Liberty Bar (13 page)

‘All this stress. It's making
my feet swell up …'

Jaja had stopped walking around and had
sat down. She had her shoes off and was massaging her painful feet, with a mechanical
movement, as she spoke.

She was speaking loudly, because she
thought Maigret was downstairs, so she was surprised to see him appear at the top of the
staircase.

‘Ah, there you are …
Don't mind the mess … There's just so much going on …'

Maigret would be hard put to say why he
had come upstairs. As he had sat listening to his companion, it suddenly occurred to him
that he hadn't yet seen the mezzanine.

Now he was standing at the top of the
stairs. Jaja continued to rub her feet and she carried on talking, even more
volubly:

‘Have I even eaten? … I
don't think so … It's turned me inside out seeing Sylvie in that place
…'

She had slipped on a dressing gown but
unlike Sylvie she wore it over her underwear, which was bright pink. A very short slip,
trimmed with lace, which contrasted with her flabby white skin.

The bed was unmade. Maigret thought that,
if anyone could see him now, he would have difficulty making them believe that he was
here just to talk.

An ordinary-looking
room, less poor than one might have thought. A mahogany bed, very bourgeois. A round
table. A chest of drawers. On the other hand, the slop bucket was in the middle of the
room and the table was covered with make-up, dirty tissues and pots of cream.

Jaja sighed as she finally pulled her
slippers on.

‘I wonder how it will all turn
out.'

‘Did William sleep here when he
…'

‘This is the only room I have, apart
from the two downstairs …'

In the corner, there was a divan, its
velour upholstery well worn.

‘Did he sleep on the
divan?'

‘It varied … Sometimes it was
me …'

‘And Sylvie?'

‘With me …'

The ceiling was so low that Maigret
touched it with the top of his hat. The window was narrow, covered by a curtain in green
velour. The electric lamp had no shade.

It didn't require great powers of
imagination to picture normal life in this room: William and Jaja coming upstairs,
usually drunk, then Sylvie following on and slipping in next to the fat woman
…

But the mornings? … With the bright
light from outside?

Jaja had never been so chatty. She spoke
in a doleful voice, as if looking for pity.

‘I bet this all makes me ill …
Yes! I can feel it … Just like three years ago, when the sailors had a fight right
outside my house … One of them got cut by a razor and
…'

She stood up. She looked around her,
searching for something, then forgot what it was she was looking for.

‘Have you eaten? … Come
… We'll grab a bite to eat …'

Maigret went first down the stairs,
watched her head to the stove, shovel in some coal, stir a pot with a spoon.

‘When I'm on my own I
don't feel up to cooking … And when I think about where Sylvie is at this
moment …'

‘Tell me, Jaja …'

‘What?'

‘What did Sylvie say to you this
afternoon when I was in the bar serving a customer?'

‘Oh yes! … I asked her about
the twenty grand … She told me she didn't know, it was some scheme of
Joseph's …'

‘And this evening?'

‘This evening what?'

‘At the police station
…'

‘The same thing … She was
wondering what Joseph had been cooking up …'

‘Has she been with this Joseph for
long?'

‘She's with him but not with
him … They don't live together … She met him somewhere, probably at
the races, in any case not here … He said he could be of use to her, bring her
clients … Obviously, the line he is in! … He's got good manners
… But even so, I've never liked him …'

There were some leftover lentils in a pot,
and Jaja tipped them on to a plate.

‘Want some?
… No? … Help yourself to a drink … I don't feel up to doing
anything … Is the front door closed?'

Maigret was straddling his chair, just
like he had that afternoon. He watched her eat. He listened to her speak.

‘You know, those people, especially
the ones from the casinos, are too tricky for the likes of us … And throughout
history it's always been the woman who gets taken in … If Sylvie had
listened to me …'

‘What did Joseph ask you to do this
evening?'

At first she seemed not to understand but
looked at Maigret with her mouth full.

‘Ah yes! … The son
…'

‘What did you go to tell
him?'

‘To ask him to arrange to get them
released, otherwise …'

‘Otherwise what?'

‘Oh! I know you won't leave me
in peace … But you'll see that I've never done you wrong … I do
everything I can! … I've got nothing to hide.'

He guessed the reason for her volubility,
her whining voice.

On the way home, Jaja had stopped off in a
few bars, for Dutch courage!

‘First off, it was me who held
Sylvie back, who prevented her from getting too involved with Joseph … Then, when
I found out just now that there was something …'

‘Well?'

It was more comic than tragic. Still
eating, she started to cry! It was a grotesque spectacle: this large woman in
her mauve dressing gown crying like a baby into her plate of
lentils.

‘Don't try to rush me …
Let me think! … If you think I've got anything to gain from this …
Hang on! Give me a drink …'

‘Later!'

‘Give me a drink and I'll tell
you everything …'

He gave in and poured her a small
glass.

‘What do you want to know? …
What was I saying? … I saw the twenty thousand francs … Was it William who
had them in his pocket?'

Maigret had to make an effort to keep a
clear head for, little by little, things were getting disjointed, perhaps in part
because of the atmosphere, but more because of Jaja's speech.

‘William …'

Then suddenly he grasped it! Jaja had
believed that the twenty thousand francs were stolen from Brown when he was
murdered!

‘Is that what you
thought?'

‘I don't know any more what I
thought … Well, I'm not hungry any more … Do you have any
cigarettes?'

‘I only smoke a pipe.'

‘There must be some somewhere
… Sylvie always has some …'

And she searched all the drawers in
vain.

‘Do they still send them to
Alsace?'

‘Who? … What? … What are
you talking about?'

