MAIGRET SETS A TRAP
No use trying to understand
Love is always messy
No use trying to protect yourself
Love always wins out in the end
Hello, I'm listening.
No, it's Simoni.
Oh, it's you!
No, buddy.
Not a thing. Dead calm.
- Bless you. - Is it Lagrume?
At the Sévigné Café? Got it.
If I hear anything about a killer, I'll call.
He's driving himself nuts with that killer.
And us, too!
Hot rum, please.
- Hello! - Hello, Mrs. Juteau.
- You're running late! - Tell me about it.
- In this heat, I dozed off! - Have a nice night!
That's Mrs. Juteau, the violinist.
Police station. Go ahead.
Hello?
Go ahead. I'm listening.
It's from the Quai des Célestins box. Hello?
No kidding! Where? What's the address?
Street number?
What number on Rue des Rosiers?
The killer has struck again!
Passage des Rosiers, by 68, Rue des Rosiers.
I know the place.
Hello, headquarters?
This is the 4th District Station.
A woman has been attacked on Rue des Rosiers.
- Dead? - Probably.
It sounds like the Marais killer. He usually doesn't miss.
- You sent a van? - It's leaving now.
Hello? I was told to inform Inspector Maigret.
You'll handle it? Thanks.
Well?
He must have fled down Rue Caron.
He couldn't have.
- I'd have seen him. - Obviously not!
I was on lookout on Rue Saint-Antoine.
This is where we lost him.
You two, return to Rue des Rosiers.
Should we call Homicide?
- There's no rush. - At least tell Maigret.
Why can't we be the ones to catch the killer?
What more could Maigret do?
Besides, at this hour, he's sound asleep!
- What are you doing here? - It's my shop.
That's no answer! At this hour, shops are closed.
Then who's going to prepare my orders for tomorrow?
What's going on?
- Who are you? - The concierge.
- Where are you going? - Crime scene. Want a ride?
- Who informed you? - We just got the call.
- Homicide will be there soon. - Homicide?
Since everyone has been informed...
Same MO as the other three. Chest wounds. Two stabs.
One would've sufficed.
But he changed tools. He gave up the awl.
The wounds are larger.
- When did she go out? - Just after half past.
I commented on it.
Marguerite Juteau, musician.
A violinist. What a shame!
- Any husband? - Yes. Poor Mr. Juteau.
He must be playing cards like every Saturday night.
He has no idea!
Their little girl is asleep upstairs!
Listen, Lucas... Where does he play?
- The Bastille Bar. - Go there and ask for Mr. Juteau.
We're not checking the apartment?
Not while the kid is sleeping. They're always up early.
Post a man outside the door.
You were in the area but didn't see anything?
I was right there. I must've just missed him.
- Right under my nose! - Bravo.
I know it's my fault. The one time I go to the café.
- No one's blaming you. - I am! Right under...
Excuse me.
- See how her clothes are slashed? - Like usual.
Was she...
What?
No. All he does is rip and scratch.
- Would rape make it easier? - Easier to understand.
- Excuse me... - Watch it! Don't step in the sauce.
What is it?
Alfonsi and I could go back to where she was last seen.
If you want. After all, it's your sector.
Go out and question people. Maybe you'll get a lead.
La Vie en rose.
Good job! You don't waste time.
Boyen.
Here's the murder weapon.
- You see? - It's a butcher knife.
I think Alfonsi and I might know its owner.
Definitely.
Follow that lead, kids. You've got free rein.
Thank you, Inspector.
Lapointe...
- what's this circus? - Lagrume's roundup.
- Evening, Inspector. - You're here? It's been a while.
You say your name is Emile Barberot?
Butcher, 22 Rue de Turenne. I've told you a dozen times!
Does this look familiar?
Of course.
- So you admit it? - No.
Be careful how you answer.
A woman was killed with this.
- Was she deboned? - Deboned?
Of course. Why else would you use a deboning knife?
Seems obvious to me.
That doesn't explain why you were in your shop at 9:00 PM.
I was preparing the orders for Sunday!
Some of us have to work for a living.
Learn anything from the knife?
Made by Nogent, the biggest supplier to butcher shops.
Judging from the wear, it was made a while ago.
Not much else.
A few greasy prints, probably held by a gloved hand.
I took three photos, but you know...
Thanks anyway.
It's a disgrace! I need to get up at 6:00 AM
after listening to your crap all night!
Fine specimen, isn't he?
Do you think it's his knife?
How can we know? He won't tell us.
Keep at it, buddy.
This butcher or another. Find me the owner of this knife.
- Do you really think... - You found the lead. It's yours.
- I'll do my best, Inspector. - I'm sure you will.
By the way...
thanks for calling me.
Five minutes after the murder. That's pretty quick.
I didn't call you, Inspector.
Alfonsi.
Thank you.
- For what? - Letting me know. He probably forgot.
I didn't call you either. It was probably a patrolman.
Probably.
- What are you looking for? - The coffeepot.
- Cold or hot? - Hot.
Did you turn on the faucet?
What's bothering you?
He's struck again.
Another woman?
- No leads? - Nothing.
Her kid is about to wake up. Her husband doesn't understand.
And that creep is probably sleeping like a baby.
We questioned dozens of guys, even a butcher.
I think he's innocent.
But it's possible I'm wrong.
Coffeepots might not be the only thing I overlook.
Here.
Don't worry about the suitcases. I'm used to packing and unpacking.
I wish we'd pack up for good.
We could fix up our place in La Rochelle and I'd putter around there.
- You? - I'm worn out.
My memory is slipping.
Earlier, Alfonsi said...
See? I can't remember.
I thought I was on to something. No, I swear, I'm ready to retire.
Go right ahead.
I know someone who'd be happy.
Your creep.
It seems to have worked.
Four murders and Inspector Maigret is ready to take off fishing.
He was already proud of himself, but now...
He might as well commit murder every day.
Why not? It works. Soon he'll be giving interviews.
He's already got half the front page.
FROM JACK THE RIPPER TO MR. X WHAT WILL THE KILLER DARE NEXT?
Reading that, he must say, I'm the best!
- Do you think he says all that? - Who knows?
But if he's at all proud, he must be gloating!
- Proud... - Why wouldn't he be?
Hello,police? It's Maigret. Give me headquarters.
Headquarters? It's Maigret.
Who asked you to call me last night?
The 4th District Station.
- Can you connect me? - Sure.
Connect Inspector Maigret to the 4th District.
Hello, the 4th?
It's about last night's call.
I just passed on the message.
The call came from call box 28 on Quai des Célestins.
Not a patrolman. The glass was broken. Probably a witness.
A witness, 600 yards from the crime scene?
I'd love to hear what he told you.
Word for word.
He said, Tell Mr. Maigret the Marais killer has struck again.
- That's all. - It's enough for me. Thanks.
You've got quite a brain under those curlers.
You were right. He's gloating.
Five minutes after the murder, he had the nerve to call me.
Mr. Maigret. I'll show him MMr. Maigret!
- Who is it? - Let us through.
- Is he for Maigret? - You'll find out. Let us through.
- Is he a suspect? - A witness?
- Enough. - No comment.
Thanks for your cooperation!
- If Lucas is there, it's for Maigret. - Lagrume is from the 4th District.
- That's the Marais! - Right, sweetheart.
Develop those as soon as possible.
If that's the killer, it'll make the front page.
Maybe it's just a burglar.
And him, is he just a patrolman?
