The Grand Banks Café (7 page)

‘And it went on like that for
three months?'

‘Yes. Anything else you want to
ask me?'

‘No, that's it. You can go
…'

Louis walked away almost regretfully. He
stopped for a moment by the hatch, watching the inspector, who was puffing gently at
his pipe.

Cod was still being extracted from the
gaping hold in the glare of the acetylene lamps. But Maigret had had enough of
trucks, dockers, the quays, the jetties and the lighthouse.

He was standing on a world of plated
steel and, half-closing his eyes, he imagined being out on the open sea, in a field
of surging swells through which the bows ploughed an endless furrow, hour after
hour, day after day, week after week.

‘Don't imagine we walk
around like we're doing now …'

Men below serving the engines. Men in
the forward crew quarters. And on the after deck, a handful of God's
creatures: the captain, his first mate, the chief mechanic and the wireless
operator.

A small binnacle light to see the
compass by. Charts spread out.

Three months!

When they'd got back, Captain
Fallut had written his will, in which he stated his intention to put an end to his
life.

An hour after they'd berthed, he'd been
strangled and dumped in the harbour.

And Madame Bernard, his landlady, was
left grieving because now there would be no marriage of two ideally suited people.
The chief mechanic shouted at his wife. The girl called Adèle defied an unknown man,
but ran off with him the moment Maigret held a picture of herself scribbled on in
red ink under her nose.

And in his prison cell the wireless
operator Le Clinche in a foul temper.

The boat hardly moved. Just a gentle
motion, like a chest breathing. One of the three men he'd seen in the foredeck
was playing the accordion.

As he turned his head, Maigret made out
the shapes of two women on the quayside. Suddenly galvanized, he hurried down the
gangway.

‘What are you doing
here?'

He felt his face burn because he had
sounded gruff, but especially because he was aware that he too was being infected by
the frenzy which filled all those involved in the case.

‘We wanted to see the boat,'
said Madame Maigret with disarming self-effacement.

‘It's my fault,' said
Marie Léonnec. ‘I was the one who insisted on …'

‘All right! That's fine!
Have you eaten?'

‘It's ten o'clock …
Have you?'

‘Yes, thanks.'

The windows of the Grand Banks Café were
more or less the only ones still lit. A few shadowy figures could
be made out on the jetty: tourists dutifully out for
their evening stroll.

‘Have you found out
anything?' asked Le Clinche's fiancée.

‘Not yet. Or rather, not
much.'

‘I don't dare ask you a
favour.'

‘You can always ask.'

‘I'd like to see
Pierre's cabin. Could I?'

He shrugged and took her there. Madame
Maigret refused to walk over the gangway.

Literally a metal box. Wireless
equipment. A steel table, a seat and a bunk. Hanging on a wall, a picture of Marie
Léonnec in Breton costume. Old shoes on the floor and a pair of trousers on the
bed.

The girl inhaled the atmosphere with a
mixture of curiosity and delight.

‘Yes! But it isn't at all
how I'd imagined. His shoes have never been cleaned … Oh look! He kept
drinking from the same glass without ever washing it …'

A strange girl! An amalgam of shyness,
delicacy and a good upbringing on the one hand and dynamism and fearlessness on the
other. She hesitated.

‘And the captain's
cabin?'

Maigret smiled faintly, for he realized
that deep down she was hoping to make a discovery. He led the way. He even fetched a
lantern he found on deck.

‘How can they live with this
smell?' she sighed.

She looked carefully around her. He saw
her become flustered and shy as she said:

‘Why has the bed been raised
up?'

Maigret stopped drawing on his pipe. She was right. All
the crew slept in berths which were more or less part of the architectural structure
of the boat. Only the captain had a metal bed.

Under each of its legs a wooden block
had been placed.

‘You don't think
that's strange? It's as if …'

‘Go on.'

All trace of ill-humour had gone.
Maigret saw the girl's pale face lighten as her mind worked and her elation
grew.

‘It's as if … but
you'll only laugh at me … as if the bed's been propped up so that
someone could hide underneath … Without those pieces of wood, the bedstead would be
much too low, but the way it is now …'

And before he could stop her, she lay
down flat on the floor regardless of the dirt on the floor and slid under the
bed.

‘There's enough room!'
she said.

‘Right. You can come out
now.'

‘Just a minute, if you don't
mind. Pass me that lamp for a minute, inspector.'

She went quiet. He couldn't work
out what she was doing. He lost patience.

‘Well?'

She reappeared suddenly, her grey suit
covered with dust and eyes shining.

‘Pull the bed out … You'll
see.'

Her voice broke. Her hands shook.
Maigret yanked the bed away from the wall and looked at the floor.

‘I can't see anything
…'

When she didn't answer he turned and saw that she
was crying.

‘What did you see? Why are you
crying?'

‘There … Read it.'

He had to bend down and place the lamp
against the wall. Then he could make out words scratched on the wood with a sharp
object, a pin or a nail.

Gaston – Octave – Pierre – Hen …

The last word was unfinished. And yet it
did not look as if it had been done in a hurry. Some of the letters must have taken
an hour to inscribe. There were flourishes, little strokes, the sort of doodling
that's done in an idle moment.

A comic note was struck by two
stag's antlers above the name ‘Octave'.

The girl was sitting on the edge of the
bed, which had been pulled into the middle of the cabin. She was still crying, in
silence.

