A Crime in Holland (17 page)

And Maigret concluded:

‘That's all. Love that had turned to hate. Love-hate. A complex, wild emotion, capable of driving someone to any lengths. She decided to kill Conrad. Decided that in cold blood. To kill, without laying herself open to the least suspicion.

‘And that very night the professor had spoken about crimes that were never detected, about unpunished murders.

‘She is as proud of her intelligence as she is passionate. She committed the perfect crime. A crime that could easily be blamed on a prowler.

‘The cap, the cigar and the unshakeable alibi: she couldn't escape from her room to fire the gun without going through either her sister's room or the Frenchman's. During the lecture, she saw the hands feeling for each other. On the way home, Popinga walked with Beetje. They drank, they danced and they went off together on their bikes.

‘All she had to do was get Madame Popinga to stand for a while at her window, and insinuate something to make her suspicious of the pair who had just left.

‘And while her sister thought she was in her own room, Any was able to creep behind her, already in her underclothes. Everything was planned. She got into the bathroom. She fired the shot. The lid of the bath was up. The cap was already in it. She just had to slip inside.

‘On hearing the shot, Duclos rushed in, found the weapon on the window sill, and rushed out again, meeting Madame Popinga on the landing, and they went downstairs together.

‘Any was ready and, half-undressed, she followed them. Who would ever suspect she wasn't coming straight from her room, in a state of panic? Here she was, appearing in public in her underwear, when she was known to be extremely prudish.

‘No pity! No remorse! The hatred of a lover extinguishes any other feelings. There remains only the desire to conquer.

‘Oosting, who had seen the person who took his cap, kept quiet. Both out of respect for the dead man, and from
love of order. He didn't want scandal to surround Popinga's death. He even dictated to Barens what he should say to the police, so that they would just assume that this was a banal crime, committed by an unknown sailor.

‘Liewens, who saw his daughter finally return home
after
Popinga had been accompanying her, and who next day read the letters, believed
Beetje
was guilty, so he locked her up and tried to find out the truth. When he thought I was going to arrest her earlier on, he tried to kill himself.

‘And lastly we come to Barens. Barens suspected everyone. He was wrestling with the unknown and feeling under suspicion himself. Barens who had seen Madame Popinga at her window. Could it be that she had shot her husband, having discovered that he was unfaithful?

‘Cornelius had been received here like a son. Orphaned of his own mother, he had found another in Madame Popinga.

‘He wanted to devote himself to her. To save her. We forgot about him during the reconstruction. He fetched the revolver and went into the bathroom.
He wanted to shoot the only man who knew, and no doubt to kill himself afterwards
. A poor, heroic child. Generous as only an eighteen-year-old can be!

‘And that's all … What time is the next train for France?'

Nobody said a word. They were all struck dumb with amazement, anguish, fear or horror. Finally Jean Duclos spoke:

‘Well, a lot of good that has done …'

But Madame Popinga was leaving the room with mechanical steps and a few minutes later she was found on her bed, suffering a heart attack.

Any had not budged. Pijpekamp tried to get her to speak:

‘Have you anything to say to this?'

‘I will speak only in the presence of the examining magistrate.'

She was very pale. The deep circles under her eyes had spread to her cheeks.

Oosting alone remained calm, but he was looking at Maigret with eyes full of reproach.

And the fact is that at five o'clock in the morning, Detective Chief Inspector Maigret boarded a train, alone, at the little railway station of Delfzijl. No one had accompanied him. No one had thanked him. Not even Duclos, who had claimed he could only manage to catch the next train!

Day was breaking as the train crossed a bridge over a canal. Boats were waiting to pass, their sails flapping. An official was standing by to swing the bridge open after the train had gone across.

It was not until two years later, in Paris, that Maigret met Beetje again: she was the wife of a representative for Dutch electrical lamps, and had put on weight. She blushed when she recognized him.

She told him she now had two children, but gave him to understand that life with her husband was not up to expectations.

‘And what about Any?' he asked her.

‘Didn't you hear? It was all over the Dutch papers. She killed herself with a fork on the day of her trial, a few minutes before she was due in court.'

And she added:

‘You must come and see us: 28 Avenue Victor Hugo. Don't leave it too late, we're off next week for winter sports in Switzerland.'

That day, when Maigret returned to headquarters, he contrived excuses to shout at all his inspectors.

•  •  •

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… that he's the finest young man around here there ever was, and that all this could well be the death of his mother. He's all she's got. I am absolutely sure that he's innocent: everybody here is. But the sailors I've talked to reckon he'll be found guilty because civilian courts never understand anything to do with the sea.

Do everything you can, old friend, just as if you were doing it for me. I see from the papers that you've become something very important in the Police Judiciaire, and …

It was a June morning. The windows of the flat on Boulevard Richard-Lenoir were wide open. Madame Maigret was finishing packing large wicker trunks, and Maigret, who was not wearing a collar, was reading aloud.

‘Who's it from?'

‘Jorissen. We were at school together. He's a primary-school teacher now in Quimper. Listen, are you still set on passing our week's holiday in Alsace?'

She stared at him, not understanding. The question was so unexpected. For the past twenty years they'd always spent their holidays with family, and always in the same village in eastern France.

‘What if we went to stay by the sea instead?'

