naturally?’
‘Not once. They even exchanged
amused looks as if the interrogation was a farce. The chief was furious.’
Maigret found it hard to repress a
little smile, for Amadieu had admitted that his hunch was correct and that his own
change of heart was thanks to the head of the Police Judiciaire.
‘We could always have an inspector
tail Cageot,’ continued Amadieu, who found silences awkward. ‘But
he’ll have no trouble shaking him off. Not to mention that he has protection
and that he’s capable of filing a complaint against us.’
Maigret pulled out his watch, which he
gazed at insistently.
‘Do you have an
appointment?’
‘Shortly, yes. If you don’t
mind, we’ll go downstairs together.’
As they passed the doorman, Maigret
inquired after his sister-in-law.
‘The lady left a few minutes ago.
She asked me which bus she should take to get to Rue Fontaine.’
That was typical! She wanted to see for
herself the place where her son was accused of having killed Pepito. And she would
go inside! She’d tell her story to the waiters!
‘Shall we have
a drink at the Chope on the way?’ suggested Maigret.
They sat down in a corner and ordered a
vintage Armagnac.
‘You have to admit,’
ventured Amadieu, tugging at his moustache, ‘that your method is impossible to
apply in a case like this one. The chief and I were arguing about it
earlier.’
Well, well, the chief really was taking
a close interest in the case!
‘What do you mean by my
method?’
‘You know better than I do.
Usually, you get involved in people’s lives; you try to understand their
thinking and you take as much interest in things that happened to them twenty years
earlier as you do in concrete clues. Here, we’re faced with a bunch about whom
we know pretty much everything. They don’t even try to put us off the scent.
And I’m not even sure that, in private, Cageot would even bother to deny
having killed.’
‘He hasn’t denied
it.’
‘So what do you plan to
do?’
‘What about you?’
‘I’ll start by spreading a
net around them, that’s the best thing. From this evening, I’ll have
each one of them followed. They’ll have to go somewhere, talk to people.
We’ll question those people and—’
‘And in six months’ time
Philippe will still be in prison.’
‘His lawyer intends to request his
interim release. As he is only accused of manslaughter, he’s bound to obtain
it.’
Maigret could no longer feel his
tiredness.
‘Another?’ suggested Amadieu, pointing to the glasses.
‘With pleasure.’
Poor Amadieu! How uncomfortable he must
have felt when he walked into the hotel lounge! By now, he’d had the time to
regain his composure and adopt a deceptive air of confidence, and even to speak of
the case with a certain casualness.
‘As a matter of fact,’ he
added, taking a sip of Armagnac, ‘I wonder whether Cageot is actually the
killer. I’ve been mulling over your hypothesis. Why wouldn’t he have
given Audiat the job of shooting? He himself could have been hiding in the
street—’
‘Audiat would never have retraced
his steps to bump into my nephew and raise the alarm. He’d be likely to lose
his bottle. He’s a nasty little thug but small fry.’
‘What about Eugène?’
Maigret shrugged, not because he
believed Eugène to be innocent, but because he would have found it awkward to
implicate him. It was very vague. Fernande had something to do with it.
Besides, Maigret was barely in the
conversation. His pencil in his hand, he was doodling aimlessly on the marble table
top. The room was hot. The Armagnac produced a mellow feeling of well-being, as if
all his accumulated fatigue were gradually dissipating.
Lucas came in with a young inspector and
gave a start on seeing Maigret and Amadieu sitting side by side. Maigret winked at
him across the room.
‘Why don’t you come over
‘Not once. They even exchanged
amused looks as if the interrogation was a farce. The chief was furious.’
Maigret found it hard to repress a
little smile, for Amadieu had admitted that his hunch was correct and that his own
change of heart was thanks to the head of the Police Judiciaire.
‘We could always have an inspector
tail Cageot,’ continued Amadieu, who found silences awkward. ‘But
he’ll have no trouble shaking him off. Not to mention that he has protection
and that he’s capable of filing a complaint against us.’
Maigret pulled out his watch, which he
gazed at insistently.
‘Do you have an
appointment?’
‘Shortly, yes. If you don’t
mind, we’ll go downstairs together.’
As they passed the doorman, Maigret
inquired after his sister-in-law.
‘The lady left a few minutes ago.
She asked me which bus she should take to get to Rue Fontaine.’
That was typical! She wanted to see for
herself the place where her son was accused of having killed Pepito. And she would
go inside! She’d tell her story to the waiters!
‘Shall we have
a drink at the Chope on the way?’ suggested Maigret.
They sat down in a corner and ordered a
vintage Armagnac.
‘You have to admit,’
ventured Amadieu, tugging at his moustache, ‘that your method is impossible to
apply in a case like this one. The chief and I were arguing about it
earlier.’
Well, well, the chief really was taking
a close interest in the case!
‘What do you mean by my
method?’
‘You know better than I do.
Usually, you get involved in people’s lives; you try to understand their
thinking and you take as much interest in things that happened to them twenty years
earlier as you do in concrete clues. Here, we’re faced with a bunch about whom
we know pretty much everything. They don’t even try to put us off the scent.
And I’m not even sure that, in private, Cageot would even bother to deny
having killed.’
‘He hasn’t denied
it.’
‘So what do you plan to
do?’
‘What about you?’
‘I’ll start by spreading a
net around them, that’s the best thing. From this evening, I’ll have
each one of them followed. They’ll have to go somewhere, talk to people.
We’ll question those people and—’
‘And in six months’ time
Philippe will still be in prison.’
‘His lawyer intends to request his
interim release. As he is only accused of manslaughter, he’s bound to obtain
it.’
Maigret could no longer feel his
tiredness.
‘Another?’ suggested Amadieu, pointing to the glasses.
‘With pleasure.’
Poor Amadieu! How uncomfortable he must
have felt when he walked into the hotel lounge! By now, he’d had the time to
regain his composure and adopt a deceptive air of confidence, and even to speak of
the case with a certain casualness.
‘As a matter of fact,’ he
added, taking a sip of Armagnac, ‘I wonder whether Cageot is actually the
killer. I’ve been mulling over your hypothesis. Why wouldn’t he have
given Audiat the job of shooting? He himself could have been hiding in the
street—’
‘Audiat would never have retraced
his steps to bump into my nephew and raise the alarm. He’d be likely to lose
his bottle. He’s a nasty little thug but small fry.’
‘What about Eugène?’
Maigret shrugged, not because he
believed Eugène to be innocent, but because he would have found it awkward to
implicate him. It was very vague. Fernande had something to do with it.
Besides, Maigret was barely in the
conversation. His pencil in his hand, he was doodling aimlessly on the marble table
top. The room was hot. The Armagnac produced a mellow feeling of well-being, as if
all his accumulated fatigue were gradually dissipating.
Lucas came in with a young inspector and
gave a start on seeing Maigret and Amadieu sitting side by side. Maigret winked at
him across the room.
‘Why don’t you come over
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