Chief Inspector Maigret Visits London Read online

  ‘Jacques, this is a map of the area between the family’s home in south-east London, and the children’s school. The red cross marks the place where Max found the counterfeit money. What I’d like you to do is put a black cross where you found the other pentacles, and also mark the house where the suspect, James Evremond, lives.’

  ‘Of course, Madame,’ he said, taking out his pen.

  When he had finished marking the map Megan said, ‘Do you see what I see, Jacques?’

  ‘Yes, I think I do.’

  ‘It’s like one of those dot-to-dot drawings that children used to enjoy before all the modern gadgets they play with now came on the scene. You start at number one, then follow up and down and side-ways, and – when the puzzle’s finished – you find that you’ve made a shape. A cat perhaps, or a giraffe, or something like a kite or a ball – anything that might amuse a child.’

  ‘If we connect the crosses from the first to the last we can see that we’ve almost made a pentacle,’ Jacques said. ‘But it’s not yet complete.’

  ‘No, but now we have enough information to narrow the search, don’t you think?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good, so that’s our first job tomorrow after we’ve walked the children to school.’

  ‘Mrs Lisle, I’m not sure that Chief Inspector Maigret would want you to be investigating with me.’

  ‘I’m quite sure he wouldn’t,’ Megan said cheerfully, ‘which is exactly why we won’t mention it to him, isn’t it, Jacques?’

  ‘But he would want… ’

  ‘He has enough to worry about with Georges, and all the other things that have probably landed on his desk while he’s been in London. Surely we don’t need to add to the pressure he’s under, do we?’

  ‘But, I think… ’

  ‘No, let’s not discuss it further, Jacques. I’ll take responsibility and I promise I’ll be careful. I won’t do anything silly.’

  Jacques looked far from convinced, but he kept silent. “Discretion is the better part of valour” he thought. And especially when dealing with the boss’s future wife!

  That night, in the wilds of south-east London, while they slept soundly in their beds, the house was almost rocked to the core by a massive explosion somewhere nearby. The vibrations rattled house windows, and set off car alarms, while all the neighbourhood dogs howled. The birds roosting in Dulwich Park took flight, scattering to the four winds. Lights came on all over the neighbourhood, and people ran out of their houses to find out what had happened.

  Then the sirens started: many sirens, together with the frantic honking of the horns of numerous emergency vehicles.

  ‘What was it, Jacques?’ Megan asked.

  ‘It was a bomb, Mrs Lisle. And in my opinion it was a very large one.’

  ‘Where?’

  Jacques shrugged his shoulders. ‘Not far away. Maybe somewhere near Dulwich Park.

  However, in the cold light of the next day, when Jacques and Megan had a better look, they would discover that the bomb had not been near the park. It had been in the park itself. And not only that, but the huge crater left by the explosion was surrounding the spot where a tree had once stood. It was the very tree from which Jacques had removed the photograph of the London Eye and the genuine money.

  Someone had sent a very powerful message.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The morning after the bomb, as they were finishing their breakfast, Granny asked, ‘Celia, will you walk to school with us today?’

  ‘Why?’ Celia usually caught the bus to meet her friends on the way.

  ‘Just because,’ was her Granny’s cryptic reply.

  ‘Is it something important about the bomb last night?’ asked Timmy.

  ‘It might be,’ said Granny.

  ‘I’ll walk with you, Granny,’ the affable Timmy said. ‘I’m quite good at solving puzzles now, you know.’

  ‘Yes, you are, sweetie. And I’m sure I’ll need your help again soon, but this morning I need to speak with Celia. And privately,’ she added, as an afterthought.

  ‘Not very fair – or very polite,’ Timmy said, stomping off to clean his teeth.

  ‘Okay, Granny,’ Celia said, happy to have been singled out for special attention. ‘I’ll walk with you.’

  Granny looked enquiringly at Jacques sitting across the table from her. He raised his eyebrows, and nodded. He had received the message. I’ll keep the boys occupied, while you speak to Celia, his nod said.

  When the boys were well clear of them, Granny asked, ‘Celia, do you know anyone at your school with the surname Evremond?’

