The Misty Harbour (14 page)

It was Maigret who paid. They walked
around the church and at the end of the stony road found the car waiting for them.
After telling them all to get in, the inspector paused to think before speaking to
the driver.

‘To Ouistreham. There you will
stop first at the police station.'

The journey took place in complete
silence. Rain still fell from a sky of solid grey as a freshening wind shook the
dripping trees.

Outside the police station, Maigret had
Martineau get out and gave instructions to Lucas.

‘Keep him in the lock-up.
You're responsible for him! Anything new here?'

‘The tug's arrived.
They're waiting for the tide to come in.'

The car drove
away. When they swung by the harbour, Maigret made another short stop.

It was noon. The lock workers were at
their posts, because a steamer was due in from Caen. The strip of sand along the
beach had narrowed and the foaming waves were almost licking at the dunes.

On the right, a crowd watched a
fascinating spectacle: the tug from Trouville was anchored not 500 metres off the
coast. A dinghy was fighting its way over to the
Saint-Michel
, now half
righted with the incoming tide.

Maigret noticed that the mayor was also
watching the drama, from inside the car. Then Captain Delcourt came out of the
bar.

‘Will it work?' asked
Maigret.

‘I think we'll save her. For
the last two hours we've been lightening her, removing ballast. If we can keep
her from breaking adrift …'

And he looked up at the sky as if
reading the vagaries of the wind on a map.

‘It's just that we have to
finish before the tide turns again.'

Glimpsing the mayor and his wife inside
their car, he nodded to them deferentially, then gave Maigret a questioning
look.

‘Anything new?'

‘Don't know.'

Lucas was approaching, and he did have
news, but he drew his chief aside before delivering it.

‘We've got Big
Louis.'

‘What?'

‘He
slipped up! This morning the police in Dives found tracks through some fields. The
footsteps of a man walking straight ahead and clambering over the hedgerows. The
trail led to the Orne, to the place where a fisherman kept his rowing boat hauled up
on the bank. Except that the boat was on the other side of the river.'

‘The officers followed
him?'

‘Yes, and came to the beach, more
or less opposite the
Saint-Michel
. At the edge of the dunes over there is
a—'

‘Ruined chapel!'

‘You already know?'

‘Notre-Dame-des-Dunes.'

‘Right. They nabbed Big Louis
there. He was holed up, watching the salvage operation. When I arrived he was
begging the officers not to take him away yet, so that he could watch from the beach
until the job was done. I gave permission. He's still there, in handcuffs. And
shouting instructions! He's afraid they'll lose his
boat … Don't you want to see him?'

‘I don't
know … maybe, in a little while.'

For the Grandmaisons were still waiting
in the car.

‘You think we'll ever get to
the bottom of this?'

No reply.

‘Personally,' continued
Lucas, ‘I'm beginning to think we won't. They're all liars!
And the ones who aren't lying won't talk, even though they know
something! It's as if everyone around here were responsible for Joris'
death …'

But the inspector simply shrugged and
walked away muttering, ‘See you later …'

Back in the car,
he surprised the chauffeur by telling him, ‘Back to the house, now,' as
if he were speaking of his own home.

‘The house in Caen?'

To tell the truth, the inspector
hadn't meant that, but the chauffeur had given him an idea.

‘Yes, in Caen!'

Monsieur Grandmaison scowled. His wife,
though, could not react at all. She seemed to be allowing events to carry her along
and offered not the slightest resistance.

Between the city gates and Rue du Four,
a good fifty hats were doffed. Everyone appeared to recognize Monsieur
Grandmaison's car. And the greetings were respectful. The ship-owner was like
a nobleman travelling through his domain.

‘A simple formality,' said
Maigret casually when they arrived at the house. ‘Please excuse me for having
brought you here, but as I mentioned this morning, this affair must be resolved by
tonight.'

A calm street, lined with imposing
mansions of a kind found only in the provinces these days. The house, its stones
dark with age, was fronted by a courtyard. And on the gate was a brass plaque with
the name of the family's shipping company.

