Maigret 53 Maigret and the Reluctant Witnesses by Georges Simenon

Author:Georges Simenon [Simenon, Georges]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780241303863
Publisher: Penguin Books Ltd
Published: 2018-03-01T05:00:00+00:00

6

Maigret had to wait a while before he could slip between the cars because everyone was leaving work. Once he’d crossed the road, he looked back up at the apartment he had just left. Its iron balcony ran the length of the façade, with a railing in the middle dividing it in two. It was completely dark now, and there were lights on behind at least half the curtains.

The French window was half open on the fifth floor, and a man was leaning out, looking down at the street, a cigarette between his lips. He jerked back when he saw Maigret.

It was the same man who had just gone upstairs and frowned when he bumped into Maigret at the door of the lift: Jacques Sainval, as he called himself, the film publicist.

He went back into the apartment, the French window closed. What was he saying to Véronique Lachaume as she laid the table?

There was a bar opposite the apartment building, not an ordinary one, but one of those American bars with high stools and discreet lighting you get more and more of these days around the Champs-Élysées.

Maigret went in and, even though it was crowded, saw an empty stool by the wall. It was hot. There was lots of noise, women’s laughter, cigarette smoke. A pretty girl in a black and white apron waited with a smile as he took off his coat and hat.

When the barman turned towards him, also looking as if he was trying to work out where he had seen him, Maigret hesitated for a moment, then ordered:

‘A hot toddy.’

Then he asked:

‘Where’s the telephone?’

‘Downstairs.’

‘Have you got a token?’

‘See the operator.’

It wasn’t the sort of bar he’d go to by choice, and he always felt a little uncomfortable in places like this because they hadn’t existed in his day. The panelled walls were lined with hunting scenes, lots of riders in red jackets, and an actual hunting horn was hung just above the bar.

As he made his way to the stairs at the back of the room, he felt someone looking at him. The barman had finally recognized him. Others had too, probably. Most of the women were young. The men, although older, weren’t his generation.

He had spotted some familiar faces himself. He remembered that there were some television studios further down the same street.

He went down the oak staircase and found another pretty woman at a telephone switchboard by the cloakroom.

‘A token, please.’

There were three booths with glass doors, but he couldn’t dial out directly.

‘What number do you want?’

He had no choice but to give her the Police Judiciaire’s number. It was the young woman’s turn to recognize him, and she looked at him more closely.

‘Cabin 2.’

‘Police Judiciaire here.’

‘It’s Maigret. Give me Lucas, will you?’

‘Just a moment, detective chief inspector.’

He had to wait; Lucas was on the telephone to someone. Eventually he heard his voice:

‘Sorry, chief. That was the examining magistrate. It’s the third time he’s rung since you left. He’s surprised you haven’t been keeping him up to date.

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