‘Women … What's it
called again … That prison … It begins with “Hau” … In my
time …'

‘When you were in
Paris?'

‘Yes … Everyone was talking
about it … They say it's so harsh all the prisoners try to kill themselves
… And I read not so long ago in the paper that some are sent down for eighty years
… I can't find any cigarettes … Sylvie must have taken them with her
…'

‘Is she frightened of going
there?'

‘Sylvie? … I've got no
idea … I was just thinking about it on the bus on the way home … There was
this old woman in front of me and …'

‘Sit down …'

‘Yes … Don't mind me
… I'm shot … I'm all over the place … What were we talking
about?'

And with an expression of anguish in her
eyes she wiped her hand across her forehead, dislodging a lock of russet hair over her
cheek.

‘I'm sad … Give me
something to drink, won't you?'

‘When you've told me
everything you know …'

‘But I don't know anything!
… What would I know? … I saw Sylvie first of all … Besides, there was
a cop stood next to me, listening to what we were saying … I wanted to cry …
Sylvie whispered to me as she hugged me that it was all Joseph's fault
…'

‘Then you went to see
him?'

‘Yes … I already told you
… He sent me to Antibes to warn Brown that …'

She was trying to find the words. It was
as if she were suffering sudden mental blanks, the way some drunks do. At those moments
she looked at Maigret anxiously, as if she felt the need to cling to him.

‘I don't
know any more … Please don't torture me … I'm just a poor woman
… I've always tried to please everyone …'

‘No! Just wait …'

Maigret pulled her hand away from the
glass she was trying to grasp because he could see the possibility of her passing out,
dead drunk.

‘Did Harry Brown receive
you?'

‘No … Yes … He told me
that, if I ever crossed his path again, he'd have me locked up …'

Then suddenly, triumphantly:

‘Hossegor! … No! …
Hossegor's something else … It's a novel … Haguenau …
That's it!'

It was the name of the prison she had been
talking about earlier.

‘They say that they're not
allowed to talk … Do you think that's true?'

Maigret had never seen her as flaky as
this. It was almost as if she were regressing to her childhood.

‘Obviously, if Sylvie is an
accomplice, she will go to …'

Then, more than ever, and more quickly,
she started talking, and her cheeks were flushed with fever.

‘But I learned a few things this
evening … The twenty thousand francs, I now know it was Harry Brown,
William's son, who brought them to pay for …'

‘Pay for what?'

‘Everything!'

And she looked at him triumphantly,
defiantly.

‘I'm not as stupid as I look
… When the son realized that there was a will …'

‘Excuse me! You
know about the will?'

‘William told us about it last month
… All four of us were here …'

‘You mean you, Sylvie and Joseph
…'

‘Yes … We opened a good
bottle, because it was William's birthday … And we talked about all sorts of
things … When he'd had a bit to drink, he told us things about Australia,
his wife, his brother-in-law …'

‘And what did William
say?'

‘That they would be stitched up when
he died! He took the will out of his pocket and read us a part of it … Not all
… He didn't want to read out the names of the two other women … He
said that some day soon he would file it with a notary …'

‘This was a month ago? Was it then
that Joseph first met Harry Brown?'

‘You never know with that one
… He knew lots of people, because of his profession …'

‘And you think he warned the
son?'

‘I'm not saying that!
I'm not saying anything … Only, you can't help but think … Those
rich people, they aren't any better than the rest of us … Suppose Joseph did
tell him everything … William's son would have casually let slip that
he'd be happy to lay hands on the will … But since William could easily
write another one, it would be better if William were to die as well …'

Maigret had taken his eye off her. She
poured herself another drink. He wasn't quick enough to stop her draining her
glass. When she started talking again, he caught the foul smell of her drink-sodden
breath full in the face.

She was bending
forwards, coming close to him, adopting a mysterious, serious air.

‘Die as well … Is that what I
said? … So they discussed money … For twenty thousand francs … And
maybe another twenty thousand paid later … You never know … These things
aren't usually paid for in one instalment … As for Sylvie …'

‘She knew nothing?'

‘I swear to you that no one said
anything to me! … Was that a knock at the door?'

She suddenly stiffened with fear. To
reassure her, Maigret had to go to check. When he came back, he noticed that she had
taken advantage of his absence and helped herself to another drink.

‘I didn't say anything …
I don't know anything … Do you understand? … I'm just a poor
woman! A poor woman who has lost her husband and …'

And she burst into tears again; it was
even more pitiful than before.

‘As far as you know, Jaja, what did
William do that day between two and five o'clock?'

She looked at him without replying and
didn't stop crying. However, her sobs sounded a bit more fake.

‘Sylvie left a few moments before
him … Do you think that they maybe could have …'

‘Who?'

‘Sylvie and William
…'

‘Could have what?'

‘I don't know! … Met up
somewhere … Sylvie is pretty … She's young … And William
…'

He didn't take his
eyes off her. He feigned indifference:

‘They met some place where Joseph
could see them and do the deed …'

She said nothing. Rather, she looked at
Maigret with a frown, as if she were making a huge effort to understand. And no wonder
it was an effort. Her eyes were cloudy and her brain too was no doubt not quite in
focus.

‘Harry Brown, who is now fully
informed concerning the will, orders the crime … Sylvie lures William to a
suitable location … Joseph does the deed … Then Harry Brown is invited to
give the money to Sylvie, in a hotel in Cannes …'

She didn't move. She listened,
bewildered or simply drink-sodden.

‘When Joseph was arrested, you let
Harry know that unless he helps to free him he will talk …'

She literally cried out:

‘That's right! … Yes,
that's right …'

She had stood up. She was panting for
breath. She seemed torn between the need to cry and the need to burst out laughing.