame Josselin already in the same state of shock? Was it Véronique, alone, who had made the decisions, while her mother remained silent and stunned?
Larue had arrived and immediately realized the mistake, if not the indiscretion, that they had committed by not calling the police. It was he who had notified the police station.
All this Maigret would have liked to consider and live with by himself. It was essential to reconstruct bit by bit each moment of that night.
Who had thought of the hospital and who had lifted the receiver? Larue? Véronique?
Who had made sure that nothing had disappeared from the apartment and that it was therefore not a vicious case of burglary?
Madame Josselin was led to her bedroom. Larue stayed by her and, with Maigret’s authorization, ended up by giving her a sedative.
Fabre rushed back, found the police in the home of his father-in-law, the latter dead in his armchair.
“And yet,” thought Maigret as he dozed off, “it was his wife who told me about the automatic … ”
If Véronique had not deliberately opened the drawer, knowing what she was looking for, probably no one would have suspected the existence of a weapon.
Now, didn’t that eliminate the possibility of a crime committed by a stranger?
Fabre claimed to have heard his father-in-law fasten the chain across the door after having seen him out at a quarter past ten.
Josselin had therefore opened the door to his murderer himself. He had not been suspicious as he went back to his place in the chair.
If the window was open at this point, as seemed likely, someone had closed it, either Josselin or his visitor.
And if the Browning was really the murder weapon, the murderer knew of its existence in that exact place and had been able to get it without arousing suspicion.
Supposing a man came from outside, how did he get out of the building?
Maigret ended up in a restless sleep, constantly tossing and turning, and it was a relief to smell the aroma of coffee, to hear Madame Maigret’s voice and see before him through the open window the rooftops bathed in sunshine.
“It’s nine o’clock … ”
He instantly recalled the case down to the smallest detail, just as if there had been no interruption.
“Pass me the telephone directory … ”
He looked for the Josselins’ number, dialed it, listened to it ring for quite awhile, then finally heard a voice he did not know.
“Is this Monsieur René Josselin’s apartment?”
“He’s dead.”
“Who is speaking?”
“Madame Manu, the housekeeper.”
“Is Madame Fabre still there?”
“Who is speaking?”
“Chief Superintendent Maigret of the Criminal Police. I was there last night … ”
“The young lady has just left to go and change.”
“And Madame Josselin?”
“She is still asleep. She was given some medicine and it looks like she won’t wake up before her daughter returns.”
“No one has come by?”
“Nobody. I am busy tidying up. I had no idea, when I arrived this morning … ”
“Thank you.”
Madame Maigret did not ask him any questions and he just said to her: “A decent man who got himself killed, Lord knows why … ”
He saw Josselin in his armchair again. He endeavored to see him not dead; but alive. Had he really remained alone in front of the chessboard, and had he continued the game for awhile, sometimes moving the black pawns, sometimes the white?
If he was waiting for someone … knowing that his son-in-law would come and spend the evening with him, he could not have arranged a secret meeting. Or in that case …
One would have had to believe that the telephone call summoning Dr. Fabre to Rue Julie …
“It’s decent people who give us the most trouble,” he grumbled as he finished his breakfast and headed toward the bathroom.
He did not go directly to the Quai, but merely telephoned to make sure he was not needed.
“Rue du Saint-Gothard,” he called to the taxi driver.
First he would look for information on René Josselin. Josselin certainly was the victim. But a man is not killed without reason.
There was a vacation-time air about Paris. It was no longer the empty Paris of the month of August, but a reluctance to return to the daily routine seemed to permeate the city. If it had rained, or if it had been cold it would have been easier. This year summer could not make up its mind to depart.
The taxi driver turned around as he left Rue Dareau, near the railroad embankment.
“What number?”
“I don’t know. It’s a cardboard factory … ” At another turn they saw a large concrete building with curtainless windows. Across the whole length of the façade they could read the words:
Former Owner Josselin
Successors Jouane and Goulet
“Shall I wait for you?”
