Maigret's Dead Man Read Free Page B

that you bear the
cost, because I cannot undertake …’
    â€˜Hello? … Janvier? … You can
come back now.’
    Half an hour later the two of them sat smoking inMaigret’s office, where a small round patch of red showed under the
stove.
    â€˜I expect you managed to find time to have
lunch?’
    â€˜I had sauerkraut and frankfurters at the
Canon …’
    Him as well! Meantime, Maigret had alerted
cycle-mounted patrols as well as the municipal police. Parisians who walked into department
stores, jostled each other on pavements, flocked into cinemas or hurried down the steps of
Métro stations, did not notice a thing. But hundreds of eyes scrutinized the crowds,
pausing on anyone wearing a beige raincoat or sporting a grey hat.
    There was another sharp shower at about five
o’clock, when the number of pedestrians in and around the Châtelet reached its peak.
The pavements glistened, a halo surrounded every streetlamp and along every kerb, at intervals
of ten metres, people stood and raised their arms every time a taxi drove past.
    â€˜The landlord of the Caves du Beaujolais
reckons he’s thirty-five or forty. The man who runs the Tabac des Vosges puts him at about
thirty. He’s clean-shaven, rosy-cheeked and blue-eyed. As to what kind of man he is, I
didn’t manage to form any idea. I was told that
you see lots like him about
…’
    Madame Maigret, who was having her sister to
dinner, phoned at six to make sure her husband wouldn’t be home late and to ask him to
call in at the pâtisserie on his way home.
    â€˜Can you keep an eye on things here until
nine? I’ll get Lucas to replace you after that …’
    Janvier was willing. There was nothing to do but
wait.
    â€˜I want to be phoned
at home if there are any developments.’
    He did not forget to call in at the
pâtisserie in Avenue de la République, the only one in Paris, said Madame Maigret,
capable of making a decent mille-feuille. He kissed his sister-in-law, who as always smelled of
lavender. They ate dinner. He drank a glass of calvados. Before walking Odette to the
Métro, he rang the Police Judiciaire.
    â€˜Lucas? … Any news? … Are you
still in my office?’
    Lucas, ensconced in Maigret’s own chair,
probably had his feet propped up on the desk, reading.
    â€˜Just carry on as you are. Good
night.’
    As he walked back from the Métro station,
Boulevard Richard-Lenoir was deserted, and his footsteps were loud on the pavement. Hearing
other footsteps behind him, he stiffened, turned instinctively because he was thinking about his
man who even now was perhaps still wandering through the streets, fearful, avoiding dark places,
seeking safety in bars and cafés.
    He fell asleep before his wife – so she
said at least, as she always did, just as she also claimed that he snored – and the
alarm-clock on the bedside table registered 2.20 when the phone dragged him from his sleep. It
was Lucas.
    â€˜Maybe I’m disturbing you for
nothing, sir. I haven’t got many details yet. But the duty desk of the Police Emergency
Service has just let me know that the body of a man has been found in Place de la Concorde. Near
Quai des Tuileries. That’s the jurisdiction of the first
arrondissement
.
I’ve asked the main station there not to touchanything … What?
… Fine. If you wish. I’ll send a taxi for you.’
    Madame Maigret sighed as she watched her husband
who got into his trousers but couldn’t find his shirt.
    â€˜Do you think you’ll be gone
long?’
    â€˜I don’t know.’
    â€˜Couldn’t you send one of your
inspectors instead?’
    When he opened the sideboard in the dining room,
she knew he was about to pour himself a tot of calvados. Then he came back for his pipes, which
he had forgotten.
    The taxi was waiting for him. The Grands
Boulevards were almost deserted. A huge moon, far brighter than