- A few questions, sir? - Sorry.
- Just a hint, Commissioner. - Not now.
Is it the Marais killer?
I'm not at liberty to comment.
They're all in there. The game's afoot.
Let's hope he confesses in time for the evening edition!
So, Mazet,
here you are on the other side of the bars.
- Not too disoriented? - Glad to be of service, sir.
- Plus, you'll owe me one. - Not so fast.
This isn't a dime-store stickup. You have to pretend to be a killer.
I know the plan, Inspector. I even hope to improve it.
Not too much.
Just tell me how you want him played: Trembling or arrogant?
Remember the trick you played on us after that holdup?
It was pretty good, as I remember.
I don't remember it now. No one does.
- Right, Inspector? - Quit your blackmail and listen.
I need a suspect, not a clown.
The press is right outside. I want a realistic, low-key performance.
- But I killed four women! - No need to shout it from the rooftops.
The guy from Paris-Presse is an old pro and young Rougin is a clever guy.
- They'll smell a rat if you overdo it. - What if they ask me questions?
You'll claim you're innocent. There must be a mistake.
Can't go wrong with the classics.
Take him to the holding tank.
- Not the holding tank! - You'd prefer the state prison?
No cuffs. Off you go.
Gentlemen.
There he is!
- Did he confess? - Ask the Inspector.
You know, the judge was very understanding, but...
- How can I put it? - Not very hot.
Not very.
- And you? - Lukewarm.
Tricking the press, using a fake suspect to wound the pride of the real one...
You'd prefer a clean investigation with solid evidence.
So would I.
But I've got nothing.
I know we have no choice, but still,
mobilizing almost 500 men, taking over an entire neighborhood.
And for how long? If only we knew.
You must admit, it's a huge responsibility.
I'm putting you on the spot, I know.
We're in this together. That's not the point.
Jules, are you sure of your plan?
I wish.
All I know is that this bastard made the effort to call me.
He's proud of himself, proud of his murders.
He's a show-off.
If the papers give someone else credit for his murders,
he might get mad enough to try anything to restake his claim,
to prove us wrong.
He'd commit another murder?
He'd attempt it. We're ready for him.
It's his territory, but we're baiting the trap.
Algaron is sending you 15 police secretaries.
- It won't be easy for him. - Put yourself in his shoes.
You're not inviting these girls to a party.
Camille, I'll be honest. I've never had so little to go on.
But I'm running out of time.
Since May 1st, when he killed for the first time,
he has struck on June 20th, July 10th, and August 2nd.
He acts in fits, and they're becoming more frequent.
If we wait, we'll be on daily alert.
So forget routine investigations, it's time to hunt the tiger!
You know the principle.
We tie a goat to a stake and we wait.
You're the goats.
We were picked for the resemblance?
In a way, yes.
Your resemblance to the victims.
All four were brunettes, full-figured, and not very tall.
You're exactly the type of women he wants to kill.
That's why you can still back out.
What will we have to do?
Stroll around the neighborhood, like you're going home or going out.
Every murder happened on the street at nightfall.
The latest victim was going to work. The first two were coming from it.
The third was working the street, so you've a multitude of choices.
She's wondering if we need to hail passersby.
Don't hail passersby nor speak to anyone.
No one can know. Not even your families.
- Even if we die? - Ladies, this isn't a joke.
This creep has committed four murders, nasty ones.
You, come over here.
And one of you, anyone. Step forward.
Watch closely because he always attacks the same way.
Walk.
Go ahead.
- She took me by surprise! - I saw.
Think it's that easy?
But if things don't go so well, start by screaming.
Don't try to arrest him. Just get our attention.
That's what whistles are for.
Plainclothesmen will be all over the place.
- So we can relax? - Not me.
Remember that this is no ordinary prey we're hunting.
Outside of his fits, he may seem quite normal.
But suddenly, something snaps and he must kill.
In that instant, he'll attack anyone, any way he can.
That's what I'm counting on, and why you're here.
Is something unclear?
Then what's this in the paper about a madman?
That? That's the trigger.
I'm flabbergasted!
I don't know what the District Attorney will think,
but the whole thing has me flabbergasted.
It's understood that you'll take full responsibility for this?
Understood, Your Honor.
I only took this responsibility to free you of yours.
Of course.
In that case, all that remains is to wish you success.
I'll admit you chose your man well.
THE FACE OF A MADMAN?
Are you sure he's trustworthy?
He and I haven't established that yet.
Understood, Your Honor.
Give my regards to your wife.
A madman.
Take a bow. I hope you're proud!
You just had to throw your little fit and ham it up!
- You clown! - It was the pressure.
- If I'd had time to rehearse. - I'll give you time!
In the hole. That's where you're headed.
You like a show? We'll give you a show!
Get him out of my sight.
- Now they're getting vicious. - Who?
Anonymous letters. Now they're coming special delivery.
And personal, too.
NO, MR. MAIGRET, THE KILLER OF THE MARAIS SLUTS IS NOT A MADMAN!
Just a minute.
Actually, your performance wasn't so bad.
It had the desired effect. Keep it up.
Those are my orders.
- We're not taking him away? - Yes, and through the front door.
With handcuffs.
You're not mad at me?
Just don't overdo it. Low-key.
Get going.
Here they come!
- Let us through. - Is that the killer?
- Is he really a madman? - Read about it in the papers.
Handcuffs! That means he's been charged.
Would you like to give us a statement, Inspector?
Just answer yes or no. Is it him?
After the reenactment.
- There's a reenactment? - Where?
When?
- We're doing a reenactment? - Yes.
When I get a letter, I answer.
No, Mr. Maigret, the killer of the Marais sluts is not a madman.
- You think it's him? - It's his style.
He's already addressed me as Mr. Maigret.
If he'll bother to write, maybe this time, he'll bother to show up.
The reenactment will be tomorrow night at 10:00 PM.
That's my response.
I want it in tonight's papers.
I just love my job.
We're eating early tonight because of the reenactment.
- Are you going? - We already have tickets to a show.
I'm just glad it's over.
Over? That's what the police want you to believe.
You sound like my husband. He says they're all liars.
Liars? More like scum. Real scum!
My taxes are paying them and as thanks, they beat me up on weekends.
- What can I get you, sir? - A small steak.
Is this yours?
It looks like it. May I?
Hey! It's my Nogent!
We looked all over, didn't we?
I thought someone stole it.
- Where did you find it? - Good question.
One we'll discuss elsewhere. And some other things.
Come with me, please.
Insulting a police officer! Everyone hates cops. We know that.
- We don't arrest them for it! - I meant well, sir.
- And there was the knife. - You should have called me.
What if the butcher talks to the press? It would ruin my whole plan.
I've had about enough of your initiatives!
I understand, Inspector.
Pull over.
No point in being seen together. Remember your orders?
Go to the scene of the reenactment. Blend in with the crowd.
Choose a random onlooker and follow them.
- Any rookie could do it. - Wrong.
In fact, 20 of your most experienced colleagues will be doing the same.
I want the names and addresses of all present.
With luck, you might even get our man.
- With luck. - Right.
See you later.
And stop assuming I'm picking on you.
Quit shoving! Everyone will get a look.
It's always the latecomers who...
Step aside, ladies and gentlemen.
- Are you hurt? - No, just scared.
- And that? - Just a scratch.
- Did you see him? - No.
I grabbed him and tried to hold on but he struggled and got away.
Here. This is all I got.
That's better than nothing!