  Celia thought for a moment. ‘I think there was a girl called Evremond in Charlotte’s sister’s class last year, but I haven’t seen her this year. Why do you want to know?’ (Charlotte is one of Celia’s special friends. Her sister, Izzy, is two years older).

  ‘Oh, it’s just something that Jacques and I were talking about yesterday. Probably not really important, but maybe you could ask Charlotte if she knows anything about her. Would you do that, sweetie? But don’t make a big deal of it, just ask casually.’

  ‘You’re being very secretive this morning, Granny,’ Celia said, ‘I think you’re actually asking me to do some detective work for you.’

  ‘Maybe I am,’ her Granny laughed. ‘But, for goodness sake, be discreet!’

  ‘Of course – don’t I know how the police operate after two visits to Paris with you?’

  ‘I sometimes forget what a grown-up girl you’ve become, my love. But I just want you to ask one question. That’s all. I don’t want you doing anything on your own: Jacques and I will do any investigating that’s needed.

  ‘Okay. I’ll just ask Charlotte, and if she knows anything I’ll text you at morning break.’

  After the children had gone into school, Megan and Jacques went to the site of the explosion in Dulwich Park.

  ‘By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes,’ Megan Lisle said, shivering as she surveyed the scene.

  ‘Comment, Madame?’ Jacques said, not being familiar with the Shakespeare quotation.

  ‘Oh, I was just thinking out loud, Jacques. What kind of person could do something like this? And why?’

  ‘Ah, Madame, before I could attempt to answer that question for you, you would first need to answer this question for me. Is Evil the opposite of Good – or is it the absence of Good?’

  ‘That’s the kind of question that has driven philosophers mad for many centuries, Jacques! It’s impossible to answer.’

  ‘Maybe. But, in my opinion, Evil is the absence of Good.’

  ‘Why do you think that?’

  ‘Because we know that the Universe will not tolerate a vacuum of any kind. So it follows that if something is missing, it will be replaced by something else. And maybe that ‘something else’ will not always be something we would welcome.’

  ‘You’re quite a philosopher yourself, aren’t you, Jacques?’

  ‘Je pense donc je suis2 – I think, therefore I am – not new, and not original, but something I took to my heart at an early age,’ he said modestly.

  ‘You are obviously a man of hidden talents! But I think it’s time we left. There not much point in staying here any longer. Not when the local police are so determined to keep us well away from the bomb blast. I even dropped Chief Inspector Scott’s name into the conversation a couple of times, but they weren’t impressed enough to let us get any closer.’

  ‘They have their orders, Madame. We would do the same in Paris.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right. How about I treat you to a coffee of your choice now, before I take Inky home?’

  At that moment, Megan’s mobile rang. ‘Oh, dear,’ she said, checking to see who was calling before she answered. It was Philippe Maigret. ‘It’s your boss, Jacques: stay schtum if you know what’s good for you.’

  But the game was well and truly up for both of them.

  ‘Good morning, ma cherie,’ Philippe said, ‘and how are
you on this bright new day?’

  ‘I’m fine, thank you, Philippe. And how is Georges faring?’

  ‘He’s doing really well. Now, shall I make a little guess as to where you and Jacques might be at this precise moment?’

  ‘I… I,’ Megan stuttered, looking quickly over her shoulder to see if he’d been beamed – by some ‘Star Trek’ magic – across the Channel and was standing right behind her. To her relief, he was not. ‘Er, Jacques is busy, Philippe, so he can’t talk right now. I’ll ask him to get in touch with you when… ’

  ‘He’s not half as busy as he will be when I have him directing rush hour traffic around the Place de la Concorde,’ Philippe interrupted grimly.

  ‘It’s not his fault, Philippe. You’re not to blame him!’

  ‘Oh, but I do blame him. I specifically warned him against allowing you to lead him astray, Megan.’

  ‘That’s not a very nice way to speak about the woman you claim to love.’

  ‘And don’t think you can side-track me, either. I know exactly where you are, and what you’re up to. And I also know about the bomb in Dulwich Park last night.’

