The Misty Harbour (10 page)

Maigret, raising his shoulders as if in
surprise at the policemen's effrontery, pulled a small key from his pocket and
removed the handcuffs.

‘Thank you. I was rather
astonished at—'

‘At what?' thundered Maigret
angrily. ‘At being arrested? Are you sure you were really all that
astonished?'

‘That's to say, I'm
still waiting to learn what I'm supposed to have done.'

‘Let's start with stealing a
bicycle!'

‘Correction! Borrowed! The garage-owner from whom I
bought the car will tell you that! I left him with the bicycle and instructions to
send it back to Ouistreham with some monetary compensation for its owner.'

‘Really! … But, you
don't actually seem to be Norwegian …'

The man neither looked nor sounded
Norwegian. He was tall, well built, still young. His nicely tailored clothes were a
bit the worse for wear.

‘Excuse me! I am Norwegian,
perhaps not by birth, but I've been naturalized.'

‘And you live in
Bergen?'

‘Tromsø, near the Lofoten
islands.'

‘Are you a businessman?'

‘I own a factory for processing
waste products from cod-fishing.'

‘Including, for example, salted
cod's roe.'

‘The roe and other things. With
the heads and livers we make oil. With the bones, fertilizer.'

‘Perfect! That's just
perfect! Now all I need to know is what you were doing in Ouistreham on the night of
the 16th of September.'

Without turning a hair, the man looked
slowly around and said, ‘I was not in Ouistreham.'

‘Where were you?'

‘And where were you? What I mean
is,' he said with a smile, ‘would you be able, out of the blue, to say
what you were doing at a given hour on a given day after more than a month had gone
by?'

‘Were you in Norway?'

‘Probably.'

‘Look.'

And Maigret held out to him the gold
fountain-pen, which the Norwegian put in his pocket as calmly as you please.

‘Thank you.'

He was a really good-looking man, the
mayor's age and height, but slimmer, yet muscular. His dark eyes were
intensely alive. And the smile on his thin lips betrayed his immense
self-confidence.

Politely, pleasantly, he answered the
inspector's questions.

‘I rather feel there must be some
mistake, and I'd very much like to continue on my way to Paris.'

‘That's a different matter.
Where did you first meet Big Louis?'

Maigret was disappointed: the
man's eyes did not flick over to the sailor.

‘Big Louis?' he
repeated.

‘You met Joris during his voyages
as a merchant ship captain?'

‘Sorry, I don't
understand.'

‘Evidently! And if I ask you why
you preferred to sleep aboard a laid-up dredger instead of in a hotel you'll
look at me with big round eyes …'

‘Certainly. Well, put yourself in
my place.'

‘Yet you arrived yesterday in
Ouistreham on the
Saint-Michel
. You came ashore in the dinghy before she
entered the harbour. You holed up in the dredger and spent the night there. This
afternoon, you walked around this very
villa, then … borrowed a bicycle and sped off
to Caen. Purchased a car. Left for Paris. Is it Madame Grandmaison you were going to
join at the Hôtel de Lutèce? If so, don't bother to continue your journey.
Unless I'm much mistaken, she'll arrive here later tonight.'

Silence. The mayor had become a statue,
and his stare was so vacant that it seemed devoid of life. Big Louis was scratching
his head and yawning, still astride his chair, with everyone else standing around
him.

‘So your name is
Martineau?'

‘Jean Martineau, yes.'

‘Well, Monsieur Jean Martineau,
why don't you think things over? Consider whether you might not have something
to tell me after all. The chances are good that someone here in this room will one
day be committed for trial.'

‘Not only have I nothing to say to
you, but I would like permission to contact my consul so that he may take the usual
steps …'

That made two of them! Grandmaison had
threatened to file a complaint; Martineau was going to follow suit. Only Big Louis
wasn't trying to warn him off, instead reacting philosophically to whatever
happened, as long as there was something to drink.

Outside the tempest was raging and, at
high tide, it had reached its full strength.

