Chief Inspector Maigret Visits London

Margaret de Rohan

Copyright © 2013 Margaret de Rohan

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study,

or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents

Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in

any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the

publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with

the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries

concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

Matador

9 Priory Business Park

Kibworth Beauchamp

Leicestershire LE8 0RX, UK

Tel: (+44) 116 279 2299

Fax: (+44) 116 279 2277

Email: [email protected]

Web: www.troubador.co.uk/matador

ISBN 9781783069248

Matador is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd

Converted to eBook by
EasyEPUB

For the students and staff of Alleyn's School, Dulwich

CELIA AND GRANNY MEG GO TO PARIS:

a survival guide

CELIA AND GRANNY MEG RETURN TO PARIS: the man with no face

Grateful thanks to Celia, Max, Timothy and Nathaniel – for providing their Granny with a rich source of incidents and expressions on which to draw for her stories - and to
their parents for their continued support.

Thanks also to Danny Burgess for his original cover design, and to the long-suffering Matador people, and my adult readers who enjoyed the first two books and wrote some wonderful reviews for me.

My special thanks to Bobby Watson and his mother, Sue.

Philippe Maigret looked at his watch again and was dismayed to find that only five minutes had passed since the last time he'd looked. Not only that but he was still in France. Deep in
rural
France, to be more precise, which made matters worse. Calais and
La Manche
¹
were still a long way off. What he wanted more than anything was to hear an announcement that the Eurostar would shortly be arriving at St Pancras station in London. He opened his book again but the words kept swirling around on the page as if designed to torment him. He sighed one of his famous deep sighs, took another sip of coffee, and reluctantly returned to his book.

When the Eurostar eventually pulled into St Pancras station late on that Friday afternoon in May, the doors were scarcely open before he was off like a greyhound leaving the traps.

‘Well, well, well,' said the older of two men in almost identical suits who were standing back in the half-shadows observing the new arrivals, ‘now there's a familiar face.' He turned to face his colleague, so that his back was towards the train now.

‘Where? Who?'

‘The tall guy, with the greying hair, who just got out of one of the first class carriages. Do you see him? He's wearing a black raincoat with a long blue scarf and carrying a designer suitcase.'

‘Yes, I see him.'

‘What's he doing now? Does it look like he recognised me?'

‘He's heading for the exit as fast as he can. He's not looking at you. Who is he? He looks dead posh.'

‘Oh yes, he's posh alright; very well-heeled, comes from a wealthy family. That suitcase alone must have cost more than either of us earns in a month. He's a French cop.'

‘Transport?'

‘No. He's one of the big boys from the
Police Nationale
in Paris. Chief Inspector Philippe Maigret, that's his name.'

‘What's he doing on our patch, Tom? Was the boss expecting him?'

‘If he was, he certainly didn't tell me. As far as I know, Maigret has no reason to be in London, but I'm sure the boss will be
very
interested to learn that he is.'

‘Do you think that the French know something
we
don't know?'

‘That's always the worry, matey. Always the
big
worry. You know how the French like to keep their cards close to their chests. They're masters at that particular game. You'd better follow him. Find out where he goes and what he does.'

‘What about our assignment here, the fraudster we're supposed to arrest on sight?'

‘I'll be okay on my own. I can always get one of the uniformed lads to lend a hand if I need help. And for all we know he wasn't even on this train. Now get a move on before you lose Maigret.'

The younger policeman hurried off, flashing his warrant card to the ticket collector as he left the platform. There were hordes of people milling around the ticket hall looking at the departure boards or meeting newly-arrived passengers. At first he thought he'd lost the chief inspector but finally he saw him. He was striding purposefully towards a smiling woman who was hurrying to meet him. When they met, he dropped his case, threw his arms around her and kissed her emphatically. I think the French cop might just be here for some
funny
business, not police business, the policeman thought. When the couple walked arm in arm towards the exit marked “Taxis” he followed them. He wasn't fast enough to get the taxi after theirs but he did get the next one.

‘Follow that cab,' he said, pointing to the one he meant.

‘Nah, nah, nah,' the driver said, ‘see we don't do that kind of thing in London, guv. I think you've been watching too many American movies.'

The policeman flashed his warrant card again.

‘Does this make a difference?'

‘All the difference in the world, guv,' the taxi driver said as he took off at breakneck speed.

‘Don't lose him.'

‘No worries, guv. My mates call me Speedy Gonzales. I won't lose him.'