It's impossible! How could he escape?
It's impossible! He got away last time, too!
We've got nothing.
- I was on Rue Caron. - Both of us, boss.
He didn't just fly away!
If he came from there and didn't go out there, he must be in here!
Cordon off this block and search it!
- Are you the concierge? - Here we go again.
- Answer me. - Of course I'm the concierge.
What time did you close the gate?
I was outside with my neighbor, Mrs. Collet, until about 15 minutes ago.
- No one has rung since? - No, no one.
Search every floor and check the cellar and attic.
Wipe your feet! You'll dirty my stairs!
You two, search the cellar.
- Who did your vampire kill this time? - No one.
- Then why all the fuss? - For fun. Otherwise I get bored at night.
- Where does this door go? - The butcher shop.
- Is he there? - Not on Wednesdays.
- That's Follies night. - What Follies?
It's a movie theater. He goes every Wednesday with his wife.
I told you they're not there!
Off you go! Go home.
What are you doing here?
- And you? - I thought you were at the movies.
Too tired. Changed my mind.
- What time is it? - Time to get up. We're going for a stroll.
Get dressed.
Undress, dress...
Where are we going?
- Police headquarters. - Again?
Is this your new hobby, to haul me in every day?
- It's the second time. - That's exactly why.
Do you often take Veronal?
Only when I need to sleep, and I'm too anxious.
And since the other night, I'm pretty anxious.
Whose fault is that?
Hurry up.
Hurry up...
Damn, I'm such a fool. I'm not going!
Wrong foot.
I'm not going!
I'm going back to sleep.
Want to be carried?
Men's room is on the left.
Hello, Marcel?
Café Saint-Michel.
Are you working?
That's silly. Go to sleep.
No, actually.
That's why I'm calling.
I ran into the Martin-Prévels.
Yes, the whole gang.
We'll end up in a nightclub, you know them.
Probably 4:00 in the morning.
Therese sends her love.
No, don't wait up. I have my key.
Yes, that's right.
Good night, dear.
Do you intend to follow me to my bedroom?
That's enough. What do you want?
If my husband is paying you, I can pay, too.
You know where I was. You could forget about it.
Such things happen.
How much do you want?
Oh, do whatever you want!
If there'd been some thread, too, we might have learned something.
Distinctive shape, thick edge.
It's not a common model.
Show it to the Paris Button Shop. They'll tell you more than I can.
If it's one they sell, they'll know which tailors purchased it.
- And from the tailors... - We'll see about that later.
- You can say that again. - Sorry.
You can go home, but...
I won't be back in before 10:00 AM.
Damn!
I'd forgotten all about him.
Try to shake him awake.
What?
How many pills did you take?
Hey, buddy!
What time did you go to sleep?
Hello?
Oh, it's you. He was about to go home.
I'll put him on.
Lagrume.
Speaking!
I doubt it's worth the bother, sir. A woman...
She seemed odd to me.
She turned out to be a rich housewife who cheats on her husband.
Nightclub, champagne, gigolo, then a hot-sheet hotel.
Then back home, with none the wiser.
She took me for a private eye and tried to bribe me.
Anyway, I'll give you the address.
Go ahead.
Mrs. Morin? With an O?
What?
Maurin, A, UU.
That widow Maurin is an old bag!
What did you say? One moment. Hold on.
I said, the widow Maurin is an old bag!
I knew it was all her fault.
- Who are you talking about? - My bitch of a landlady.
Rue Turenne.
MRS. MAURIN, WIDOW OWNER
Lagrume?
Where are you?
Wait for me. I'm coming over.
No reason.
Okay, take him home.
Try not to wake him up.
She lives here, but gets her kicks at a cheap hotel on Rue Etoile.
Takes a special kind.
Does the name Maurin ring a bell?
What's the name of your butcher's landlady?
You think that...
- Come on. Let's go. - It's not even 6:00 AM!
The best time to go fishing.
We don't have a warrant. You know the law.
I do, but we aren't going to my place.
10th floor.
Mrs. Maurin?
Police.
You again! Now you've gone too far.
The joke isn't funny anymore.
This is no joke. I only wish to have a short chat with you.
This is crazy! It's horrible.
- I don't see how my private life... - You misunderstand.
I'm not here about Rue Etoile, but Rue des Rosiers.
Rue Etoile doesn't concern me.
What concerns me is...
to be telling you all this on the landing.
My husband is sleeping.
We won't wake him up. For now.
But we may need to speak to him as well.
Oh, not about that.
That's private. It'll be our secret.
A woman's affair doesn't concern the Homicide Squad.
Homicide?
It's good news and bad news.
We'll drop Rue Etoile, but not Rue des Rosiers.
Last night, you were on Rue des Rosiers.
Nothing shocking about that. In fact, I was there too.
But it's precisely this coincidence that troubles me.
Perhaps you'll be able to explain it to me.
I don't understand. It's so simple.
I wasn't expecting this.
I have no idea where we are.
We haven't moved. Still discussing Rue des Rosiers.
Last night, I ate at my parents' in the 4th District.
- Rue Turenne? - No. That's my mother-in-law's house.
My parents live on Beaumarchais Blvd. I grew up in the neighborhood.
That's where I met my husband.
Coming home, I passed Rue des Rosiers, which was on the way.
I saw a crowd so I stopped to look, like any Parisian would.
I probably stayed for about 10 minutes.
Then...
Then I had that date.
Your husband...
Your husband didn't find it odd that you came home at 5:00 AM?
I called him around midnight and gave him an excuse.
He was still working.
When I came home, he was asleep, so I didn't wake him.
Now I feel awkward asking you to wake him.
No! Nothing about our little secret.
Just some information. A couple of questions.
- Is it really necessary? - Really.
In that case...
Forgive me. I was in such a state I forgot to ask...
Inspector Maigret. And Detective Lagrume.
What do you think, sir? Pretty well-off.
Money sure is nice.
They say it doesn't bring happiness. But still...
I said, Still...
A small Norman.
I like Norman landscapes.
My husband will see you. He's getting dressed.
Are you fans of the Basque style?
We were just talking about it.
My husband painted that last night.
When I left, he was still sketching it.
- What time did you go out? - Around 7:00 PM.
Isn't that amazing, Lagrume? Between 7:00 and midnight.
He works quickly.
Quickly and too much.
Too much for his health.
Sorry, I used this. I can clean it.
- Don't worry. Just put it back. - Thank you.
What exactly does an architect-decorator do?
Sorry to keep you waiting, gentlemen.
Marcel Maurin.
Forgive me for my...
Forgive me for waking you, especially since my visit is not strictly official.
- Did your wife explain? - Yes, she spoke of murders.
It looks like we'll have another beautiful day!
- I beg your pardon. - It's nothing.
What is this about?
Before anything else,
it's my duty to warn you that your answers may have consequences.
Consequences?
Not for you, of course.
For Barberot.
- May I? - Please.
Barberot. The butcher on Rue Turenne.
Do you know him well?
Not well, but I know him like I know many people.
I won't beat around the bush.
You've heard of the murders in the Marais?
The papers say someone was arrested.
- It wasn't the right person. - So... Barberot...
He hasn't been charged. He's just a suspect. A strong one.
Barberot, a suspect?
- You find that surprising? - No, amusing.
Barberot, that idiot!
No, that's too funny.
- Don't you think it's hilarious? - Over here.
Here's Barberot.
In all his splendor and glory.
There! The calf's head.
