The Night at the Crossroads (9 page)

‘Are you ill?' Maigret asked quietly, looking at the blanket around the man's legs.

‘Who wouldn't be! I'm fretting myself into an attack of gout! It always goes to my legs … I'm looking at two or three nights sitting sleepless in this chair. I asked you here to tell you this: look at the state
I'm in! You can see for yourself that I'm unable to work, especially without a car! … Enough … I will call you as a witness when I sue for damages. And now, I bid you goodnight, monsieur!'

He had made his speech with the exaggerated bravado of a small-minded prig confident of being in the right.

‘But while you seem to be skulking around spying on us,' added Madame Michonnet, ‘the murderer himself is still out there! That's our justice! Attacking ordinary folks, but leaving the big shots free!'

‘Is that all you have to say to me?'

Michonnet glared and sat back in his armchair while his wife led the way to the door.

The interior of the house was of a piece with its façade: spotless suites of furniture, gleaming with polish but seemingly frozen in place, unused.

Out in the corridor Maigret stopped at an old-fashioned wall-telephone and promptly turned the crank, as Madame Michonnet looked on in outrage.

‘Hello, operator? This is the Police Judiciaire! Can you tell me if there have been any calls this afternoon for the Three Widows Crossroads? … There are two numbers, you say, the garage and the Michonnet villa? … Good,
and when? … A call for the garage from Paris at around one o'clock and another towards five? … And the other
number? … Only one call … From Paris? … At five past five? … Thank you,
mademoiselle.'

His eyes alight with mischief, he bowed to Madame Michonnet.

‘I wish you a pleasant evening, madame.'

He opened the gate of the Three Widows house with practised ease, walked around the back to the drawing room and on upstairs.

Else Andersen met him in a state of great agitation.

‘I'm sorry to make such demands of you, chief inspector; you'll think I'm presumptuous, but I am so restless, on edge … I'm frightened and I don't know why! Ever since our conversation this morning
I've felt that you are the only one who can protect me from harm … You now know this sinister crossroads as well as I do, these three houses that seem to defy one another … Do you believe in premonitions? I do, like all women – and I sense that something bad will
happen before this night is over …'

‘And you're asking me again to watch over you?'

‘It's too much to ask, isn't it – but I can't help being afraid!'

Maigret's eye had been caught for a moment by a painting of a snowy landscape, which hung crookedly on a wall, but he turned immediately to the girl, who stood waiting for his reply.

‘Aren't you afraid for your reputation?'

‘What does that matter to someone who's frightened?'

‘In that case, I will return in one hour. A few orders to give …'

‘Really? You'll come back? That's a promise? … Besides,
I have all sorts of things to tell you, things I've remembered only in bits and pieces …'

‘About?'

‘My brother … But they may not be important … Well … For example, I remember, after that plane crash, the doctor taking care of him told Father that he could vouch for his patient's physical health, but
not his mental health. I'd never really thought about what he meant … And other things … His insistence on living far from any city, hiding away … I'll tell you about all that when you return.'

She smiled at him with gratitude and only a flicker of lingering fear.

Walking past the millstone villa, Maigret looked up automatically at the first-floor window, which shone bright yellow in the darkness. Framed in the glowing shade was the silhouette of Monsieur Michonnet, sitting in his armchair.

At the inn, the inspector simply gave Lucas a few orders without any explanation.

‘See to it that half a dozen inspectors are posted around the crossroads. Once an hour make sure that Monsieur Oscar is still in Paris by phoning the restaurant, then the theatre and the hotel. Have everyone who leaves any of the three
houses here followed.'

‘Where will you be?'

‘At the Andersens' place.'

‘You think that …'

‘I don't think anything, old friend! I'll see you later, or tomorrow morning.'

Night had fallen. As he went back to the main road, the inspector made sure that his revolver was loaded and that he had sufficient tobacco.

The moustachioed profile of the insurance agent and the shadow of his armchair were still visible in the Michonnets' upstairs window.

Else Andersen had changed her black velvet dress for the peignoir she had worn that morning and Maigret found her stretched out on the divan, smoking a cigarette, calmer than he had last seen her but frowning thoughtfully.

‘If you only knew how relieved I am to know you're here, chief inspector! Some people inspire confidence from the moment you meet them … but they are rare. In any case, I personally have met few people with whom I felt an
instinctive, sympathetic bond … Do smoke, if you like …'

‘Have you eaten?'

‘I'm not hungry. I don't know any more what's keeping me going … For four days, from the horrible instant that body was found in the car, I've been thinking, thinking … Trying to understand, to
make up my mind …'

‘And you conclude that your brother is the guilty one?'

‘No. I do not want to accuse Carl. Especially as, even if he actually were guilty, it would only be due to a moment of uncontrollable madness … You've chosen the worst armchair. If you would like to lie down at any point,
there is a cot in the next room.'

She was calm and anxious at the same time. A seeming calm, deliberate, painfully achieved. An anxiety that still managed to surface at certain moments.

‘Something terrible has already happened in this house, a long time ago, hasn't it? Carl has spoken about it, but only vaguely … He was afraid of frightening me. He always treats me
like a little girl.'

Her whole body leaned forwards, in a supple movement, as she flicked her cigarette ash into the china bowl on the lacquered table. Her peignoir fell open, as it had that morning, revealing a small, round breast. Only for an instant. And yet
Maigret had had time to notice a scar, and he frowned.

‘You were wounded some time ago!'

‘What do you mean?'

Blushing, she instinctively drew the edges of her peignoir closed over her chest.

‘You have a scar on your right breast.'

She was deeply embarrassed.