  ‘I never imagined Chief Inspector Scott as a snitch, or a copper’s nark,’ Megan said. ‘I’m very disappointed in him. Or was it Andy Gillespie who grassed us up?’

  Chief Inspector Maigret winced at her casual use of criminal lingo. ‘No one informed on you, Megan. I just put two and two together after I couldn’t reach you at your apartment, and then Chief Inspector Scott phoned to tell me about last night’s bomb. Put Jacques on the phone now, please. His phone goes straight to voice-mail when I call him.’

  Megan handed her mobile to Jacques, who looked apprehensive at the thought of his chief’s displeasure. ‘Listen to me very carefully, Jacques,’ his boss said in French, ‘and, for the love of all things holy, try to look as if I’m giving you a gut-wrenching reprimand. You’re not in any trouble – not as far as I’m concerned, anyway – but I want Mrs Lisle to think that you are. It’s the only way to keep her from rushing in where angels fear to tread. It’s for her safety, of course: she’s an absolute menace at times, and it worries the life out of me. Comprendre, mon ami?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ replied Jacques, looking suitably down-trodden and upset.

  ‘Good man. Now, try to get her to return north of the Thames as soon as possible.’

  ‘Yes, sir; message received,’ Jacques said, looking even more dejected. ‘We’re going to have a coffee now, then she said she will return to her son’s home. After that, I don’t know what she plans to do.’

  ‘Well, that’s a start, I guess. Where a woman like Mrs Lisle is concerned we must try to be grateful for small mercies, my friend. Now, will you please return her phone, so I can have another word with her?’

  ‘Of course, Chief; anything you say,’ Jacques replied, still looking sad, but counting his lucky stars that he’d got off so lightly, when he had actually been fearing the worst.

  ‘Megan, my love, have you made your arrangements for coming to Paris yet?’ he asked, reverting to English again.

  ‘Not yet, Philippe.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Soon.’

  ‘Do you promise?’

  ‘I can’t yet – but I can semi-promise.’

  Another of his well-known sighs followed. ‘Okay, I guess I’ll have to be content with that for now.’

  ‘I’ll phone you tonight, Philippe.’

  ‘Can I hope it will be from your own apartment?’

  ‘Oh, love, we must never give up hope,’ she said, then quickly ended the call, and switched off her phone. ‘I’m so sorry, Jacques. I didn’t mean to get you into trouble,’ she said, as they walked towards the coffee shop.

  ‘Don’t be concerned, Madame,’ Jacques replied, while making sure he continued to look upset. ‘These violent outbursts from the chief inspector don’t usually last too long.’

  ‘But he said he’d have you directing peak hour traffic at the Place de la Concorde, Jacques, and that would be terrible!’

  Jacques shrugged his shoulders. ‘C’est la vie. He’s threatened that before, but it hasn’t happened yet, Madame, so we must pray that it doesn’t happen at all,’ he said, looking even more dejected.

  ‘Amen to that. Now let’s go to the coffee shop where this Debbie woman works,’ she said. ‘I’d like to have a few words with her.’

  ‘Okay,’ Jacques said, knowing there was no point in arguing with her, because that battle had already been lost.

  ‘Good morning, Jacques,’ Debbie said, as they entered the shop. ‘Who’s your friend?’

  ‘I’m… er Maggie. I’m a friend of a friend, you might say.’

  ‘Oh – pleased to meet you. You want your usual, I expect Jacques, but what can I get for you, Maggie?’

  Megan looked around the shop, it was empty. ‘A cappuccino please, and why don’t you make one for yourself. Then perhaps, you’d like to join us.’

  Debbie looked suspicious. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I might just have a little something for you.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Wait and see.’

  Debbie brought the coffees over to their table, and sat down. ‘Now what’s going on?’ she said.

  ‘Here,’ said Megan, taking an envelope out of her bag. ‘This is for you.’

  Debbie opened the envelope and saw that there were two crisp £20 notes inside. ‘What’s this for?’ she asked, still wary, but also pleased.

  ‘I’m authorised to give you this money to compensate you for the counterfeit notes that were passed to you earlier this month.’

  ‘Authorised by whom, exactly?’