Inside the courtyard, a sign with an
arrow: ‘Office'.

Another sign, another arrow:
‘Cashier's Office'.

And one last notice. ‘Office
Hours: 9 a.m. to 4 p.m.'

It was shortly past noon. The drive from
Ouistreham had taken only ten minutes. Most of the firm's employees
had already left for lunch by then, but
a few were still at their desks, in dark, solemn offices with thick carpets and
heavy Louis-Philippe furniture.

‘I will probably ask you later on
to spare me a few moments of your time, madame, but for the moment, would you like
to retire to your rooms?'

The entire ground floor was given over
to offices. The vestibule was spacious, flanked with large cast-iron candelabra. A
marble staircase led up to the first floor, where the family lived.

The mayor of Ouistreham was waiting
gloomily for Maigret to deal with him.

‘What is it you want from
me?' he asked quietly.

He turned up his collar and jammed his
hat down to keep his staff from seeing what Big Louis' fists had done to
him.

‘Nothing in particular. Simply
permission to come and go, to get the feel of the house.'

‘Do you need me for
anything?'

‘Not at all.'

‘In that case, if I may, I will go
and join Madame Grandmaison.'

His respectful reference to his wife was
in sharp contrast with that morning's events in the old woman's cottage.
After watching him vanish upstairs, Maigret went to the far end of the vestibule to
make sure the building had only one exit.

Leaving the mansion, he found a local
policeman and stationed him near the front gate.

‘Got it? Let everyone leave,
except Monsieur Grandmaison. Will you recognize him?'

‘Well, of
course! But, what's he done? A fine man like him … He's
president of the chamber of commerce, you know!'

‘So much the better!'

In the vestibule, an office on the
right: ‘Secretary'. Maigret knocked, pushed open the door, smelled a
whiff of cigar, but saw no one.

The office on the left:
‘Director'.

Again, the same resolutely solemn
atmosphere, the same dark-red carpets, the gilt wallpaper, the elaborate ceiling
mouldings.

The impression that within these walls,
no one would dare to raise his voice. Dignified gentlemen in morning coats and
striped trousers would smoke fat cigars and pontificate.

A solid business indeed! A
well-established provincial firm, handed down from father to son for
generations.

‘Monsieur Grandmaison? His
signature is as good as gold.'

And here was Maigret in his office,
which was furnished in the opulent Empire style, more suitable for an important
businessman. On the walls, statistical tables, graphs, colour-coded schedules,
photographs of ships.

As he was walking around, his hands in
his pockets, a door opened, and a rather anxious, white-haired old man popped his
head in.

‘What's
the …'

‘Police!' replied Maigret
sharply, as if savouring the explosive effect of his words in that place.

And the old fellow went into a terrified
dither.

‘Don't worry, monsieur. Your
employer has asked me to look into a few things. And you are …'

‘The head cashier,' replied
the man hastily.

‘Then you
would be the man who's been with the firm
for … for …'

‘Forty-two years. I began here in
Monsieur Charles' time.'

‘Right. And that's your
office, next door? In short, you're now the one who runs everything,
aren't you? At least that's what I hear …'

Maigret was sitting pretty. He had seen
the house, and one look at this old man was all he needed.

‘It's only natural,
isn't it! When Monsieur Ernest is not here …'

‘Monsieur Ernest?'

‘Yes, well, Monsieur Grandmaison!
I've known him since he was a boy, so I still call him Monsieur
Ernest.'

Maigret had eased himself into the old
man's office, a place devoid of luxury and apparently not open to outsiders.
And here files and documents were piled up in profusion.

On a cluttered table, some sandwiches
sitting on their butcher's paper. On the stove, a small steaming coffee
pot.

‘You even eat here,
monsieur … Forgive me, I've gone and forgotten your name.'