‘Excuse me,' she said. ‘I'm used to dressing casually here, I never thought … As for that scar … There! Another thing I've suddenly recalled, but it's certainly just a
coincidence … When we were still children, Carl and I used to play on the castle grounds and I remember that one day he was given a rifle, for Saint Nicholas's Day. Carl must have been fourteen … It's all so silly, you'll see. At first he shot at a
target. After an evening at the circus, the next day he wanted to play at being William Tell. I held out a cardboard target in each hand. The first bullet hit me in the chest.'

Maigret had stood up. He walked over to the divan with a face so impassive that Else grew uneasy as he approached, and she clutched the neck of her peignoir.

But he was not looking at her. He was staring at the wall behind the divan, where the snowy landscape painting was now perfectly level.

Slowly he swung the frame to one side and discovered a niche in the wall, neither large nor deep, where two bricks had been removed. Within the niche were an automatic loaded with six bullets, a box of cartridges, a key and a tube of veronal.

Else had watched his every move but seemed hardly to react at all. A slight rosiness in the cheeks; her eyes a bit more bright …

‘I would probably have got around to showing you that hiding place myself, chief inspector …'

‘Really?'

As he spoke he was pocketing the revolver and noting that half the veronal tablets in the tube were gone. He went over to the bedroom door and stuck the key into the lock: it fitted perfectly.

The young woman had risen from the divan. She no longer cared about covering her chest and moved her hands awkwardly and abruptly as she spoke.

‘What you just discovered confirms what I've already told you, but you must understand my position! How could I accuse my brother? … If I had confessed to you, when you first came here, that I have for a long time now
considered him insane, you would have been shocked by my behaviour. And yet, it's the truth …'

Her accent, which grew stronger whenever she became emotional, imparted a peculiar quality to every word she said.

‘The revolver?'

‘How can I explain … We left Denmark as paupers, but my brother was convinced that, with his education, he would find a brilliant position in Paris … He did not. And became even more distressingly strange. When he
resolved to bury us out here, I understood that he was seriously ill. Especially as he insisted on locking me in my bedroom every night under the pretext that enemies might attack us! You can imagine my situation, imprisoned within these walls, unable to escape in case of fire, for example,
or any other catastrophe … I couldn't sleep! I was as frantic as if I'd been underground in a tunnel …

‘One day when he was in Paris, I had a locksmith come to make me a key to the bedroom door. Since I was locked in here, I had to climb out of the bedroom window …

‘Now I could move around freely, but it wasn't enough. There were days when Carl was half mad … He often talked about destroying us both to avoid complete ruin.

‘I bought a revolver in Arpajon on another day when my brother was in Paris. And as I was sleeping poorly, I got myself some veronal.

‘You see how simple it is! He's so distrustful … No one is more wary than a deranged man who's still lucid enough to realize that he is disturbed … I made this hiding place one night.'

‘Is that it?'

She was surprised by his brutal bluntness.

‘Don't you believe me?'

Without answering, he went to the window, opened it,
then the shutters – and was bathed in the cool freshness of the night.

The road below was like a stream of ink that shone as if by moonlight whenever cars went by. The headlamps would gleam in the distance, perhaps ten kilometres away. Then suddenly there'd be a sort of cyclone, a roaring whoosh of air, a
single red tail light fading into the darkness.

The petrol pumps were lit up. In the Michonnets' villa, one light still outlined the silhouette of the insurance agent in his armchair on the pale blind upstairs.

‘Close the window, chief inspector!'

Maigret turned around. He saw Else shivering, drawing her peignoir tightly around her.

‘Do you understand now why I'm worried? You've persuaded me to tell you everything – but I wouldn't want anything to happen to Carl, not for the world! He's told me many times that we would die
together …'

‘Would you please be quiet!'

He was straining to hear the noises of the night, so he drew his armchair over to the window and put his feet up on the railing.

‘But I'm cold, I tell you …'

‘Put some clothes on!'

‘You don't believe me?'

‘Be quiet, dammit!'

And he began smoking. Vague sounds came from a distant farm: a lowing cow, shifting, indistinct noises of movement … Off in the garage, though, as steel objects were banged about, the electric tyre-pump began vibrating.

‘And I trusted you! … But now—'

‘Once and for all, are you going to be quiet?'

He had spotted a shadow behind a tree by the road, close to the house, and assumed it was one of the inspectors he had requested.

‘I'm hungry …'

He turned around angrily to face the young woman, who looked pathetic.

‘Go and get something to eat!'

‘I don't dare go; I'm afraid …'

Maigret shrugged, made sure that everything was quiet outside and abruptly decided to go downstairs. He knew his way around the kitchen. Near the stove were some leftover cold meat, bread and part of a bottle of beer.

He took everything upstairs and placed it on the lacquered table, near the cigarette bowl.

‘You're being mean to me, chief inspector.'

She looked like such a little girl … She seemed about to burst into tears!

‘I don't have time to be mean or nice. Eat!'

‘You're not hungry? … Are you angry that I told you the truth?'

But he was already turning his back on her to look out of the window. Behind the shade, Madame Michonnet was bending over her husband, probably giving him some medicine, for she was holding a spoon to his face.

Else had picked up a piece of cold veal with her fingertips and now nibbled on it glumly. Then she poured herself a glass of beer.

‘It tastes terrible!' she exclaimed, and gasped convulsively.
‘But why won't you close that window? I'm scared … Don't you ever feel sorry for
people?'

Exasperated, Maigret suddenly shut the window and looked over at Else like a man about to lose his temper.

Then he saw her turn white, saw her blue eyes glaze over and her hand reach out for some support … He reached her just in time to slip an arm around her waist as she collapsed.

He lowered her gently to the floor, raised her eyelids to check her pupils and sniffed the empty glass, which had an acrid smell.

There was a spoon on the table. He used it to pry Else's jaws open and immediately thrust the spoon into her mouth, repeatedly touching it to her palate and the back of her throat.