Yes, that's him. Back then, he was the shop boy.
He could have just made a face, but he used what was handy.
It's surprising that it's him.
Not really, when you know him.
- But that's my butcher shop! - Yours? Is that so?
Barberot took over Mr. Maurin's butcher shop.
- When my father-in-law died... - Marcel didn't continue the business.
- That's your father in the middle? - Yes.
- And that's you? - Yes.
Look how you're gazing up at him. You really admired him.
- And there's Mom. - No.
No way.
That's not my mother's style. Not at all.
No, that's Mauricette, the cashier.
Pretty lady.
All that remains is for us to thank you for your cooperation.
I came hoping for a prosecution witness, but that calf's head threw me for a loop.
It just doesn't fit my idea of the killer.
- Sorry for the disturbance. - Not at all.
If I can be of any help...
I'll abuse your kindness yet again.
It sounds silly, but I'd like to see your suits.
You're certainly full of surprises!
Nothing could be easier. This way, please.
Wow! Now that's a nice wardrobe.
- Take a look, Lagrume. - In spite of what they say...
- Tux? - That's not necessary.
All very high quality.
Of course! Bernheim & Son.
An expensive tailor saves you money in the long run.
Prices are forgotten, but quality remains. So they say.
Not to pry, but which did you wear last night?
I didn't wear one. I didn't go out.
When I'm painting, I usually wear a smock and some old pants.
Fine.
You only have those six suits?
Yes, alas.
Fine, fine. So that's that.
I don't know what you're searching for, Inspector, but...
You're searching well.
- Anything else? - No.
I've really abused your kindness.
Please convey my apologies to Mrs. Maurin.
I certainly will.
Good-bye, gentlemen.
Are they gone?
Why did they want to see your suits?
- Where were you last night? - I told you on the phone.
Right, I forgot. With the Martin-Prévels.
- Therese is well. - Yes.
I'm not asking. I'm telling you.
After your call, I called the Martin-Prévels.
They were already in bed.
You too, I suppose.
Where? With whom?
I was followed all night by that little detective.
So what?
So I...
I thought it best not to lead him here.
I tried to pass the time.
I know how you like to pass the time! Who was it this time?
Some thug? Picked up where? Admit it, you little tramp!
You're at it again. You had to start again!
You love those brutes, those muscle-boys, those apes!
Say it, you little slut! Say it!
Do you want me to slap you? Hey! Do you want a slap?
Do you admit you deserve it?
Yes.
- I said, yes! - No!
Slut! Slut! Slut!
There, there. It's over.
Calm down.
Don't cry.
- I want to know. I want you to tell me. - Of course.
Do you promise?
- What? - You'll tell me.
I promise.
My little Marcel.
Why do you get so upset?
Are you that hurt?
There, there. It's over.
I want you to tell me!
You promised.
We'll catch them on the other side!
What do you want?
You've got a real knack for being in the right place.
Come open the door. You have the key?
No. But Mrs. Vignole probably does.
Don't move. I'll be down.
I don't believe this. What's wrong with the front door?
After all the fuss last night, I thought we'd get some peace.
Are you the only one with this key?
Sure. I've never used it. I thought this door was sealed off.
Mr. Barberot, someone needs a leg of lamb!
- May I? - Yes. Go ahead.
May I? I'll return it later.
Le Parisien has doubts about your methods.
Is Mrs. Maurin home?
Sure. It's lunch time.
For me, too. I have pasta cooking.
According to Le Parisien, your suspect is just a ploy.
I didn't tell you what floor.
Fourth floor, on the right.
Mrs. Maurin?
Inspector Maigret, Homicide. I have a few questions.
About what?
An affair that concerns you.
Or rather, one that concerns the building owner.
It's about keys.
- As owner, you have keys to the building? - Naturally.
- Here they are. - Thank you.
I also have keys to the cellar and the concierge's office.
What about the small door?
Behind the trash cans downstairs.
No. I suppose the concierge must have it.
- Not you? - No.
- That's odd. I heard you had it. - Really?
- Who said that? - The butcher downstairs.
Barberot?
What would that imbecile know? Ridiculous.
He's probably mistaken, or said it without thinking.
Since we're talking about him,
I'd like your testimony about his character.
His character?
You can always amend your statement later.
I wouldn't want my words to be misconstrued.
Barberot is neither good nor bad. He's a butcher.
But people always come to resemble those they live with
and when you live with a hussy...
Is that so?
- Do you know the cashier? - No.
You're not missing anything. Or maybe you are.
She'll sleep with anything and anyone.
- Barberot included. - That's normal. She married him.
Such women always find a taker. Everyone visits and one eventually buys.
But...
She already worked there when it was your husband's shop.
- May I? I have some vegetables cooking. - Go ahead.
I apologize for interrupting your meal.
It's no big loss.
The meals of a single woman?
I don't even bother to set the table.
- It must have left a void. - What's that?
Your son's departure.
- Eventually, they leave the nest. - You know my son?
I certainly do. A charming young man.
Why are you interested in him?
The same investigation. I've been asking questions here and there.
But why him?
Why him? Why you? It's all part of investigation.
The amusing part.
Marcel showed me a photo of the butcher shop. That calf's head!
Hilarious.
Then we talked about you and about his dad.
A remarkable man.
Your son, I mean. Sensitive. Artistic.
You don't know half of it.
No one does.
He painted this at 14.
Have you ever seen anything like it? And at 14!
If you hadn't told me, I'd never have guessed.
- It perplexed me, but now I understand. - What?
Why he didn't take over his father's business.
You can't be serious!
Marcel, a butcher?
Marcel, chopping meat, chatting with housewives,
maybe with Mauricette at the register?
That's impossible. You don't know him.
Even for a second, how could you think...
I didn't think.
If he'd continued...
Or rather, if they had let him continue
today my son would be a great painter or sculptor.
Because he had the choice, you see, the choice!
- When you're gifted... - Come. You'll see.
Take a look at this.
Take a good look.
At 13!
At that, at 12.
Before he could even read, he'd play sonatas on this.
- Music, too? - I had him tutored in piano, violin...
Then he became interested in sculpture.
Even that, if only he'd continued...
But in the end, his true passion was interior decor?
- He didn't choose that. - No?
They found a way to convince him.
He's just a child.
- Even his toys are here. - Yes, he hasn't lost his sensitivity.
He made this last Christmas for me.
Whenever he's here, it's like he falls back into...
- Excuse me. - Of course. I'll be leaving soon.
Phone call for the tall man. At the butcher shop.
It's for you. You have a call at the butcher's.
Yes, I left the address.
This is adorable.
- You still put water in it? - He does.
- Last time he was here... - Yesterday?
Yesterday? No. I haven't seen my son in weeks.
- Are you sure? - Of course I'm sure!
I must've thought your son told me that.
Here I am, chatting away when my call is still waiting!
Good-bye, Madame.
Thank you.
- Hello? - Boss?
You sure took your time. Where were you?
I'm calling about the other one, the young one.
I'm at the listening post.
Intercepted a call by Yvonne Maurin. Interested?
Yes.
Let me get something to write with.
You look even better as a blonde.
- You've seen me as a brunette? - In a photo.
Go ahead.
- She called him twice? - Yes.
The first time, a cleaning lady answered. She didn't know anything.
The second time, a young man told her Mr. Georges couldn't be disturbed
before 3:00 PM.
What is it?
Well, what is it?
Maigret. Homicide.
Wow.
