Inspector Cadaver by Georges Simenon Page A

ribbons of a
little black cabriolet hat perched jauntily on her head, and slip galoshes over her
shoes.
    ‘You don’t want
me to have the horses put to?’
    ‘There will be plenty of time to put
the horses to on the day of my funeral. Goodbye, inspector. If you pass under my windows
again, come and say a quick hello. Good night, Louise. Good night, Viève
…’
    And then suddenly, as the door closed behind
her, there was a gaping void. Maigret understood why they had tried to stop old Tine
leaving. With her gone, the silence pressed down on their shoulders, weighty and
nerve-racking, and something like fear could be felt crawling through the room. Louise
Naud’s fingers ran faster and faster over her handiwork as the girl searched for
an excuse to leave but didn’t dare get up.
    Wasn’t it shocking to think that while
Albert Retailleau was dead, found one morning torn to pieces on the railway track, his
child was alive in the room at that moment, a living being that would be born in a few
months?
    When Maigret turned to the girl, she
didn’t look away. Quite the opposite. She sat up and looked straight at him, as if
to say, ‘No, you didn’t dream it. I came into your room last night and I
wasn’t sleepwalking. What I told you then is the truth. You can see I’m not
ashamed of it. I’m not mad. Albert was my lover and I am pregnant with his child
…’
    So, the son of Madame Retailleau, who had
stood up so doughtily for her rights when her husband died, Pockmarks’ young,
passionate friend, used to slip undetected into this house at night. Geneviève
would be waiting for him in her room at the end of the passage in the right wing.
    ‘Will you excuse me, mesdames? If you
have noobjection, I’d like to go for a quick walk round the
yards and outbuildings.’
    ‘Do you mind if I come with
you?’
    ‘You’ll catch cold,
Geneviève.’
    ‘I won’t, Maman. I’ll wrap
up.’
    She brought a stable lantern, already lit,
from the kitchen. In the hall Maigret helped her put on a cloak.
    ‘What do you want to see?’ she
asked in a whisper.
    ‘Let’s go to the
yard.’
    ‘We can go this way. No need to go all
through the house … Watch out for the steps …’
    There were lights on in the stables, and the
doors were open, but the fog was so thick it was impossible to make anything out.
    ‘Your room’s the one right above
us, isn’t it?’
    ‘Yes. I see what you mean. He
didn’t use the front door, obviously … Come here. You see that ladder. We
always left it here. He only had to move it a few metres.’
    ‘Where is your parents’
room?’
    ‘Three windows along.’
    ‘And the other two windows?’
    ‘One is the guest room, where Alban
slept that night. The other is a room that hasn’t been used since my little sister
died in it. Only Maman has a key.’
    She felt the cold but was trying not to show
it, in case it seemed as if she wanted to end their conversation.
    ‘Your parents never suspected
anything?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Had your liaison been going on for
long?’
    She didn’t have to rack her
brains.
    ‘Three and a half
months.’
    ‘Retailleau knew the consequences of
your love?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘What was he planning to
do?’
    ‘To confess everything to my parents
and marry me.’
    ‘Why was he furious that last
night?’
    Maigret stared at her, trying as best he
could to make out her features in the fog. The ensuing silence revealed her
astonishment.
    ‘I asked you …’
    ‘I heard.’
    ‘Well?’
    ‘I don’t understand. Why do you
say he was furious?’
    Her hands were shaking like her
mother’s, as was the lantern.
    ‘Nothing special had happened that
evening?’
    ‘Nothing, no.’
    ‘Albert left by the window as
usual?’
    ‘Yes. There was a moon. I saw him walk
off towards the bottom of the yard, where he could climb over the little wall and take
the lane …’
    ‘What time was it?’
    ‘Twelve thirty, maybe
…’
    ‘Were his visits usually so
brief?’
    ‘What do