A Crime in Holland (8 page)

‘To continue. I postulate that if I did not commit the crime, and yet the crime was nevertheless committed, as everything seems to indicate, by someone in the house, then the whole family is guilty.

‘Don't look startled! Examine my plan of the house. And above all, try to understand the psychological considerations, which I am about to develop.

This time, Maigret could not suppress a smile at the professor's scornful condescension.

‘You have no doubt heard that Madame Popinga, née Van Elst, belongs to the strictest sect in the Reformed Church. In Amsterdam, her father is known as the fiercest of conservatives. And her sister Any, already, at twenty-five, has similar ideas in politics.

‘You only arrived here yesterday, and there are many aspects of Dutch life with which you are not yet familiar. Did you know that a teacher at the Naval College would receive a severe reprimand from his superiors if he were seen entering a café like this one? One of them lost his job, merely because he persisted in subscribing to a newspaper suspected of advanced views.

‘I met Popinga only that one evening. But it was enough, especially after having heard what people said about him. A likely lad, you might call him. A rollicking likely lad! With his round cheeks and his bright eyes full of fun …

‘You need to understand he had been a sailor. And when
he came back ashore, he had, in a sense, put on the uniform of austerity. But the uniform was bursting at the seams.

‘Do you see what I mean? It will make you smile. Because you're French. A couple of weeks ago, the club he belongs to held one of its regular meetings. Since Dutchmen don't go out to cafés at night, they get together in a hired room, under the pretext of club membership, to play billiards or skittles.

‘Well, two weeks ago, by eleven at night, Popinga was quite drunk. In the same week, his wife had been organizing collections to buy clothes for the native peoples in the East Indies. And there was Popinga, with his red cheeks and shiny eyes, saying: “Waste of time! They look much better with no clothes on! Instead of buying clothes for them, we should do as they do …”

‘Well, of course you're smiling. A silly remark that means nothing at all. But the scandal is still raging, and if Popinga's funeral is held in Delfzijl, some people will avoid going to it.

‘And that's just one little incident. Plenty more where that came from! As I said, every one of the seams of Popinga's uniform of respectability was bursting open. Just try to work out what a sin it is here to get drunk! And his pupils had seen him in that state. That was probably why they were so fond of him!

‘And now, try to imagine the atmosphere in that house on the banks of the Amsterdiep. Think of Madame Popinga and Any.

‘Look out of the window. On both sides you can see to the edge of the town. It's tiny. Everyone knows everyone else. Scandal takes about an hour to reach the entire
population. Including Popinga's relations with the man they call the Baes, and who is a kind of brigand, I have to say. They went seal-hunting together. And Popinga used to knock back spirits on Oosting's boat.

‘I'm not asking you to come to a conclusion right away. I would just repeat this sentence:
if the crime was committed by someone in the house, the whole house is guilty
.

‘Then there is that silly little girl, Beetje. Popinga never missed a chance of seeing her home. Shall I give you an idea of what she's like? Beetje is the only female round here who goes swimming every day, and not wearing a decent bathing-dress with a skirt, like all the other ladies, but in a skin-tight costume. Bright red, what's more!

‘I'll let you carry on with your inquiries. I just wanted to give you a few elements that the police tend to overlook.

‘As for Cornelius Barens, as I see it, he's part of the family, on the female side.

‘So on one hand, if you like, you have Madame Popinga, her sister Any and Cornelius. On the other, Beetje, Oosting and Popinga. If you have understood what I've told you, you might get somewhere.'

‘Can I ask you a question?' said Maigret gravely.

‘Yes, I'm listening.'

‘Are you a Protestant too?'

‘I am, yes, but I don't belong to the
Dutch
Reformed Church. It isn't the same …'

‘So which side of the barricades are you on?'

‘I didn't like Popinga …'

‘So …'

‘I disapprove of crime, of whatever kind.'

‘Didn't he play jazz music and dance while you were talking to the ladies?'

‘That's another aspect of his character that I didn't think to tell you about.'