- What does Homicide want with me? - Oh, you know... May I?
Were you napping or sleeping late?
- I didn't disturb you at work, I hope. - She's just a friend.
At work? What does that mean? I have a profession?
You most certainly do.
- If you want to see my papers... - Spare me.
Georges Vacher, alias Jo the Dancer, alias Jojo Tango, aged 37, bachelor.
Taxi dancer. See?
Now you're going to tell me what you did last night.
In detail.
I had dinner at 9:00 PM at La Cucaracha.
- Alone? - Yes.
We can check. And then?
I left around 1:00 AM.
- Still alone? - No.
- A lady? - I give you my word.
I believe you.
So, this lady...
I'm listening.
Just a classic case of a housewife looking for fun.
They're all the same.
Their husband neglects them.
So one night, they treat themselves to a few drinks...
and an hour of pleasure.
An hour of pleasure.
Anyway...
- Did you arrange to meet? - No.
But you knew her?
Before last night, she'd come once before. Just once.
- How long ago? - Like I write it down!
Today, she tried to call you twice. Why? Do you have another date?
That'd be surprising.
That poor woman! Her husband neglects her and her lover disappoints.
I couldn't disappoint her
for the good reason that... nothing...
What are you mumbling?
I didn't get a chance to disappoint her, because nothing happened.
My word as a man. Nothing at all.
She seemed excited enough while dancing...
She was the one flirting with me.
But once we got here, nothing.
Cold as ice. Said she had a headache.
I tried to persuade her with caresses,
but no matter what I did... nothing...
Good lord, articulate!
- I said no matter what I did... - Why are you whispering?
I want to keep this quiet. It's not good publicity.
Women are so strange! There are times when I...
Right.
What can you do? You can't just live on dreams.
You just have to accept it.
For your sake, I hope you weren't conning me.
I don't even know that woman.
What did she do?
- Don't you have anything smaller? - No, that's all I have.
It doesn't matter. Take me back to Quai Blériot. I forgot something.
LAVIGNE TAILORS
- The boss, I want to see him. - Her. Who's asking?
Police.
That must be Mrs. Bailly, returning my iron.
Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.
Not much news tonight.
Political activity almost nil on this blistering weekend.
All of the country's activity seems focused on beaches and riverbanks.
It's for you. Mrs. Maurin.
- The old one? - No. She's young.
- She's in the living room? - You know I have the dust covers on.
- Ah, the dust covers. - That's right.
We were supposed to go on vacation.
- You'll meet her like this? - How else?
- If you're eating, I can come back. - Not at all. We've finished.
I'm sorry to disturb you.
Sorry for my outfit. I wasn't expecting you.
Have a seat.
I know my visit seems unexpected, even rude.
I'm sure it's with good reason.
Here's one.
How about that?
- Where did you find it? - At my house.
Inspector, I don't know why you came to my house this morning.
There are many things I don't know, and that aren't my business.
I know what you think of me.
I also know it's incredibly cliché to say I'm not what you think I am.
That's why I'd like to clear up a misunderstanding...
and explain myself candidly.
May I?
Madame, you can stay. I'd prefer it.
Why don't you bring us something?
Some wild-plum liqueur, straight from my wife's hometown.
I'd like a drop, too.
So, Mrs. Maurin, this misunderstanding...
There's some truth in it.
It's not easy to say.
Better to get it over with, then.
Yes, of course.
I can imagine what your detective told you.
I can see him telling you about the unfaithful wife...
the housewife who goes slumming to get off, as they say.
- As if it were that simple. - And it's not?
It would be if I were, let's say, an easy woman.
You can't be too picky if you get off with...
Or maybe just too unhappy.
He's been cheating on me for years.
I put up with it for as long as I could.
I know my husband's good and bad qualities.
When I was 12, I was already in love with him.
He was always more talented, more intelligent than I.
Women notice that.
To them, he's the artist.
And I'm the little housewife who holds on to him.
But holding on is hard.
It eventually becomes exhausting... humiliating, especially.
One day, an affair lasted longer than the others.
I found out that my friends knew about it.
I was furious, and I wanted to get revenge...
to pay him back for what he did to me.
You probably don't understand.
- But I do. - I understand very well.
I wanted to cheat on him too...
with anyone, it didn't matter who.
But I cheated myself...
miserably.
When it's not your style...
I'd gone out with friends. I'd drunk a lot on purpose.
I followed this... this Georges.
- One hour. - Yesterday?
No. It's been a few months.
Nothing happened yesterday.
- But you went back to Rue Etoile. - That's true.
- A kind of pilgrimage? - Jules!
He's right, Madame. I deserved that.
Yesterday I went back to Rue Etoile.
But this time, I left as I'd arrived.
When I saw that room again...
I wondered how there could have been a first time.
And there was no second time.
- That's what I wanted to tell you. - What for?
For nothing. For myself.
I'll go now.
You didn't even touch your liqueur. Have a taste.
- Don't mind him. - Hello?
Sorry to disturb you at this hour, but I thought you'd want to know.
It's about the button.
I finally found a lead.
Yes, a suit that matches.
At Lavigne Tailors. Rue Saint-André des Arts.
It was sold...
3 years ago.
Unfortunately, they don't know to whom.
A walk-in customer. But we're searching.
That's it, keep searching.
Once we have that customer's name, Coméliau can just sign the warrant.
You're on the right track. Got it. Thanks.
- That was your friend, Detective Lagrume. - Is that so?
Good-bye, Inspector.
- Maybe we'll see each other again soon. - You never know.
I have no more secrets from you. But our house has never had any.
Come whenever you'd like. No need to forget your pipe.
I'll show you out.
I must run. I'm meeting my husband at the cinema at 10:00.
This is how I noticed. Do you see it?
I sure do.
I've never seen such sloppy work.
For a professional, these aren't hard doors to open.
Inspector!
Are you coming to see us? Perfect timing.
- What happened? - A burglary.
No.
Deputy Detective Monclare, of the 16th.
When?
We noticed when we got home, around 12:30.
If you'd like to take a look, sir, it's worth it.
You weren't there?
- It was my day off. - See what happens?
- Do you know what's been taken? - Not yet.
Nothing from here. My wife took a quick inventory.
- The bedrooms? - They didn't touch my jewelry.
It's obvious they were amateurs.
They're bound to get caught eventually.
You, check in there.
These guys aren't pros.
- And there? - That's my bedroom. May I?
- Had you seen that? - No, I...
You'd better have a look.
Everything seems normal to me.
Didn't you have six suits?
- Yes. - Well?
Let's see. The one I wore last night is in my bedroom...
Well, I'll be!
Yvonne, darling...
- Did you send a suit to the cleaners? - No.
- They stole one of my suits. - You think so?
I'm sure.
One of them is gone!
If they're interested in suits, they're interested in linens.
I bet they stole all your sheets and shirts.
- Some specialize in linens. - You're scaring me.
Specialists, I tell you! We arrested five just in the past month.
Breaking into an apartment to steal a suit. That's too much!
- Doesn't it seem more like a prank? - It does.
- I should check my bedroom. - I was just about to suggest it.
Count carefully. How many did you have?
I don't know exactly. Some are at the laundry.
Count anyway.
None missing here.
Not here either.
They didn't take anything.
And your linens? Check the linen closet!
Count the sheets! They love sheets.
Six, eight, 10, 12...
Yvonne!
Come take a look. I think I'm missing some shirts.
Shirts! Didn't I say that?
