The Flemish House (9 page)

‘Who is it?'

‘Machère.'

He called out his name as if he were
making a triumphant bugle call.

‘Come in! Go and open the curtains
…'

And Maigret, still in bed, saw the dull
light of a filthy day flowing in. Downstairs, a fisherwoman was negotiating with the
hotel landlord.

‘Some news! It came in this
morning with the first post …'

‘Just a moment! Would you please
call downstairs for them to bring me up my breakfast, because there's no
service bell …'

And without leaving his bed, Maigret lit
a pipe that lay ready filled within his reach.

‘News about whom?'

‘About Germaine
Piedboeuf.'

‘Dead?'

‘Dead as can be!'

Machère announced this with delight,
taking a letter from his pocket, four large-format pages decorated with
administrative stamps.

Issued by the Public
Prosecutor's Office of Huy to the Ministry of the Interior in
Brussels.

Issued by the Ministry of the
Interior to the Sûreté in Paris.

Issued by the Sûreté to the
Flying Squad in Nancy.

Issued to Inspector Machère, in
Givet …

‘Keep it short, will
you?'

‘Well, in a few words, she was
pulled from the Meuse in Huy, about a hundred kilometres from here. Five days ago …
They didn't immediately connect it with the request for information that
I'd made to the Belgian police … But I'll read it to you …'

‘Can I come in?'

It was the chambermaid with coffee and
croissants. When she had left, Machère continued:

‘“This twenty-sixth of
January, in the year nineteen …”'

‘No, old man! Get straight to the
point …'

‘Well! It seems almost certain
that she was murdered. It's not just conjecture, it's a material fact …
Listen: “The body, as far as one can judge, must have been in the water for
between three weeks and a month … Her state of …”'

‘Keep it short!' grunted
Maigret, who was eating.

‘“… decomposition
…”'

‘I know! The conclusions! And most
of all, no description!'

‘There's a whole page
…'

‘Of what?'

‘Of description … Well, if you say
so … It doesn't come to a definitive conclusion … And yet one thing is
certain: it's that Germaine Piedboeuf was dead long before she was put in the
water … The doctor says: “two or three days before …”'

Maigret was still dipping his croissant
in his coffee, eating and looking at the rectangle of the window, and Machère
thought he wasn't listening to him.

‘Aren't you interested in
this?'

‘Go on.'

‘There's the detailed
account of the post-mortem … Do you want me to …? No? … Well! Let me tell you the
most interesting part … The skull of the corpse had been completely shattered, the
doctors are fairly sure that death was due to this fracture, produced with a blunt
instrument, like a hammer or a lump of iron …'

Maigret put one leg out of bed, then the
other, and looked at himself in the mirror before beginning to soap his cheeks with
his shaving brush. As he was shaving, Inspector Machère reread the typed report that
he was holding.

‘Don't you think
that's extraordinary? Not the hammer blow? I'm talking about the fact
that the body wasn't thrown into the water until two or three days after death
… I will have to pay the Flemings another visit …'

‘Do you have the list of clothes
that Germaine Piedboeuf was wearing?'

‘Yes … Wait … Black buckled shoes,
quite badly worn … Black stockings … Poor-quality pink underwear … Black serge
dress, no brand …'

‘Is that all? No coat?'

‘Hang on! You're quite right
…'

‘It was the third of January … It
was raining … It was cold …'

Machère's face darkened. He
grunted without explaining himself:

‘Obviously!'

‘Obviously what?'

‘She didn't get on well
enough with the Peeters that they would invite her to make herself at home … On the
other hand, I don't see why the murderer would have taken off her coat … Or
else he would have undressed her completely to make identification more difficult
…'

Maigret washed himself very noisily,
even splashing Machère, although he was in the middle of the room.

‘Have the Piedboeufs been
told?'

‘Not yet … I thought you might
take charge of that …'

‘Not at all! I'm not on
duty! Pretend you're on your own, old man!'

And he looked for the button of his
collar, finished dressing and pushed Machère towards the door.

‘I need to go out … See you later
…'

He didn't know where he was going.
He went out for the sake of it, or rather to immerse himself in the atmosphere of
the town. By chance he stopped in front of a brass plaque that announced:

A few minutes later he was led past the
three patients sitting in the waiting room and found himself in the presence of a
small man with the pink skin of a child and hair the same white as Madame
Peeters.

‘Nothing unpleasant, I
hope?'

He rubbed his hands as he spoke. He
exuded hearty optimism from every pore.

‘My daughter told me you'd
agreed to …'

‘First of all I would like to ask
you a question. How much strength would it take to smash a woman's skull with
a hammer blow?'

The bafflement of the little man, whose
belly was crossed by a fat watch chain, and who wore a jacket that had seen better
days, was a delight.

‘A skull? … How should I know? …
I've never had the occasion, in Givet …'

‘Do you think, for example, that a
woman might be capable …'

He panicked, he gesticulated.

‘A woman? … But this is madness! …
A woman would never think of …'

‘Are you a widower, Monsieur Van
de Weert?'

‘For twenty years! Luckily my
daughter …'

‘What do you think of Joseph
Peeters?'

‘But … he's an excellent
fellow! … I would rather he had chosen medicine, because he would have taken over
my practice … But, of course, since he's good at law … It is
a remarkable subject …'

‘From the health point of
view?'

‘Very good! Very good! A bit tired
from working doggedly, and by his growth …'

‘The Peeters have no
defect?'

‘A defect?'

So great was his stupefaction, he might
never have heard of such a thing.

‘You are incredible, inspector! I
don't understand! You've seen my cousin. She's built to live for a
century …'

‘Your daughter too?'