Maigret looked splendidly serious, solemn indeed, as he stood up, saying:

‘So in sum, who do you advise me to arrest?'

Professor Duclos gave a start.

‘I didn't mention arresting anyone. I have given you some general indications in the realm of pure ideas, if I may say so.'

‘Of course. But in my place …?'

‘I'm not the police. I am looking for truth for truth's sake and even the fact that I am myself under suspicion is not capable of influencing my judgement.'

‘So I shouldn't arrest anyone?'

‘I didn't say that, I …'

‘Thank you,' said Maigret, extending his hand.

And he tapped his glass with a coin to call Madame Van Hasselt over. Duclos looked at him disapprovingly.

‘Not the kind of thing one should do here,' he murmured. ‘At least not if you want to be taken for a gentleman.'

The trapdoor for rolling the beer barrels into the cellar was being closed. Maigret paid his bill, and gave a last glance at the plans.

‘So, either you, or the whole family …'

‘I didn't say that. Listen …'

But Maigret was already at the door. Once his back was turned, he allowed his features to relax, and if he didn't burst out laughing at least he had a delighted smile on his face.

Outside he found himself bathed in sunlight, gentle warmth and calm. The ironmonger was at the door of his workshop. The little Jewish chandler was counting his anchors and marking them with red paint.

The crane was still unloading coal. Several
schippers
were hoisting their sails, not because they were leaving, but to allow the canvas to dry. And among the forest of masts they looked like great curtains, brown and white, flapping gently in the breeze.

Oosting was smoking his clay pipe on the afterdeck of his boat. A few Quayside Rats were chatting quietly.

But turning towards the town, one could see the smug residences of the local bourgeoisie, freshly painted, with their sparkling panes, immaculate net curtains and pot plants in every window. Beyond those windows, impenetrable shadows.

Perhaps the scene had taken on a new meaning since his conversation with Jean Duclos.

On one hand, the port, the men in clogs, the boats and sails, the tang of tar and salt water.

On the other, those houses with their polished furniture and dark wall-hangings, where people could gossip behind closed doors for a fortnight about a lecturer at the Naval College who had had a glass too many one evening.

The same sky, of heavenly limpidity. But what a frontier between these two worlds!

Then Maigret imagined Popinga, whom he had never seen, even in death, but who had had a ruddy round face, reflecting his crude appetites.

He imagined him standing at that frontier, gazing at
Oosting's boat, or at some five-master whose crew had put in to every port in South America, or perhaps at the Dutch steamers that had plied in China alongside junks full of slim women who looked like beautiful porcelain dolls.

And all he had was an English dinghy, highly varnished and fitted with brass trimmings, to sail the flat waters of the Amsterdiep, where you had to navigate through floating tree trunks from Scandinavia or some tropical rainforest!

It seemed to Maigret that the Baes was looking at him meaningfully, as if he would have liked to come over and talk to him. But that was impossible! They would have been unable to exchange two words.

Oosting knew that, and stayed where he was, simply puffing a little faster on his pipe, his eyelids half-closed in the sunlight.

At this time of day, Cornelius Barens would be sitting on a college bench, listening to a lecture on trigonometry or astronomy. No doubt he was still pale in the face.

Maigret was about to go and sit on a bronze bollard when he saw Pijpekamp coming towards him, hand held out.

‘Did you find anything this morning aboard the boat?'

‘Not yet … It's just a formality.'

‘You suspect Oosting?'

‘Well, there was the cap …'

‘And the cigar!'

‘No. The Baes only smokes Brazilian cigars, and that was a Manila.'

‘So?'

Pijpekamp drew him further along the quay, so as not to be under the nose of the overlord of Workum Island.

‘The compass on board used to belong to a ship from Helsingfors. The lifebelts came from an English collier … And there's plenty more like that …'

‘Stolen?'