- Is Georges Vacher in? - No.
- He's not alone? - He asked not to be disturbed.
- Is he alone? - I think so. He had a visitor.
- She came back down a half hour ago. - What type?
Mid-twenties, brunette, rather distinguished.
Thanks.
You're packing? Shall I call a taxi?
I'm not doing anything wrong. I'm off on vacation.
Lucky you.
Tell me what Mrs. Maurin asked you.
And fast. I'm in a hurry.
- So am I. I have a plane to catch. - Really?
I haven't seen her since the other night. So if you don't mind...
Put down the suitcase.
- Tell me what she came to ask you. - Nothing, I swear.
You've got a good head on your shoulders, so watch out.
- Why do you say that? - Because it could get cut off.
Your discretion is that of a gentleman, bravo,
but you risk being charged as an accomplice.
This is murder.
With your rap sheet, you'll do time if you're lucky.
But if not...
off with your head.
Your move. Playing black or white?
So... did she arrange this little getaway?
I'm such an idiot.
What the hell do I care? Yes, she did.
Here.
She gave this to me for expenses. A family jewel.
Apparently it's worth a couple grand.
I'd have spent it on the Riviera.
You're confiscating it?
How'd I get involved? First, I'm questioned. Now I'm robbed.
- I'd really like to know. - I'll gladly tell you.
They gave these out at your club on May 1st.
When did Mrs. Maurin first come here?
Think. Make an effort.
- Wasn't it May 1st? - Maybe.
- It's possible. Yes, I think so. - I'm sure of it.
Why did she want you to leave? What's between you?
Not much. She wants me to leave because her husband knows.
Supposedly, he wants to come find me.
She's protecting her cuckold!
He cheats on her, too. Did she tell you?
If she did, I'd have laughed out loud.
If he's as harmless with them as he is with her,
chastity must be all the rage!
I'd better keep quiet. I won't get a maiden in trouble.
Maiden?
Do you need a picture?
Careful. That'd better not be idle talk.
This maiden has been married for six years.
- You know what that means? - It's possible she spoke her vows.
But that's all she did, trust me.
I certainly do.
She might think her husband a demigod whose shoes I'm not fit to shine,
but the truth is, her visit here on May 1st was her real wedding night.
What bothers her is that I noticed.
Lucas?
Actually, it's going very well.
Take Torrence and pick up the Maurins.
I want them both in my office within the hour.
News? You could say that! Does May 1st ring a bell?
I don't know. May Day, lilies of the valley. Am I missing anything?
Not much. It's also the date of the first murder.
- Do you think it'll be much longer? - I don't know.
It's almost 9:00 PM. He said it was urgent.
The inspector is sorry to keep you waiting. His meeting is almost done.
Why were we summoned? Do you know?
Let's see. Weren't you burglarized?
I think that's why.
Mr. Maurin, would you kindly come with me?
Just an identification formality.
That's not necessary, Madame.
The head of household's identity is enough. This way.
You wanted me, boss?
Lucas is with Maurin, starting the show. You'll relieve him for the second act.
- If your wife is waiting, let her know. - Will it be long?
- She said she'd make a soufflé. - Well, it'll probably collapse.
This chair's seen better years!
Just like me.
But a lot of suspects have confessed sitting there.
Go ahead and laugh.
Wait until you've been here 20 years. You'll have your little quirks too.
Father's name?
Maurin.
Albert Emile Lucien.
- Profession? - Butcher.
- Place of birth? - Paris. I forget which district.
I'll leave it blank.
- What district were you born in? - I already told you.
Yes, you're right. The 4th District.
And your profession...
You're urgently needed at booking.
Just when I was almost done! Excuse me.
Take my place. No sense in keeping the gentleman waiting.
Let's see. Maurin...
Okay.
- These are your papers? - Yes.
Maurin. Marcel Xavier Raymond. Born in Paris.
Which district?
The 4th. Your colleague already typed it.
Maurin. Albert Emile Lucien. Butcher. Born in...
- There's no district. - I don't remember which!
- It doesn't matter. - Will Mr. Maigret see us or not?
Since he asked you to come, it surely won't be long.
All right, we'll leave the district blank.
Mother's maiden name?
What's so funny?
Gauthier.
Adèle Gauthier.
First name, birth place, profession?
Janvier? Would you send in Mrs. Maurin?
Certainly.
You see? You didn't wait too long.
I'm sorry to have kept you waiting.
Have a seat.
Tell me.
It's naughty to keep secrets from me. Your husband knows everything.
Everything?
All about your relationship...
with Jojo.
Yes.
I bet he took it pretty hard.
You could say that.
And he wasn't touched by your change of heart?
I mean, the second time.
I assume you told him you'd left as you'd arrived?
Of course.
If I were in his shoes...
Yet it's true that...
There was the May 1st incident.
Because it was May 1st that you met...
this Jojo.
- I really don't... - It was.
It was May 1st.
- It's possible. - It's certain.
But just between us...
your husband doesn't have many reasons to be jealous,
let alone the right.
When men are philanderers, they don't appreciate the same treatment.
Philanderers?
Oh, right! His mistress.
His mistresses.
Despite all his mistresses, he still reacted violently on May 1st.
That's not when he found out.
I thought it was. When did he find out?
The day before yesterday
when he called some friends I said I'd spent the evening with.
So it was only the day before yesterday
that he found out about your visits to Rue Etoile?
- Yes. - Including the one on May 1st?
Yes.
You'd been caught, so you decided to make a full confession.
- Is that it? - Yes.
Don't you think it's time you told the truth?
- To me. - I did tell you.
- You know that's not true. - What do you mean?
I even came to see you...
Yes, you did, to pull the wool over my eyes.
Your husband has never had a mistress. You know he's incapable.
He's not even capable of being a husband.
Otherwise, you wouldn't have sought out... a Jojo.
Your heart wasn't even in it. It took you years to decide.
You didn't take a lover, you just picked a random man.
- That's despicable. - On the contrary, you love your husband.
A Jojo doesn't matter. But let's be clear:
I'm not talking about the second time. That was just a red herring.
You returned to Rue Etoile because you were being followed.
You didn't want to lead my detective back to your home. You were afraid.
Of what?
What happened on May 1st?
Don't you think it's time to tell me?
- I've already told you. - Not what happened between the sheets.
I want to know about afterwards, that same night.
Tell the truth. I'm trying to help you.
That's why I saw you first. I'll know the truth sooner or later.
This is your chance to make it...
palatable.
Understand?
I have nothing to say to you.
Are you sure?
Stop trying.
Then leave. You're free to go.
What about my husband? Will it be long?
The time it takes him to answer my questions.
- Questions of the sort... - Whatever sort I want.
So... we were saying Marcel Xavier Emile.
Was that it?
Yes.
Oh, no!
Look what you made me do!
Emile is your father's name.
Yours is Marcel Xavier Raymond, right?
- You don't know your own name? - Of course! I made a mistake.
I understand. But be more careful. I can't keep crossing things out.
So we were saying...
- Marcel Xavier Raymond. - Yes.
Mr. Maurin. Please come with me. The Inspector is ready to see you.
That was quick.
Tell Paul to bring us some sandwiches and beer.
I don't know, five or six.
Come in, Mr. Maurin.
Sit down.
I'm sorry I kept you waiting. I have some good news.
I think we found your burglars.
And we recovered this.
- Is it yours? - It's my wife's.
That's what I thought.
You know what? I don't think she even noticed.