And, weaving his way in and out of the Friday afternoon traffic, he was as good as his word. After a mile or so, the first taxi turned into the carriage drive of an apartment building opposite Regent's Park.

‘Do you want me to drive in too, guv?' the driver asked.

‘No, stop on the side of the road, and keep the meter running, I won't be long.'

‘Gotcha, guv.'

As the policeman watched, the couple entered the building and exchanged some words with the porter. He waited a few moments then entered himself.

‘Can I help you, sir?' the man behind the reception desk asked.

‘Yes, you can. The man and woman who just got into the lift; who are they?'

‘The lady lives here. She's one of our residents. But that's all I'm permitted to tell you.'

‘Security?'

‘Something very much like that, sir.'

The policeman flashed his warrant card yet again while keeping his eye on the lift dial. As he did, the lift stopped on the fourth floor. ‘Does this make a difference?' he asked for a second time that afternoon.

‘Certainly does, sir. We're always happy to assist the police.'

‘Good. Now, first of all, who's the woman?'

‘Her name is Mrs Lisle. She's a nice lady.'

‘And the man; who's he?'

‘A French gentleman visiting for a few days, Mrs Lisle said. I believe his name is Mr Maigret.'

‘
Mr
Maigret?'

‘That's what Mrs Lisle said when she introduced me.'

‘She lives on the fourth floor?'

‘Yes – but how did you… oh, of course – the lift.'

‘Yes, the lift.' He thrust a small notebook towards the porter, ‘I want you to write her name, flat number and her phone number in this for me. Okay?'

‘Certainly, sir, I'll just look up her number in our directory.'

‘Make it quick. And not a word about this conversation to anyone else – is that clear?'

‘As crystal, sir,' he said, writing as fast as he could.

The policeman left the apartment building and climbed back into the waiting cab.

‘Where to now, guv?' the taxi driver asked.

‘Scotland Yard, and pronto because I'm in a hurry,' he said, pressing a number on his mobile.

‘Boss, it's me, Geoff. Has Tom filled you in on the… er… new arrival at St Pancras?'

‘He has. What's your take on why Maigret's turned up in London?'

‘I think he's just here for a private visit, boss. He seemed pretty friendly with the woman who met him at St Pancras. He was all over her like the measles. Not that she seemed to mind.'

‘Where did he come to roost?'

‘Mansion block opposite Regent's Park.'

‘And the woman concerned? What's her story?'

‘Strictly kosher, sir, by all accounts. She's Mrs Lisle, a widow who's lived there for a couple of years. Apparently our er… visitor is staying with her for a few days.'

‘I still don't like it, Geoff. Maigret on our patch makes me nervous. I'll get some of the boys to keep an eye on him for a while just to make sure he's not up to something that we ought to know about.'

If Chief Inspector Maigret's intellectual radar had not been so thrown off course by his joyful reunion with Megan Lisle, he might have noticed that the Metropolitan police were tailing him over that weekend. But it had been, so he didn't.
C'est la vie
– that's life!

The next morning, Philippe Maigret stretched luxuriously in Megan's big bed, yawned and rolled closer to her.

‘Sleep well, love?' she asked.

‘Like the Rock of Ages. I haven't slept that well since the night before you left Paris!'

‘Well, I
was
expecting “like a baby” – but I guess you've proved yet again that the French really
are
different! Though how a rock actually sleeps is beyond me.'

He laughed. ‘Trust me, rocks sleep very well indeed. Now what further delights do you have in store for us today?'

‘I thought we'd have a long walk in Regent's Park, followed by brunch on the high street then maybe a visit to the Royal Academy and the National Gallery. What do you think? Does that sound like a plan, Philippe?' He had started groaning before she'd finished the first sentence.

‘You know me. I'm but a simple policeman! I'd be quite content to spend the whole day hiding away in this apartment with you.'

‘Well you
won't,
' she said, aiming a pillow at his head. ‘Not on a lovely day like this. I'll make the coffee while you shower. Now, get moving, Chief Inspector Maigret, and that's an order!'

So they spent their pleasant day together much to the irritation of the two plain-clothes policemen who were tailing them.

‘This is a total waste of time,' the first one said. ‘These two are following their own agenda and it has absolutely nothing to do with police matters!'

‘You're probably right, but quit complaining. The overtime's good, isn't it?'

‘It's a waste of police resources,' his mate grumbled. ‘Where will they be off to next? Ruddy Buckingham Palace?'