“Yes.”
There were two doors, one leading into the workshops and another, farther down, leading into the offices. Maigret chose the latter and found himself in an ultramodern setting.
“May I help you?”
A young girl poked her head through a window and looked at him curiously. Admittedly Maigret had that sullen expression typical of him at the beginning of an investigation; he was looking around slowly as if concentrating on taking stock of the premises.
“Who runs the firm?”
“Messrs. Jouane and Goulet” she replied, as if stating the obvious.
“I know that. But which of the two is the manager?”
“That depends. Monsieur Jouane manages mainly the artistic side and Monsieur Goulet the manufacturing and business side.”
“Are they both here?”
“Monsieur Goulet is still on vacation. What do you want?”
“I want to see Monsieur Jouane.”
“Who may I say is calling?”
“Chief Superintendent Maigret.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No.”
“One moment … ”
She went off to the back of her glass-fronted cubbyhole to speak to a young girl in a white smock who, after glancing curiously at the visitor, came out of the room.
“Someone is going to get him. He’s in the workshops.”
Maigret could hear the noise of the machines and, when a side door opened, he caught a glimpse of quite a large room where more young girls, more women in white, were working in rows, as if it were a chain operation.
“You asked for me?”
The man must have been about forty-five. He was tall, with an expressive face, and he, too, wore a white coverall that, unbuttoned, revealed a well-cut suit.
“If you care to follow me … ”
They went up a light oak staircase and through a window saw half a dozen designers bent over their work. They went through one more door into a sunny office where a secretary was typing in a corner.
“Would you leave us, Mademoiselle Blanche.”
He motioned Maigret to a seat and sat down behind his desk, surprised, rather concerned.
“I wonder … ” he began.
“Have you heard about the death of Monsieur Josselin?”
“What did you say? Monsieur Josselin is dead? When did it happen? Was he back from his vacation?”
“You haven’t seen him since his return from La Baule?”
“No. He hasn’t come in to see us yet. Did he have a heart attack?”
“He was murdered.”
“Monsieur Josselin?”
It was obvious that Jouane found it hard to believe.
“It’s impossible. Who would have … ”
“He was killed in his home, yesterday evening, by two gunshots … ”
“Who did it?”
“That is what I am trying to find out, Monsieur Jouane.”
“His wife wasn’t with him?”
“She was at the theater with her daughter.”
Jouane lowered his head, visibly shocked.
“Poor man … How on earth … ”
Then indignation took over.
“But who could have … Listen, Superintendent … You didn’t know him. He was the nicest man in the world … He has been a father to me, more than a father … When I started here I was sixteen and I knew nothing … My father had just died … My mother took cleaning jobs … I began as an errand boy, with a tricycle carrier … Monsieur Josselin taught me everything … it was he who made me a foreman later on … And when he decided to retire from the business he sent for us, Goulet and me … Goulet had started out as a machinist …
“He told us that his doctor had advised him to ease up on his work and that he simply could not do that … To come here for two or three hours a day, and just play at it, was not possible for a man like him who was used to managing everything and who stayed here working almost every night, long after the workshops closed … ”
“Were you frightened at the thought of having a stranger for your boss?”
“I admit I was. It was a real disaster for Goulet and me and we looked at each other, in consternation, as Monsieur Josselin smiled a sly smile … Do you know what he did?”
“Someone told me about it last night.”
“Who?”
“His doctor.”
“Of course, we both had some savings, but not enough to buy a firm like this … Monsieur Josselin brought in his solicitor and they found a way of handing over the business to us by spacing the payments over a long period … A period which, needless to say, is far from over … In fact, for almost twenty more years … ”
“He used to come by occasionally, even so?”
“He used to visit us discreetly, as if he was afraid of bothering us. He made sure that everything was running smoothly, that we were happy, and when we did have occasion to ask his advice he gave it as if he had no right to … ”
“You don’t know of any enemies he may have had?”