- She was so flustered... - The important thing is we found it.
You'll need to sign a release. Here.
Excuse me.
Thank you.
Those thieves are real oddballs. Know what they said?
They absolutely deny having stolen your suit.
I'm sure they'll eventually confess and we'll find it.
In case we need to identify the suit,
it was made by Bernheim & Son, right?
No, in fact, it was an old suit.
I used to buy from different tailors,
I don't remember their names.
A store like Sigrand, Manellos, Albin?
Lavigne?
Yes, something like that.
I'll put Lavigne.
With a question mark.
Yes.
That's too complicated. No question mark.
It's late. I don't want to keep you any longer.
Let's get that typed, and we'll both go home.
- My wife will wonder... - I forgot! Just a second.
Janvier? Tell Mrs. Maurin we'll be another 10 minutes or so.
She already left.
She probably got tired of waiting.
Send Lucas in.
We'll get your statement in order and be done with it.
Initials in the margins, and your signature here.
I'm glad that's done. Yes, come in!
Finally! I thought you'd forgotten me.
Put it down here.
- I'll leave my bottle opener. - Thank you.
- Will you have a beer? - Thank you. I don't drink.
You don't smoke, don't drink. You have no vices.
I have them all.
- How about a sandwich? - I don't eat between meals.
This isn't between meals, it's the meal. It's almost 10:00 and we're not done.
If you're not feeling well, make yourself comfortable.
No formalities between us.
While you're here, there's one detail I'd like to clarify.
- I'm worried my wife will... - Right, sorry. Give her a call.
Excuse me, boss.
I just received this.
What should I do with it?
THE MOTHER IS HERE
Keep it on file. I might need it.
Hello? Yes, it's me.
Yes, I'm still there.
But it's about our burglary.
We'll be another...
It'll be a little while.
No, surely not.
Right. See you soon.
You didn't tell her about the brooch. She'd have been pleased.
Oh, you want to surprise her!
So where was I?
You want to clear up a small detail with me.
It's about Barberot. That guy is still bothering me.
I can't get him to admit he knows about that small door.
Small door?
Yes, the one at No. 22 that leads to the back alley, next to the trash.
You know, the little door!
Don't tell me you don't know it either.
You must. You grew up in that house.
You'd use that door to go play in the courtyards, like all the other kids.
I bet your mom didn't like that,
so you'd use that door. No one the wiser.
We've all done it. It's no big deal.
Yes.
- I must've known about it. - Of course.
- But I didn't use it. - Certainly not.
I'll even tell you why.
Such a door should've been like a forbidden fruit.
But not for you. Too easy. Your mother had the key.
She did have the key?
It's possible.
Yet she claims she doesn't. I wonder why.
You must wonder, too.
Why don't we ask her? We'll clear this up for good.
Send in Mrs. Maurin.
- My mother's here? - Yes. I don't even know why.
Marcel, darling, don't be afraid! Mother is here.
- What do you want with him? - Nothing, Mom!
Just chatting. Your son confirmed you had the key to the little door.
- I confirmed no such thing! - Madame, why did you deny it?
I know it's of no importance, but... Please, have a seat.
I have no intention of staying. I came to get my son.
Do you hear? Don't let him intimidate you! Let's go!
- They won't dare hold you. - I'm afraid we will.
If my son is under arrest, say so!
I'll call our lawyer immediately.
- I'm sure you know Mr. Lieutard. - Very well. A fine speaker.
- You'll explain yourself to him! - Calm down, Mom.
- I don't need a lawyer? - Absolutely not!
Calm down, Madame. I'm simply asking about the little door...
I don't have to answer! Not that question nor any others.
You too, Marcel. You shouldn't be here.
Since he's holding you, Counselor Lieutard will get you out.
And with apologies! Count on it!
Your father must not have had it easy with her!
In a way, that explains Mauricette.
Mauricette...
I shouldn't have brought her up.
But we're talking man to man, so let's be frank.
Papa Maurin was no fool, and Mauricette was quite a looker.
She still is, the slut.
I can imagine what you went through 15 years ago!
- Slut. - I know. You wrote me.
No, Mr. Maigret. The killer of those sluts in the Marais is not a madman.
- I didn't write this! - Come now. Look.
Razor blade, tracing paper, white glue.
It's the work of an artist. Or a decorator.
No, no!
Why bother protesting? Everybody writes us. Here.
I've got tons.
Amateur detectives, readers of crime novels,
madmen, mediums...
or simply practical jokers. Like you.
You're a big child, Maurin.
You wrote that to make me mad. As a game.
- No, no... - You did. As a game.
A game like the toy crane and your miniature fountain.
Your mother calls it sensitivity.
I call it a love of fun.
Come on.
It's obviously a prank, a hoax.
You'd never write a letter of denunciation,
but mocking the police, making fun of the inspector
- is a classic practical joke. - Schoolboy humor.
Exactly!
Did it ever occur to you that this was a punishable offense?
Contempt of Law. Wait, we'll find it for you.
Right here.
Article 222. Punishable by 15 days to 1 year in jail.
If you get mad, so can I.
We won't talk about it again. To anyone.
I'm sure your wife doesn't know about it.
Admit that you didn't tell her.
Come on, just between us.
- No. - You see?
All this is confidential, right?
Well, as long as you're here. Write:
I admit...
under oath...
that I wrote...
with no harmful intent...
- Excuse me, boss. It's Lagrume. - In a minute.
- He's insisting. - Okay, carry on.
You sign it and then we can go home.
I admit...
- What is it, Lagrume? - Sir, I know your time is precious.
But it is my duty to inform you as quickly as possible...
Quickly, then.
- I need to start at the beginning. - I'd prefer the end.
I believe I've found the suit belonging to the button.
At least, a sample.
A ready-made suit sold 3 years ago
by Lavigne to a walk-in customer.
Unidentified. You told me on the phone. Is that all?
No.
While checking her records back to 1939, Mrs. Lavigne, a charming woman,
found the name of another client who might interest you:
Maurin, Emile.
- The father? - Yes.
Mr. Maurin, everyone seems to be handling your case.
It's Detective Lagrume. It looks like he found your suit.
When I say your suit, I mean your father's.
My father's? That's absurd.
Your suit that was stolen came from Lavigne's store.
- No, I... - You told me.
You simply forgot to say that it wasn't yours.
Come on. That's absurd. I'm telling you, it's absurd.
Why would I have one of my father's suits?
I have my own. You saw my closet.
The night of the reenactment, you went out wearing your glen plaid suit.
I'll be completely frank with you. It was a suit like this.
I never had a suit like this!
Why are you being so stubborn?
Why not just tell me what happened?
I'll tell you.
After your failed attack, you were being chased and you panicked.
You cut through the alley and went through that famous little door.
You went up to Mother's and she gave you one of Dad's suits.
But why?
Because a button had been ripped from your suit.
This is crazy! What button?
- Here. This one. - No! No!
Yes.
Afraid of being spotted, you changed suits and calmly went home.
- No! - Go on, talk.
You've already said so much. Get the rest off your chest.
You'll be so relieved. You can go to bed. It'll all be over.
Tell me everything. You've wanted to for a long time, I know.
So talk, my friend. Talk!
I want to leave! You hear me? I want to go home.
Let me go! I want to be left alone!
I didn't do anything. I never did.
You have no right. You are monsters.
Marcel, look at me.
Come on. Look at me.
Come on, come on.
Like this.
Listen to me. Will you listen?