‘No. It's always the way. Whenever a cargo vessel comes into the port, there's invariably someone, an engineer, a third officer, an ordinary seaman, sometimes even the captain, who wants to sell something. You see? They tell the company that the lifebelts were swept overboard in a storm, or that the compass didn't work. Emergency flares, whatever you can think of. Sometimes even a dinghy!'

‘So that doesn't prove anything.'

‘No. See the Jewish chandler over there, he makes his living from this second-hand trade.'

‘So your investigation …'

Pijpekamp turned away, looking awkward.

‘I told you that Beetje Liewens hadn't gone straight home. She retraced her footsteps. That's how you say it, yes? In French?'

‘Yes, yes, go on!'

‘Maybe she didn't fire the gun …'

‘Ah.'

The Dutchman was definitely ill at ease. He felt the need to drop his voice, and to take Maigret towards a completely deserted part of the quayside before going on.

‘There's that timber yard … You see what I mean. The
timmerman
 … In French you say the sawyer, so, yes, the
sawyer claims he saw Beetje and Monsieur Popinga. Yes. The two of them.'

‘Hiding behind a stack of timber, you mean?'

‘Yes, and I think …'

‘You think …?'

‘There may have been two other people nearby. That's the thing. The boy from the college, Cornelius Barens. He's been wanting to marry that girl. We found a photo of her in his satchel.'

‘Really?'

‘And also Monsieur Liewens, Beetje's father. Very important man. He raises cattle for export. He even sends some to Australia. He's a widower, and she's his only child.'

‘So
he
might have killed Popinga?'

Pijpekamp was so embarrassed that Maigret almost felt sorry for him. It was clearly very painful for him to accuse an important man, someone who raised cattle for export to Australia, no less.

‘If he saw, you know …'

Maigret was relentless.

‘If he saw what?'

‘Near the timber stacks. Beetje and Popinga …'

‘Ah yes.'

‘This is completely confidential …'

‘Good Lord, yes. But what about Barens?'

‘He might have seen them too. And perhaps he was jealous. But he was back in college five minutes after the shooting. That's what I don't understand.'

‘So to sum up,' said Maigret, in the same solemn tones
he had used when speaking to Duclos, ‘you suspect both Beetje's father and her admirer, Cornelius.'

There was an awkward silence.

‘And you also suspect Oosting, whose cap was found in the bath.'

Pijpekamp made a gesture of discouragement.

‘And of course, there's also the man who left a Manila cheroot in the dining room. How many cigar shops are there in Delfzijl?'

‘Fifteen.'

‘That doesn't help. And finally, you suspect Professor Duclos.'

‘Because he was holding the gun. I can't allow him to leave. You do see that.'

‘Absolutely!'

They walked on about fifty metres in silence.

‘So what do you think?' said the Groningen policeman, at last.

‘That is the question. And that's the difference between us. You think something. In fact, you think a great many things. But I'm not aware of thinking anything yet.'

Then suddenly a question:

‘Did Beetje Liewens know the Baes?'

‘I don't know. I don't think so.'

‘Did Cornelius know him?'

Pijpekamp rubbed his forehead.

‘Maybe, maybe not. Probably not. I can find out.'

‘That's it. Try to find out if they were acquainted at all before the murder.'

‘You think …?'

‘I don't think anything at all. One more question. Can they get wireless reception on Workum?'

‘No idea.'

‘Another thing to find out, then.'

It was hard to say quite how it had happened, but now there was a kind of hierarchy between Maigret and his companion, who was looking up to him almost as if he were his superior officer.

‘So, concentrate on those two things. I'm going to pay a visit …'

Pijpekamp was too polite to ask any questions about the visit, but his eyes were full of curiosity.

‘… to Mademoiselle Beetje,' Maigret went on. ‘What's the quickest way?'

‘Along the Amsterdiep.'

They could see the Delfzijl pilot boat, a handsome steam vessel of some 500 tons, describing a curve on the Ems before entering port. And the Baes, walking with a slow but heavy tread, full of pent-up emotion, on the deck of his boat, a hundred metres from where the Quayside Rats were soaking up the sunshine.