Inspector Cadaver (4 page)

Naud was unpleasantly surprised, Maigret
could tell, but only because he had been caught eating his breakfast in the kitchen like
a farm labourer.

‘Already up, inspector? You see, I
keep to the old country ways. Whatever time I go to bed, I'm up at five in the
morning. I didn't wake you, I hope?'

What was the use of telling him the lavatory
had woken him?

‘I won't offer you a bowl of
soup, because I suppose that …'

‘Quite the opposite.'

‘Léontine …'

‘Yes, monsieur, I heard. Right
away.'

‘Did you sleep well?'

‘Fairly well. I thought I heard
footsteps in the passage at one point …'

Maigret said this to see whether Naud had
caught his daughter going back to her room, but his host's surprise seemed
sincere.

‘When was that? In the evening? I
didn't hear anything.
Although, I have to say, it does take a
great deal to wake me when I'm fast asleep. Probably our friend Alban getting up
to go to the w.c. … What do you think of that fellow? Likeable, isn't he?
Much more cultivated than he lets on. You can't imagine the number of books he
gets through. He knows everything, simple as that. Too bad he didn't have better
luck with his wife …'

‘He was married?'

Having marked Groult-Cotelle down as the
epitome of the provincial bachelor, Maigret felt suspicious, as if they had been hiding
something from him or trying to trick him.

‘He not only was, he still is. He has
two children, a boy and a girl. The older one must be twelve or thirteen.'

‘His wife lives with him?'

‘No. She lives on the Côte
d'Azur. It's rather a painful story that we never refer to round here. Mind
you, she was from a very good family, a Deharme … Yes, like the general.
She's his niece … A slightly peculiar young woman, she couldn't seem
to understand that she was living in Saint-Aubin rather than Paris … There were a
few scandals … She used the pretext of a very hard winter to up sticks to Nice and
has never come back. She lives down there with her children … Um … She
doesn't live alone, of course …'

‘Her husband hasn't sued for a
divorce?'

‘That isn't done
here.'

‘Which side is the fortune
on?'

Étienne Naud looked at him
reproachfully; he would have preferred not to have to go into details.

‘She is undoubtedly
very wealthy.'

The cook had sat down to grind some coffee
in an old-fashioned coffee mill with a big copper lid.

‘You're in luck: the rain has
stopped. Still, my brother-in-law should have advised you to bring boots; he is a local,
after all, and he knows these parts. We are in the depths of the marshes here. Can you
believe it, to get to some of my farms,
cabanes
we call them, you have to go by
boat come winter or summer! … Speaking of my brother-in-law, I am a little
embarrassed that he dared ask someone like you …'

The question Maigret had been turning over
in his mind since the previous evening was this: was he staying with decent sorts who
had nothing to hide and were extending their warmest welcome to a guest from Paris, or
was he an undesirable outsider whom Examining Magistrate Bréjon had thoughtlessly
imposed on a nonplussed household who would gladly have dispensed with his services?

It occurred to him to try a little
experiment.

‘Not many people get out at
Saint-Aubin station,' he remarked, eating his soup. ‘I think yesterday there
were only two of us, besides an old peasant woman wearing a bonnet.'

‘That's right.'

‘Is the man who alighted at the same
time as me from here?'

Étienne Naud hesitated. Why? Maigret
was looking at him so intently he was ashamed of his wavering.

‘I'd never seen him
before,' he said hurriedly. ‘You may
have noticed that I
couldn't decide between the two of you …'

Changing tactics, Maigret continued,
‘I wonder why he's come here, or rather who sent for him.'

‘You know him?'

‘He is a private detective. I'll
have to make inquiries first thing to find out what he's doing. I daresay
he's staying at one of the two hotels you told me about yesterday.'

‘I'll take you in a moment in
the cart.'

‘Thank you, but I prefer to walk, to
come and go …'

Something had just occurred to him. Might
not Naud have been thinking he could go into the village early and meet Inspector Cavre
while Maigret was still asleep?