‘She's more delicate … She
takes after her mother … But allow me to offer you a cigar …'

A true Fleming like the ones one sees in
the posters advertising a brand of genever, a Fleming with full lips and clear eyes,
proclaiming the simplicity of his soul.

‘In the end, Mademoiselle
Marguerite had to marry her cousin.'

His face darkened slightly.

‘Sooner or later, of course! … Had
it not been for that unfortunate affair …'

As far as he was concerned, it was only
unfortunate!

‘They just didn't grasp that
the best thing to do was to accept a small sum for the child and, if possible, to
move to a different town … I think it's the brother in particular who has a
poor character …'

No! You couldn't hold it against
him! He was sincere! Naive by virtue of his sincerity!

‘Not to mention the fact that
there's no evidence that the child is Joseph's … He would have been far
better off in a sanatorium, with his mother …'

‘So your daughter was waiting
…'

And Van de Weert smiled.

‘She has loved him since she was
fourteen or fifteen … Isn't that lovely? … Was I supposed to stand in their
way? … Do you have a light? … If you ask my opinion, there isn't even anything
to get worked up about … The young woman, who was always a little manhunter, has
followed a new boyfriend somewhere or other … And her brother took advantage of the
fact to try and make himself some money …'

He didn't ask Maigret's
advice. He was sure that his opinion was right. He listened out for vague sounds
from the waiting room, where his clients were bound to be getting impatient.

Then Maigret, calmly, and with the same
innocent expression as the doctor, asked one last question:

‘Do you think that Mademoiselle
Marguerite is her cousin's mistress?'

Perhaps Van de Weert was on the point of
losing his temper. His forehead turned red. But what prevailed was sadness in the
face of such incomprehension.

‘Marguerite? … You're mad! …
Who could have come up with such a thing? … Marguerite, the … the …'

And Maigret, who was already holding the
door handle, left without even smiling. The house smelled of both chemicals and
cooking. The servant who opened the door
to the clients was as
fresh as if she had just emerged from a hot bath.

But outside it was all rain and mud
again, and passing lorries splashed the pavements.

It was Saturday. Joseph Peeters was due
to arrive in the afternoon and spend Sunday in Givet. At the Café des Mariniers they
were engaged in a passionate discussion because the Department of Roads and Bridges
had just announced that shipping traffic had resumed between the border and
Maastricht.

Except that, given the strength of the
current, the tugs were asking for fifteen francs a kilometre per ton, rather than
ten. They had also learned that an arch of the Namur bridge had been obstructed by a
barge loaded with stones that had broken its mooring and crashed into the pier.

‘Any casualties?' asked
Maigret.

‘The wife and her son. The
bargeman himself was in the bar, and by the time he got to the waterside his boat
had already taken off!'

Gérard Piedboeuf passed by on his
bicycle, coming back from the factory offices. And a few moments later Machère came
back from the Flemish house, where he had gone to announce the news, rang the
doorbell of the Piedboeuf house and found himself face to face with the midwife, who
curtly let him in.

‘So tell me about your indecent
assault case.'

On most barges, the accommodation is
cleaner than most people's houses. But that was not the case on the
Étoile
Polaire
.

The bargeman had no wife. He was helped by
a lad of about twenty who wasn't quite right in the head and who had epileptic
seizures from time to time.

The cabin smelled like a barracks. The
man was busy eating bread and sausage and drinking a litre of red wine.

He was less drunk than usual. He looked
suspiciously at Maigret, and it was quite a long time before he decided to
speak.

‘It wasn't even an assault …
I'd already slept with the girl two or three times … One evening, in the
street, I meet her and, because I've been drinking, she turns me down … So I
hit her … She screamed … Some cops happened to be passing by, and I knocked one of
them down …'

‘Five years?'

‘Nearly. She denied that
we'd had relations before … Some friends of mine came to court and said we
had, but they only half believed them … Without the cop, who spent a fortnight in
hospital, I'd have got off with a year, maybe even suspended …'

And he cut his bread with a
penknife.

‘Are you thirsty? … We might leave
tomorrow … We're waiting to see if the bridge at Namur is cleared …'

‘Now tell me why you made up the
story of the woman you saw on the quay.'

‘Me?'

He took some time to think and pretended
to eat hungrily.

‘Admit it, you didn't see
anything at all!'

Maigret caught a flicker of joy in the
other man's eyes.

‘That's what you think? Well!
I'm sure you're right!'

‘Who asked you to give that
statement?'

‘Me?'

And he was still laughing. He spat his
sausage skin out right in front of him.

‘Where did you meet Gérard
Piedboeuf?'

‘Oh! I see …'

But he was face to face with a man as
placid as himself.

‘Did he give you
something?'

‘He bought some rounds
…'

Then, suddenly, with a silent
chuckle:

‘Except it isn't true!
I'm just saying that to please you … If you want me to tell the court the
opposite, you just have to give me a sign …'

‘What did you see
exactly?'

‘If I told you, you wouldn't
believe me.'

‘Tell me anyway!'

‘Well! I saw a woman waiting …
then a man came, and she threw herself into his arms …'

‘Who was it?'

‘How do you expect me to recognize
them in the dark?'

‘Where were you?'

‘I was coming back from the bar
…'

‘And where did the couple go? To
the Flemish house?'

‘No! They went in the back
way.'

‘The back of what?'

‘The back of the house … But if
you don't think I'm telling the truth … I'm used to it, you
understand! … They told so many stories at my trial … Even my lawyer, who was the
worst liar of all …'

‘Do you go and have a glass at the
Flemish house from time to time?'

‘Me? … They refuse to serve me, on
the grounds that I once broke the scales by punching my fist down on them … They
need customers who get off their faces without moving or saying anything
…'