  ‘By the Criminal Injuries Compensation Board,’ Megan said, thinking fast, and with her fingers firmly crossed under the table.

  ‘But I wasn’t injured… ’

  ‘It’s all relative, Debbie, when it comes to the question of injury,’ Megan said, grasping at straws. ‘It’s a matter of degrees, I suppose.’

  ‘Well… I’m very grateful, of course. No point in looking a gift horse in the mouth is it?’ she said, stuffing the money down the front of her blouse. ‘And thank you, Maggie.’

  ‘Now, what can you tell me about James Evremond,’ Megan said, striking while the iron was hot.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Wasn’t James Evremond the man you suspected of giving you the fake money?’ ‘Oh, yes, Mr Evremond. Yes, well… I thought it might have been him, but I’d never have said anything. That poor man has enough trouble in his life without me making things worse for him.’

  The door-bell tinkled as another customer came into the shop.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Debbie said, taking one last slurp of her coffee, ‘looks like duty calls.’ ‘You’re pushing her too hard, Madame,’ Jacques warned, as soon as she was out of earshot. ‘We have to proceed slowly. If we seem too interested, and ask too many questions at one time, she’ll smell a rat and not say anything at all.’

  Megan suddenly remembered that she’d switched her phone off, and that Celia had said she’d send her a text at morning break. She turned on her phone and immediately a text came through from Celia.

  The girl who was in Izzy’s class was called Genevieve Evremond, but she’s missed the last two terms because she’s been very ill. Don’t know what’s wrong with her.

  ‘Well,’ Megan said, after she had read the text to Jacques. ‘What do you make of that, Jacques?’

  ‘Later,’ he whispered, seeing that Debbie was on her way to join them again.

  ‘Now, where were we?’ she said brightly, as she sat down.

  ‘You were telling us about Mr Evremond, and his troubles,’ Jacques said.

  ‘Oh, yes. Poor man, as if he hasn’t had enough to cope with already. And now this – it’s terrible.’ She shook her head sadly as she spoke.

  ‘I understand that his daughter’s ill,’ Megan said.

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘I know someone who has a child at the same s
chool. Her name’s Genevieve, isn’t it?’ Megan said.

  ‘I don’t know her name, but it’s true she’s very sick. Some people say it’s the same thing that killed her mother, three or four years ago. Can you imagine it? And she’s really only a baby; not yet sixteen. From what I hear, her father’s spent a fortune on all kinds of fancy specialists, but the doctors say they can’t do anything more for her. Now it seems she’s been sent home, more-or-less to die. God help her, the poor lamb.’ Debbie shivered as she spoke and dabbed at her eyes.

  ‘Oh, dear heaven,’ Megan whispered. Why is there so much pain in the world? And why do the young suffer so often, she thought. How do you square that tricky circle, Lord: would you mind telling me, because I’d really like to know? Then hot tears began pricking the back of her eyes for the tragic, yet unknown, Genevieve Evremond.

  Chapter Seventeen

  She left Jacques in the coffee shop with Debbie, untied Inky’s lead from the lamppost, and walked home. For most of the time she was on the verge of tears, and quite unaware that passers-by were staring at her, except when an old lady caught hold of her arm, and asked her if she needed help. Megan shook her head, and moved quickly on her way. Please, please, she prayed, don’t let it be true that Genevieve Evremond has the same thing that killed her mother.

  When she reached the family home she phoned Chief Inspector Scott at Scotland Yard.

  ‘I need you to do something for me,’ she said.

  ‘Mrs Lisle,’ he replied, ‘I’ve already spoken to Chief Inspector Maigret this morning. The poor man is sick with worry about your habit of getting involved in police matters at the drop of a hat, and I don’t believe… ’

  ‘I think I should remind you, Chief Inspector Scott, that it was actually you who got me involved in police matters when you asked me to spy on Nichole Vachon.’

  ‘You have a point there. Yes, that’s a fair point, I must say. Er… yes, it’s a fair point… ’

  ‘So now I’m asking you to help me,’ she interrupted.

  ‘What do you want me to do? I can’t promise you the blasted moon, but I might be able to help with the odd small star or three.’