You don't look like a murderer. I should know. You're not one.
But people who aren't murderers...
- can still end up killing. - I didn't kill!
Okay, okay.
Tell me what happened. Just me, okay?
Tell me what they did to you.
They really made you suffer?
I know you. I can put myself in your shoes.
You must have suffered,
enough to go crazy the night you knew Yvonne had been in that guy's bed.
Quite a scene when she came home, wasn't it?
- It must've been awful for you. - The slut!
Of course! You insulted her. You wished you could slap her, right?
Just like Mauricette back then. Because she slapped you, right?
Slut!
Maybe Yvonne slapped you too.
But you weren't the same age. It didn't hurt. You were a man!
Because you are a man. I know it.
But they don't. Not your wife nor your mother.
- The slut. - Of course.
Poor Marcel, caught between Rue Turenne and Quai Blériot. Between two women.
Marcel, look at me.
Look me in the eye and tell me if I'm wrong.
It's not just revenge against Yvonne. It was to show all those sluts,
to free yourself, that you went out on May 1st and killed that girl.
No, I didn't kill! I swear, I didn't kill!
You did! I'm sure it brought you relief. And the proof is, you did it again.
You liked it, right? Tearing their clothes? You were getting even.
I didn't do it. No, I didn't kill.
I swear, I didn't kill.
Hello? Yes.
What?
No.
Just a moment.
It can't be!
Call the doctor on duty.
You, come with me.
What's going on?
Three stab wounds, and a fourth near the neck.
The shredding might be different. It will be difficult to establish.
Also, she's not brunette or plump. Stabbed in the back, not in the chest.
But the end result is the same.
Yet I'm sure it was his suit! I couldn't be mistaken.
We couldn't have both been wrong from the start, sir. Not both of us.
The old lady!
Go get me the old lady. And bring her in, willingly or not.
Off you go.
Hey, Lucas!
Who's the woman?
Please take a seat.
My compliments, Your Honor. Your informers are quick.
You've been informed. That's what matters.
By necessity. Awakened in the dead of night.
I prefer not to repeat what the District Attorney said. It was charming.
I had to tell him I'd signed no warrant and wouldn't be signing any.
Release that man within the hour, do you hear me?
Within a minute, Your Honor.
Yes, don't worry. Counselor Lieutard is here.
Good night, Your Honor.
You heard, counselor. You can have your client.
Take good care of him. I have a feeling we'll need him again.
Don't you find such irony somewhat inappropriate?
Sadly, it's all I have left.
I'll send him home. Unless you don't trust me?
As long as I have your word.
- Is he well enough to go home? - Yes.
Send him home.
Send someone with him in a taxi.
Come, Mr. Maurin. You're going home. Come on.
Lapointe, go out the back door.
He looks a bit shell-shocked. Did you shake him?
No. But he's in dire need of a couple of smacks, believe me.
I have nothing to say.
Unbelievable.
- They're both here. - Not too much trouble?
- And when they saw each other? - No reaction. Like they've never met.
Well, ladies, you should be pleased. Your darling is free.
Junior just left. Now he can start killing again.
What?
He's already killed four times. I know it, and so do you!
The child prodigy. The artist. Four times!
- He's the Marais killer. - That's ridiculous!
You can't be serious, Mr. Maigret.
- This is grotesque! I wonder... - Do you have a confession to make?
- Of all the... - Then be quiet!
And you knew it.
You knew it the night you came to my home. You'd just found out.
- Perhaps you'll tell me when? - When I opened the wardrobe.
You instantly realized the suit wasn't his.
That's when you knew that Marcel had gone out and where!
Don't answer!
You've no right to question us without a lawyer present!
When you helped him change suits, you knew it too!
Neither of you even blinked. Isn't love grand?
- You love your Marcel! - I certainly hope so!
I bet you're proud.
You loved that he was artistic. So much better than the father,
that boor, the butcher.
At least he had a trade, the poor fool.
A trade.
Mrs. Maurin, you are a monster.
But above all, a monster of stupidity.
- You behave like... - You're vain, possessive, cruel.
But mostly, you are stupid! So very stupid!
You stifled your son.
You kept him from his father, from boys his own age,
from whatever would make him a boy like the others.
Because he's not like others! You both know that.
Ask his wife.
Marcel might have been gifted. But not for everything. That's your handiwork.
The little violin, the little piano, the little sonatas,
Mom's portrait, Mom's little darling.
On the eve of his wedding, you probably had him sleeping with a teddy bear!
You locked him in childhood. You made him a nutcase.
Each in your own way.
Because then you took over. Marcel was more adored than ever.
He probably got married to get away from all that,
but he only managed to change females.
She stole your precious boy.
With her dowry.
He doesn't mind a bit of comfort, the artist.
He preferred Quai Blériot to Rue Turenne.
From failed painter, he became a phony decorator.
Hey, when you've got talent...
Disgraceful! This is disgraceful!
Adored and fed. You were the ideal wife. A second mother.
But this mother didn't just tuck him in. She shared his bed.
A mother with needs.
Needs she ended up satisfying elsewhere.
Whore! Dirty little whore! I'm not surprised.
Well, your idiot son was!
Since he didn't dare kill her, he took it out on others. Poor girls.
- What? - It's done.
Your darling is back at Quai Blériot.
No. He told the driver to go to Rue Turenne.
What?
You see? When the poor boy is upset, he goes to his mother's! His home.
That other place was never his home. Never!
- Children know who loves them. - Sit down.
- He's waiting for me! - Sit down!
Brute!
It all comes down to which of you loves him more.
Which one of you killed a woman on Rue de Jarente tonight?
Which one committed a murder like his in the hopes of saving him?
Which one?
- She obviously loves him more. - I'd do anything for my son.
She's risking her head for him.
Maurin will keep his. They'll put him in an asylum with all his toys.
He'll be thrilled.
But for 4 months, Paris has been terrified. Jurors won't forgive that.
It's the woman who'll pay.
Tonight, she made the supreme sacrifice and loved him more than the other one.
- More than anyone could love him. - No one loves him like I do. No one!
- Is it you? - I don't care what he's done.
- Is it you? - I don't even care to know.
- Then say it! Is it you? - Yes! I did it.
I did it! I killed.
He's my child. I had the right, every right.
- Where did it take place? - Rue de Jarente.
- Yes, but where exactly? - I don't remember.
What color was the victim's dress?
The dress was blue, with white stripes.
That's correct.
Lucas. Come back in.
Take Mrs. Maurin's statement. I have something else to do.
I hope you won't retract your statement.
Don't worry, Inspector.
I'm going all the way.
Yet when the heart sings of romance
I forget all the disappointments And good advice
I always believe happiness Is about to bloom
Mr. Marcel!
What are you doing here?
Mauricette.
What's gotten into you, Mr. Marcel?
Now they can't get in.
Help!
You don't want to? Why not? Why don't you ever want to?
Mr. Marcel. Leave me alone. Be nice.
Slut.
Mr. Marcel, I'm begging you. It's me.
No!
Marcel, give me the knife.
You promised me you'd behave like a man.
Why don't they want to?
Come on, be reasonable. Hand it over.
Come on.
Marcel, I won't ask a second time. Hand it over.
Right here.
Don't make me yell.
- Hand it over. - No, I don't want to.
Come on, be nice. Hand it over.
Come on.
Let go of me!
Sir, what about the report?
Should I see Lucas?
You're not taking the car?
It's about time.