Anything was possible. The inspector found
himself wondering whether the girl's visit wasn't itself part of a plan
devised by the whole family.

The next moment, he was kicking himself for
thinking such things.

‘I hope your daughter isn't
seriously ill?'

‘No. If you want to know the truth, I
don't think she's any more ill than I am. Despite our best efforts,
she's heard whispers of what people are saying in town … She's proud.
All young girls are. That's her real reason for hiding herself away for three
days, I think … And, who knows, perhaps she's a little ashamed with you
here?'

‘My word …' thought
Maigret, remembering the visit the young girl had paid him in the night.

‘We can talk in front of
Léontine,' Naud went on. ‘She's known me since I was very small.
She's been in the family since … since when, Léontine?'

‘Since my first
communion, sir.'

‘A little more soup? No? You see,
I'm in an unpleasant situation and I sometimes wonder if my brother-in-law
hasn't made a mistake. You'll say he knows all this stuff better than I do
because it's his job. But since he's been living in Paris, he may have
forgotten the way things are around here …'

He seemed so happy to talk, like a man who
comes right out with whatever is on his mind, it was very hard to believe he
wasn't sincere. He sat there with his legs outstretched, calmly filling his pipe,
while Maigret finished his breakfast. Warm and snug, the kitchen gradually filled with
the smell of percolating coffee, while outside, in the darkness of the farmyard, they
could hear the stable boy whistling as he groomed the horses.

‘Make no mistake. Rumours do go around
now and then about somebody or other. This time the accusation is a serious one, I know.
But I still wonder if it wouldn't be better to treat it with contempt … You
accepted my brother-in-law's invitation. You have done us the honour of coming. I
can tell you, that will already be common knowledge. Tongues wag … I suppose you
are going to question people? Their fancies will only get even more exaggerated.
That's why I do wonder if this is the right approach … You're not
having any more to eat? If you don't suffer too badly from the cold, I'd be
delighted to show you round. I do a little tour of inspection every morning.'

Maigret was putting on his overcoat when the
maid came down, her duties beginning an hour later than the old cook's. The door
opened on to the cold, wet farmyard.
For an hour they went from cowshed
to cowshed as milk churns were loaded on to a delivery van.

Some cows, which were leaving for a nearby
market that day, were being herded together by drovers in dark smocks. At the end of the
yard there was a small office with a little round stove, a desk, a stack of
account-books and a row of pigeonholes. A farm worker in boots like his boss looked up
as they opened the door.

‘Would you excuse me for a
moment?' Naud asked.

Maigret saw a solitary light on the first
floor of the house. Madame Naud was getting up. Groult-Cotelle was still asleep, as was
the girl. The maid was polishing in the dining room.

Meanwhile, in the darkness of the farmyard
and the out-buildings, men and animals came and went as the delivery van's engine
idled.

‘There we are. A few instructions to
give. In a moment, I'll be setting off in the car to have a look round the market.
There are some fellow farmers I need to see. If I had time and I thought it would
interest you, I'd explain how my business works. On my other farms, I breed
ordinary herds and we also have a dairy herd. Whereas here we deal mainly in pedigree
animals, which are sold abroad for the most part. I ship some as far as South America
… Now, I am entirely at your disposal. In an hour, it will be light. If you need
the car, or if you have any questions to ask me … I don't want to be in your
way at all … You must treat this as your home …'

His face was quite open as he spoke and he
showed no sign of irritation when Maigret replied:

‘Well, if you have no
objection, I'll go for a little explore …'

The lane was boggy, as though the canal,
which could be seen to the left, flowed underneath it. The railway embankment ran along
its right-hand side. Roughly a kilometre away an electric glare was visible. Judging by
the green and red lights clustered around it, this was the station.

Turning back to the house, Maigret saw that
two other windows were now lit up on the first floor, and he thought about Alban
Groult-Cotelle, wondering why he had been annoyed to find out that he was married.