What Lucas thought showed in his face:
‘Now we're in hot water! Either we come up with something, or
we're cooked.'

Maigret was tramping up and down the
room, puffing ferociously at his pipe.

‘So
neither of you knows anything about Captain Joris' disappearance or his
death?'

Grandmaison and Martineau shook their
heads. Silence. Maigret kept looking over at Martineau.

Then, hurried footsteps outside; a
nervous rapping at the front door. After a moment's hesitation, Lucas went to
open it. Someone ran in: Julie, all out of breath, who gasped,
‘Inspector … My … My brother …'

And she was struck dumb at the sight of
Big Louis, who stood up, dwarfing her with his great size.

‘Your brother?' Maigret
prompted her.

‘Nothing … I …'

She tried to smile as she caught her
breath but, retreating backwards, she bumped into Martineau.

‘Sorry, monsieur,' she
stammered, without seeming to recognize him.

The wind roared in through the forgotten
front door, left wide open.

Julie was explaining why she had come, in
short, hesitant sentences.

‘I was alone in the
house … I was frightened … I'd gone to bed with all my
clothes on … Someone started pounding on the door … It was
Lannec, my brother's skipper.'

‘The
Saint-Michel
is
in?'

‘She was in the lock when I passed
by. Lannec wanted to see my brother right away … Seems they're in a
hurry to set out. I told him Louis hadn't even come to visit! And the
skipper's the one who got me worried, muttering things I didn't
understand …'

‘Why did you come here?'
asked Maigret.

‘I asked Lannec, was Louis in any
danger – and he told me yes, that maybe it was already too late … So I
asked around in the harbour, and they told me you were here.'

Big Louis was staring at the floor,
looking irritated. He shrugged, as if to indicate that women get all worked up about
nothing.

‘You're in danger?'
asked Maigret, trying to meet his eyes.

Big Louis laughed. A great booming
noise, much more simple-minded than his usual laughter.

‘Why was Lannec
worried?'

‘Now how
would I know?'

‘In short,' said Maigret
pensively, looking around at everyone, ‘you don't know anything. None of
you do!' he added, with an edge of bitterness. ‘You, Monsieur
Grandmaison, you've never met Monsieur Martineau and don't know why Big
Louis – who makes himself at home in your house, playing draughts with you and
eating at your table – would suddenly begin punching your face into
pudding.'

Not a word.

‘What am I saying? You seem to
find this perfectly natural! You don't defend yourself! You won't file a
complaint! You won't even throw Big Louis out of your house.'

He turned to Big Louis.

‘You, you haven't a clue
either! You sleep aboard the dredger but have no idea who else is with you there.
You repay the hospitality of this house by using the master of it as a punchbag. You
have never seen Monsieur Martineau in your life …'

Not a flicker of response. Everyone was
stubbornly studying the carpet.

‘And you, Monsieur Martineau,
you're just the same. Do you even know how you got from Norway to France? No!
You'd rather sleep in a bunk in the abandoned dredger than in a hotel bed. You
take off on a bike, buy a car to drive to Paris. But you know nothing. You've
never met Monsieur Grandmaison, Big Louis, or Captain Joris. And of course you,
Julie, know even less than the others.'

Discouraged, he looked over at Lucas.
His sergeant understood. They couldn't arrest them
all
 … Every single
one of them was guilty of inexplicable behaviour, lying
or conflicting statements.

But not one thing that would stand up in
court!

It was eleven o'clock. Maigret
knocked out his pipe in the fireplace.

‘I must ask you all,' he
intoned grumpily, ‘to remain at the disposal of the judicial
authorities … I will certainly have occasion to question you further, in
spite of your ignorance. I take it, Mayor Grandmaison, that you have no intention of
leaving Ouistreham?'

‘No.'

‘Thank you. Monsieur Martineau,
you could take a room at the Hôtel de l'Univers, where I am
staying.'

The Norwegian bowed slightly.

‘Accompany Monsieur Martineau to
the hotel, Lucas.'

