The Shadow Puppet (3 page)

The typed report was still there,
beneath the dead man's hand. A mundane report: a suggested rise for one worker
and the sacking of one of the delivery men; a draft advert for the Latin American
companies and so on.

‘So the 300,000 francs should be
here?' inquired Maigret.

‘In the safe. The fact that
Monsieur Couchet opened it proves it. He and I are the only two people who have the
key and the code.'

But to open the safe, the body had to be
moved, which could not be done until the photographers had finished their job. The
pathologist was making his verbal report. Couchet had been hit by a bullet in the
chest, which had severed the aorta, and death had been instantaneous. The distance
between the killer and his victim was estimated at three metres. And lastly, the
bullet was of the most common calibre: 6.35mm.

Monsieur Philippe explained some things
to the examining magistrate.

‘Here in Place des Vosges, we only
have our laboratory, which is behind this office.'

He opened a door. They glimpsed a vast
room with a glazed roof where thousands of test tubes stood in rows. Behind another
door, Maigret thought he heard a noise.

‘What's in there?'

‘The guinea pigs. And to the right
are the offices of the typists and the clerical staff. We have other premises in
Pantin, from which most of the dispatching is done, for you probably know that
Doctor Rivière's Serums are renowned worldwide.'

‘Was it Couchet who launched
them?'

‘Yes! Doctor Rivière had no money.
Couchet financed his research. Ten years ago he opened a laboratory which
wasn't as big as this one yet.'

‘Is Doctor Rivière still
involved?'

‘He died five years ago, in a road
accident.'

At last Couchet's body was
removed. But, the moment the safe was opened, there was consternation: all the money
it had contained had vanished. Only business documents remained. Monsieur Philippe
explained, ‘Not only the 300,000 francs that Monsieur Couchet would definitely
have brought, but another 60,000 francs held by a rubber band that had been cashed
that afternoon and which I myself put in the safe!'

In the dead man's wallet, nothing.
Or rather two numbered tickets for a theatre near Madeleine, the sight of which made
Nine cry.

‘They were for us! We were
supposed to be going to the theatre.'

The forensics team was done. There was
mounting chaos as the photographers folded up their unwieldy tripods, the
pathologist washed his hands at a basin he'd come across in a closet, and the
prosecutor's clerk yawned.

Despite all the
goings-on around him, for a few moments Maigret had a sort of tête-à-tête with the
dead man.

A vigorous man, on the short side,
tubby. Like Nine, he had doubtless never entirely shed a certain vulgarity, despite
his well-cut clothes, manicured nails and bespoke silk underwear.

His fair hair was thinning. His eyes
were probably blue and had a slightly childlike expression.

‘A good man!' sighed a voice
behind him.

It was Nine, who was crying piteously
and who took Maigret as witness, not daring to address the public prosecutor's
more formal men.

‘I swear to you he was a good man!
Whenever he thought something would make me happy – and not just me, anybody –
I've never seen a man give such generous tips. I even used to scold him, I
told him people took him for a ride. And he'd reply, “So
what?”'

Maigret asked gravely, ‘Was he a
cheerful man?'

‘He seemed cheerful, but not deep
down, if you know what I mean. It's hard to explain. He needed to be moving,
doing something. If he sat still, he'd become broody or anxious.'

‘What about his wife?'

‘I only saw her once, from a
distance. I don't have anything bad to say about her.'

‘Where did Couchet
live?'

‘Boulevard Haussmann. But most of
the time he'd go to Meulan, where he has a villa.'

Maigret abruptly turned his head, saw
the concierge,
who did not dare come in.
She was signalling to him, looking more unhappy than ever.

‘Listen! He's coming
down.'

‘Who?'

‘Monsieur de Saint-Marc. He must
have heard all the commotion. Here he is. Just think! On a day like
today!'

The former ambassador, in his dressing
gown, was loath to approach. He had realized this was an investigation by the public
prosecutor's office. Besides, the body on the stretcher passed close to
him.

‘What's going on?' he
asked Maigret.

‘A man's been murdered.
Couchet, the owner of the serums laboratory.'

The chief inspector sensed that Monsieur
de Saint-Marc had suddenly been struck by a thought, as if recalling something.

‘Did you know him?'

‘No. I mean, I knew of
him.'

‘And?'

‘Nothing! I know nothing. What
time did—'

‘The murder must have been
committed between eight and nine p.m.'

Monsieur de Saint-Marc sighed, smoothed
his silver hair, nodded to Maigret and headed for the staircase leading up to his
apartment.

The concierge had kept her distance.
Then she went over to someone who was pacing back and forth under the archway, bent
forward. When she came back to Maigret, he asked her, ‘Who is that?'

‘Monsieur Martin. He's
looking for a glove he dropped.
He never
goes out without his gloves, even to go and buy cigarettes fifty metres from
here.'

Now searching around the dustbins,
Monsieur Martin lit a few matches but eventually gave up and resigned himself to
going back up to his apartment.

People were shaking hands in the
courtyard. The public prosecutor left. The examining magistrate spoke briefly with
Maigret.

‘I'll leave you to get on
with your job. Naturally you'll keep me posted.'

Monsieur Philippe, still looking as
though he'd stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine, bowed to the
detective chief inspector.

‘You no longer need me?'

‘I'll see you tomorrow.
You'll be at your office, I suppose?'

‘At nine on the dot, as
usual.'