They didn't go to Buckingham Palace. They went home, cooked their dinner, drank their wine and, later the next morning, took a long drive to the country for lunch. And all the time they were followed by the police, but a different team from the ones who had shadowed them the day before. However, this pair was no happier than the ones the previous day had been.

‘They're doing the tourist thing, guv. Now she's taking him for lunch in Oxfordshire. Or maybe it's Buckinghamshire. I can't tell where the county borders start and end around these parts. It's all a waste of time anyway. They're only interested in each other,' the senior policeman complained when he phoned his boss at Scotland Yard.

‘Okay, finish the surveillance at 6 pm. Wherever they are then, that's it. Time to call it quits.'

Thank the Lord for small mercies, both policemen thought at 6 pm. It's Sunday night and now it's time to put the old feet up and chill out in front of the television.

At eight o'clock the next morning Philippe's mobile rang.

‘Damn! I thought I'd turned it off!' he said as he retrieved it from the bedside table. The phone indicated that Inspector Martin of the
Police Nationale
in Paris was calling.

‘Georges, you better be about to tell me that World War Three has begun because anything less than that and you're in serious trouble! I'm on holiday, remember? I told you I was not to be disturbed this week. Not under any circumstances!
Comprendre?'

‘Sir, it's me, Jacques. I'm using Georges' phone.'

‘Why? Oh, don't bother, just tell me why you're calling, Jacques, and make it snappy. I haven't had my coffee yet! You
do
realise that London time is an hour behind Paris, don't you?'

‘Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir, but I thought you'd want to be informed that Scotland Yard knows you're in London.'

‘They can't! How?'

‘I don't know, sir, but obviously they do because you've been invited to morning tea at Scotland Yard tomorrow morning.'

‘Decline politely on my behalf, please Jacques. Tell them thanks, but no thanks.'

‘Sir, they even know where you're staying.'

‘What? They can't. Not unless they've bugged Paris HQ, which I think is unlikely.'

‘You must have been recognised when you arrived at St Pancras, Chief. They've offered to send a car for you tomorrow morning. They specifically said “to the mansion address near Regent's Park”. What do you want me to do, sir?'

‘The cheeky monkeys! They're really rubbing our noses in it, aren't they? They want us to know how much
they
know. They think they're being clever.' (Inspector Maigret didn't actually say “monkeys” but some things should be left to the imagination, and besides, they sound less offensive in French!)

‘Do you still want me to decline their invitation, sir?'

‘Yes, Jacques. Decline, decline, decline, and I am not talking about Latin nouns!'

‘
Comment?'

‘Forget it, Jacques. I was just trying a little humour.
Au revoir, mon ami.
I'll see you in a week or so.'

‘What was all that about?' Megan asked sleepily.

‘Oh just Scotland Yard playing silly bug, er…
bunnies,
darling, nothing for you to worry about. Someone on security detail at St Pancras must have recognised me and now they're worried that I might know something that they don't know but should. It's actually quite funny,' he chuckled, and then began to laugh.

‘Why?'

‘The way the wheels within wheels work!'

‘You're not making sense, Philippe!'

Then suddenly he was very serious. ‘I'd probably do
exactly
the same thing if a chief inspector from Scotland Yard turned up in Paris without prior warning. The culture might be different but police practices remain the same. It's standard police paranoia. Your greatest fear is that the big bad thing might happen on your watch. And, by the law of averages, one day it
will
because it can't always be someone else's turn. One day it will probably be my turn, though I pray to God that day never comes.'

‘Oh, darling,' she said, enfolding him in her arms.

But Scotland Yard would not be fobbed off. Half an hour later Jacques, fearing for his life, called again, this time with an invitation for Philippe Maigret to go to lunch the next day.

‘If I turn down the lunch invitation, do you think they'll up the bid to a gourmet dinner at The Ritz?' he asked Megan. She was pleased to see that he was smiling again. The hapless Jacques was instructed to decline that invitation too.

‘Oh, Philippe! I think perhaps you should
go; just to put them out of their misery and so your phone's not ringing all the time. Call Jacques and tell him you've changed your mind.'

‘You're probably right, my love. And perhaps I
will
go. But only if you come with me.'

‘Don't be silly. What would I do at Scotland Yard? I'd be like a fish out of water! You go and I'll catch up on some errands while you're away.'

‘No, Megan. Either we
both
go or I don't go at all.'

Hmm, she thought. He called me Megan. He must be serious. Looks like I might actually have to go.

So lunch for both of them at Scotland Yard the next day became a
fait accompli.
And who would ever have imagined that a simple act like accepting a lunch invitation would have such far-reaching consequences?