He turned to Julie and Big Louis.

‘You two, come with me.'

Once outside, Maigret dismissed the two
policemen waiting for him there, then watched Lucas and Martineau set off
immediately for the hotel, where the proprietor was waiting up for his guests.

Julie had rushed from the cottage
without her coat, and her brother, seeing her shivering, made her put on his
jacket.

The storm made talking too difficult.
They had to walk bent over with the wind constantly whistling in their ears and
chilling their faces so badly that their eyelids hurt.

The bar in the harbour was lit up, full
of lock workers who were dashing in, between vessels, to get warm and down hot
grogs. Their faces turned towards the trio, who plodded on through the gale, over
the bridge.

‘Is that
the
Saint-Michel
?' asked Maigret.

A schooner was leaving the lock, making
for the outer harbour, but he thought it seemed much taller than the one he
remembered.

‘She's in ballast,'
grunted Louis.

Meaning that the
Saint-Michel
had unloaded in Caen and was travelling empty to pick up a fresh cargo.

Just as they were coming to Joris'
cottage, a shadowy figure approached them. They had to peer into his face to
recognize him. The man spoke shakily to Big Louis.

‘There y'are at last. Hurry,
let's get under way!'

Maigret looked hard at the little Breton
skipper, then at the waves attacking the jetties in an endless roar. The sky was a
startling panorama of furious, roiling clouds.

The
Saint-Michel
, moored to a
piling in the darkness, showed only one tiny light from a lamp on the deckhouse.

‘You mean to go out in
this?'

‘Of course!'

‘Where to?'

‘La Rochelle, for a cargo of
wine.'

‘You absolutely must have Big
Louis?'

‘You really think just two could
manage her in this blow?'

Standing there listening, stamping her
feet, Julie was cold. Her brother kept looking back and forth between Maigret and
the
Saint-Michel
, her rigging creaking in the storm.

‘Go and wait for me aboard!'
Maigret told the skipper.

‘But we …'

‘But what?'

‘Tide's on the ebb, we've got only two
hours left.'

There was something in his
eyes … He was clearly uneasy, apprehensive, kept shifting from one foot to
the other and couldn't look at anything for more than a second or two.

‘Me, I've got my living to
earn!'

Maigret caught an exchange of glances
between the skipper and his mate. There are moments when intuition goes into high
gear, and Maigret was sure he had read the little captain right: ‘Boat's
not far, only one line to cast off; a single swing at this police fellow and
we're away …'

‘Go and wait for me aboard!'
repeated Maigret.

‘But …'

The inspector signalled to the two
others to follow him inside.

Maigret was seeing the brother and
sister alone together for the first time. They were all three in Captain
Joris' kitchen, where a good fire was drawing so well in the iron stove that
the purring flames would sometimes snap and crackle.

‘How about something to
drink?' said the inspector to Julie, who fetched a carafe of spirits and some
matching glasses with painted flowers on them.

He was in the way, he could tell. Julie
would dearly have liked to be alone with Big Louis, who watched her attentively with
what was clearly great affection and a kind of brutish tenderness.

Like the consummate housekeeper she was,
Julie did not sit down after serving the two men but restoked her fire.

‘To the
memory of Captain Joris,' said Maigret, raising his glass.

There was a long silence. This suited
the inspector. He wanted everyone to have time to absorb the warm, quiet atmosphere
of the kitchen.

The steady humming of the fire gradually
joined with the tick-tock of the pendulum clock into a kind of music. Safe from the
chilly winds outside, their cheeks grew pink, and their eyes shone brightly. And the
pungent aroma of calvados perfumed the air.

‘Captain Joris,' said
Maigret softly. ‘Here I am, sitting at his place, in his
armchair … A wicker chair that creaks with every move I make. If he were
alive, he'd be coming in from the harbour and probably asking for another
glass, to warm himself up. Right, Julie?'

She looked at him, wide-eyed, then
turned away.

