The Shadow Puppet Read Free Page A

door, Maigret thought he heard a noise.
    â€˜What’s in there?’
    â€˜The guinea pigs. And to the right
     are the offices of the typists and the clerical staff. We have other premises in
     Pantin, from which most of the dispatching is done, for you probably know that
     Doctor Rivière’s Serums are renowned worldwide.’
    â€˜Was it Couchet who launched
     them?’
    â€˜Yes! Doctor Rivière had no money.
     Couchet financed his research. Ten years ago he opened a laboratory which
     wasn’t as big as this one yet.’
    â€˜Is Doctor Rivière still
     involved?’
    â€˜He died five years ago, in a road
     accident.’
    At last Couchet’s body was
     removed. But, the moment the safe was opened, there was consternation: all the money
     it had contained had vanished. Only business documents remained. Monsieur Philippe
     explained, ‘Not only the 300,000 francs that Monsieur Couchet would definitely
     have brought, but another 60,000 francs held by a rubber band that had been cashed
     that afternoon and which I myself put in the safe!’
    In the dead man’s wallet, nothing.
     Or rather two numbered tickets for a theatre near Madeleine, the sight of which made
     Nine cry.
    â€˜They were for us! We were
     supposed to be going to the theatre.’
    The forensics team was done. There was
     mounting chaos as the photographers folded up their unwieldy tripods, the
     pathologist washed his hands at a basin he’d come across in a closet, and the
     prosecutor’s clerk yawned.
    Despite all the
     goings-on around him, for a few moments Maigret had a sort of tête-à-tête with the
     dead man.
    A vigorous man, on the short side,
     tubby. Like Nine, he had doubtless never entirely shed a certain vulgarity, despite
     his well-cut clothes, manicured nails and bespoke silk underwear.
    His fair hair was thinning. His eyes
     were probably blue and had a slightly childlike expression.
    â€˜A good man!’ sighed a voice
     behind him.
    It was Nine, who was crying piteously
     and who took Maigret as witness, not daring to address the public prosecutor’s
     more formal men.
    â€˜I swear to you he was a good man!
     Whenever he thought something would make me happy – and not just me, anybody –
     I’ve never seen a man give such generous tips. I even used to scold him, I
     told him people took him for a ride. And he’d reply, “So
     what?”’
    Maigret asked gravely, ‘Was he a
     cheerful man?’
    â€˜He seemed cheerful, but not deep
     down, if you know what I mean. It’s hard to explain. He needed to be moving,
     doing something. If he sat still, he’d become broody or anxious.’
    â€˜What about his wife?’
    â€˜I only saw her once, from a
     distance. I don’t have anything bad to say about her.’
    â€˜Where did Couchet
     live?’
    â€˜Boulevard Haussmann. But most of
     the time he’d go to Meulan, where he has a villa.’
    Maigret abruptly turned his head, saw
     the concierge,
who did not dare come in.
     She was signalling to him, looking more unhappy than ever.
    â€˜Listen! He’s coming
     down.’
    â€˜Who?’
    â€˜Monsieur de Saint-Marc. He must
     have heard all the commotion. Here he is. Just think! On a day like
     today!’
    The former ambassador, in his dressing
     gown, was loath to approach. He had realized this was an investigation by the public
     prosecutor’s office. Besides, the body on the stretcher passed close to
     him.
    â€˜What’s going on?’ he
     asked Maigret.
    â€˜A man’s been murdered.
     Couchet, the owner of the serums laboratory.’
    The chief inspector sensed that Monsieur
     de Saint-Marc had suddenly been struck by a thought, as if recalling something.
    â€˜Did you know him?’
    â€˜No. I mean, I knew of
     him.’
    â€˜And?’
    â€˜Nothing! I know nothing. What
     time did—’
    â€˜The murder must have