A Man's Head (12 page)

A smell of tobacco smoke had reached his nostrils.

Someone had been smoking in the room only moments before. Maybe that someone still was?

He took a few quick paces forwards and found himself in the dead woman's dressing room. The door to the bedroom was half open, but when he went through it he saw nothing. On the other hand, the smell of smoke was stronger here. Moreover there
was fine cigarette ash on the floor.

‘Who's there?'

He would have liked to be less uneasy but though he tried he could not fight the feeling. Didn't it look as if everything was joining forces to unsettle him?

Hardly any attempt had been made to clear up traces of the carnage from the bedroom. A dress belonging to Mrs Henderson was still draped over the easy chair. The venetian blinds allowed only uniform bars of light to filter through.

But in that atmospheric gloom someone moved.

For a sound had come from the bathroom, a metallic noise. Maigret leaped forwards, saw no one, then heard, distinctly this time, the sound of footsteps on the other side of the door of a lumber room.

His hand automatically felt the pocket where he kept his revolver. He hurled himself at the door, ran through the room and saw a back stairway.

Here it was lighter because the windows overlooking the Seine were not fitted with venetian blinds.

Someone was climbing the stairs and trying to muffle the sounds of his footsteps. Again Maigret called:

‘Who's there?'

His excitement was growing. Would it turn out that he'd find all the answers when he was least expecting to?

He started to run. A door slammed on the floor above. The intruder was running away, charging through one room then opening and closing the door of the next.

But Maigret was gaining on him. As on the ground floor, these rooms, which had been used by guests, had been left to fester. They were cluttered with furniture and all kinds of jumble.

A vase was knocked to the floor with a crash. Maigret was afraid of only one thing: that he would come up against a door which the intruder had had time to bolt shut.

‘Stop! Police!' he shouted. It was worth a try.

But the man kept on running. He had now covered half the length of the second floor. At one point, Maigret was actually holding a door knob while the intruder's hand was trying to turn the key in the lock on the other side of the door.

‘Open up or …!'

The key turned. The bolt was pushed home. Without even stopping a moment to think, Maigret took several steps back and hurled himself forward, putting his shoulder to the panel of the door.

It shook but did not give. From the room on the other side came the sound of a window opening.

‘Stop! Police!'

He was not thinking that his presence here, in this house which now belonged to William Crosby, was illegal, since he did not have a search warrant.

Two, three times he launched himself against the door. One of the panels started to split.

As he was about to gather his forces for one last attempt, there was a shot followed by a silence so absolute that Maigret stood where he was with his mouth half open as if frozen to the spot.

‘Who's in there? Open this door!'

Nothing! No dying groan! Not even the tell-tale sound of a gun being cocked to be fired again.

Overcome by a rush of anger, Maigret battered the door with his shoulder and the whole of his side, and suddenly it gave, so suddenly that his momentum carried him into the room, where he almost went sprawling on the floor.

Cold, damp air was blowing in to the room through the open window, through which the illuminated windows of a restaurant and the yellow bulk of a tram were visible.

On the floor a man was sitting, with his back to the wall and leaning slightly to his left.

The patch of grey which was made by his clothes and the outline of his body were enough for Maigret to recognize William Crosby. It would have been difficult to identify him by his face.

For the American had fired a bullet into his mouth, at point-blank range. Half his head was missing.

As he went back slowly through all the rooms he had come through, Maigret switched on the lights. Some lamps had no bulbs, but against all expectations most were still working.

He continued until half the house was lit from top to bottom, with a few black gaps here and there.

When he reached Mrs Henderson's room, he noticed that there was a phone on a bedside table. He lifted the receiver, on the off chance, but a click informed him that the line had not been cut off.

He had never before felt so strongly that he was in a house of death.

Was he not sitting on the edge of the very bed in which an elderly American widow had been murdered? Straight ahead of him he could see the door behind which the body of her maid had been found.

And upstairs, in a mouldering room, there was a new corpse lying under a window which let in the rain-laden evening air.

‘Operator? Préfecture, please.'

He spoke in a whisper, though he was not aware of doing so.

‘Hello? … Give me the head of the Police Judiciaire … It's Maigret … Ah, is that you, sir? … William Crosby has just killed himself in the villa out at Saint-Cloud … Yes, I'm still
here … I'm at the scene … Will you do the necessary? I was there! … Less than four metres from him … There was a locked door between us … I know … No I can't explain … Maybe later …'

When he had hung up, he remained motionless for a few minutes, staring straight in front of him.

With his mind elsewhere, he started slowly filling a pipe, which he then forgot to light.

To him the villa felt like a large, empty, cold box, in which he was an insignificant nobody.

‘Falsified facts …' he managed to say in a murmur.

He almost went back upstairs. But what was the point? The American could not be more dead … His right hand was still gripping the automatic with which he had killed himself.

Maigret smiled at the thought that at that very moment Coméliau was being informed of this latest turn of events. It would most likely be he who would turn up in person with men and the experts from Criminal Records.

On the wall hung a large portrait in oils of Mr Henderson looking dignified in evening dress, wearing the sash of the Légion d'honneur and various foreign decorations.

The inspector started walking and went into the next room, which had belonged to Élise Chatrier. He opened a wardrobe. Inside were a number of black dresses, some silk, others linen, which had been neatly hung up.

He listened out for sounds coming from outside. He gave a sigh of relief when he heard two cars pull up more or less simultaneously outside the main gate. Then there were voices in the garden. Monsieur Coméliau was saying in his usual hectoring
tones, which made his voice sound over-shrill:

‘I never heard the like! It's unacceptable!'