‘He wouldn't go right up to
bed. I bet he'd take off his shoes … You'd fetch him his
slippers … He'd say, “Dirty weather – but the
Saint-Michel
still insisted on heading out to sea, may God keep
her!”'

‘How did you know?'

‘What?'

‘That he used to say, “May
God keep her”? That's it, exactly …'

She was deeply moved, and there was a
touch of gratitude in the look she gave Maigret.

Big Louis hunched over a little
more.

‘Well, he won't ever say it
again. Too bad! He was a happy man. He had a pretty little house, a garden full of
flowers he loved, his savings … Everyone really liked him,
it seems. And yet there was someone who
put an end to all that, suddenly, with a sprinkling of white powder in a glass of
water.'

Julie's face seemed to collapse.
She fought hard to hold back her tears.

‘A pinch of white powder and
it's all over! And whoever did it will probably be happy, he will, because no
one knows who he is! He was doubtless just with us a little while
ago …'

‘Be quiet!' begged Julie
with clasped hands, and the tears finally streamed down her face.

But the inspector knew where he was
going. He kept speaking in a low voice, slowly, giving each word its due. And there
wasn't much play-acting in it, for he was caught up in the mood himself. He
too felt the nostalgia of that atmosphere in which he conjured up the sturdy form of
the late harbourmaster.

‘Dead, he has only one friend
left … Me! A lone man who is fighting to find out the truth, to prevent
Joris' murderer from living happily ever after …'

Overwhelmed by her sorrow, Julie was
sobbing as Maigret went on.

‘The thing is, everyone around the
dead man keeps silent, everyone lies, as if everyone had some reason to feel guilty,
as if they were all accomplices in what happened!'

‘That's not true!'
wailed Julie.

Big Louis, growing more and more
uncomfortable, poured himself more calvados and refilled the inspector's
glass.

‘Big
Louis, first of all, remains silent.'

Julie looked at her brother through her
tears, as if struck by the true meaning of those words.

‘He knows something,'
continued Maigret. ‘He knows many things. Is he afraid of the
murderer? … Is he in danger in some way?'

‘Louis!' cried his
sister.

And Louis looked away, with a face made
of stone.

‘Say it isn't true,
Louis! … Won't you listen to me?'

‘Don't know what the
inspector …'

He just couldn't remain still any
longer. He got to his feet.

‘Louis is the biggest liar of the
bunch! He claims not to know the Norwegian but he does! He claims not to have any
dealing with the mayor, and I find him in the man's house, beating him to a
pulp …'

That vague smile appeared on the
ex-convict's lips. But Julie wasn't mollified.

‘Oh, Louis! Is that
true?'

When he didn't answer, she
clutched at his arm.

‘Then why don't you tell the
truth? You haven't done anything, I know you haven't!'

He pulled away, but looked
torn … Perhaps he was weakening. Maigret didn't give him time to
pull himself together.

‘Just one tiny truth, a single
scrap of information in this whole mess of lies would probably be enough to untangle
everything!'

But, no. In spite of his sister's
pleading looks, Louis shook himself like a giant harassed by furious little
enemies.

‘I don't know
anything.'

‘Why
won't you talk?' said Julie sternly, already growing suspicious.

‘I don't know
anything!'

‘The inspector says—'

‘I don't know
anything!'

‘Listen,
Louis … I've always believed in you, you know that. And I defended
you, even to Captain Joris …'

Flushed with regret over that last
remark, she quickly went on.

‘You must tell the truth. I
can't take this any more. And I won't stay any longer in this house, by
myself.'

‘Stop talking, Julie,'
sighed her brother.

‘What do you want him to tell you,
inspector?'

‘Two things. First, who Martineau
is. Then, why the mayor let himself be beaten up.'

‘You hear that,
Louis? … It's not so bad!'

‘I don't know
anything.'

Now she was getting angry.

‘Louis, listen to me! I'm
going to end up thinking that …'

And the fire kept on purring. And the
ticking of the clock was slow, stretching the reflected lamplight along on its
copper pendulum.