‘Bernardin. But everyone here
calls me Old Bernard. As I live alone, there's no point in me going home for
lunch like the others. In fact, is it about that small theft last week that Monsieur
Ernest has called you in? … He should have spoken to me, because
it's all sorted out now. A young man who'd taken two thousand francs,
and his uncle has paid us back. The young man swore … Well, you know, at
that age! … He'd fallen into some bad company.'

‘We'll see about that presently. But do go on
with your lunch … So, you were already Monsieur Charles' trusted
lieutenant before being his son's.'

‘I was the cashier. Back then
there was no chief cashier – and I might even say that the position was created just
for me!'

‘Monsieur Ernest was an only
son?'

‘Yes. There was a daughter,
married off to a businessman in Lille, but she died in childbirth along with her
infant.'

‘But what of Monsieur
Raymond?'

The old man's head jerked up in
surprise.

‘Ah! Monsieur Ernest has told
you?'

Old Bernard now seemed more on his
guard.

‘Wasn't he part of the
family?'

‘A cousin. A Grandmaison, but a
poor relation. His father died out in the colonies. It happens in every family,
doesn't it …'

‘Indeed it does!' Maigret
agreed readily.

‘Monsieur Ernest's father
more or less adopted him … That is, he found a place for him
here …'

Maigret needed more information and
dropped all pretence.

‘One moment, Monsieur Bernard!
I'd like to make sure I've got everything straight. The founder of the
Anglo-Normande was Monsieur Charles Grandmaison, correct? Monsieur Charles
Grandmaison had an only son, Monsieur Ernest, currently in charge.'

‘Yes.'

The inspector's inquisitorial tone
puzzled the old man, who was beginning to get worried.

‘Good!
Monsieur Charles had a brother who died in the colonies and who also had a son,
Monsieur Raymond Grandmaison.'

‘Yes, but I—'

‘Just a moment! And go on with
your lunch, please. This Monsieur Raymond, a penniless orphan, was taken in here by
his uncle. A position was found for him in the firm. Which one, exactly?'

‘Well,' replied the old man
hesitantly, ‘he was assigned to the freight department. As a kind of office
manager.'

‘Fine. Monsieur Charles
Grandmaison died. Monsieur Ernest took over. Monsieur Raymond was still
here.'

‘Yes.'

‘They quarrelled. One moment! Was
Monsieur Ernest already married at the time?'

‘I'm not sure that I should
say anything.'

‘I advise you strongly to
cooperate if you don't want to have problems with the law, elderly though you
may be.'

‘The law! Has Monsieur Raymond
returned?'

‘Never mind that. Was Monsieur
Ernest married?'

‘No. Not yet.'

‘Right. Monsieur Ernest was the
boss. His cousin, Raymond, still an office manager. What happened?'

‘I'm not sure I have the
right …'

‘I give you the right.'

‘It's like this in every
family. Monsieur Ernest was a responsible, reliable man, like his father. Even at
the age when boys naturally rebel against authority, he was already as serious as he
is now.'

‘And Monsieur Raymond?'

‘Quite the
opposite!'

‘And?'

‘I'm the only one here who
knows, aside from Monsieur Ernest. Some irregularities were discovered in the
accounts … Involving large sums …'

‘So?'

‘Monsieur Raymond disappeared.
That's to say, instead of having him arrested, Monsieur Ernest strongly
advised him to go and live abroad.'

‘In Norway?'

‘I don't know. I never heard
his name mentioned again.'

‘Monsieur Ernest was married soon
after that?'

‘That's right. A few months
later.'

The walls were lined with filing
cabinets of a doleful green. The faithful old man was eating without any appetite,
still worried, feeling guilty for letting the inspector worm information out of
him.

‘And how long ago was
that?'

‘Let me see … It was the
year they widened the canal. Fifteen years ago, or just about.'

Footsteps had been going back and forth
in the room above their heads for a few minutes now.

‘The dining room?' asked
Maigret.

‘Yes.'

And then the footsteps overhead went
faster … A dull thud – as a body fell to the floor.