The sky was brightening. One of the first
buildings Maigret saw, as he turned left in front of the station and went into the
village, had lights on downstairs and a sign saying the Lion d'Or.

He went in and found himself in a long, low
room in which everything was brown: the walls, the beams on the ceiling, the long
polished tables and the backless benches. At the far end, there was an unlit kitchen
range. A woman of indeterminate age, bent over a bundle of firewood burning slowly in
the fireplace, was in the final stages of making coffee.

She turned for a moment to the newcomer
without speaking, and Maigret sat down in the dim glow of a dust-smeared lamp.

‘Give me a little glass of your local
brandy, would you,' he said, shaking his overcoat, which was covered in greyish
drops of dew. She didn't answer, and he thought she hadn't heard. She
continued to stir her pan of unappetizing coffee
and, when it was to
her liking, she poured some in a cup, put it on a tray and headed for the stairs,
announcing:

‘I'll be right down.'

Maigret was convinced this was
Cadaver's coffee, and confirmation came a few moments later when he saw the
man's coat on the coat rack.

He heard footsteps overhead and the hum of
voices, without being able to understand what was being said. Five minutes went by. Then
another five. Every now and then Maigret rapped on the wooden tabletop with a coin to no
effect.

Finally, after a quarter of an hour, the
woman came back down, even unfriendlier than before.

‘What did you ask me for?'

‘A glass of the local
brandy.'

‘I don't have any.'

‘You don't have any
brandy?'

‘I've got some cognac, but no
local brandy.'

‘Give me a cognac.'

She served it to him in a glass with such a
thick bottom there was barely any room for the drink.

‘Tell me, madame, aren't I right
in saying that one of my friends stayed here last night?'

‘I don't know if he's your
friend.'

‘Isn't he the person who's
just got up?'

‘I have one guest. I just took him his
coffee.'

‘Knowing him, I'm sure he must
have bombarded you with questions. Didn't he?'

She had gone to get a cloth to wipe the
tables where the previous day's customers had left wet rings.

‘Didn't Albert
Retailleau spend the evening before he died here?'

‘What's that to you?'

‘He was a good lad, I believe. I was
told he'd been playing cards that evening. Is belote what people play round
here?'

‘Coinche is our game.'

‘So he played coinche with his
friends. He lived with his mother, didn't he? A fine woman, if I'm not
mistaken.'

‘Um …'

‘You're saying
…?'

‘I'm not saying anything.
You're the one who's talking the whole time and I've no idea what
you're driving at.'

Upstairs, Inspector Cavre was getting
dressed.

‘Does she live far from
here?'

‘Down the end of the street, at the
back of a little close. The house with three stone steps …'

‘My friend Cavre, who's staying
with you, hasn't gone to see her yet, has he?'

‘I'd like to know how he could
have, seeing as he's only just got out of bed!'

‘Is he here for a few days?'

‘I haven't asked him.'

She opened the windows to push back the
shutters. A milky-white sky revealed that it was already light.

‘Do you think Retailleau was drunk
that night?'

Suddenly aggressive, she retorted:

‘No drunker than you, already on the
cognac at eight in the morning!'

‘What do I owe you?'

‘Two
francs.'

The Trois Mules inn, a slightly more modern
establishment, was directly across the street, but the inspector didn't see any
point going in. A blacksmith was lighting the fire in his forge. A woman on her front
doorstep was throwing slops across the street. A bell tinkled shrilly, reminding Maigret
of his childhood, and a kid in clogs with a loaf of bread under his arm came out of the
baker's shop.

Curtains rustled as he passed. A hand wiped
a steamed-up window and the deeply wrinkled face of an old woman appeared, her eyes
red-rimmed like Inspector Cadaver's. The church was to the right, grey and covered
with slates that were black and glistening from the rain. A woman in her fifties was
coming out of it, a woman in deep mourning, very thin, very upright, holding a missal
covered in black cloth in one hand.