‘Very curious!' muttered
Maigret. ‘I'd like to know if …'

At this point, she stood up and said
excitedly:

‘Of course! That's it! There
was a woman here! She was hiding! … All the same, men would come looking for her …
Wasn't Captain Fallut called Octave?'

The inspector had rarely been so taken
off guard.

‘Don't go jumping to
conclusions!' he said, though there was no conviction in his words.

‘But it's all written down!
… The whole story is there! Four men who …'

What could he say to calm her down?

‘Look, I've a lot of experience, so take it
from me. In police matters, you must always wait before making judgements … Only
yesterday, you were telling me that Le Clinche is incapable of killing.'

‘Yes,' she sobbed.
‘Yes, and I still believe it! Isn't it …'

She still clung desperately to her
hopes.

‘His name is Pierre …'

‘I know. So what? One sailor in
ten is called Pierre, and there were fifty men on board … There's also a
Gaston … And a Henry …'

‘So what do you think?'

‘Nothing.'

‘Are you going to tell the
examining magistrate about this? And to think it was me who …'

‘Calm down! We haven't found
out anything, except that the bed was raised for one reason or another and that
someone has written names on a wall.'

‘There was a woman
there.'

‘Why a woman?'

‘But …'

‘Come on. Madame Maigret is
waiting for us on the quay.'

‘You're right.'

She wiped her tears, meek now, and
sniffled.

‘I shouldn't have come … But
I thought … But it's not possible that Pierre … Listen! I must see him as soon
as I can! I'll talk to him, alone … You can arrange it, can't
you?'

Before starting down the gangway, she
looked back with eyes full of hate at the dark ship, which was no longer the
same to her now that she knew that a
woman had been hiding on board.

Madame Maigret watched her,
intrigued.

‘Come! You mustn't cry! You
know everything will all turn out all right.'

‘No, it won't,' she
said with a despairing shake of her head.

She couldn't speak. She could
hardly breathe. She tried to look at the boat one more time. Madame Maigret, who did
not understand what was going on, looked inquiringly at her husband.

‘Take her back to the hotel. Try
and calm her down.'

‘Did something happen?'

‘Nothing specific. I expect
I'll be back quite late.'

He watched them walk away. Marie Léonnec
turned round a dozen times, and Madame Maigret had to drag her away like a
child.

Maigret thought about going back on
board. But he was thirsty. There were still lights on in the Grand Banks Café.

Four sailors were playing cards at a
table. Near the counter, a young cadet had his arm round the waist of the serving
girl, who giggled from time to time.

The landlord was watching the card game
and was offering suggestions.

He greeted Maigret with: ‘Hello!
You back again?'

He did not look overjoyed to see him.
The very opposite. He seemed rather put out.

‘Look sharp, Julie! Serve the
inspector! Whatever's your poison. It's on me.'

‘Thanks. But if it's all the same to you,
I'll order like any other customer.'

‘I didn't want to get on the
wrong side of you … I …'

Was the day going to end with the mark
of rage still on it? One of the sailors muttered something in his Norman dialect
which Maigret translated roughly as:

‘Watch out, I smell more
trouble.'

The inspector looked him in the eye. The
man reddened then stammered:

‘Clubs trumps!'

‘You should have played a
spade,' declared Louis for something to say.

The phone rang. Léon snatched the
receiver, then called Maigret. It was for him.

‘Hello?' said a bored voice
on the other end of the line. ‘Detective Chief Inspector Maigret? It's
the duty desk officer at Fécamp police station. I've just phoned your hotel. I
was told you might be at the Grand Banks Café. I'm sorry to disturb you, sir.
I've been glued to the phone for half an hour. I can't get hold of the
chief anywhere. As for the head of the Flying Squad, I'm wondering if
he's still actually here in Fécamp … Thing is, I've got a couple of odd
customers who've just turned up saying they want to make statements, all very
urgent, apparently. A man and a woman …'

‘Did they come in a grey
car?'

‘Yes, sir. Are they the pair
you're looking for?'

Ten minutes later, Maigret was at the
police station. All the offices were closed except for the inquiries area, a room
divided in two by a counter. Behind it the duty officer was writing. He smoked as he
wrote. A man was waiting. He was sitting on a bench, elbows on knees, chin in his
hands.

And a woman was walking up and down,
beating a tattoo on the floorboards with her high heels

The moment the inspector appeared, she
walked right
up to him, and the man got to
his feet with a sigh of relief and growled between gritted teeth:

‘And not a minute too
soon!'

It was indeed the couple from Yport,
both a little crosser than during the domestic shouting-match Maigret had sat
through.

‘Come next door with
me.'

Maigret showed them into the office of
the chief inspector, sat down in his chair and filled a pipe while he took a good
look at the pair.

‘Take a seat.'

‘No thanks,' said the woman,
who was clearly the more highly strung of the two. ‘What I've got to say
won't take long.'

He now had a frontal view of her, lit by
a strong electric light. He did not need to look too hard to situate her type. Her
picture with the head removed had been enough.

A good-looking girl, in the popular
sense of the expression. A girl with alluring curves, good teeth, an inviting smile
and a permanent come-hither look in her eye.

More accurately, a real bitch, a tease,
on the make, always ready to create a scandal or burst into gales of loud, vulgar
laughter.

Her blouse was pink silk. To it was
pinned a large gold brooch as big as a 100-
sou
coin.

‘First off, I want to say
…'