Cécile is Dead by Georges Simenon Read Free Book Online Page A

happened on the fifth floor. It
     wasn’t until I was in the Palais at four in the afternoon that a friend of mine
     …’
    â€˜Told you about the murder of Madame
     Juliette Boynet, née Cazenove, and like you a native of Fontenay-le-Comte.’
    â€˜Exactly, inspector. I came back, but
     I failed to find you here, and I preferred not to talk to the officer whom you had left
     in charge. I caught a tram, hoping to find you at Quai des Orfèvres. Our paths ought to
     have crossed. Inspector Cassieux, who knows me …’
    â€˜Yes, the head of the Drug Squad, also
     heading up Vice, certainly ought to know the name of Monsieur Charles.’
    The other man went on, as if he had failed
     to hear that. ‘Inspector Cassieux told me about Cécile, and …’
    Maigret had risen to his feet and had
     tiptoed across the front hall, to which the study door still stood open. When he
     suddenly opened the front door of the apartment Nouchi, whose eye was glued to the
     keyhole, almost fell over backwards. She straightened up and, slippery as an eel, rushed
     to the stairs.
    â€˜You were saying?’
    â€˜And then I
     thought I had time to dine. I waited in Place Saint-Michel quite a long time for the
     tram, and here I am. I knew I’d find you here. I wanted to be the one to tell you
     that last night, between midnight and one in the morning, I was in the apartment of
     Madame Boynet, who was my friend and in a way my client.’ He cracked his fingers
     again, without thinking, and made haste to say, ‘Sorry. It’s an old habit of
     mine.’

4.
    It was a little after ten in the evening. In
     front of the wardrobe mirror, beside the large bed that she had just turned down, Madame
     Maigret was putting her hair in curlers, sometimes holding them in place with one of the
     hairpins that she held between her lips. Boulevard Richard-Lenoir was deserted. Beyond
     Porte d’Orléans the road was also deserted, shining in the rain, but a few seconds
     later three, four, then six cars came driving fast along it, preceded by a huge beam of
     pale light.
    As the car headlights passed they hardly
     touched Madame Boynet’s house, which was too tall for its width and looked even
     more unattractive for having no other buildings directly beside it, so that it had a
     rough, unfinished appearance.
    There was still a light on in Madame
     Piéchaud’s grocery shop, where the grocer herself was sitting in front of the fire
     so as to save heating another room. On the other side of the front door of the apartment
     building the bicycle shop was in the dark, but its back door stood ajar, and light could
     be seen in the room behind the shop, which contained a bed and a young man polishing his
     shoes.
    The Siveschis were at the cinema. The
     concierge didn’t want to go to bed before Maigret had left, and to prime
herself for the wait ahead of her was
     finishing the bottle of red wine, while explaining the situation to her cat.
    On the other side of Paris, two bodies lay
     in refrigerated drawers in the Forensic Institute.
    Monsieur Dandurand’s apartment never
     seemed to be aired, since it was full of a mixture of odours, which in combination gave
     off a musty, unpleasant smell that clung to your clothes when you had left, and stayed
     with you for some time. Maigret, puffing thick smoke from his pipe, avoided looking the
     other man in the face as much as he could.
    â€˜Remind me, Monsieur Dandurand … if I
     am not mistaken, it was over a case of indecent assault that you left Fontenay,
     wasn’t it? Let’s see – it’s ancient history now, but someone was
     mentioning you at the Police Judiciaire a few weeks ago. I think you got two
     years.’
    â€˜That’s correct,’ said the
     lawyer coldly.
    Maigret huddled even deeper into his heavy
     overcoat, as if to protect himself from all contact. He had not taken off his hat. In
     spite