Maigret made his way to the landing, rather like a host preparing to receive his guests. As soon as the door downstairs opened he called:

‘This way …'

Later he would remember how the examining magistrate suddenly burst in, gave him a fierce look, his lips trembling with indignation, and finally managed to spit out:

‘I'm waiting to hear what you have to say for yourself, detective chief inspector!'

Maigret merely turned and led the way up the service stairs and through the bedrooms on the second floor.

‘There …'

‘Did you arrange to meet him here?'

‘I didn't even know he was anywhere near! I came on the off chance, to satisfy myself I hadn't missed anything.'

‘Where was he?'

‘Probably in his aunt's bedroom. He ran off, and I went after him … We reached this room, and as I was breaking the door down he killed himself.'

Judging by the way Coméliau looked at him, anyone would have thought that he suspected Maigret of making up the entire story. In reality, it was only because the magistrate hated complications.

The pathologist was examining the corpse. Cameras were being pointed everywhere.

‘And Heurtin?' barked Coméliau.

‘ … will be returned to his cell in the Santé whenever you want.'

‘You've located him?'

Maigret shrugged.

‘So let's have him back at once, shall we?'

‘As you wish, sir.'

‘Is that all you have for me?'

‘For the moment.'

‘And do you still think that …?'

‘… that Heurtin didn't kill anybody? I really don't know. I asked you to give me ten days. I've had only four.'

‘Where are you going now?'

‘No idea.'

Maigret buried his hands deep in his pockets, watched the officers of the prosecutor's office going about their tasks and then suddenly rushed down to Mrs Henderson's bedroom and picked up the phone.

‘Hello? Hôtel Georges V? Could you tell me if Madame Crosby is there? … Say again? … In the salon de thé? Thanks … No! … No message.'

Monsieur Coméliau, who had followed him down and was by the door, watched him with unfriendly eyes.

‘You see what complications …'

Maigret did not answer, jammed his hat on his head and, with a curt nod, left the building. He had not told the taxi which had brought him to wait and he was obliged to walk all the way to the bridge at Saint-Cloud before he found another.

Muted music playing. Couples dancing listlessly. Groups of pretty women, especially foreigners, sitting around the tables in the discreet surroundings of the salon de thé of the Hôtel Georges V.

Maigret, who had not surrendered his overcoat at the cloakroom without grumbling bad-temperedly, approached one group, in which he had recognized Edna Reichberg and Mrs Crosby.

They were in the company of a young man who looked Scandinavian. He seemed to be telling them very funny stories because they laughed all the time.

‘Madame Crosby,' said Maigret, with a polite nod.

She looked at him curiously then turned back to her companions with the surprised air of one who was not expecting to be disturbed.

‘I'm listening …'

‘Might I have a word with you?'

‘What, now? What is it about?'

But he looked so solemn that she got to her feet and looked around for a quiet spot.

‘Come to the bar. There's no one there at this time of day.'

The bar was in fact quite deserted. The two of them remained standing.

‘Did you know that your husband intended to go out to Saint-Cloud this afternoon?'

‘I don't understand. He is perfectly free to …'

‘What I'm asking is did he mention that he was intending to visit the villa?'

‘No.'

‘Have the two of you been there since the death of …'

She answered no with a shake of her head.

‘Never! It's too upsetting.'

‘Your husband went there today by himself.'

She began to be anxious and looked impatiently at the inspector.

‘And?'

‘There's been an accident.'

‘His car, I assume. I'd have bet …'

Edna walked past out of curiosity, giving them an inquisitive look, and said by way of an excuse that she was looking for her handbag, which she had left somewhere.

‘No, madame. Your husband tried to end his life.'

The young woman's eyes suddenly filled with astonishment then doubt. For a brief instant she was perhaps about to burst out laughing.

‘William …?'

‘He shot himself with a revolver in the …'

And then two hands were urgently gripping Maigret's wrists as Mrs Crosby began questioning him animatedly in English.

Then she gave a great shudder, let go of the inspector and took one step backwards.

‘I am sorry, madame, to have to inform you that your husband died two hours ago in the villa at Saint-Cloud.'

She lost interest in him. She strode quickly through the salon de thé without looking at either Edna or her companion, hurried into the lobby and, hatless and empty-handed, went out into the street.

The doorman asked her:

‘May I get you a taxi?'

But she had already got into a cab and was telling the driver:

‘Saint-Cloud! And hurry …!'

Maigret did not follow her but retrieved his coat from the cloakroom and, seeing a passing bus which was heading towards the Cité, he jumped on to the platform.

‘Anyone phone for me?' he asked, pausing to speak to the office clerk.

‘About two o'clock … There's a note on your desk.'

The note read:

Call from Inspector Janvier to Detective Chief Inspector Maigret. A fitting at his tailor's. Lunch in restaurant on Boulevard Montparnasse. At two, Radek goes to Coupole for coffee. Makes two phone calls.

And since two in the afternoon?

Maigret sank into his chair after turning the key in the lock of his office door. He was very surprised to wake up with a start when his watch said ten-thirty.

‘Has anyone been on the phone asking for me?'

‘Oh, were you there all the time? I thought you'd gone out. Monsieur Coméliau rang twice …'

‘How about Janvier?'

‘No.'

Half an hour later, Maigret walked into the bar of the Coupole and looked round without success for Radek and the inspector. He took the bartender to one side.

‘Has the Czech been in?'

‘He showed his face this afternoon. He was with your colleague. You know, the young one in the mackintosh.'

‘Were they at the same table?'

‘They sure were, in that corner. They drank at least four whiskies apiece.'

‘When did they leave?'

‘First they ate in the brasserie.'

‘Together?'

‘Together. They must have left around ten.'

‘You don't happen to know where they went?'