Suddenly there was a moving scene, even
though nothing particular happened. The courtyard was still plunged in shadow. A
single lamp. And then the archway with its dusty light bulb.

Outside, cars revved up and glided over
the asphalt, briefly picking out the trees of the Place des Vosges with their
headlamps.

The body was no longer there. The office
looked as if it had been ransacked. Nobody had thought to switch off the lights, and
the laboratory was lit up as if in anticipation of a hard night's work.

And now there were three of them left in
the middle of the courtyard, three very different people who an hour
earlier had not known each other and who now seemed to be
drawn to each other by an inexplicable kinship.

Or rather, they were like the family
members who remain behind after a funeral when the rest of the guests have left.

At least this was Maigret's
fleeting impression as he looked from Nine's exhausted face to the
concierge's drawn features.

‘Have you put your children to
bed?'

‘Yes, but they're not
asleep. They're anxious, it's as if they can sense what's going
on.'

Madame Bourcier had a question she
wanted to ask, a question she was almost ashamed of, but which, for her, was
capital.

‘Do you think …'

Her gaze swept the courtyard and seemed
to pause at each of the dark windows.

‘… that … it's one of the residents?'

And now she was staring at the entrance,
at the vast archway with its door constantly open, except after eleven p.m., which
led from the courtyard to the street and gave the entire unknown world outside
access to the building.

Nine meanwhile was looking
uncomfortable, shooting the inspector covert glances.

‘The investigation will doubtless
answer your question, Madame Bourcier. For the time being, one thing seems certain,
and that is that the person who stole the 360,000 francs is not the murderer. At
least that is probable, since Monsieur Couchet's body was blocking the safe.
By the way, were the lights on in the laboratory this evening?'

‘Wait! Yes,
I think so. But it wasn't as brightly lit as now. Monsieur Couchet must have
switched on a light or two on his way to the toilet, which is right at the back of
the building.'

Maigret went back to Couchet's
office and switched off all the lights, while the concierge remained in the doorway,
even though the body was no longer there. In the courtyard, the inspector found Nine
waiting for him. He heard a noise somewhere above his head, the sound of an object
swishing against a window pane.

But all the windows were shut, all the
lights out.

Someone had moved, someone was watching
from the shadows of a room.

‘See you tomorrow, Madame
Bourcier. I'll be here before the office opens.'

‘I'll follow you. I have to
lock the main door.'

Nine, standing on the edge of the
pavement, remarked, ‘I thought you had a car.'

She seemed reluctant to leave him.
Looking at her feet, she added, ‘Whereabouts do you live?'

‘Very close by, Boulevard
Richard-Lenoir.'

‘The last Métro's gone,
hasn't it?'

‘I think so.'

‘I'd like to tell you
something.'

‘Go ahead.'

She still did not dare meet his eye.
Behind them, they could hear the concierge bolting the door and then her footsteps
echoing as she went back to her lodge. There was not a soul in the square. The
fountains were babbling. The town hall clock struck one.

‘You're going to think that I'm imposing on … I
don't know what you'll think. I told you that Raymond was very generous.
He wasn't aware of the value of money. He used to give me anything I wanted.
Do you understand?'

‘And?'

‘It's stupid, I asked for as
little as possible. I'd wait until he thought of it. In any case, since he was
with me nearly all the time, I didn't need anything. Tonight I was supposed to
be having dinner with him. Well—'

‘Broke?'

‘It's not even that!'
she protested. ‘It's even more stupid! I was thinking of asking him for
some money this evening. At lunchtime I paid a bill.'

This was excruciating for her. She kept
an eye on Maigret, ready to clam up at the slightest hint of amusement.

‘It never occurred to me that he
wouldn't show up. I had a little money left in my bag. While I was waiting for
him, at the Select, I ate oysters, and then lobster. I telephoned. It was only when
I got here that I realized I only had enough to pay my taxi fare.'

‘And at home?'

‘I live in a hotel.'

‘I'm asking if you have any
money saved up.'

‘Me?'

A nervous little laugh.

‘What for? How could I have known?
Even if I had, I wouldn't have wanted—'

Maigret sighed.

‘Walk with me to Boulevard
Beaumarchais. That's the
only place
you'll find a taxi at this hour. What are you going to do?'

‘Nothing. I—'

She shivered. True, she was dressed only
in silk.

‘Had he not made a
will?'

‘How would I know? Do you think
people worry about such things when everything's fine? Raymond was a good man.
I—'

She wept silently as she walked. The
inspector slipped a 100-franc note into her hand, flagged down a passing car and,
thrusting his fists in his pockets, muttered, ‘See you tomorrow. You did say
Hôtel Pigalle didn't you?'

When he got into bed, Madame Maigret
woke up only long enough to murmur, sleepily, ‘Did you at least have
dinner?'

Leaving home at around eight a.m.,
Maigret had to choose between three pressing tasks: revisiting the premises at Place
des Vosges and questioning the staff, paying a visit to Madame Couchet, who had been
apprised of events by the local police, and lastly questioning Nine again.

On waking, he had telephoned police
headquarters and given them the list of residents at number 61, as well as all the
people connected either closely or remotely with the tragedy, so that when he went
to his office, detailed information would be waiting for him.

The market on Boulevard Richard-Lenoir
was in full swing. The weather was so cold that the inspector turned up the velvet
collar of his overcoat. Place des Vosges was close by, but he had to walk there.

A tram going to Place Pigalle rumbled
past and that prompted Maigret to make up his mind. He would see Nine first.