He read out parts of the letter again, in a half whisper:

… you are better placed than I am to get accurate information. Very briefly, Pierre Le Clinche, aged twenty, a former pupil of mine, sailed three months ago on the
Océan
, a Fécamp trawler which was going fishing for cod off Newfoundland. The boat docked back in port yesterday. Hours later, the body of the captain was found floating in the harbour, and all the signs point to foul play. Pierre Le Clinche is the man who's been arrested.

‘We'll be able to take it just as easy at Fécamp as anywhere else!' said Maigret, holding out no great hopes.

Objections were raised. In Alsace, Madame Maigret was with her family and helped with making jam and plum brandy. The thought of staying in a hotel by the seaside with a lot of other people from Paris filled her with dread.

‘What would I do all day?'

In the end, she packed her sewing and her crocheting.

‘Just don't expect me to go swimming! I thought I'd better warn you in advance.'

They had arrived at the Hôtel de la Plage at five. Once there, Madame Maigret had set about rearranging the room to her liking. Then they'd had dinner.

Later, Maigret, now alone, pushed open the frosted-glass door of a harbour-front café, the Grand Banks Café.

It was located opposite the berth where the trawler the
Océan
was tied up, just by a line of railway trucks. Acetylene lamps hung from the rigging, and in their raw light a number of figures were busily unloading cod, which they passed from hand to hand and piled into the trucks after the fish had been weighed.

There were ten of them at work, men and women, dirty, their clothes torn and stiff with salt. By the weighing scales stood a well-turned-out young man, with a boater over one ear and a notebook in his hand, in which he recorded the weighed catch.

A rank, stomach-churning smell, which distance did nothing to lessen, seeped into the bar, where the heat made it even more oppressive.

Maigret sat down in a free corner, on the bench seat. He was surrounded by noise and activity. There were men standing, men sitting, glasses on the marble-topped tables. All were sailors.

‘What'll it be?'

‘A beer.'

The serving girl went off. The landlord came up to him:

‘I've got another room next door, you know. For tourists. This lot make such a din in here!' He winked. ‘Well, after three months at sea, it's understandable.'

‘Are these the crew of the
Océan
?'

‘Most of them. The other boats aren't back yet. You mustn't pay any attention. Some of them have been drunk for three days. Are you staying put? … I bet you're a painter, right? We get them in now and again. They do sketches. There, see? Over the counter? One of them drew me, head and shoulders.'

But the inspector offered so little encouragement to his chatter that the landlord gave up and went away.

‘A copper two-
sou
bit! Who's got a copper two-
sou
bit?' shouted a sailor no taller than a sixteen-year-old youth and as thin.

His head was old, his face was lopsided, and he was missing a few teeth. Drink made his eyes bright, and a three-day stubble had spread over his jaws.

Someone tossed him a coin. He bent it almost double with his fingers, then put it between his teeth and snapped it in two.

‘Who's wants to have a go next?'

He strutted around. He sensed that everyone was looking at him and was ready to do anything to remain the centre of attention.

As a puffy-faced mechanic produced a coin, he stepped in:

‘Half a mo'. This is what you got to do as well.'

He picked up an empty glass, took a large bite out of it and chewed the broken pieces with a show of relishworthy of a gourmet.

‘Ha ha!' he smirked. ‘You're all welcome to give it a try … Fill me up again, Léon!'

He looked round the bar boastfully until his eyes came to rest on Maigret. His eyebrows came together in a deep frown.

For a moment he seemed nonplussed. Then he started to move forwards. He had to lean on a table to steady himself because he was so drunk.

‘You here for me?' he blustered.

‘Take it easy, Louis boy!'

‘Still on about that business with the wallet? Listen, boys. You didn't believe me just now when I told you about my run-ins with the Rue de Lappe boys. Well, here's a top-notch cop who's come out of his way to see yours truly … Will it be all right if I have another little drink?'

All eyes were now on Maigret.

‘Sit yourself down here, Louis boy, and stop playing the fool!'

Louis guffawed:

‘You paying? No, that would be the day! … Is it all right with you, boys, if the chief inspector buys me a drink? … Make it brandy, Léon, a large one!'

‘Were you on the
Océan
?'

The change in Louis was instant. His face darkened so much that it seemed as if he had suddenly sobered up. He shifted his position on the bench seat, backing off suspiciously.

‘What if I was?'

‘Nothing … Cheers … Been drunk long?'

‘We been celebrating for three days. Ever since we landed. I gave my pay to Léon. Nine hundred francs, give or take. Here until it runs out … How much have I got left, Léon, you old crook?'

‘Well, not enough for you to go on buying rounds until tomorrow! About fifty francs. Isn't it a stupid shame, inspector! Tomorrow he'll be skint and he'll have to sign as a stoker on the first boat that'll have him. It's the same story every time. Mark you, I don't encourage them to drink! The very opposite!'

‘Shut your mouth!'

The others had lost their high spirits. They talked in whispers and kept looking round at the table where the inspector was sitting.

‘Are all these men from the
Océan
?'

‘All save the big fellow in the cap, who's a pilot, and the one with ginger hair. He's a ship's carpenter.'

‘Tell me what happened.'

‘I got nothing to say.'

‘Watch your step, Louis! Don't forget the wallet business, which ended up with you doing your glass-eating number behind bars.'

‘All I'd get is three months, and anyway I could do with a rest. But if you want, why not just lock me up right now?'

‘Were you working in the engine room?'

‘Sure! As usual! I was second fireman.'

‘Did you see much of the captain?'